Murder in the Reading Room

by Ellery Adams

  “I like that idea,” said Eloise, holding up the offensive book. “This dead tree could create living trees.”

  The two women prepared the books for shipment. After each book was wrapped in tissue, it was then cushioned in white kraft paper and several layers of Bubble Wrap.

  “Isn’t Sotheby’s expecting you to provide documentation on everything you send?” Eloise asked when they were done.

  “I have letters from the original owners to accompany a few. The letters are valuable documents themselves and will undoubtedly be sold as separate lots. As for the rest?” Jane shrugged. “Sotheby’s has experts to determine authenticity. I’m not worried about being unable to provide provenance for every book. Imagine how ashamed you’d be to learn that a relative of yours had owned, or, God forbid, written, that book about the slave trade?”

  “We can’t erase the past. We can only strive to improve the future,” Eloise said. She rested her hands on the shipping box. “Listen to me, waxing philosophical. I should shut up, so I can get back to Jane of Thornfield Hall. You’re so mean—refusing to let me take it home. Especially after all I do for you.”

  Though Jane knew Eloise was teasing, she felt compelled to respond. “You know how valuable that original manuscript is. It has to stay at Storyton Hall until I figure out what to do with it. And you know that I can’t copy it. That would be wrong too.”

  “Just promise that you won’t give it to the Brontë Parsonage Museum until I’m finished reading it, okay?”

  Eloise looked so aggrieved that Jane had to laugh. “I’d never do that to you. In fact, I thought I’d show it to the rest of the Cover Girls at our next meeting.”

  “You mean, at your birthday meeting?”

  Jane waved this off. “I’d rather Jane Austen be the center of attention.”

  Eloise rolled her eyes. “Every year, we read an Austen novel for your birthday meeting. I love these books, you know I do, but one of these years, you should do something different. Surprise us.”

  “I like Austen novels,” Jane protested. “I find them comforting. Besides, it’s like reading a new book every time I revisit them. Not because they’ve changed since I last read the story, but because I have.”

  Eloise shot her an amused glance. “You’re the one who talked about making big changes. I’m just reminding you of your goals.”

  “I’ll do something for my fortieth,” Jane said.

  “But that’s years away!” Eloise protested.

  “Not very many.” She pointed at the shipping box. “Anyway, this is far more important than a birthday. This is my plans becoming a reality. This is the end to secrecy. It’s the best gift I could ever give to myself, to everyone in Storyton Hall, and to readers all over the world. In fact, I think this might be my most exciting birthday yet.”

  * * *

  Jane received Edwin’s invitation to a private dinner by mail. Though the envelope bore Edwin’s elegant cursive and a postage stamp had been neatly affixed to the corner, Nandi hand-delivered the missive.

  The two women had been meeting on a regular basis to reverse Cyril Steward’s cultural appropriation. However, returning the African artifacts he’d put on display in the Isak Dinesen Safari Room wasn’t a simple endeavor. In addition to the emails she sent and the phone calls she made, Jane had to fill out countless forms and jump through dozens of bureaucratic hoops.

  “Why is it so hard to do the right thing?” she’d shouted in frustration one day after another call with a customs official had been abruptly disconnected.

  Nandi had laughed and clapped her on the back. “Because it just is. And I know I could be in a jail cell if you’d wanted me there, so I shouldn’t be laughing, but your face turns all kinds of red when you’re mad.”

  Knowing this was true, Jane had laughed too.

  When Nandi showed up at Storyton Hall two days before their next scheduled meeting, Jane had a flashback to the time the postmistress had delivered a postcard from Edwin. A postcard he’d been forced to write. The memory reminded Jane of how she’d almost lost her boys. And Edwin too.

  “Don’t worry,” Nandi had said, seeing the expression in Jane’s eyes. As she pressed the envelope into Jane’s hand, she gave her a comforting squeeze. “This one should make you happy. I happen to know what it says. You have a good time, you hear? You deserve a night out. We women forget to take care of ourselves. You take a break from all your worries and just enjoy yourself.”

