Chapter 12:
The Path Ahead, Diverging Choices
FIONA AND GILES, having followed a route that was quite familiar to them by this point, arrived at Gallery Roche. Fiona, who had spent the past three days in the royal capital, felt like she was returning after a long absence. They entered the back office to find Rudolph, Dennis, Roche, and Hans, the Clayburn butler, waiting for them.
“Mr. Roche, I’m terribly grateful to you for going above and beyond to help us,” Fiona said.
“It was no trouble, Miss. In fact, it was a good experience for me; a man doesn’t get many chances to participate in a police interview or offer his opinions”
“Well, I’m humbled to hear that. Hans, I’m sorry we dragged you into this.”
The Clayburn butler stood straight and smiled softly to see his mistress again after so long. “All that matters to me is your safety, Miss Fiona.” Though they had written to each other, there remained so many things to be said that they could have talked for hours—but this meeting was for Rudolph.
“Well then, let’s get to it,” Giles said.
Rudolph shrank back, his face taking on a peculiar expression as the adults all surrounded him. Fiona sat beside Giles, Rudolph sat alone directly across from them, and Dennis stood beside Rudolph. Once Hans and Roche had retired to the desk in the back of the room, Giles began to speak.
“Firstly, we were advised that Rudolph is only to be sentenced for producing counterfeit paintings.” Everyone took a breath. The police believed that Rudolph knew nothing of either the abdication plot or Gordon’s intent to defraud people with paintings, so they pursued no other charges. “It has been recommended that you be sent to an institution where you will do community service until you come of age. You will have a meeting once a month with a caseworker, and once a week, you will present a written progress report.”
Rudolph glanced at Dennis, his face filled with utter contempt. Then he made a noise like he was about to be sick and dropped his gaze to the floor. This was a boy who had enjoyed every freedom he could imagine when he worked as an art restorer under his surrogate father. Psychologically speaking, following the strict rules in an institution and living an upright life under guard for several years was, to him, a living hell. With community service imposed on him as well, he would have no time to paint. That being said, he would receive an education in exchange.
He was an orphan with no place to go. That he was not being tossed on the side of the road under the guise of an acquittal was, from some perspectives, an act of mercy.
Giles continued, “We have one other proposition for you. It comes from Fiona.”
“That’s right,” Fiona chimed in.
Rudolph had not been informed that there was alternative. He turned his wary gaze on Fiona as she took over from Giles.
“Rudolph,” she said in a soft, grim voice, “it will be very difficult for you to return to the profession of art restoration. You understand that, right?”
Rudolph nodded. “Yeah.” An art restorer’s job was to repair damaged paintings, not to replicate them. Though he was not yet an adult, in creating paintings for Gordon, Rudolph had made a name for himself as an art restorer who made counterfeit paintings. Suspicion would follow him any time he was entrusted to restore a painting, with clients thinking, He might use my painting to make a counterfeit and give the fake to me.
Even if he promised otherwise, his word would carry no weight. Nobody would ask him to restore their art, nor would any studio that wanted to maintain trust with its patrons hire him as an employee.
For Rudolph, painting was a means of survival. His skill was his stronghold for life, his one and only livelihood. He was young but talented, and it was his confidence in his talents that gave him the strength to carry on after he lost his surrogate father. Although he had never picked up a paintbrush for love of the art form, and although the institution would feed him whether he painted or not, the very thought of painting being taken away from Rudolph must have made him cringe.
“Your counterfeits were very well-made,” Fiona told him. “In a world where few people can distinguish between originals and fakes, that makes trust even more important.”
“I know that,” Rudolph said sullenly, though knowing something and hearing it said aloud gave it entirely different weights. If there was one thing that gave Rudolph’s life meaning, it was his skill as a painter. Desperately hiding his terror at the thought of losing it, he waited, breathless, to hear what Fiona would say next.
She surprised him. “Rudolph, tell me the truth: You knew those paintings were going to be used for something bad, didn’t you?”
“Huh?!” Dennis yelped. Giles, too, turned to Fiona in surprise. Rudolph flinched and he stared at the ground, clenching his fists in his lap.
“With the redpoll’s red,” Fiona continued, “the Lammert’s gradation, and all the other paintings, you were sloppy on purpose so that somebody would notice they were counterfeit. Am I right?”
Rudolph gritted his teeth. “N-no, I’d never…” He kept his head turned downward, looking up cautiously at Fiona, and the pitiful way his eyes glistened with tears was all the confirmation Fiona needed.
She knew Rudolph was talented enough to make perfect replicas. Though he’d made the paintings indistinguishable at a glance, he left clear, if hidden, clues that those paintings could not possibly be genuine, clues that Gordon had overlooked. Fiona believed Rudolph had done this intentionally.
Of course, Rudolph was probably motivated in part by revenge against Gordon for his imprisonment, just as he had said. That wasn’t all, though; Fiona suspected Rudolph felt guilty, and scared by his own acts of resistance.
“Without those little clues, it would have taken much longer for somebody to identify them as counterfeits. They may, in fact, have never been exposed.”
Giles said, “Well, with that new evidence—”