The Cracked Spine

by Paige Shelton

  “It didn’t go well?” It seemed like the only reasonable question to ask, considering her tone.

  She laughed. “It went fine.”

  Evidently not, but Genevieve excused herself before I could ask more questions. I felt like I’d misjudged the earlier introductions. I’d thought maybe no one had expected me, but perhaps she’d been somehow prepared for my arrival, or maybe just prepared to say unflattering things to someone in regards to Jenny. I didn’t necessarily feel like I’d been played, but perhaps used as a way to spread bad tidings. I wasn’t going to spread anything, but in the back of my mind I started a list of things I wanted to uncover. I’d suddenly become much more interested in Edwin’s family. Exploring his ancestors went on the list, right next to searching for the best spots to find ghosts.

  I thought back to Edwin’s unsophisticated gulp. Were he and Genevieve speaking about the same responsibility? What sort of monumental task had he given Jenny, and why did Genevieve think it might have been too much to handle? And, why had she brought it up to me so soon after our initial greeting? I looked toward the door, hoping Jenny would come through, but no one did at that moment.

  “Hello, lass, you’re a bright spot on our otherwise auld and cranky bunch. Welcome, it will be nice tae have some young blood,” said another man as he introduced himself.

  Hamilton Gordon also wore a kilt with all the trimmings today, but his color scheme was blue and yellow. He was adorable in the getup, in an almost-eighty-years-old, wrinkled and bald sort of way.

  “It’s great to be here. I think Jenny’s on her way,” I said reflexively. I cringed inwardly. I shouldn’t have predicted that everyone would be looking for Jenny instead of me.

  “Och, don’t care who’s here and who isn’t. I’ve met the MacAlister lass a time or two and she’s friendly enough. The more, the merrier, I say.” He scanned the room. “Gracious, is there no whisky on the premises? Who has a gathering with Scottish people and doesn’t think tae serve whisky? Disgraceful.”

  “Uh, I don’t know,” I said as I looked toward the buffet table. There were no whisky bottles in sight.

  “I’ll have tae find some on me own. Excuse me.”

  I sighed and turned my attention toward the man I still hadn’t met. No time like the present, I supposed. I approached him as he turned away from Edwin. Whatever they’d been discussing, it seemed to have ended with a huff of disapproval from the man dressed in all gold. He wasn’t handsome, but it seemed he’d worked hard to get that way. His build told me that he must have been close to Edwin’s age, but the tight features on his face made me think he’d had a few plastic surgeries. Up close, I could also see the spaces in his head where hair plugs had been inserted. I had an urge to ask about the gold jacket and pants, inquire as to whether or not they had real gold threads in them, but I didn’t.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hello,” he said with a forced smile.

  “Delaney Nichols,” I said.

  “Birk Blackburn, at your service,” he said with a small nod. “Welcome tae Edinburgh, Delaney. I’m one of the few outside the bookshop who knew you were coming tae join The Cracked Spine. I’m glad you made it safe and sound.”

  “You and Edwin are good friends then?”

  “Aye,” he said less than enthusiastically. “He told me about you when we completed a transaction a few weeks ago. Edwin mentioned that he wanted tae wait for you and your expertise, but he went ahead and purchased the item anyway. I’m sure he’s mentioned it tae you.” Birk’s eyebrows rose in question, though his forehead didn’t wrinkle.

  “I, uh, he hasn’t mentioned it yet.”

  “Aye?” He looked toward Edwin, who had moved across the room and was talking to Hamilton Milligan, and sent him a furrowed frown before he turned to me again. As with Genevieve, I got the sense that he was anxious to share something.

  “It’s a book of supreme greatness,” he said quietly.

  “Oh? What’s the book?” I said. I knew I could have eventually figured out any book’s value if that’s what Birk meant as the reason for Edwin waiting for my arrival, but I wasn’t an expert appraiser.

  “Ask Edwin. He’ll tell you. In fact, I suspect you’ll be retrieving it today. He left it with his sister, and something tells me that’s not working out as well as he’d hoped.”