  In her office, Jane had read the invitation. Edwin had planned an intimate birthday celebration for two at Daily Bread. Noting the suggestion that the recommended dress called for cocktail attire, Jane smiled. Edwin was making it clear that this wasn’t to be an ordinary dinner.

  That Friday night, Jane was waiting in the lobby per Edwin’s instructions.

  At seven o’clock on the button, Butterworth cleared his throat and said, “Mr. Alcott has arrived, Miss Jane.”

  He opened the massive oak door and wished Jane a pleasant evening. She was so stunned by what saw in front of Storyton Hall that she nearly forgot to say thank you. Butterworth gave her an indulgent nod of understanding. After all, it wasn’t every day that someone appeared driving a horse-drawn carriage.

  “What do you think?” Edwin asked, nimbly jumping down from the carriage. “Sam hooked me up. He’s been training Sonny here to pull carriages and hopes to teach several of his horses to pull sleighs.” He put his hand on the horse’s shoulder. “Wintertime is pretty slow at Hilltop Stables, and Sam has decided to perk up his income by offering horse-drawn sleigh rides. I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t call you to talk about adding these to Storyton Hall’s list of winter activities.”

  Still astounded, Jane pointed at the carriage. “This is straight out of Mansfield Park. Where on earth did you get it?”

  “A museum curator friend owed me a favor. The carriage is on loan for tonight only. I have to return it tomorrow. We’re on the clock, just like Cinderella. Only I’m not taking you to a ball. We’re having a nice, quiet dinner for two.”

  Edwin gave Sonny an affectionate pat and then performed a rakish bow for Jane’s benefit. He was dressed in a formal suit, complete with gloves. His tie was the color of ripe persimmons. Jane didn’t think she’d ever found him so dashing, and she longed to kiss him. Instead, she settled for accepting his outstretched hand. Jane was thankful that her dress, which was dark garnet, with a formfitting bodice and loose skirt, allowed her to climb into the carriage with relative ease.

  Once she was settled on the seat, Edwin held the reins in one hand and pulled her closer with the other.

  “You’re more beautiful than the stars.”

  And then he kissed her.

  The kiss took her breath away. And Jane would have gone right on kissing Edwin had Sonny not shifted slightly, causing the carriage to rock a bit.

  Jane and Edwin broke apart with a laugh.

  Edwin took the reins in both hands and waved at Butterworth, who had been pretending not to watch from his position at the front door. Butterworth dipped his chin in acknowledgment, but not before Jane saw the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  Edwin let Sonny walk at a leisurely pace. After the carriage rumbled over the bridge and they entered Storyton Village, the locals came to a dead stop to gawk and wave. Jane waved back, feeling like royalty.

  When he reached the café, Edwin helped Jane down and asked her to go inside while he released Sonny from his harness and led him around back.

  “I want to make sure he has water and a snack. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

  Jane pushed open the door to the café and had barely stepped into the dining room when the silent space exploded with cries of “Surprise!”

  Reeling backward in shock, Jane blinked hard.

  For a long moment, she felt like a deer in the middle of the road. She couldn’t do anything but stand and stare.

  Finally, the dimmed house lights were turned up to their full brightness and J
ane saw the familiar faces of her friends beaming at her in delight. All the Cover Girls, including Anna, were standing among the tables. Every woman was dressed to the nines. Violet had obviously done their hair. Delicate sprays of baby’s breath were clipped to elaborate braids, buns, or twists.

  The café had been transformed too. The interior typically featured British colonial furniture with Indian and African accents. Tonight, the antique maps on the walls had been replaced with framed watercolor paintings of Jane Austen book covers. Black-and-white banners decorated with Jane Austen silhouettes hung from the ceiling. Thousands of tea candles burned on the tables, the hostess stand, and in the lounge area. The centerpiece on each café table was a posy of tea roses in a shiny silver vase. A florist stake poked out from the middle of the roses. Attached to the stake was small flag bearing a line from an Austen novel.

  Jane caught a quick glimpse of a cut-glass punch bowl with matching glasses and rows of champagne flutes on a buffet table before Eloise enfolded her in an embrace.

  “Happy Birthday!” she softly exclaimed. “Were you surprised?”

