Gosie's continuing adventures...
Right. Enough of the “mysterious breeze through a doorway” routine—here’s what actually happened.
Over that very good wine, the archivist mentioned a problem. Not dramatic, not headline-worthy—worse than that. A discrepancy. Something that shouldn’t quite exist, but does. A work—minor on paper, but not minor if you know what you’re looking at—has been quietly circulating under the wrong identity. Not stolen. Not missing. Just… misattributed in a way that benefits exactly one very discreet collector.
The thread leads west.
Gosie left Mount Stuart at first light, took the short hop north, then angled across—no dithering, no scenic nonsense—towards Oban. From there, she’s not staying put. Oban is just the hinge. Ferries, private boats, quiet logistics.
Final direction: Isle of Mull.
Why Mull? Because it’s perfect for this sort of thing:
- remote enough to avoid scrutiny
- connected enough that objects can move without raising eyebrows
- scattered estates and private houses where collections exist off any formal record
The target isn’t a heist. It’s a correction.
Someone on Mull has a painting hanging quite comfortably under the wrong name. Not a fake—ironically, it’s
better than that. It’s real, just mislabelled in a way that suppresses its value and importance. Whether that was incompetence or design is… open.
Gosie’s job is to confirm it, document it, and quietly set in motion the process that puts it back into its proper story. That might mean a discreet conversation. It might mean a swap of documentation. It might mean nothing visible at all—just the right information reaching the right person at the right time.
No alarms. No vanishing frames.
Just one small, precise shift in the art world that most people will never notice.
And then she’ll be back at the Bluestocking, stirring her coffee, while somewhere in a catalogue, a name has changed—and a handful of very serious people are suddenly paying attention.