  “Why isn’t it working out? You won’t tell me what the book is?”

  “You’ll have tae ask Edwin why it isn’t working out. He won’t give me the details. But the book”—he looked around furtively—“William Shakespeare.”

  “Okay.” I caught myself before I rolled my eyes. The drama with which he’d said the bard’s name could have landed him a starring role in one of his tragedies.

  “It’s one of his. One of his first ever. In fact, that’s part of the title.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “First Folio,” Birk whispered.

  The earth shifted. Birk couldn’t possibly be speaking the truth, or at least the facts. Edwin had not purchased a copy of Shakespeare’s First Folio from him. It wasn’t possible. There were only a couple hundred copies of the early 1600s manuscript still in existence. They were all accounted for and kept mostly in museums. I’d dreamed of visiting the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, D.C., to put my eyes on at least one of their twentysomething copies.

  Except. Hadn’t I recently heard that someone found a copy in their attic? Had that been a true story? I couldn’t quite remember.

  First Folio was more than a book, it was an artifact.

  I didn’t notice that Birk had walked away because I’d fallen into some sort of vacuum of disbelief, and my brain was working hard to understand the possible ramifications of such a transaction, the possibility that the item actually existed.

  The door to the room began to slowly swing open. I pulled myself together and looked toward it. Everyone else in the room did too. I hoped to see Jenny come through. I wanted to meet the sister of my new boss, the person he’d allegedly trusted to watch over something so outrageously valuable.

  But it wasn’t Jenny. The man who came through the doorway was probably close to Jenny’s age, though, somewhere in his fifties.

  His most distinguishing feature wasn’t his handsome face, his red hair that almost matched mine, his dapper tuxedo, or the cane he wielded. It was his black eye that made him stand out from the crowd. Once inside, he closed the door behind him, nodded sheepishly at the rest of us, and made his way to one of the green puffy chairs. He sat down, angling his body so that all we could see was his back.

  “That’s Monroe Ross.” Edwin had stepped up to my right. “I’d hoped maybe Jenny would have come with him.”

  “They’re friends?” I said.

  “Not exactly,” he said. “They used to be together, a couple, but that was a long time ago. I’d hoped … I’d hoped maybe they could be friends again. I’m working on it. She’s one of the few people he’s comfortable around.”

  “What about the black eye?”

  Edwin shrugged. “I haven’t seen Monroe with a black eye for some time. Perhaps he’s taken up his old ways. He used tae spend a fair amount of time in the pubs. But now he’s not comfortable around a crowd. He has a difficult time, that’s why he took a seat so quickly. He doesn’t know you, Delaney. Perhaps you could befriend him.”

  Edwin walked away too quickly for me to ask him anything more, either about Monroe or the Folio. I could tell he was disappointed his sister hadn’t shown up yet, but I didn’t understand the exact reasons why. Did he think her absence was because of her addiction or the argument she’d had with him? Or something else?

  His command had been clear, though. I was to befriend Monroe. Genevieve had wanted to dump some gossip my direction. And even though I sensed that he knew Edwin hadn’t yet told me about the Folio, it had been Birk’s priority to share the information. Was this the Scottish way, or was I being used as a conduit for moving information from one place to the ne
xt? If so, what direction was it all supposed to go? It didn’t much matter. Whatever my job would turn into, I wasn’t going to suddenly become a gossip. And I doubted I’d ever be convinced to do much of anything behind my boss’s back. But I might be able to get to know Monroe easily enough.

  Benny pushed through the door. The noise of his forceful shut—almost a slam but not quite—lingered in the big room.

  “Awright, time tae get the shoo on the road,” he said before he stood straight and folded his hands behind his back. Everyone seemed to know where to go. I thought a chair next to Monroe might not be a bad idea.

  Leaving enough space to keep any introvert from bristling too much, I sat a couple of chairs away from him. I smiled in his direction. Just as I was about to introduce myself, he turned away, and Birk slammed a gavel on the podium.

