The Book of Hours (26 page)
T
OGETHER
B
RIAN AND
C
ECILIA RUSHED DOWNSTAIRS
, where a knock on the ground-floor apartment door produced a very irate Gladys. Cecilia began, “I know it's earlyâ”
“It most certainly is,” Gladys declared, planting fists upon her hips. “It's barely gone seven!”
“I'm so sorry. But this is important.”
“And so is a man of Arthur's age having a proper rest and a decent breakfast!”
“Could we . . . Are you saying Arthur's not here?”
“That silly old codger left ages ago! I didn't half give him a piece of my mind, let me tell you. Him rising at the crack of dawn, calling the vicar, the two of them shouting over some nonsense or another. Another call, somebody from Arthur's regiment, I didn't catch the name, I was too upset. Then off they go, headed for London of all places.” She shook a finger in Brian's face. “This will not do, sir. Not do at all!”
“I didn't have anything to do with it,” Brian protested.
“You most certainly did! Yourâ”
“We're so sorry to have disturbed you.” Cecilia grabbed Brian's arm. “We'll stop by later.”
The door slammed shut with a power to rattle the front windows. Cecilia said to Brian, “I guess we'll have to do this on our own.”
Together they descended into the basement. The vast chamber and its assortment of dusty beasts looked very daunting. There was no heat, and somehow the chamber seemed even colder than out-of-doors.
Brian said, “We'll have to search the walls, I guess.”
“On our knees,” Cecilia glumly agreed. “Look for something low.”
But two hours of grubby searching produced nothing but two pairs of cold, sore knees and a number of very loud sneezes. Finally, Cecilia announced with guilty relief, “I have to go to the clinic.”
“First you'll need a shower,” Brian said, rising and stretching and walking over. He rubbed his hands together, sneezed powerfully, then added, “So do I.”
“You look like a dirty snowman,” Cecilia observed. “Stop by and I'll give you a surgical mask. That will keep the worst of the dust at bay.”
“And some goggles,” Brian added. “I feel like clawing out my eyes.”
They climbed the stairs, weary and resigned. At the front door, Cecilia took a deep breath of fresh air and said, “The others might have an idea of something we've missed.”
“At least we've found another clue,” Brian agreed. He took a step closer, then added, “You're a good friend, Cecilia. The best.”
She started down the stairs, saying over her shoulder, “I'll come back at lunchtime, and don't you dare forget to come get me at the clinic if you find something exciting.” She crossed the lawn, not minding in the least that she must have looked very foolish, smiling a filthy, dirty greeting to the frigid dawn.
Brian was finishing an early lunch when he was drawn downstairs by the tinkling of the front doorbell. Gladys appeared in her doorway long enough to make sure that it was not Arthur returning, then slammed her door so loudly it resounded through the front hall like cannon fire.
The bespectacled little antique dealer looked nervously about as he said in greeting, “Great heavens above, what on earth was that?”
“Nothing serious. Nice to see you, Mr. Miles.” But the warmth of his greeting was tempered by the sight of Joe Eaves standing on the next stair down. “Did you find a buyer for my glass?”
“I did indeed.” He adjusted his spectacles to another odd angle, reached into his pocket, and offered Brian a pen and paper. “Sign here, please.”
Brian inspected the figures and exclaimed, “Nine hundred pounds!”
“I did rather well on our mutual behalf, if I do say so myself.”
“This is fantastic.”
“Quite.” The dealer accepted the paper back and inspected the signature before stuffing it in his pocket and drawing out an impressive roll of bills. “Here you are, the remaining four hundred quid. Naturally you are welcome to count it.”
“I'm sure it's all there.” The money made a comforting bulge in his pocket. “I don't know how to thank you.”
“That's very simple, actually. Allow me to have more of that excellent glassware.”
Yet as Joe stepped up to join the eager dealer, Brian found himself reluctant to allow the men entry. “I'm not sure I want to go that route yet.”
“But I thought you told me there was more.”
“There certainly is.”
