Angus again claimed that until he opened the long-closed trunk, he didn’t think he’d ever seen the book, that his grandfather had read him the stories from contemporary copies, not anything remotely monetarily valuable.
Though this copy was an old reprint, it was still a first edition, and it was pristine. Perhaps it was in the shape it was because it had been well preserved in a trunk for twenty years. That might have explained it.
However, I was having a hard time with all of it, even though it seemed everyone was doing the right thing. I couldn’t pinpoint what was bothering me so much. Maybe a bookish voice could tell me, but I didn’t want my attention to veer away from the current discussion.
“I’m a bit of an annoyance when it comes to the King Arthur stories,” Edwin said. “Aye, Malory created the original, but very few of us have taken a look at those centuries-old versions. They’re available to read online nowadays, but so long ago, writing was different. Misspelled words, no punctuation—a real mess when compared with contemporary writing. I give a lot of credit tae the editors, printers, publishers who polished and reprinted the stories, as well as Pyle, who wrote the stories most of us know today. Other writers have contributed stories too.”
“Are you and Delaney saying that an editor and other writers should get every ounce of credit for the stories, not Malory at all?” Angus asked.
“Well, they were originally conceived in Malory’s imagination as far as we can tell, unless he was just recounting history as he knew it.” Edwin’s eyes twinkled.
“You believe there was a real Arthur?” Angus asked.
Edwin laughed. “I don’t have a strong opinion either way, but I do like tae think about it, imagine maybe. And it was editors. There was more than one. This is William Stansby’s edition. William Caxton was in there along the way too. I believe there was a Chalmers, and, of course, the Winchester manuscript.”
We all looked at him.
“Aye. In the earlier part of the twentieth century, a manuscript of the work was found in Winchester, England, a rumored site for Camelot itself. In fact, there’s a round tabletop now mounted on the wall of the great hall at the Winchester castle, painted with the knights’ names.”
“Really?” I said.
“Aye. But it’s only something Henry VIII commissioned tae be created. Although, if old Henry’s son had lived, he would have been a King Arthur.” Edwin smiled again. “Besides, the original table in the stories was made to seat one hundred and fifty men. The reproduction in Winchester is much smaller than the genuine one would have been. If there really had been a genuine one.”
For a brief instant, I saw the boy Edwin had once been, but he was gone just as quickly. That had happened a few times over the last year.
“Do you like the stories?” I asked him.
“Oh, aye,” he said. “No matter who wrote them.”
“You do, in fact, believe there was a King Arthur, don’t you?”
“I believe there is much we don’t know.”
Angus added, “The stories seem too big and put Arthur in too many places at once to think he was real. I think what most fascinated my grandfather, and in turn, me, was what could possibly have sparked the stories? Who influenced the world at the time, even if we didn’t quite understand what time in history they were actually being written in, in such a big way that the stories even came to someone? Much mystery there.”
I nodded as a notion came to me abruptly. “Oh. Are you here to search for the grail?”
Angus smiled again. “No, in fact I’m not. I am however considering a trip to Winchester now. Sounds mighty fine, the tabletop on a castle wall and everything.”
“There are a number of possible locations for Camelot,” Hamlet piped up and then looked at me. “You considered one for the wedding. Arthur’s Seat.”
“Really? I didn’t know.”
“Arthur’s Seat?” Angus asked.
“It’s a popular hike.” Hamlet nodded toward the correct direction. “The hills up from Holyrood Park. Arthur’s Seat is the main peak. There’s a beautiful view of the city from up top.”
“I’ll have to check that out too.” He turned to me. “You’re getting married?”
I kept expecting to hear him say “little lady” at the end of his sentences. It wasn’t just the accent; there was a tone to his voice reminiscent of the movie star John Wayne.
“Yes, but the hike seemed too much to ask of the guests,” I said.
“She means me,” Rosie said.
“Not just you.” I smiled at her.
