Prescott gave an elaborate shrug. “It didn’t matter. Finders keepers, as far as Ian was concerned. Payback for buying the cases of cooked wine. Besides, it was Prohibition. Whoever originally owned it was probably long dead and the Madeira had been forgotten about. Why it wasn’t drunk in 1809…” Another shrug. “Who knows? Anyway, Ian decided to keep it for himself since he knew the value was only going to increase. After he died, everyone else in your family hung on to it as well. No one wanted to sell.”

That didn’t sound like my family at all. Why had we kept Ian’s Madeira for another almost-century? And, more important, why didn’t I know anything about it? There was something Prescott wasn’t telling me. Why couldn’t he have asked me about this upstairs? What was up with the cloak-and-dagger secrecy?

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I really wish I could help you, but I can’t. I never knew anything about these bottles.”

“What a pity,” he said. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or merely regretful. “Did you know that a few years ago Christie’s sold two bottles of 1795 Madeira for ten thousand dollars apiece? Do you have any idea what your bottles could be worth to the right person?” Before I could answer, he added, “I just happen to be the right person, Lucie. I’ll pay you more than that.”

I did the math. He was talking about a crazy amount of money. “Why?”

“Because I have just acquired a unique treasure that can only be unveiled with that Madeira. And for another even more important reason I can’t discuss. At least not yet.”

“And why is that?”

He reached for his crystal-and-silver cane once again and stood up. “Come. I’ll give you a tiny hint. However, first you must give me your word that you won’t say anything to anyone about what you’re about to see.”

“All right.”

He waved the tip of his cane at me as an admonishment and a rebuke. “Lucie, I’m absolutely serious about this—it’s not some lark. You must promise or this conversation is over.”

Startled, I said, “I promise.”

“Good.” He lowered the cane. “Then you may follow me.”

Two

I followed Prescott over to the arched entrance that led to his wine cellar. Maybe he was going to show me one of his many fabulous vintages or another priceless Madeira. Instead he stopped in front of a bookcase that was next to the Hogarth painting.