by Laura Briggs
****
Julia dialed Eliot’s office extension for the second time Monday morning. Businessmen and morning shoppers brushed past her on the stretch of sidewalk, most of them armed with festive gift sacks. Above her head swung the sign for the old-fashioned antiquarian shop.
She turned off the phone as the ringing switched to an answering machine. Probably he had a class or a meeting with someone. Or maybe he was finally putting in some work on that presentation he’d been ignoring amidst their crazy quest. Anyway, it wouldn’t hurt to try this one on her own.
Armed with a picture of the missing volume, she made her way inside the shop. An old-fashioned jingle-bell signaled her entrance to the white-haired dealer behind the front desk.
“Good morning,” he said, placing aside a coffee table edition of A Christmas Carol. “What can I do for you?”
“Possibly nothing,” she admitted, sliding the picture across the counter. “I don’t suppose you have a copy of this for sale? I need the volume to replace one that was lost from a set.”
He donned a pair of spectacles and examined the photo. “Ah, this is quite familiar,” he said. “One of Miss Austen’s finest works in my opinion. But I’m afraid I don’t have this particular edition among my collection.”
That’s it? She had expected him to go through some files, or even to search through the maze of jam-packed book shelves in the dusty shop.
“Although I may know someone who does,” he said, a thoughtful gleam appearing in his blue eyes.
“Really?” Her heart slammed against her chest. This might be it—the answer to the same prayer she’d been praying ever since the book vanished.
“Let’s see, now,” he murmured, his brow furrowed with concentration. “It was two weeks ago, maybe three. A nice fellow from the local university. A Dr. Weston, I believe.”
It took a long moment for the name to register. And even then, Julia couldn’t believe she’d heard it. “Excuse me?” She crumpled the edge of the picture. “You must be mistaken. It can’t be Dr. Eliot Weston.”
“No, I’m quite sure it was him, now that I think about it. He even left a card.” Rummaging through the cash register, he pulled out a business card and placed it on the display counter.
She stared at Eliot’s name in print. Hard evidence he’d been here, no matter how strange it seemed.
“Quite a lovely copy it was,” Mr. Pratt continued, his voice taking on a sentimental edge. “Pristine condition. I offered eleven hundred, but he wouldn’t take it. Drives a hard bargain, I suppose,” he said with a good-natured chuckle.
Julia’s eyes fluttered closed, blood pounding in her veins. This couldn’t be right. And yet it might explain why someone as busy as Eliot would make time in his schedule for a stranger’s holiday emergency.
Two weeks ago. That was before they even met. Meaning Eliot had the copy in his possession from the moment she walked into his office.
“Are you all right, miss?” The book dealer’s voice carried an anxious sound. “Do you need to sit down?”
“I’m fine,” she mumbled. “Thank you, I’ll just be going, now.” Pushing against the door with trembling hands, she stumbled to the sidewalk outside. A flurry of confused and painful thoughts rushed through her mind as her heavy boots trudged towards the crosswalk.
He lied to me. Pretended to be helpful, to be a friend. Why did I have to fall for that?
Angry tears formed as she realized the truth. Her heart had become connected to this. Her feelings tangled up with Eliot’s presence as much as the book’s loss. These last few days promised more than just a crush on the horizon. Real feelings were involved, with her even wondering if his lecture invitation qualified as a date.
Now what? Pressing a hand to her forehead, she tried to envision the next logical step, even as angry tears gathered in her eyes. Should she leave a message on his machine telling him she knew the truth? Or just avoid seeing him ‘til he got the hint?
Her digital watch beeped, reminding her that she had twenty-five minutes to get to work. It would be impossible to shut out her personal problems while she interacted with table after table of hungry customers, but she had to try. Hoisting her backpack, she marched around the corner.
And ran smack into Eliot.
****
“This must be fate.” Eliot grinned, only half-kidding as he stepped back to give her some room. “You’ll never guess what this is,” he said, hoisting the package in his arm. Its brown wrappings contained Julia’s Pride and Prejudice painting from the gallery as a gift for his sister.