Aggie, my landlady, had been taken into consideration too, and Tom’s father, Artair, though I was pretty sure he could have handled it. Of the older attendees, Edwin and my parents would have been fine. I didn’t know how Edwin stayed in such good shape, but he could probably beat us all up to the top. My farmer parents were both in great shape, if somewhat weary from their farm lives, and would have made it up without a problem.
“Aye, weel, hiking up there used tae be a fun adventure for me, but that was some time ago,” Rosie said.
“It’s not one of the more popular possible Camelot locations,” Hamlet continued. “But it’s brought up every now and then.”
“I’ll definitely give it a climb.” Angus looked at me. “Where did you decide to have the big event?”
I was uncomfortable talking about my wedding right then, but I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because I’d kept it such a small, personal event and his questions made him seem like an interloper. I was glad when Rosie answered for me.
“Right where the wedding belongs,” she said. “Here, of course.”
“That’s a great idea,” he said. “This place is mighty magnificent!”
“I agree,” Rosie said, but she changed the subject back around. “Edwin, what are we going tae do about this book?”
He hadn’t mentioned calling the police. I didn’t think the police needed to be called either, but I was surprised by my boss’s casual attitude about it all.
“I don’t know,” Edwin said. He looked at Angus. “Something makes me think the book should be yours. I wish I remembered the circumstances around it; I wish I’d known your grandfather. There’s something about him having it for so many years that makes me think you should have it now.”
“Oh, no, Mr. MacAlister. I won’t be leaving with that book. It’s yours, and I don’t want it in my possession any longer. It’s too much responsibility,” Angus said. “I’m only staying put in this chair right now in case you want to call anyone and file charges. Besides it was raining cats and cows out there. I’d’ve just dropped it off or mailed it if I didn’t want to make sure you felt everything had been paid up. Somehow, there’s got to be some payback with interest involved. Know what I mean?”
“I do, young man, but … well, will you be in Edinburgh for a while?” Edwin asked. “Not for any sort of fence mending, mind, but just in case I’d like tae talk tae you about it. I’d like tae try tae remember your grandfather and tell you that story. Sometimes if I let things sit a while, I do remember.”
“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”
I’d been trying to judge Angus’s age since he first mentioned that he hadn’t opened the trunk for twenty years. Suddenly, he looked older than I’d originally thought.
“How old were you when your grandfather died?” I asked.
“Twenty-six,” he said. “A full-grown man, but we were tight, he and I. I will miss him always, I expect.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Me too,” Edwin said.
Rosie and Hamlet nodded in agreement.
“Thank you, but it has been twenty years. I’ve gotten on with my life, which is as he would have wanted. Finding this book rattled all my cages, you know, but I have been living life.”
“Let me think about it,” Edwin said again. “Maybe I’ll remember something useful—tae me and tae you.”
“I’d rightly appreciate that.” Angus slappe
d his own thighs, the sound making us all jump. “Alrighty, then, I’ll be on my way. It sounds like there’s a break in the rain.” He stood and reached into his back pocket and handed Edwin a piece of paper with some handwriting on it. “Here’s my number. My cell is on there, and I bought a UK SIM card when I got here. Feel free to contact me at any time. I’ll be in the country another week or so.”
Hamlet and I stood too. Rosie, with Hector on her lap, remained seated.
With his typical grace and good manners, Edwin escorted the man whose grandfather had stolen one of his most valuable books to the door and bid him a polite and proper farewell. I tagged along because it felt like the right thing to do.
After Angus shook Edwin’s hand and thanked him, he took my hand and held it with both of his.
“You are one of our American beauties,” he said. “Congratulations to your fiancé. The rest of us will have to regret we didn’t meet you first.”
His words disarmed me. They felt over the top and I wondered if he was being too sincere or sarcastic. Then, I remembered where he was from. Texas charm is a real thing.
“It was a pleasure to meet you,” I said, my best polite-self keeping my response short and simple.
