“If you have questions, you may ask the Duchess. But first, you must wait until she’s finished with her work.”

I decided to try a different tactic. Channeling Bess, I made my face as pleasant as possible and fluffed my dress. “It must be very hard for you. You’ve guarded the Duchess’s work all your life, but nobody knows it.”

Mr. Gatewood was seized with a fit of coughing. He doubled over and blew his nose extravagantly into a very damp handkerchief. When he stood again, I could tell I was making progress.

He smiled indulgently down at me and said, “She has these moments of inspiration. An idea comes to her, and she is compelled to bring it into being. Nothing can stop her. She inspires me. That’s what I do it for, not the recognition.”

“Do you spend a lot of time down here, Mr. Gatewood? These passageways must get gloomy.”

“Actually, they’re quite convenient, since we had the lifts installed. There are entrances all over the house, and they all lead here, all so the Duchess is never far from her work in progress. My employer is a woman of great focus and great intensity. You know, the only reason the Stricklands have anything at all is because of her hard work. It’s a shame that some people in her family don’t appreciate that.”

“Oh? Who do you mean?”

“Edmonia, for one! Her own daughter! She thinks her mother is nothing but a— Well, I won’t say it. But it’s very disrespectful, considering all the beauty the Duchess has given to this world. You know, they haven’t spoken in years, not since the incident with the Shammases. … But I shouldn’t speak of such things. I’m just a gossipy old secretary. You can’t know how terribly intrusive it feels, having to open our home to anyone who says they have an invitation. The Duchess is generous—far more generous than she needs to be.”

I remembered the portrait from the off-limits hallway. The teenage girl must be Edmonia, Mona Pearl’s mother. I was forming an idea that explained everything that had struck me as odd about the famous Strickland art collection, from the vanished statue to the secret passageways to the canvases in the hallway, the family portraits upstairs, and maybe even those two hidden Shammas paintings. But it was only an idea, and I needed facts. The only person who could confirm my theory was hiding just beyond the door, blocked for the moment by Mr. Gatewood’s feeble frame.

“Listen, Mr. Gatewood,” I said sweetly. “I know you have your orders, but I’m going into the Duchess’s studio whether you like it or not. If we don’t get her to come back to the party soon, people will start tearing paintings off the walls.”

Mr. Gatewood let out an anguished cry and covered his face in his hands, racked by another coughing attack. I took the opportunity to climb to the top of the stairs and slide past him, turning the knob and passing into the central chamber: the Duchess’s secret studio.