Chapter Sixteen
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As Magdalene followed Daunt into the parlor, a dark-haired, slender man in his middle years stood, a leather case held flat against his chest. He bowed deeply to Daunt. “Good day, my lord. Thank you for seeing me.”
After seeing Magdalene to a seat at a desk, Daunt acknowledged him with a nod. “Mr. Rivett.”
“At your service, milord.”
Her seat gave her an unimpeded view of Mr. Rivett and Daunt. She settled her shawl around her shoulders, mildly anxious about this encounter with Mr. Rivett. She kept her hands clasped on her lap and concentrated on taking deep, soothing breaths. Daunt’s presence had much to do with her relative calm.
“I appreciate your writing to me,” Daunt said. “You’ve certainly traveled a long way. I hope your journey was uneventful.”
“How kind of you to inquire. Yes, milord, though I am glad to be back on English soil.”
“You do not live in Italy?”
“Oh, no.” Rivett was well-dressed but travel-worn. His hair bore the obvious impression of a hat, and his boots were dusty. “I travel the Continent whenever the business calls for it, which it often does.”
“That business is?”
“Quintas & Rivett, purveyors of rare and curious items, established in the year of our Lord 1753.” He bowed. “We are located on Noncet Close, near Duke Street, London. We recently opened another shop in Hampstead Heath.”
“You deal in rare books, do you?”
Magdalene racked her brain for any recollection such a shop. Quintas & Rivett had no reputation as a dealer in rare manuscripts else she would have heard of it.
“If the subject matter is suitable, we might. In the main, however, books are not an area of interest for me. My customers had rather see what is gruesome and bloody. Relics of the saints. Mummies and bones. I’ve sold my share of nooses to a certain lord. Burial shrouds of infamous murderers, begging your pardon, ma’am. I don’t mean to frighten you.”
She let out a breath. “I am not frightened, sir.”
“Stories of the macabre and tales of the depraved sell quite well.”
“May I ask how you came to contact me about the Dukes?” Daunt asked.
To her left, a flash of light caught her eye. She looked, but all she saw was the flowered wallpaper and the closed door to the adjoining room. A glance at the window provided no explanation for the shift in light. There were no clouds to cause the light to change. How odd.
“I bought a shipment in Florence, you see,” Rivett was saying. “When it arrived at Noncet Close at last, these books”—he patted the leather case—“had been included. I thought they were interesting, though not for customers of Quintas & Rivett. I made some inquiries, and it happened that two of the men I spoke to mentioned you were looking for one of these books.”
“Oh?” Daunt said.
The flash to her left distracted her again. She looked again. The keyhole was dark; there must be a key on the other side.
“Here now, I’ll mangle the title, for it’s not in English. Terra Cotta Fablosia or some such thing.”
Magdalene sat up, and Daunt said, “De Terris Fabulosis?”
“That sounds more like it.” He nodded to himself. “Is that the book you’ve been searching for?”
“I confess, Mr. Rivett, I am astonished that none of the men you spoke to offered to buy it.”
“Oh, but they did. Every blessed one of them. I thought to myself, if these men offer me good coin sight unseen, what might your lordship offer?” Rivett placed the leather case on the table, his hands resting lightly on top. “I warn you, though, I’m not inclined to sell just the one. They came as a set of four.”
“I shall represent to you that it is a certainty that two of those volumes are not genuine.”
Magdalene stood to take a closer look at the interior door. Indeed, the keyhole was dark, but there was a very peculiar sense of motion. She stayed to one side and bent to have a look, but there was nothing, now. Had she imagined there had been? There was movement and then what was unquestionably someone’s eye.
“That said, in the matter of rare books,” Daunt was saying, “I prefer forgeries and copies are removed from commerce. Less confusion for the serious collector and less chance for the new or inexperienced collector to find they’ve paid good money for a bad product.”
Rivett’s eyebrows shot up. “I make no representations about the books except that they were shipped to me from Florence. Others have said they might have value and that you are looking for one of them.”
“Did your experts authenticate these books?”
“No, milord. I merely described what I received.” He tapped the leather case. “Collectors always surprise you with what they find interesting and valuable.” He smiled. “I’ve made a good living from the fact, milord. Some book smaller than your hand, and there’s a fellow somewhere who’d sell his own mother to have it. A figurine that looks like nothing, yet someone pays a hundred pounds for it without blinking. These books, I can see why someone would be interested. They’re colorful, and if nothing else, there’s value in the gilt and silver.”
“There’s gilt?”
“It’s why I asked around. Pictures like that, all colorful, and there’s someone, somewhere, willing to pay ready money.”
There was no possibility of the set being genuine, but nevertheless, excitement stirred in the pit of her stomach. At least two of those books could be genuine, after all. And if Rivett was wrong about what he had, the books might be something else of interest.
“May I see them?” He held out his hand, and Rivett handed over the case. “Did they arrive in this case?”
“No, milord. But I’m willing to sell you the case too, if you’re interested.”
Daunt chuckled and handed the case to her. “Would you do the honors?”