Once Angus was gone, Edwin and I rejoined Rosie and Hamlet.
“Edwin,” Rosie said first, “I don’t remember a thing.”
“Aye?”
“Do you?” Hamlet asked him.
“Do you remember either the grandfather or the book, or maybe both?” I asked.
“No, not clearly, at least. I’d like tae think about it, see if anything comes back tae me, and then figure out the best approach. I have … a recollection of a book, but as time will sometimes do, the book I’m remembering isn’t exactly this book.” He looked at the rare tome still on the table. “Something’s off, but I’m not sure exactly what.”
“It’s all very unbelievable,” I said.
Edwin looked at me with more focus now. “Get caught out in the rain earlier?”
I put my hand up to the hat. “I did.”
“The hat is charming,” he said.
Rosie laughed. “We’ve some decorations tae talk about, Delaney. What do ye want tae do with the book, Edwin?”
“I think I’ll take this one home with me,” Edwin said, though his mind seemed a million miles away. He looked at me again. “Tomorrow, we have an appointment. Will you be available in the afternoon?”
“Of course.” I’d learned not to ask more specifics unless we were alone, but I guessed we probably had an auction to attend. Though Rosie and Hamlet knew about the auctions, they didn’t know, didn’t want to know, all the details. Fleshmarket Batch, the group named after one of Edinburgh’s more well-known closes, or alleys, was made up of a secretive bunch of very rich people. Rosie had enough on her plate managing the bookshop and Edwin’s finances, and Hamlet didn’t want details about anyone’s money.
Without needing instruction, Hamlet grabbed a bag from a back shelf and put the book into it. He folded it over the top and handed it back to our distracted boss.
“Right. Thank you, lad.” Edwin took the bag with the book. “I’ll be off for now, but tomorrow, Delaney, all right?”
“I’ll be here,” I said, but Edwin wasn’t looking at me; his attention was focused on the bag. I looked at Rosie, who was also watching Edwin.
We all watched as our boss left and then the three of us shared inquisitive looks.
“It’s probably the book, that’s all,” Rosie said.
“Probably,” I said.
“I don’t know,” Hamlet said in rare dissention.
We might have asked him more about what he thought the cause of Edwin’s distraction was, but just then Hector sent out a tiny bark in support of Hamlet. We laughed, and the tension dissipated.
I would ask Edwin for more details tomorrow. Though we didn’t have many secrets at The Cracked Spine, he seemed to have many himself, but he was sharing them with me bit by bit. And, he tended to prefer one-on-one conversations to group discussions.
I stepped around the table and looked out the front window. Neither Angus nor Edwin was in sight, and the rain had stopped. The sun peeked hesitantly from behind some clouds, giving a glimmer to the rain-soaked Grassmarket.
I hadn’t had a chance to mention Norval Fraser, but King Arthur had trumped the Loch Ness Monster, at least for now. One crazy myth at a time.
Unease rattled inside me, but I couldn’t place why. No bookish voices were talking, but something was off. It could have been my family’s delayed flight, or the strange meeting with Norval Fraser, or the other strange meeting with Angus Murdoch. It could have been all of it.
Maybe it was just an uneasy kind of day.
I would put my focus on the wedding. That would surely get things back in line.
EIGHT
“Are you sure Aggie wants to do that?” I asked Elias as he steered the cab toward The Cracked Spine.
“Aye, lass, she was upset that ye hadnae asked her. I had tae convince her ye were just trying tae be polite. Ye need tae quit being so polite. It will be the death of me.”
“But baking a wedding cake is so much work,” I said. I had planned to order cupcakes from the bakery next to the bookshop. It was such a small wedding, with only family and the closest of friends. We were having dinner catered at the pub and I thought pretty cupcakes would serve the purpose. But I really should have known better.