“I've heard about the village that you're on the verge of losing the place.”
“That's right. I am.”
“Then there's not a moment to waste!”
But there was something about the way that Joe Eaves crowded forward, or perhaps the way he seemed to mock Brian with his easy smile. Or maybe it was just the memory of him and Cecilia. Whatever the reason, Brian said, “Just the same, we're going to have to wait on that one.”
“But . . . But . . .” John Miles's hands fluttered about, touching his glasses, his skewed tie, his frayed collar. “I've already arranged for Joe here to help cart the articles back to the store!”
“I'll give you a call if I change my mind,” Brian said, closing the door on the little man's protests. He reclimbed the stairs, feeling illogically pleased with his decision. The house and its contents and its secrets might not be his for much longer, but they were his just the same.
Cecilia spent most of her lunch break completing paperwork she had planned to do that morning, then she rushed down to the market for a sandwich. As she crossed the central square to return to the clinic, she spotted four figures standing in front of the charity shop, peering through the front window. But it was not a group of young girls this time, though they seemed to share the same strained excitement. She walked over and said, “Arthur, what on earth?”
“My dear, this is positively marvelous!” Arthur waved a hand toward a pair of dark-suited gentlemen standing between him and a grinning Trevor. Proudly he proclaimed, “May I have the pleasure of introducing Percival Atkins and his associate, Gerald Frost. Gentlemen, this is the famous village doctor I was telling you about, Cecilia Lyons.”
The older gentleman was as polished and smooth as money could make. He gave a fraction of a bow and said, “Charmed, I'm sure.”
“Percy was a member of my regiment, back when His Majesty had need of such wastrels and was willing to prod them into service with the sharp point of a saber.”
“I say, Arthur, that's rather harsh.” The man had eyes the color of a winter meadow, palest hazel and clear as glass. “He's never forgiven me for waiting to be called up.”
“He was drafted; I believe that's the term you Yanks use,” Arthur said cheerfully. “Not that he wasn't brave when push came to shove. He simply held to an odd notion that he'd rather stay at Cambridge than fight for king and country. Percy always was one for poking about dusty tomes and sorting stuff from other people's attics.”
“Never mind all that,” Trevor said. The vicar was almost dancing in place with impatience. “Tell Cecilia what you've found!”
“Ah, yes. Well, this is all rather thrilling.” Percy turned back to the display and the brass-rimmed apparatus on the window's other side. He motioned to the man peering through the window and said, “Gerald here is our in-house specialist on antique scientific instrumentation.”
The young man was beside himself with excitement. “Could I possibly get into the shop and have a closer look?”
“Percival is one of the directors at Christie's Auction House,” Trevor explained. “Arthur and I drove into London this morning with a Polaroid I snapped of the contraption. That's why they're here.”
“I'll let you in there when you've told our young lady friend what it is you think we have on our hands,” Arthur told the young man, then explained to Cecilia, “Stroke of genius, really, if I do say so myself. It occurred to me in the depths of night that if Heather failed to leave us another clue, it was because she had something rather special in store right here.”
“But she did,” Cecilia interjected.
“Did what?”
“Leave another riddle. Brian found it at dawn.”
“I beg your pardon,” Percival interrupted. “Who is Heather?”
“Never mind that,” Arthur snapped. “What did you find?”
“Nothing. A lot of dust.” She waved her hands in impatience. “What is it you've discovered?”
“Go on then, Gerald,” Percival said. “I suppose you might as well tell them what you suspect.”
“It's rather stronger than that.” The young man was caught up in the thrill of discovery. “I am fairly certain what we have here is a very rare example of a medieval vacuum pump.”
“Ether extractors, they were called,” Percy explained. “The philosophers of that day were determined to draw out the invisible matter they called ether, and in so doing come to understand the basic workings of the imperceptible universe.”
Cecilia protested, “But we were told it was Victorian glass!”
Percy and the young man exchanged a glance. “By whom?”
“A local antique dealer.”
“Well, all I can say,” Percy replied, “is that you are very lucky you didn't give him anything.”
