Chapter Twelve
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They worked the rest of the day and all the following day with scarcely a break for meals. Both of them worked faster, going through book after book after book with relentless urgency. Ironically, their criminal intruder may have done them a favor. In the jumble of books, it was plain that some of them, being open, were not one of the fabled Dukes.
Daunt had never in his life been so on edge about any woman. He’d held her in his arms and brought her to completion, and he still had no idea if he had any chance with her at all. Today, after all that had happened between them, she was behaving exactly as she had the day before. Now was not the time for an interrogatory on the subject of the events in the music room. After all, she had not told him that night meant nothing to her. He’d waited all this time, he could wait a little longer.
At ten o’clock, well before Gomes was scheduled to bring their coffee, Daunt closed the last book. He turned to Magdalene.
She stood nearby, hands clasped under her chin, eyes wide. “This,” she said softly, “this is most disappointing.”
Quiet fell again, but he broke it. “Perhaps they were stolen before the wagons even arrived.”
“Always a possibility. If that’s so, there is naught we can do.” Magdalene turned in a slow circle, scanning the shelves and the stacks of books that had been tossed onto the floor.
“Magdalene?”
A deep crease appeared between her eyebrows. “You are certain one or more of the Dukes were in that shipment?”
“Not absolutely, no. But Verney once boasted he had one of the Dukes.”
“Did anyone believe him?”
“He was a madman by the end. No. But when the club members engaged to locate the Dukes… I should have known better than to pay attention to the drunken ravings of a man more unpleasant than my father.” After days and days of work, they had nothing. Worse than nothing. “I’ve failed him. Angus. Peebles, and everyone else too.”
“You haven’t, Daunt.”
“I could have helped one of the others, but no, I had to go haring off after Verney’s collection when I knew it was possible he never in his life saw one of the Dukes, let alone possessed one.”
Magdalene chewed on her bottom lip the way she always did when she was thinking. He doubted she was aware of the habit. He loved her earnestness and her utter dedication. He always had and always would, no matter what happened between them.
“What?” he asked.
She stared at the ceiling for a time, then, slowly, returned her attention to him. “When they brought out the books after they were delivered here, did they empty all the crates?”
“Yes. Of course they did.” His belief in her intellect was all that kept him from despair. “That was the whole bl—dashed problem.”
“You’re certain?” She held his gaze, and for that space of time, it was like old times, when he’d known his feelings would never be returned. Theirs was a friendship based on respect, admiration, and their connection with Angus, and he could never, never tell her the state of his heart. “You purchased these books in a single lot, correct?”
“Several combined as one.”
“We have been through all these books, and there is not even one Duke. Not re-bound. Not disguised as another book. Not hidden inside a larger one.” She held up a hand. “Bear with me. We cannot stop looking simply because it’s possible one or more of the Dukes were stolen from this room. Not when there is still time and not when we do not know it for a fact.”
“Agreed.” He sighed deeply. “I tell you, the thought of going through all those books to confirm we did not miss anything fills me with dread.”
“You are not alone in that reaction. Before we recommence that search, let us consider other possibilities.”
“What possibilities are those? That there are no Dukes and never were, that’s one. Verney never had any of them, that’s another. He did, and they have been stolen. Yet another.”
“Possibilities, yes. But let us consider the ones that make our continued search worthwhile.” His response to that was a nod. “Suppose,” she said, “the workmen who shelved the books were sloppy in following their unexpected instructions?”
“What is your point?”
“Suppose the Dukes remain in their original binding. Red velvet, not morocco leather.” She gestured at the shelves and the floor. “Not like these.”
“Are you suggesting the Dukes were removed from the shipment?”
“Another possibility, yes, but an unprofitable inquiry given our situation, as in that case there would be no point searching. I feel certain that the employees of W. Stanley & Co. would know better than to remove anything from a lot duly purchased.” She plucked a book from the shelf in front of her. “Morocco leather. A spine with gold lettering.” She took out another and held up both. “Aside from size, they are similar. They are instantly identifiable as books.”
“I cannot fathom where you are headed with this. Yes. They are books. I bought an entire shipment of them.”
“Think, Daunt! Apply your intellect to the problem at hand.”