  “Completely,” said Jane. “I thought Edwin was cooking me dinner. I expected the whole place to be empty, so when you all yelled, I nearly had a heart attack.”

  Eloise gestured at the other Cover Girls. “Edwin is cooking. For all of us.” She nudged Jane in the side. “Sorry to fool you into thinking you were having an intimate dinner, but he can have you to himself later. Right now, you belong to us.”

  One by one, Jane received hugs from her friends.

  Someone put a champagne flute in her hand, and Eloise got the party started with a toast. “In Northanger Abbey, Austen writes, ‘There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends.’ That line reminds me of our Jane. To the most generous, most beautiful, and most loyal of friends. To Jane!”

  “To Jane!” echoed the rest of the Cover Girls.

  After the toast, Edwin appeared with a white napkin draped over his arm. The women fell quiet in anticipation of his announcement.

  “Ladies, you’ll find mini quiche, pigeon pie, Bath buns, asparagus on toast, breadless cucumber sandwiches, and spring rolls with edible flowers on the buffet. In addition to champagne, we have a traditional punch such as Mr. Weston might have served in Emma. It is made with a mysterious spirit called arrack. This spirit is blended with lemon, water, sugar, and spices. The orange peel is mostly decorative. As a note of caution, I want to tell you that this is the headiest punch I’ve ever tasted.”

  Taking this as a dare, the Cover Girls practically tripped over each other to fill their glasses.

  The women drank punch, sampled the appetizers, and paired off to take the Jane Austen trivia challenge Eloise had created. Jane’s partner was Mrs. Pratt, and she correctly identified which character spoke the quote in question until Jane got down to the last question.

  “A character from Pride and Prejudice said, ‘I do not cough for my own amusement.’ Who was it?”

  Mrs. Pratt’s brows knit in concentration. “One of those giggly, insipid, younger Bennett girls, no doubt. But which one?”

  Jane was impressed. “Wow. I wouldn’t have gotten that close, and I’ve read this book a dozen times.”

  “Let me finish my punch. Maybe the alcohol will bring me some clarity.”

  Jane laughed. “I don’t think that’s how alcohol works.”

  As Mrs. Pratt drank and thought, and then refilled her cup and drank and thought some more, Jane glanced around the room, soaking in the sight of her friends. She saw pink cheeks and smiles on every face. As she looked from Mrs. Pratt, to Mabel and Betsy, to Anna and Violet, to Phoebe and Eloise, she was almost overwhelmed by love for these women.

  In the Cover Girls, she’d found a group of like-minded ladies who shared her affection for books. However, she’d also found a group of funny, smart, reliable, hardworking women who enriched her life on a daily basis. Whether she saw them at their weekly meeting or someplace in the village, they all brought their own kind of sunshine into Jane’s world.

  “Don’t get upset,” said Mrs. Pratt, suddenly sounding alarmed. “I’ll stop stalling and guess Lizzy.”

  Jane wiped away a tear and laughed again. “I’m not upset. I’m just counting my blessings. And sorry, but it’s not Lizzy. It’s Kitty.”

  “Ugh! Kitty!” Mrs. Pratt sounded so put out that Jane offered to refill her punch glass.

  “I should be refilling yours instead. You’re the birthday girl,” she said, snatching Jane’s empty cup out of her hand with a mischievous smile.

  Edwin and Magnus, the café manager, cleared the appetizer buffet and laid it with the dinner items. Once again, Edwin moved to the center of the room to announce the dishes. “Ladies, for your Jane Steward Loves Jane Austen Supper, we have a roasted loin of pork with onions, poached salmon, glazed carrots, spinach salad, and an assortment of savory tartlets. Magnus will be pouring Madeira to accompany your meal. It has notes of caramel and hazelnut. If you prefer something else, please let him know. We have a variety of other beverages.”

  After performing a stiff bow that made the women giggle, Edwin pressed a button near the light switch and harp music floated out of the wall-mounted speakers. He then returned to the kitchen.

  “What a catch,” said Violet and she lined up with Jane to serve herself from the buffet’s bounty.