“But we did!”
For the first time Percy's aplomb was shaken. “You don't mean to tell me there's more.”
“A whole room full!” Arthur announced with pride.
“A room?” The young man looked stunned. “Of glass like this?”
Cecilia demanded, “How much is it worth?”
Percy resumed the measured tones of a cultured auctioneer. “Hard to say, really. First we must establish the piece's provenance and see if we can determine who actually made it.”
“Never mind that twaddle!” Arthur gripped the arm of Percy's suit. “Give us a figure!”
“Arty, really, this suit is Savile Row's finest and you're wrinkling my sleeve.” Percy escaped Arthur's grip, then said to Cecilia, “I would estimate somewhere in the neighborhood of ten thousand pounds.”
But Cecilia was already moving back across the market square. Trevor called, “Where are you going?”
She continued to gather speed, calling back,“I've got to warn Brian!”
By the time she passed through the manor gates,Trevor and the young auctioneer had caught up with her. Arthur and Percy's protests rose from the distance as they scooted down the gravel path, pounded up the front stairs, crossed the hall, and climbed the main staircase. By the time they arrived at the landing, Brian was already in his doorway and demanding, “What's going on?”
Cecilia puffed through two hard breaths, then gasped, “Do you still have the glass?”
“The stuff in Alex's study? The antique dealer came by for more, butâ”
“Don't give him a thing!”
“I didn't.” Brian watched in astonishment as Arthur and Percy wheezed their way up the staircase. “Are you all right?”
“Never had any idea riddles could be so exhausting,” Arthur huffed.
Percy whipped an immaculate handkerchief from his lapel pocket and dabbed at his forehead. “What riddles are these?”
“Never mind that,” Trevor said, then demanded of Brian, “Do you still have the devices?”
“I just said so.”
“My dear sir,” Percy said, stuffing his handkerchief away and stepping forward. “Could we please trouble you for a look?”
The sight of the secret chamber and its contents rendered the two auctioneers speechless. As they walked dumbfounded about the windowless cubicle, Cecilia and Trevor explained to Brian who they were and how they came to be here.
Brian looked in utter astonishment from one face to the next.
“Ten thousand pounds?”
“Possibly more.” Percival completed his tour and halted in front of Brian. “Would you permit us to photograph this room just as it is?”
“I guess so. Butâ”
Gladys chose that moment to pop through the tunnel opening. She spotted Arthur and cried, “There you are! Shame on you!”
“Gladys, please, we have guests.”
“Never mind that!” She brushed at her skirt and stalked over to glare up at her husband. “Where on earth have you been?”
“London. My dear, this isâ”
“I don't care if he's the queen's own messenger! You have no business tearing about the country like this. Really,Arthur, a man of your age should have better sense.”
“It is all my fault, and I offer you my most abject apologies.” Percy stepped forward and offered Gladys his hand. “Percy Atkins. You may not remember me, but we actually met at several of the regimental balls.”
She eyed the hand as she would a rotten mackerel. “Then you should have more sense as well.”
“My dear, it appears that Brian has stumbled upon something of genuine value. The articles you see before you hereâ”
“Not all of them,” Gerald interjected from the chamber's far corner. “Most are exactly what the antique dealer told you. Victorian glass. But several others are quite unique.” He lifted what appeared to be a brass fan and opened it out entirely. “Take this, for instance.”
“Oh my, yes,” Percy murmured. “Quite remarkable indeed.”
Gladys looked from one suited stranger to the other. “Arthur, what on earth are they going on about?”
“Money, my dear,” Arthur replied.
“This appears to be a gilt-brass proportional instrument.” The young man drew it closer, squinted, and continued, “Yes, you can see here the Latin inscriptions, âlinea tetragonica, linea subtensarum, linea circu-laris.'” He looked up and explained, “It is one of the earliest models for calculating spatial relationships. Early seventeenth-century, probably Dutch in origin. They were the best at this sort of thing, and this is quite a remarkable piece.”