The Stolen Letter

by Paige Shelton

  “Are there other buildings at risk? How many others?” I asked.

  “Not that I could see.”

  “But, this building is fine,” I said. “And Edinburgh—Scotland—is filled with older buildings, for goodness’ sake!”

  “Aye,” Edwin said. “That’s why I’m not too worried. I think we’ll be fine. I am trying tae figure out the best approach tae get this taken care of. If all else fails, we’ll be at the meeting, all of us.”

  “I can’t find it right off,” Hamlet said. “I will at some point.”

  I nodded at him and looked back at Edwin. “Do you know the Lord Provost?”

  “I do, but he and I don’t see eye to eye on a few things. We’ve not gotten along as of late.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “Some particularly old and lovely trees were taken out in Princes Street Gardens. The council voted, in the most secretive way possible to remove the trees, and they were gone soon afterward. Something to do with museum renovations not being possible without first removing the trees. I, along with many others, wasn’t pleased. We’ve been vocal, and I’m afraid I overspoke my disapproval when I complained about the trees being removed. I used my friendship—well, acquaintanceship—with the Lord Provost to more effectively—at least in my opinion—vent my and the others’ anger. I should have probably handled it better.”

  “Huh,” I said. Edwin was all about the history of his country, his city. Trees would be just as important as buildings to him. But our building should be the most important to all of us.

  “Aye,” Edwin said. “Trees. They were around for hundreds of years, along the walkway to an oft-visited museum.”

  “By the gardens? Which museum?”

  “Scottish transportation over the centuries. Fascinating.”

  “I haven’t been there, but it does sound fascinating.”

  “Aye.”

  “Are we going to have to move the shop?” I asked, more whine to my voice that I would have liked.

  Edwin and Rosie looked at each other quickly before they both looked at me again. Neither of them spoke. In fact, it seemed they pursed their lips more tightly.

  “What?” I looked at Hamlet.

  He said, “Delaney, this building is as important to the bookshop as the books inside it, almost as important as we are. The time, the history, the things it has been and seen. It’s a whole being. This is where the bookshop was born, and this is where it will die—though, hopefully, not at the end of next month.”

  I got what Hamlet was saying, but I wasn’t going to give up on the idea of relocation quite yet—if only to give myself something to hang onto. They’d had more time than me to process this information, but I wondered if they’d been as rocked at first as I felt now. I wanted to throw a temper tantrum.

  Hamlet read my mind. “We’re all upset, but we’re trying to figure out the best approach.”

  “Does the council have regular meetings, something before the vote?” I asked.

  “We couldnae find one scheduled earlier than the vote,” Rosie said.

  “That seems convenient, that they contacted you with no other chance to make our case.” I shook my head. “Hang on. There was a building inspector’s report? When was an inspector in here?”

  “None of us remember an inspector,” Edwin said.

  “Then this just can’t be real.”

  “We hope not,” Rosie said. “We are proceeding as if it’s something we need to fix though, or at least clear up.”

  “Of course. Me too. What should I do?”

  “Delaney,” Edwin said. “I left you a note in the warehouse…”

  “Yes, I saw it. Something-tickets.”

  “Burgess Tickets. Aye. I wondered if you might have come across The Cracked Spine’s. Historically, it was a certificate that was once used as a way of giving someone permission to do business in a burgh. It gave the holder the right to other things too; to vote, attend church service, and be an important part of the community. It’s not something that’s used any longer, but back when I opened the shop, I did receive one. By then it was more honorary, but nevertheless I’d like to find it.”

  “Will it keep us open?” I asked.

  “I doubt it, but it might give me more ammunition, at least historically speaking. I’d like to have it.”

  “I’m not sure I would recognize something like that, but I don’t think I’ve seen it.”

  “I haven’t either.” Hamlet looked toward his file cabinets and then back at the rest of us. “If we do have it, I think ours might be somewhere in my files, but I’m sure I haven’t seen it. I’ve seen my fair share over the years.”

  “Well,” Edwin said. “Everyone keep looking please. It might not trump a questionable building inspection, but it can’t hurt.”

  “I’ll look today,” I said.

  Edwin smiled and reached over the table to put his hand over mine. “I really do think it will be all right.”