My almost accidental landlords, Elias and Aggie McKenna, had become family just as much as everyone at the bookshop had. Elias and his cab had been outside the airport when I’d first landed in Edinburgh. I’d been drawn to him and, again, my intuition had proved to be on target. He and his wife, Aggie, had conveniently not only had guesthouses that they rented out but an extra cottage they could spare for me to live in for a ridiculously low rent. I loved my cottage. I loved my landlords, even if they were sometimes a wee bit overprotective. I didn’t consider my meeting them a complete accident only because of that intuitive pull I’d felt toward them. It had been meant to be, and, of course, Aggie would feel slighted that I hadn’t involved her in the wedding, thought to ask her to bake a cake.
“Lass, baking a wedding cake is also an honor. Particularly for Aggie. How do ye not ken that?”
Frustration pulled his voice into a tight wire. I tried not to smile with affection at him as I put my hand on his arm.
“I would love for Aggie to make the wedding cake. And it would be my honor to have her do it. Should I call her right now?”
Relief relaxed his furrowed brow. “No. Ring her this afternoon. She’s cleaning the guesthooses this morning. She’ll be thrilled tae the gills.”
“Not as thrilled as I am, Elias. Truly.”
“Good. Oh, aye?” he said as he pulled onto the narrow street in front of the bookshop. It was early, too early for my coworkers to be at work. The bakery nearby started baking at four o’clock, so its lights were on, but the other businesses on the short street, The Cracked Spine included, were dark. I’d wanted to get some work done before Edwin and I left for the appointment he’d mentioned the day before. As I’d walked out of my cottage and toward the bus stop, Elias had burst from his cottage with coffee mug in hand and told me he would drive me in this morning. He was fully dressed and shaved, so eventually I deduced he’d been waiting for me so we could talk about the cake.
The sun rose about five a.m. in July in Edinburgh, and set around nine thirty at night. I’d become used to going to bed when there was some lingering light outside. Often, I went to bed early when Tom worked late. I liked getting up extra early and getting to work, so Tom and I could fit in some time together in the afternoons. It was only five thirty by the time Elias turned into Grassmarket, but the sun was on its way up, and the clouds were few and far between, for now.
I followed Elias’s line of vision to the bookshop’s front doors. I blinked twice and wondered if I was seeing what, or who, I thought I was seeing in the dawn’s leftov
er gloom.
I decided I was. Norval Fraser was there. He paced in a small circle and worried his hands together.
“Oh dear,” I said. “I’d better talk to him.”
“I’ll come with you,” Elias said.
I wouldn’t have been able to talk Elias out of joining me even if I’d wanted to, and I didn’t want to. Norval was mostly a stranger, and his great-nephew had been correct about him being eccentric, even if he’d seemed sweet and harmless too.
Elias parked the cab quickly. We both hopped out and approached the pacing man.
“Hello, Norval,” I said as I tried to catch his attention. He was talking to himself, and his eyes were glazed as they darted everywhere but at me.
I looked at Elias as he sidled up next to me. I nodded and then put my hand on Norval’s arm. He yanked it away.
“Easy there,” Elias said. He wedged himself a bit more in between Norval and me. “How can we help ye today?”
“Norval?” I said.
Norval’s eyes popped into focus and he looked at me. “Oh, lass, there ye are. I’ve been waiting for an hour at least.”
“It’s five-thirty in the morning, Norval. The shop still doesn’t open for a while. What can I do for you?”
A frown pulled hard at his mouth as his eyes filled and then spilled over with tears. “Something’s wrong with Gavin, my nephew.”
“What’s wrong?” I said.
“I dinnae ken. He’s not answering his phone.”
I put my hand on his arm. “Should we go inside and try to call him from here?”
“No, no. I want tae … I need tae get tae his flat.”
“Where does he live?”
He sent a westerly nod. “Two blocks that way. I thought of you first thing when I couldnae reach him, lass. If … I mean … I want someone tae take my papers.”
Elias and I looked at each other.
“How about a cuppa or some coffee?” Elias said.
The Loch Ness Papers Page 5