“I’d rather we applied yours.”
“It’s possible that those tasked with unpacking these books would not have shelved something that did not look bookish to them.” She lifted the volumes she held. “That, my lord, is why I ask you if you know for a fact that every crate was emptied and that every book was, in fact, placed somewhere in this room. In the lots you acquired, do you know for a fact there were books and only books?”
His eyes widened.
“Surely you recall the candlestick affair?”
He did indeed. Angus had purchased a lot of books and had them shipped to Plumwood. One of the crates had included a pair of candlesticks, a circumstance that had led to a great many jokes and puns about literature and light. “But what has that to do with Dukes? It is abundantly clear that candlesticks are not books. Shelving a pair of candlesticks would have been absurd.”
She replaced the two books. “You make my point, Daunt. You or I would have immediately seen that a Duke, even in its original condition, was a book, and books are to be shelved. But would the workmen who were instructed to shelve the contents of the crates have come to the same conclusion?”
“My God.”
“By chance,” she asked, “are the crates still in the house?”
“I have no bloo—not the slightest notion.”
“In storage, perhaps?”
Daunt led the way to the back of the house, then downstairs to the area where the workers would have stored the boxes, if they’d kept them. The seventh storeroom they inspected was full of wooden crates.
He went in as far as he could, given the contents, and hung his lamp from a hook in the ceiling. He rubbed his hands together to ward off the building cold. “But are these the correct crates?”
“Yes.” She spoke with certainty.
He whirled to face her. “You say that because?”
“Observe the markings.” She pointed to a crate with WS&Co printed on the side facing her. “W. Stanley & Co.”
She scanned the room slowly. “I believe we are safe in assuming the crates arrived at Vaincourt and were unloaded at the back of the house. We do not know at what point your original instructions were countermanded, but I think we may assume the crates were brought here first. Regardless of ensuing events and their order—were the crates taken to the library, emptied, then returned here, or were the books uncrated here and carried upstairs?—we are free to employ a brute-force method in ascertaining the contents.”
“Empty crates are light.”
“Therefore, we shall easily learn if there are crates that are not empty.”
“If there are any.” He did not want to take heart when there was every possibility they would find nothing.
“Keep heart, Daunt. We shall leave no stone unturned.”
They stood side by side, staring at crates stacked the height of a tall man. “Let’s start here,” he said, pointing to a stack to his left. One crate, though, sat apart from the others on the stone floor.
“Let’s,” she said.
Daunt gave the crate a gentle push with the toe of his boot; it moved backward easily. “I doubt there’s anything inside.”
“Shall I hold the lamp?”
“Not necessary. I’ll let you know if you should.” The lid came off easily since it had been pried open already and was merely resting on top. He peered inside.
“Well?”
“Wood shavings.” He plunged his hand into them and felt about for anything left inside. “Nothing.”
“And the one behind it?”
Indeed, there was another crate behind that one. He reached around and pulled it toward him. “This one is heavier.” Like the other, the lid was merely resting on top. “Not empty,” he said with some excitement.
“How heavy?”
“Not very.” He dragged the crate closer to the lamp. It too was filled with wood shavings. Magdalene went down on her knees on the other side, writing in her pocket memorandum.
“‘Located crate with additional items from W. Stanley & Co. auction house.’ Proceed, my lord. I’ll note the contents while you call them out.”
Without doing much besides pushing aside some of the shavings, he saw a jumble of items. The first item he withdrew was a much-folded length of cloth. “Measure of fustian,” he said, brushing off shavings. She wrote that down while he extracted another item and held it up.
Magdalene spoke as she wrote. “One vase, likely Chinese, painted with dragons, background pale green. Approximately fourteen inches high by twelve inches at its widest, wouldn’t you say, my lord?”
“Yes.”
“Carved dragon, green material. Suspect jade,” she said when he brought out the next item. “That’s very pretty.”
“Consider it yours. The vase too, if you’d like it. Oh, and look here. Another vase.” Daunt reached in and took out a candle snuffer. “Looks to match the first, but I’ll remove the smaller items first.” He withdrew several more items, placing them carefully on the floor around them while she logged each one as it came out. Daunt let out a laugh and held up a pair of ceramic candlesticks. “A match for the pair you and Angus found?”