  I looked at Rosie—she forced a smile. I looked at Hamlet—he frowned uncertainly.

  “I hope so,” I said.

  What I didn’t say, but what they certainly knew was that this bookshop was my life. Yes, I was now happily married to the most amazing guy ever, but my life was still my life. This bookshop was a big part of what made me the person I was, the person I liked the best, and it was probably the place that made me the best person I could be to everyone else around me. I loved these people. I loved Scotland. I loved this old building too. This had to be fixed.

  “Lass, I do have money. If that’s what it takes, I’ll spend it.” Edwin sat back again.

  “Bribery?” I said. “That’s a good idea.”

  “Well, I was thinking that maybe the building just needed reinforcement, some work done, but I won’t rule out bribery.”

  “Good. Good plan.”

  I was willing to do anything, including spend Edwin’s money.

  “We will work on it,” Hamlet said.

  I sat back too and tried to think clearly. I wasn’t there quite yet. I’d still need some time to get over the shock.

  “Okay,” I said. “Okay. That’s good. I’m going to try to get to work, but if anyone comes up with any ideas, please let me know.”

  They all nodded.

  “Very good. We will all work on it.” Edwin pushed himself up from the chair. “I’m afraid I have to go for now though. I will be available on my mobile though.”

  “We’ll keep looking for the ticket,” Hamlet said.

  “Aye,” Rosie said halfheartedly.

  I was the only one who seemed to notice her tone. I looked at her. She sent me a weary, quick smile that looked more like she was simply trying not to frown. I was glad I’d be with her this evening. If there was more to this that she wasn’t saying in front of everybody else, I’d do my best to get it out of her.

  We told Edwin we’d see him later, and the rest of us got to work.

  * * *

  I’d already noticed that other than Edwin’s note, the warehouse didn’t seem to have been disturbed while I’d been gone. Everyone who worked at the bookshop had a key, but it was a rare moment that Rosie or Hamlet visited. Rosie had been around for so many years that the walk over two flights of stairs didn’t warrant the harassment to her knees unless she was also grabbing some tea or coffee from the kitchenette. Hamlet would stop by when he had a few extra minutes to chat, but those few minutes would usually grow to more; we could spend hours in discussion. Our last conversation had been speculation about space travel. It had been lively and we both decided we’d probably pass on a visit to Mars, no matter how curious we were about its inhabitants.

  I did a cursory search for the Burgess Ticket, but I didn’t find it, still wasn’t sure what it might look like, even after I did some quick internet research. There wasn’t one style, other than they all looked like official certificates, even the handwritten ones. I’d searched the file drawers in the warehouse enough times to be fairly certain there
wasn’t a Burgess Ticket inside one.

  I was too wound up, too freaked out. I needed to channel my energy into something else for a bit, if only so I could think more clearly about our predicament.

  I’d brought Mary’s books over with me. I glanced at the stack and realized I was curious about her motives. All the books were, indeed, about Queen Elizabeth I, but none of them were specifically about Elizabeth’s relationship with Mary, Queen of Scots. Mary had been the queen of Scotland, even as she lived some of her younger days in France, for twenty-five years, but Elizabeth had been the queen of England for a much longer time.

  Elizabeth had been so influential that her name gave birth to an era—the Elizabethan era. It was when her sister died that Elizabeth was crowned queen. Her sister had been a “legitimate” child of Henry VIII, but because Elizabeth’s mother’s, Anne Boleyn’s, marriage to Henry VIII had been annulled, Elizabeth was considered illegitimate, though Elizabeth reigned anyway, for forty-four years.

  Her status as illegitimate was what many held onto as the reason Mary Stuart should be the ruler of England, but, ultimately, most of the problems came down to their strong ties to their religions. One of the first things Elizabeth did as queen was to establish the English Protestant Church, dissing the old Catholic ways. Mary stuck with the Catholic church to the end. The internal and external struggles, indeed deadly battles included, because of the different religions and their ties to the rulers of the nations caused constant turmoil back then.

  It was a volatile time. I shook my head as I thumbed through the last of Mary’s books and skimmed the interesting fact that after Elizabeth’s rule, it was Mary, Queen of Scots’ son, James VI, who became the king of England. He turned out to be a well-liked king.

  It was a sad, violent history, but part of what made the countries what they were today.