  “First item of business,” Birk said into the microphone I hadn’t noticed until then. “We need tae discuss our new member and if we’ll welcome her or not.”

  I tried not to look surprised as Edwin took a seat directly next to me, on the other side from Monroe.

  “We’ll get this taken care of, Delaney,” he said quietly. “Not tae worry.”

  I hoped he was right.

  SIX

  In fact, Edwin was correct, there was nothing to worry about. There were no votes and no real discussion. Hamilton Gordon might have found some whisky, because his words slurred a bit when he proclaimed that everyone in the group was free to bring whomever they trusted to the auctions, no questions needed to be asked.

  No one had a problem with me becoming a part of the Fleshmarket Batch. Even Birk, who’d been the only one to act as if a discussion needed to take place, didn’t seem to mind too much. It was easy. Maybe too easy, but I had other things to think about at the moment that seemed more important than the smooth slide into my new position among these strangers. Besides, maybe Hamilton had summed it up; maybe they all trusted one another’s judgment enough not to probe deeply.

  “As you all know, I brought the item up for bid today,” Birk said.

  He leaned over to the side of the podium, lifted up the large item that was covered by a thin red sheet, placed it on an easel, and then leaned back toward the microphone.

  “It’s original. I’ve had it verified. It’s by James Tannock.” He peeled away the sheet and exposed the painted portrait of a jowly man. The subject was older, big-nosed with a short and simple haircut that was combed straight, the ends slightly uneven but mostly stopping at mid-cheek level. I had no idea who he was. I didn’t know the portrait. I didn’t know the subject. I might have somehow heard of the painter, but I couldn’t place him exactly.

  However, it seemed I was the only uninformed person in the room. Ooohs and ahhs and murmured comments rumbled throughout.

  “The artist, Tannock, was born in the late seventeen hundreds, I believe. He moved on tae London at some point, but he started his career as a house painter—oh, and maybe a shoemaker too if I remember correctly. He became successful,” Edwin said quietly.

  “Who’s the subject of the portrait?” I asked.

  “I’m not completely sure.”

  Edwin raised his hand.

  “Edwin,” Birk said.

  “Is it Chalmers?” Edwin asked.

  “Yes,” Birk said.

  Edwin leaned toward me again. “George Chalmers, Scottish political writer, and antiquarian … He has a distinct look, doesn’t he? Rather weighty and bug-eyed. And…” His voice drifted as though his thoughts suddenly went a different direction.

  “What?” I said.

  “I’m … nothing.”

  I looked at him and had an urge to poke him in the ribs to continue, but I stopped myself.

  “Birk, where did you get the portrait?” Genevieve asked.

  “From a cousin in London,” Birk said.

  Edwin, Genevieve, and Hamilton laughed lightly.

  Edwin said to me, “That’s code for ‘I’m not telling.’”

  “Other than Benny’s watchful eye, does everyone just trust that all these items are obtained legally?”

  “Aye, we take it on faith. And as for how we obtain them, well, I suppose we have our connections. I’ll show you some of that as time goes on.”

  “I see.” I didn’t see all the way, but I thought that I’d figure things out exactly how Edwin had just said—as time went on.

  “Excuse me a minute. I have a question for Birk, but I don’t want tae broadcast it tae the entire room. I’ll be right back. You stay here.” Edwin stood and made his way to the podium. Hamilton was already there, leaning over and inspecting the portrait with a large magnifying glass.

  Monroe was still in his seat, still with his back mostly my direction.

  I glanced over and smiled shyly at him, hoping I didn’t look like I was trying to flirt. He craned his neck and looked directly at me, his black eye much meatier and rawer this close up, but didn’t smile back. And then he looked away.

  “Excuse me,” I said.

  He turned again and his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  “That looks like it hurts,” I said as I pointed to my own eye.

  “Not bad.” He shrugged, but this time he didn’t turn all the way away from me.

  “Monroe, right?” I continued.

  “Aye.”

  “I’m Delaney,” I said. I didn’t extend a hand. No need to cause him to have a heart attack.