  “He’s not half-bad,” Jane joked, but her heart swelled when she thought of all Edwin had done to make this night special.

  I’ll show him my gratitude when we’re alone, she thought.

  Later, when it was time to blow out the candles rimming the edge of the two-tiered Jane Austen book cover cake Mrs. Hubbard had made her, Jane wondered what to wish for.

  As she looked at the faces of her friends, and to where Edwin stood near the kitchen doors, she couldn’t think of anything she needed. She’d been through a terrible ordeal, but it was over now. She had Uncle Aloysius, Aunt Octavia, and Fitz and Hem. She had the Fins, who were more family than protectors. And she’d found love with Edwin.

  On top of all this, she had these amazing women. She also lived in the most wonderful place in the world. She was able to meet new readers and bibliophiles on a daily basis. Every day, she could share her home and the books within its walls with people who understood the value of the written word. Hers might be a world of turmoil and strife, but it was also a world of beauty and books.

  “Well, Jane,” Eloise prompted. “Make a wish.”

  After burying William, what Jane had wanted most was to move forward. She’d wanted to smile and to laugh. To focus on the future. Tonight, Eloise and the Cover Girls had given her what she most needed. A shining, perfect moment to celebrate the end of a dark time and the beginning of brighter days.

  “It’s already come true,” Jane said. “Thanks to everyone in this room.”

  She blew out the candles.

  Mrs. Pratt pretended to pout. “If that’s true, then you probably won’t want your presents.”

  Jane turned to see a stack of gift-wrapped packages that could only be one thing. Books. A stack of lovely, lovely books.

  “Oh, I definitely want those,” Jane said, and the little café filled with laughter.

  Read on for a sneak peek of the first in ELLERY ADAMS’s new mystery series,

  THE SECRET, BOOK & SCONE SOCIETY

  Available now from Kensington Publishing Corp.

  Chapter One

  A book must be an ice-axe to break the seas frozen inside our soul.

  —Frank Kafka

  The man on the park bench stared at the empty space above the knuckle of Nora Pennington’s pinkie finger.

  Strangers were always hypnotized by this gap. They would gaze at the puckered skin stretched over the nub of finger bone for several awkward seconds before averting their eyes in disgust, pity, or both.

  Like most strangers, the man’s attention could only remain on Nora’s pinkie for so long. She had other fascinating sc
ars. He couldn’t fixate on just one.

  His chin jerked slightly, as though he knew he was being impolite and should look away, but was powerless to do so. His eyes slowly traveled over the bubble of shell-smooth skin on the back of her hand. It was pinker and shinier than the surrounding skin, and Nora sensed that the man had an irrational desire to touch it.

  Years ago, when Nora was in the hospital, a night nurse with silver hair that flashed like fish scales when caught by the light told Nora that the burn on her hand was shaped like Iceland.

  “That’s where I’m from,” the nurse had added proudly. Her voice was part grandmother’s lullaby, part chamomile tea, and part chenille blanket. It was the only thing that penetrated Nora’s veil of pain. “You even have the two peninsulas on Iceland’s western shore. See? They’re like a pair of crab pincers.”

  Nora hadn’t opened her eyes to look. She didn’t want to acknowledge the nurse’s presence. She didn’t want comfort. She’d wanted to be left alone to sink deeper in her ocean of agony and remorse.

  The man on the bench shifted, bringing Nora back to the present.

  He was studying her right arm. This was her darkest, angriest scar: a Portuguese man-of-war jellyfish swimming through her skin from wrist to shoulder. And while part of its red and purple bell disappeared into the sleeve of her white blouse, there was an impression of other sea creatures reemerging above the collar. A parade of pale, glistening octopi drifted across Nora’s neck and cheek, forever trapped in the ripples and wavelets the flames had carved into her skin.

  The man’s eyes strayed to Nora’s other hand. The unblemished one.

  This was unusual. Most people finished their inspection of Nora’s face with a forlorn expression. She knew exactly what they were thinking when they wore that look.

  What a shame. She’d be so pretty without those scars.

  But this man hadn’t responded with the “too bad, so sad” expression. He was clearly more interested in the scone she held than in continuing to study her burn scars.