“I know you have the book.” Her tone was frigid, wiping the smile from his face in a matter of seconds.
“What?” he asked, his brow furrowed, as he searched for the meaning behind her angry look. Had she seen the Lost and Found ad in the paper?
“I’ve just been to Mr. Pratts’s shop.” She crossed her arms, an accusing gleam in her eyes. “He told me all about your visit a couple weeks ago. How you wanted to sell the Northanger Abbey book, but his price wasn’t high enough for your taste.”
“Julia, that’s not what happened.” Panic flooded through him, making it difficult to explain. Especially since her sharp tone had drawn the stares of passing strangers. “Listen to me—”
“You told me the copy you saw belonged to someone else,” she interrupted. “Which doesn’t explain why you had it appraised. Or ever considered selling it.”
“I didn’t,” he answered. “The book isn’t mine, I promise.”
“He showed me the business card you left at his shop.” She glared at him. “Everything he said made sense. And it explained why you have so much time to help me ‘look’ for a copy of such a rare and valuable book.”
“It’s not like that, Julia,” he began. His explanation wasn’t coming fast enough, as if his brain didn’t understand what was happening at this moment.
“So what was your plan exactly? String me along, to see if you could get a higher price?” she snapped, brushing past him. “Well, forget it. You’ll just have to find another customer.”
“Julia, wait,” he pleaded, his hand reaching to touch her as she passed. “I just found it and I—”
“Leave me alone,” she answered, glaring over her shoulder before crossing the street against the light. Hurt and anger blazed in those dark hazel eyes, his final glimpse of them before she was on the sidewalk across from him and vanishing down a side street.
Eliot was alone, clutching the newly purchased cubist interpretation of Pride and Prejudice, his only link to its now unhappy young painter.
****
Julia spent the rest of the week avoiding Eliot’s phone calls. She was half-afraid her heart was all too willing to believe whatever excuse he’d managed to think up by now.
How could she have trusted him so easily? Or let herself get tricked into believing he might be attracted to her when they had so little in common?
At the Starry Night Bistro, she feigned holiday cheer as she served up platters of chocolate cookies and ice-cold eggnog. Her eyes avoided the sight of a smiling tourist couple who held hands across the table as they sipped their cocoa. Winter romance seemed to be in the air for half the customers who crossed the bistro’s threshold, reminding her of her crushing disappointment with each appearance.
“You look awful,” Harriet whispered, her tone laced with sympathy. “That guy must’ve been a real jerk to just dump you like that.”
Hot tears pricked Julia’s eyes as she glanced towards the windows to hide them. “We weren’t dating, Harriet. It was just a business thing.” She brushed it off with a fake smile as she lifted a tray of holiday pastries
Even the upcoming Christmas Eve open house held no comfort. It inevitably made her think of Eliot and the lost book, since she’d all but given up hope of finding a replacement. She would have to apologize to Anne and beg her forgiveness. Maybe clean her art studio for free for a year to make up for dropping one of literature’s rarest books in the street
somewhere.
And as for her painting—well, the hero’s sea-gray eyes and crooked smile seemed to mock her as she gazed at it from her living room sofa, making her consider the possibility of painting over Catherine Moreland’s companion—maybe with a grim Gothic ghoul, for instance.
With two days left on her calendar before Christmas, she made the decision. At the bank, she withdrew her savings, a total of twelve hundred dollars. She slipped it inside a red and green money envelope purchased from the nearby card store and scribbled Anne’s name on the back. She would drop it through the letter box on Christmas Day, before Anne returned home, and explain the rest afterwards. Deep down, she suspected Anne would refuse to take it, which would only make her feel more guilty.
“You just had to lose that book,” she mumbled, as her fingers typed in another meaningless Internet search. If something positive can come from this experience, then I’m not seeing it, Lord. She sighed and buried her face in her hands. A few more days and she could start fresh with a New Year—and a resolution not to be so open with her heart next time.