  “That’s what I understand.” He nodded toward the podium.

  “Right. I’m curious, Monroe, is it okay to ask what you do for a living? Edwin didn’t tell me whether I could ask or not.”

  If I hadn’t looked like I was flirting a second earlier, I probably sounded like it now. This wasn’t going exactly as I’d hoped, but I thought I could blame my rudeness on being a foreigner. Monroe didn’t need to know that between my farmer father and my farmer’s-wife mother, I’d been very well schooled on manners.

  Monroe didn’t hide his discomfort. He uncrossed and then recrossed his legs. His glance was only somewhat incredulous, but that might have been because of the black eye. I continued to smile in what I hoped was a friendly way.

  “I suppose there are no rules regarding asking the question, but…”

  I turned and faced him full on but kept my distance. “Okay, so, what do you do?”

  “I’m a finance person. I help people with their money,” he said a beat or two later.

  “You must be very good at it,” I said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where did you study? I mean, of course I went to the University of Kansas back home, but I’m not familiar with the universities around here.”

  That was an enormous lie. I knew them well. Even if I hadn’t studied up on them before moving to Scotland, I would have been familiar with at least some of them. I didn’t like playing the dumb American, but if it worked to get this man who my new boss had asked me to befriend to talk to me, I’d redeem myself later. I liked a good challenge.

  “University of Edinburgh,” he said.

  “Oh!” I looked around to see if anyone was watching. No one was. I leaned a little closer to Monroe and he leaned a little closer to me too. This I considered a huge victory.

  “That’s where Edwin’s sister, Jenny, went, right?” I had no idea where Jenny had gone to school, but it seemed like a good guess since they’d been a couple.

  “She did. Jenny and I went tae school together. We were friends,” Monroe said as he pulled back a little and out of our small shared space. I didn’t think I’d lost him though.

  “I think she was supposed to be here today. Edwin expected her,” I said.

  His eyebrows came together. “I didn’t know she was tae be here today.” Then he swallowed before rubbing his finger under his nose and turning away from me a tiny bit.

  “You two still pretty good friends?” I said.

  “No,” he said too quickly. “Not really.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s rough when
friendships don’t last.”

  Monroe nodded, but didn’t look at me.

  “How’d you get the shiner?” I asked.

  “The what?”

  “The black eye?”

  “Ran into a door.”

  “No big bar brawl? I mean pub brawl?” I smiled at his lame reason.

  “No, not this time.” He looked at me and smiled sheepishly.

  I think I could like Monroe Ross, and I hoped someday he might not be totally put off by me.

  Before we could continue the conversation, we were interrupted by Benny, who held the portrait at the end of the aisle, seemingly just so the shy, somewhat agoraphobic Monroe could have a look.

  Even though the man in the portrait wasn’t handsome in the classic sense, he was interesting, and I had to give credit to the artist’s ability to capture humor and intelligence in Mr. Chalmers’s eyes. The portrait was in phenomenal condition. I wasn’t an expert on brushstrokes, but it was unquestionably beautiful and from another time.

  When Monroe seemed to be done looking at it, Benny turned and carried it back toward the front of the room.

  I didn’t waste a second. “When did you become a member of Fleshmarket?”

  “Excuse me,” Monroe said. He stood and walked to the back of the room, using the cane only as a prop, I thought. He parked himself close to a back wall.

  I turned in the chair and watched him, but then turned around again when I realized he wasn’t going to come back. I’d lost him. I didn’t know if I’d done something wrong or if it was just that he was done with the conversation. If I chased him, he would probably leave the room altogether.

  I tried not to feel too badly about his quick exodus from the chair, take it to mean something more about him than me, but it was difficult not to feel a little rejected.

  Edwin took his seat again. I asked if he was interested in the portrait and if he wanted me to examine it more closely, but he wasn’t interested in it and decided not to bid. He was distracted, probably wondering where his sister was, and I wasn’t ready to make recommendations one way or another regarding what he should bid on.