Redemption - Leon Uris [59]
Moreover, Conor was able to quote from a number of published works on the history of Ulster by British historians, which matched perfectly with St. Columba’s records, although none of these historians had ever seen the church records.
“What have we here, now?” Caroline asked, looking at Conor’s open palm holding a small rusty black mass.
“Feel this.” She did.
“How does it feel?”
“Very satiny. What is it?”
Conor offered his shirt sleeve to wipe her hand clean. After an instant of hesitation, she did.
“Years ago, Mr. Lambe and I were both curious about the texture of the iron in this screen. He took a few scrapings and had it assayed at the royal assay offices in London. I took some samples on my first visit here with you. It was assayed in Belfast.”
“Where in Belfast?”
“At Weed Ship & Iron. Best assay office in Ireland.”
“What are you getting at, Mr. Larkin?”
“It took a long time for Mr. Lambe to ascertain its origin. All of the iron used in the original work here came from the Clanconcardy mine in Northern Wales. Once Tijou discovered it, it became his ore of choice. All of his later works are of the same base.”
“Well, what is that supposed to prove?”
“This screen is the only work in Ireland made of Clanconcardy ore.”
“What makes this ore so special?”
“Other ores can be pounded, brutalized into shape. Your Italian chap, Tustini, had a nice delicate touch, but the screen conquered him instead of the other way around. Had he discovered and used Clanconcardy, this,” he said, pointing, “would look more like this.”
“Just what does this ore mean to you?”
“It’s angel’s ore, actually difficult to express my feelings without offending you,” Conor answered.
“Please go on.”
“Aye, how to say it? I’ve worked with this ore whenever I can afford a few hundred pounds of it for very special commissions or gifts. It’s… uh…”
“Mr. Larkin, just say it like you were speaking to one of the lads in your shop.”
“Working with this ore is like a woman’s flesh yielding in ecstasy to her lover. It’s pure magic. You see,” he quickly changed the subject, “the mine has been closed for decades for lack of yield. There are a few old-timers who will go in and flush some out, but at great expense. Twenty tons of this would be hard to come by.”
So, Caroline thought, the clever lad has finally sprung his trap. A king’s ransom in exchange for what might or might not even be the answer to the great riddle.
“Pardon my temerity, Lady Caroline, but you still have grave doubts about Tijou.”
“I must say, you present a compelling case.”
“Jaysus, madam,” Conor erupted, “Tijou’s case is right in front of you, here and here and here and here. No man before Tijou and few since have had the mastery to create lily pads floating on gossamer… this scroll, he used only once later, at Versailles…and here, this angel’s flute. Why, the man’s fingerprints are all over this screen. Your Oxford research cannot be correct. If this screen were built seventy years earlier, no clunker in those times could have ever dreamed these things could be done with iron.”
Conor had been borderline impertinent, but having dealt with artists and artisans, she knew they demanded a certain headway if they were worth a damn. She made an abrupt decision.
“Why don’t we go forward with a small section?”
“Oh no, ma’am. I think m’lady has understood me wrong. The Italian and German counterfeits shriek out in horror and should be removed. Some small work can be done on the original screen, but one third of a Tijou is worth a thousand Conor Larkins.”
“Am I to understand you don’t want to restore this?”
“Sometimes I think that God meant for certain things to be left alone.”
Roger and Caroline had a cozy arrangement where they finished their late paperwork together in her boudoir at a partners’ desk facing each other. The matter of the screen was a testy bit of business; they had spent tens of thousands on it with no results.
“After all our travels and searching, there just may be an ironmaster right in our own backyard,