Page 81 of Impetuous

H. Jones, Book Dealer, was tucked into a small corner of an aging brick building, the color of which had faded into a nondescript mellowness over the years. A bell tinkled over the door as they entered the long, narrow room, made darker by towering shelves of books. A clerk bustled forward, smiling in anticipation, recognizing well-heeled customers.

“May I interest you in a book?”

“Actually, we are trying to find a book which Mr. Jones purchased some twenty years ago. It was my father who sold it, and I would like to get it back into the family. Would it be possible to talk to Mr. Jones himself? I am Sir Philip Neville.”

The clerk, after a closer look at Sir Philip, moved him up even higher in his estimation of wealth and influence. The mention of a title clinched it for him. “Of course. I am sure Mr. Jones would be most honored to talk to you. Let me announce you.”

He led them through the maze of shelves to an office in the rear. Just outside the office, rows of glass-fronted, locked shelves held many old-looking books. The clerk gestured for Philip and Cassandra to wait there while he went into the office. A moment later an old man came out, frowning at them. He was thin and had probably once been tall, but age and a stoop-shouldered posture had shortened him. His hair was thick and white, much like his eyebrows, and the combination of the two gave him a slightly wild look. His dark eyes, however, were sharp and not the least bit wild. There was at the moment a speculative look in them; Cassandra suspected he was trying to figure out how he could make a profit out of the situation.

“Harrington Jones,” he introduced himself shortly, giving both of them a perfunctory bow, and ushered them into his office.

That room was even tinier than Mr. Simons’s office had been, and what space there was was entirely covered by books in all states of disrepair. The old man waved a dismissive hand at the stacks. “Junk, most of it. Here, miss, please sit down.”

He showed her to his chair behind the desk, and he and Philip stood. There was no room to bring in more chairs for his guests.

“How is it that I may help you, sir?”

Philip once again explained that he was looking for a book sold twenty years earlier, describing the book in detail. The old man nodded, saying nothing. There was a knowing look on his face that raised Cassandra’s hopes.

“Of course, there would be a finder’s fee for you if you could help me locate it,” Sir Philip added smoothly.

A gleam in the book dealer’s eye showed his appreciation of Philip’s perspicacity. “Most generous of you, sir.”

After a few minutes’ negotiation, they settled on an appropriate fee, and Harrington Jones began to talk. “I remember the book of which you speak quite well.” He gestured toward the stack of ledgers on the table behind his desk. “I keep records, but the best books I usually store up here.” He tapped his temple with his forefinger. “I don’t recall the initial transaction, but about five years ago the family of the man who bought it brought it to me again. The man had died, and they were liquidating his collection. The Elizabeth prayer book was the gem of the lot. I sold it and one other book to one of my best customers, an avid collector of old and rare books.”

He paused and glanced at Sir Philip. “I have to warn you, sir, in all honesty, that I do not believe that he will want to sell you the book. He is a very wealthy man. His father made a fortune in manufacturing, and it is said that he has doubled it. He is a true connoisseur.”

Sir Philip nodded. “I understand. We would very much like to talk to him, however.”

“His name is Ernest Bigby. I can give you his address, if you would like.”

“Thank you.”

They left the shop a few minutes later, having made Mr. Jones a happier man with a healthy finder’s fee.

“Oh, Philip!” Cassandra exclaimed, barely able to keep from dancing in her excitement. “We’re almost there! I can hardly believe it. But what if he will not sell the book?”

He smiled down at her, unable to resist the glow of enthusiasm on her face. “Then we shall strive to at least get a look at it. I have found that men who collect things usually can’t help showing them off. If we can look at it, perhaps we can find the map and slip it out—provided that it is still there, of course.”

Cassandra’s face fell. “Oh. Do you think it will be gone?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you unhappy. But after all these years, and with it passing through two buyers, as well as Mr. Jones’s store twice, it seems unlikely that anything would have gone undetected.”

“I refuse to think that way. Surely we cannot have traveled all this way and done all this, only to have the map gone forever.”

“If willing it can make it be there, then I am sure it will be.”

Cassandra looked up, catching an expression in Philip’s eyes that took her breath away. He glanced away quickly, and when he turned back to her, his face was shuttered once more, all thoughts and feelings locked away. Cassandra was suddenly cold, the excitement of their find draining away from her.

They returned to Neville House, where Philip sat down and wrote a note to Ernest Bigby, explaining his desire to purchase the Elizabeth prayer book that had once belonged to his family. He sent a footman off with it at once, but after that, there was little to do but wait for Bigby’s reply.

The next few hours passed in an excruciating fashion. Cassandra sat in the drawing room, trying to concentrate on a piece of needlework, which was hardly her favorite occupation to begin with, while Joanna and Aunt Ardis chattered inanely, and Philip sat, arms crossed, silent as the grave. By the time Joanna gaily suggested a shopping expedition, Cassandra jumped on the idea, feeling that anything would be more enjoyable than sitting there.

Much to her amazement, however, Sir Philip insisted on accompanying them. Joanna went upstairs to fetch a bonnet, casting a smirk over her shoulder at Cassandra as she went out the door. Cassandra knew that Joanna would interpret Philip’s presence on the trip as a clear indication that he could not live without Joanna’s company. Cassandra sighed. The shopping expedition would be as bad as the rest of the afternoon had been.

“Why are you going with us?” she snapped at Philip, irritated.

He raised an eyebrow. “You object to my company? In my own carriage?”