****
“Well, it’s all yours.” The police officer placed the copy of Northanger Abbey in Eliot’s hands with a smile. “Guess they didn’t realize what they lost, huh?”
“Maybe not,” he said, turning the volume over in his hands. Up to that moment, he’d been hoping the owner might have claimed it, leaving behind her name and maybe an address. Instead, it belonged to him now. Not that there was much pleasure in the ownership, given the trouble it made between himself and a certain young painter.
Back in his apartment, Eliot spent the afternoon wrapping gifts, tearing tape and folding corners awkwardly in comparison to Bella’s packages. He paused as he wrapped the cubist painting, his fingers tracing the scratchy signature in the bottom corner beneath the cellophane padding. The artist’s oval face and dark eyes flashed through his mind. Except those eyes were full of accusation, instead of their usual pluck.
He wrapped the Austen book last, the maroon copy of Northanger Abbey he associated so deeply with the adventure of this last week, or so. He attached a tag with Julia’s name on it at the topmost corner, beneath a trail of colored ribbons.
His Lost and Found ad had run out two days ago with no response, and renewing it didn’t seem to make sense. Surely, whoever lost a volume this valuable would take steps to recover or replace it, by now. He had scanned the ads in local papers in vain, searching for anyone listing lost antiques or misplaced books. If the true owner had vanished, then he wanted the volume in the hands of someone who would appreciate it.
Please help me fix this, Lord, he prayed. I need for Julia to know the truth—even if it’s too late for our friendship.
He took a detour on the way to his parents’ house, stopping off at the Starry Night Bistro. Shutting off the ignition, he rehearsed his explanation for the tenth time, cringing over the fact it sounded made-up, even though it was true.
The young brunette stationed behind the cash register, her name tag identifying her as Harriet, gave him a suspicious glance when she looked up from her magazine. She recognized him from previous encounters with Julia, he suspected.
“What can I get for you?” she asked in a frosty tone that implied she would rather show him the exit door.
“Is Julia here?” he asked, glancing past her shoulder. “I really need to speak to her.” His fingers wrapped around the package in his pocket, as he waited for an answer.
“Nope, sorry,” she said, turning her attention back to the magazine. “She has Christmas Eve off.”
Great. His heart sank with disappointment. “She won’t answer her cell,” he continued, a note of pleading creeping into his voice. “Could you give me her address? I promise it’s an emergency.” An impulsive question he knew would never melt the stony expression on Harriet’s face.
She shook her head. “Sorry, but I couldn’t do that without her permission.”
“Could you at least put this package in her work locker?” he asked, holding up the gift-wrapped book.
Something in his voice swayed her, her expression softening a little as she studied him. With a sigh, she spoke. “Look, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t help you. Julia doesn’t want to see you again, OK? And I’m pretty sure that means no letters, Christmas cards, or Christmas gifts.”
He sighed. “I get the message. But if you see her, could you let her know that the book is hers? She needs to know as soon as possible.” Even if Julia believed he was a jerk, surely she couldn’t resist the opportunity to claim the copy. Then if he showed her the ad from the paper, the claim slip from the police station, maybe she would believe him.
“Sure.” A semi-friendly smile tugged her lips. “Hey, why not order something as long you’re here? The Christmas cookies are pretty good. They might cheer you up a little, huh?”
“No thanks,” he said, pocketing the gift again. “I’m running late for a family dinner, as it is.” He gave her a half-hearted goodbye wave as he departed.
His grim mood was noticeable at dinner, his family exchanging glances like a silent conversation around him. His mother’s famous roast goose seemed tasteless to him, his pile of mashed potatoes untouched beneath their gravy.
Hands stuffed in his pockets, he watched Bella unwrap the Pride and Prejudice painting after dinner. Christmas Eve tradition in his family meant everyone opened at least one present, and Isabella hadn’t been able to resist her brother’s extra-padded package, complete with silver streaming ribbons. Tearing off the paper, her eyes widened as she slipped the transparent padding aside to view the canvas beneath, its title card tacked to the frame.