Based on the Dukes they’d already found, the case was approximately the size required to hold four such volumes. She glanced at the door and saw another shift in the light from the keyhole. She slid the books free of the container Mr. Rivett had put them in.
“They are the right size.” They’d come out upside down, but it was instantly obvious these were not in original condition. They were each bound in leather, not red velvet. She turned over the topmost one and examined the binding. “The workmanship is exemplary, meticulous, even.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Rivett smile.
“Go on, my dear,” Daunt said.
Magdalene opened the volume and was obliged to hold back a snort. The pages were a heavy-grade cotton rag dyed to approximate the color of vellum. No one with any expertise in such manuscripts would be fooled for a moment. Her initial impression was that these were meant to be copies. She agreed with Daunt. Even a copy of a Duke was interesting, but it was best to have them all in the possession of an honest expert.
Other than the materials, the similarities between this and the Dukes they had already found were striking. The frontispiece was lettered in the same style, with the primary title, Liber Ducis de Scientia, and the title of this volume, De Motibus Humanis, matched that of the two genuine Dukes. This struck her as an improbable coincidence, unless whoever had created the copy had, indeed, seen at least one of the originals. The illuminations on the interior pages were lovely, colorful, precise, and, at times, piquantly amusing. “Exquisite,” she said, with true appreciation of the work that had gone into creating this copy. “Truly, this is artistry.”
Rivett’s smile turned to a grin. “Did I not tell you they were pretty?”
“Such meticulous work.” She picked up the second. “One can imagine a scribe with his pots of ink and pens bent over the pages long into the night.”
“Which volume is that?” Daunt asked. He’d planted himself in line with the door such that from where he stood, he could see only that four volumes were before her.
“De Motibus, my lord. Someone spent hours, nay, days, creating this.”
“In your considered opinion, are they genuine?” Rivett asked.
She put down the book. “I am sorry to say that this one is not.”
“Well, now, that’s a disappointment. What about the others? Have a look at Terra Cotta. That’s the one his lordship is interested in, and if you ask me, it’s the prettiest of the four.”
Daunt sighed and picked up De Motibus. He paged through it, taking care not to bend pages. “As forgeries go, this is quite good.”
“We do not know that it is a forgery, per se.”
“Point taken.”
Magdalene looked at the next one. De Scientia Naturae Rerum was another meticulous copy. The content was not immediately recognizable to her as some other text, and the subject matter did address the natural world, though she still did not doubt this was a historical text presented as if it were a Duke. “If he’d used vellum, I think this one might have fooled many an experienced collector.” She took the next book from the stack and opened it. “De Medicine Arcana.”
She opened to a page of meticulous italic script. The drawings and illuminations were equally deft. The colors were a bit too bright, and the paper was, well, paper, rather than vellum, but someone had worked quite hard at achieving the correct color. “The work here is really lovely. I wish I knew who did this.”
Daunt withdrew two notes from his wallet and put them on the table with his forefingers holding them firmly down. “Twenty pounds for the four of them, taken permanently out of circulation.”
Magdalene looked at the door, and again, there was another shift in light. This time, she was convinced there was someone on the other side of that door.
Meanwhile, Mr. Rivett eyed the bills. He took the near ends between thumb and forefinger. “I won’t say as I’m not disappointed, milord, but twenty pounds in my pockets that weren’t there this morning is a fine thing.” Daunt lifted his hand, and Rivett took the money. “I’ll be on my way, then.”
“If ever you come across a book you think would interest me, please contact me. It’s been a pleasure.”
Rivett bowed once. “I’ll do that.”
When Rivett was gone, Magdalene put a finger across her lips and walked to one side of the door. She pointed at the door and then at Daunt and mimed opening it. “My lord. He believed us when we said his books were not genuine.”
Daunt held her gaze and said, “My darling Magdalene, you were impressively clever. He’ll never know the truth.”
Her heart turned over in a most peculiar fashion. The endearment, the way he looked at her, his trust in her broke through the wall she had put around her heart. Before she could begin to understand what that meant for her, he opened the door in one smooth motion.
“Oh!” A woman tumbled to the floor with a thump. She had blond hair and, if that weren’t enough, she recognized her perfume.
“Mrs. Taylor?” Magdalene closed the door firmly, while Daunt extended a hand to the woman and helped her to her feet. He maintained a firm grip on her arm. With her free hand, Mrs. Taylor brushed off her skirt. Her lower right arm was bandaged, and there was a small spot of red blooming on the linen wrap.
“Identify yourself,” Daunt said.
“That is Mrs. Taylor, my lord.”
He studied the woman and shook his head. “I’ve never seen you before in my life. Again, I say, identify yourself.”
“Why should I tell you anything?” She attempted to free her arm of Daunt’s grip. “You’re hurting me.”
“To avoid jail?” he said.
Mrs. Taylor, or whoever she was, blanched.
“Would you mind telling us what happened to your arm?” Magdalene said.
“Nothing.”
“Madam, it behooves you to be forthcoming with us. Accession Day is concluded. Had you been admitted via the front door as would any other caller, you would have been announced. Therefore, I must conclude that you are not here by permission. The authorities frown on trespassers and sneak thieves.”