“Don’t you dare try to foist those off on me.”
“That’s odd.”
“What?”
Daunt lifted out the other vase. He tipped the vase upside down to shake out wood shavings, and a dull thunk sounded. He and Magdalene shared a glance. “Don’t get your hopes up,” he said.
“Perhaps during transit something worked its way inside?”
Daunt squinted, then shook out more shavings. Another thunk sounded.
“Can you see what it is?”
“No.” He reached in and made a face.
“What if there’s a spider inside? My God, Daunt, don’t break it!”
He glared at her over the vase. “Kindly do not bring up the subject of spiders when I have my hand in a confined space.”
“My apologies.”
“Something wrapped in cloth.” His pulse kicked up, because whatever was in there was at least roughly book-shaped.
“Do be careful.”
After some manipulation, he withdrew a cloth-wrapped package. His pulse raced despite knowing the odds were high that it was nothing. He handed the package to her, and she took it with a reverent expression. “It’s roughly the right size. If, after all this, we’ve found one of the Dukes,” he said, “it’s you who should see it first.”
“As you said, we mustn’t get our hopes up.” She brushed off the shavings clinging to the outer wrapping, then unwrapped the bundle.
His heart skipped a beat when he saw a flash of red and gold. No. It couldn’t be. Could it?
Magdalene drew in a sharp breath. “Daunt.”
“Is it?”
She opened to the frontispiece and read the title. “De Medicine Arcana.”
He took a slow breath and calmed himself. He did not want to overreact or make undue assumptions.
“Daunt, oh, Daunt, look. Heavens, my hands are shaking, I’m that overwrought.”
Gently, he took the book from her. He closed it and examined the red velvet binding shot through with gold embroidery. There was simply no doubt that this was one of the de’ Medici Dukes. “Magdalene. Magdalene, Magdalene, my love.”
“We’ve done it,” she whispered. “We’ve found one of the Dukes.”
“We have indeed.”
Her eyes were open wide. “What about the other vase?” She reached for the vase, peered in as he had, then put a hand inside. Her eyes opened wide.
“What?” he said.
“There is something in here.” She reached farther in. “It’s jammed in here tightly, but…” She manipulated her arm. “Yes, yes. Ouch!”
“Are you injured?”
She shook her head. “No, but—” Again, she moved her hand. “I’ve got it.” She pulled out her arm and withdrew another cloth-wrapped package. This one was bulkier but the same size. “Here,” she said. “You open it.”
He accepted the parcel and opened it. He saw the same maroon and gold, the same delicate stitchery. He opened the book and read the title in a shaking voice. “De Scientia Naturae Rerum.”
The cover was in poor condition. The gold thread looked to have been picked out. Large sections of the velvet were damaged or worn smooth. The back of the binding was in only marginally better condition. In addition, there was some damage to the tops and corners of some of the pages. The frontispiece was torn. He turned, with great care, some of the pages and saw the gorgeous italics script, illustrations in pigments that retained astonishing vibrancy.
Magdalene looked over his shoulder. “How beautiful it is.”
“Yes. I am humbled to hold in my hand something so beautiful.” He picked up the cloth it had been wrapped in and carefully folded it over the delicate volume. “I’ve no idea if we will be lucky enough to find the other two, but let’s see what we find.”
Magdalene nodded. “Yes, let’s.”
It was the work of several more minutes, involving the inspection of every single crate to confirm there were no more Dukes to be found here. Magdalene stood with her hands on her hips. “That’s disappointing,” she said.
“Disappointing?” He faced her and took her by the upper arms. “We’ve found two of the Dukes. Two of them. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be going through books upstairs.” He tightened his fingers on her and brought her close. “You. Because of you. I could kiss you for being so brilliant.”
The silence took on a peculiar weight.
She waved a hand, and he caught it in his and held her palm against his chest. The room shrank to half its former size, a fourth, an eighth. There was not room for both of them here. The quiet unsettled him, but he couldn’t think what to say.
“Magdalene,” he whispered. “Oh, Magdalene, I do love you.”