“It’s perfect,” she breathed, examining the distorted Regency hero and heroine from arm’s length.
He smiled faintly and sank down onto the sofa. “I thought you might like it. I think the artist who painted it made a connection with Austen’s characters.”
“I think it’s chic,” she answered. “Pride and Prejudice meets Picasso’s period of art history. I love it.” Placing it aside, she leaned up and planted a kiss on her brother’s cheek. “And now for your gift,” she said, placing a thin envelope beside the sofa.
“What’s this?” he asked, popping it open. Two tickets slid into his palm, both bearing the logo of the local historical society. Scanning the rest of the print, his heart jumped as he read the words, A Special Christmas Eve With Jane Austen and Company. December 24th, 7-9 p.m.
“Bella,” he began. “These were expensive, weren’t they? I mean, it sold out weeks ago.” The Steventon House’s Christmas events were legend in Delaford. Every year he meant to purchase tickets in time, but forgot until the red “sold out” stamp was plastered across the event listing online.
“I bought them back in March, when they first went on sale,” Bella answered. “I couldn’t resist, given your women’s author presentation. Of course, I hadn’t counted on Mystery Regency Girl making the event all the better.”
Her face fell slightly as she watched his own. “You like them, right?” she asked.
After a moment, he nodded, forcing himself to smile. “I do,” he answered. “It’s perfect, Bella.” Giving her a kiss on the cheek, he rose from the sofa.
“You two have fun tonight,” said his mother, with a meaningful look, as she smiled and handed them their coats. Undoubtedly, she was envisioning him meeting some perfect young woman at this open house and bringing her to the New Year’s Eve party. Or maybe she was afraid his low spirits would dampen Bella’s formerly-perfect gift.
Whatever the reason, he didn’t feel like confessing the scenario involving Julia and the book. Better to just pretend to have a good time for the sake of everyone else in his life.
****
Julia checked the mirror above the fireplace one last time, searching for traces of redness around the eyes. Why did she feel the urge to cry over a thoughtless guy? A charlatan who teased her along in order to make a profit.
No doubt, he pretended
to like her, to like her art work in order to soften her heart. That should have tipped her off in the first place, she thought with a bitter smile.
Adjusting the pearl comb in her hair, she sighed at her reflection before reaching for the paperback Northanger Abbey. She practiced a gracious smile as she held the book open, forcing a spark of wit into her reflection’s eyes. After all, her guests were expecting an exuberant, witty Miss Austen, with amusing anecdotes on love and romance. Too bad Julia Allen didn’t know a little more about those subjects. Then maybe she wouldn’t be in this horrible mess right now.
Drifting onto the stairwell, she peered below to the crowded lobby. Excited visitors were inspecting the boughs of greenery and holly, others consulting their schedules for the evening’s program of events in the open house rooms.
Give me the strength to do this, Lord.
****
“Isn’t it great?” Bella nudged Eliot’s arm, her face beaming with girlish enthusiasm. “The decorations are supposed to be completely authentic for Regency times. They even have plum-pudding and a wassail bowl for after the characters’ recitations.”
Eliot tried to smile, even though his mind was occupied with subjects other than sliced fruitcake or punch. Bella was eager for the event to start. The opening was to be a “reading” from one of Miss Austen’s famed novels. A group of carolers in Regency dress listed on the program were to sing carols from the early 1800’s afterwards.
There must be a way to give Julia the book—the thought wouldn’t leave his head, reshaping itself into dozens of ideas. If Julia refused to speak with him, then he’d write a note. Maybe show up at one of her shifts and force her to take it before a crowd of witnesses in the cafe. Pathetic he knew, but he had to get through to her somehow.
“Good evening, ladies and gentleman.” A gray-haired man in a top-hat and coat-tails appeared from the hall to offer them a formal bow. “Your hostess for the evening, Miss Austen, will be ready to receive you shortly with the program’s first recitation. Please proceed to the downstairs parlor and take your seats by the fire.”