Mrs. Taylor pressed her lips firmly together.
“The Chinese dragon,” Magdalene said.
Mrs. Taylor said, “What do you know about that?”
“Enough to infer more than a few things. When my husband examined De Terris Fabulosis, he translated one passage, a text describing an exquisite Chinese dragon carved from jade and guarded, it was said, by two real fire-breathing dragons. He did not, as I suspect you know, have the opportunity to translate the portion that described where one might find the dragon.”
Daunt lifted his eyebrows.
“It is the best of the alternate explanations for her interest in De Terris Fabulosis,” Magdalene said in a gentle voice. “She is no bibliophile at all. She collects artifacts from China.” She returned to the last of Mr. Rivett’s Dukes. “Am I correct, Mrs. Taylor?”
“You’re mad, both of you. I was here for your celebration, I admit that. I meant to leave, but I became lost.”
Daunt leaned over her and said, “What is your connection to the late Lord Verney?”
She pressed her lips together again, then burst out with, “He stole from my father. Papa collected items from China, but he soon became enamored of genuine Chinese items. From the very earliest age, I assisted him. He’d read Mr. Carter’s translation, and he wanted to find that jade dragon too. He prepared to travel to China.”
“On the basis of a book written nearly four hundred years ago?” Daunt said.
“He was obsessed. To finance the trip, he arranged to sell some of his collection to Lord Verney. His lordship took the pieces and then refused to pay. In fact, he denied he’d ever seen them. Six months later, Papa was dead of a broken heart.”
“What were those items?” Daunt asked. “If you could describe them in particular, that would be most helpful.”
“A pair of vases painted with dragons. About this high.” She indicated with her hands as best she could, given that Daunt still restrained her. “They are green. There are two dragons painted on each vase. The third is a jade dragon. About the size of your hand. The tail curls up and over its head, and there is smoke coming from its nostrils. One clawed foot is lifted.”
Daunt took a step back and released Mrs. Taylor’s arm. Magdalene nodded, for she knew exactly what he was thinking, and she agreed, wholeheartedly. “Mrs. Taylor,” he said. “I cannot condone your actions here. You have been foolish and foolhardy. Magdalene, would you call for Gomes, please?”
She did so, and when the servant arrived, Daunt gave the necessary instructions. They waited in silence for Gomes to return with the carefully packed crate. Gomes glared at Mrs. Taylor when he put down the crate then withdrew in an equally stony silence.
Mrs. Taylor burst into tears when Daunt opened the crate and took out the first of the two vases. “Oh, oh, Papa.”
He placed the other beside it and then withdrew the jade dragon. Her tears continued. Without comment, he handed Mrs. Taylor his handkerchief.
Once her tears abated, she approached the table slowly. “May I?”
“You may,” Daunt said.
She picked up the dragon. “I thought I’d never see them again.”
“You may have them, on one condition.”
“What?”
“That you swear on your father’s honor and your immortal soul that you shall never again attempt to deceive anyone nor steal from them.”
She hugged the dragon to her. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
“Do you so promise?”
“I do. I do, my lord.”
Magdalene herself was close to tears. The gesture was everything that was superior about Daunt.
Mrs. Taylor turned her tearful face to her and said, “I am sorry for deceiving you. I apologize to you for that. My lord, I judged you as no better than Lord Verney. I was wrong, and I apologize.”
“But why,” Magdalene asked, “did you want De Terris Fabulosis? Surely you do not intend to travel to China yourself?”
She wiped her eyes. “Lord Verney bragged to my father that he knew the location of the jade dragon. How could he have known that unless he had the book himself or Mr. Carter had shown it to him? When I learned that Lord Daunt had acquired Lord Verney’s library, I thought it was my only chance. I hoped that if I found that benighted book, I might also find the items he stole from my father.”
“You may go, Mrs. Taylor,” Daunt said. “And please do not be offended if I tell you I hope never to see you again.”
“None taken,” she said, still tearful.
When Mrs. Taylor was gone with the crate and its carefully packed items, Magdalene walked to the table. “What an absolutely extraordinary day.”
“Indeed, my love.” He picked up De Motibus and opened it. “I wonder if we have the necessary ingredients for a love potion.”
“I should like to see a real dragon. I wonder if Fabulosis gives a location for the dragon that we could find today.”
“There is but one way to find out,” Daunt said with a nod at the remaining volumes.
“Would you travel all the way to China?” she asked.
“For a book, yes. For any other treasure, unlikely.”
She picked up the last Duke. De Terris Fabulosis was different enough from the others that her pulse skipped a beat. Like the others, the binding was leather, but were those smudges at the top of the pages remnants of red fabric? With her heart beating hard, she opened the book. The pages were vellum, not paper. The pigments of the illustrations were gorgeous and precisely the hue and saturation one expected. Some pages glittered with silver and gilt. “My lord.”
“Have you found the passage Angus translated?” he asked.
Magdalene held the book tightly against her chest. “Daunt.” She could scarcely speak. “I am shaking again.”
“What is it?”
“Daunt, this one is genuine.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Fabulosis is a genuine Duke.”