  I set the books aside, gathered the tapestries I’d been working on pre-wedding, and brought them over to the worktable. They were small pieces, which wasn’t the norm. Tapestries had served as castles’ wall coverings, wallpaper, as well as insulation. Decorative in nature, they sometimes also depicted a story. The one I placed in front of me first seemed to be a story from the Bible, the story of Abraham. I knew that because Hamlet had somehow recognized the scene.

  I was close to zeroing in on the approximate date it had been created. The stitches weren’t even and identical, therefore, I’d determined that this one had been handmade. That determination had been as simple as looking through a magnifying glass at the stitches.

  I counted the colors. Older tapestries could only be made using about twenty different colors, inks that dyed the thread being made from plant and insect dyes. With the magnifying glass again, I determined that there were only about twenty colors used on the tapestry, and some of the light blues were a little different than the other light blues. That sort of thing happened when dye ingredients weren’t always consistent.

  In my studies, I’d also learned that some dyes were still created using insects to this day. Most interesting to me, the cochineal, an insect that liked to live on cactus, was used to make dye that was still found today in some foods and lipsticks. The more I learned about certain things, the more I became concerned about what we consumed. I tried not to let it bother me too much.

  As I now moved the magnifying glass over the top of the tapestry, two things happened at once. I thought I saw something that needed extra attention, and a bookish voice spoke.

  Magesty, there is less danger in fearing too much than too little.

  I stood up straight.

  I had an inkling of an idea that I’d just read those words as I’d thumbed through Mary’s books, but my looks had been cursory and tinged with the still overriding anxiety about the bookshop’s fate. I wasn’t sure I could find those words again. I blinked and wondered what the voice may be trying to tell me.

  I had no idea. But I knew that I had also come upon something on the tapestry that wanted my attention.

  I looked at it again and zoned in on a coat of arms. It was small. I leaned closer and put the glass over just the bottom right corner. Yellow, blue, and red, the coat of arms depicted three lions, though one looked like a dragon to me, guarding a crown. Semper Eadem adorned the bottom. Always the same. I ran over to my computer and googled everything to confirm that yes, this was Elizabeth I’s coat of arms. Did that mean this tapestry belonged to her? Maybe. The time frame might work. Not machine made, handsewn, and simple ink. The elements were there to make me wonder enough to know I needed more research.

  I put the glass down and tried to figure out what the universe, via the things and the voices, was trying to tell me.

  And I had an idea of something. It was faded and far away, but the idea was filled with the news of the closing of the bookshop as well as the woman I’d met who looked so much like me and who thought she was once Mary, Queen of Scots. Were they all tied together? Working together? I was grasping for straws, but there some something there, I thought. I hoped.

  Maybe Mary really had been onto something when she thought it was destined that she and I meet. Maybe she, the bookish voices, and the tapestries were all part of the equation to keep the bookshop open for business.

  Something about the timing made me think I needed to pay close attention, put that universal equation together correctly. I would do my best.

  Hopefully, dinner that evening would tell me more.

  FOUR

  Tom had spiffed himself up. After a day at the pub and a number of soccer (football) match crowds, their attention on the television as they cheered and sloshed their drinks incessantly, he’d come home and given me a fly-by kiss before hitting the shower.

  “You clean up so nicely,” I looked up from the papers I was reading as he joined me in the front room.

  “Ta, my love,” he said with a small head bow. “You’re lovely tonight, as always.”

  I’d put on a dress and a little eye makeup. It was more than I usually did. “I’m probably wrinkling sitting here, but I got so interested in this article. It’s about some Mary, Queen of Scots’ documents found tucked away in a box in the museum. Joshua hasn’t said a word about them, but, of course, he has no way of knowing about today’s turn of events.”

  Joshua was a good friend, a young and brilliant post doc who worked at the National Museum of Scotland. We shared a love of old things and both enjoyed walking slowly through museums; really slowly.

  Earlier in the day, I’d called Tom from the warehouse, and told him about meeting Mary, the strange possibility that the bookshop might be closing, and the tapestry discovery. He thought Mary and the tapestries sounded intriguing, but he’d mostly had questions and concerns about the bookshop. Along with the rest of us, he couldn’t quite understand what was happening, couldn’t believe it might happen while being so very afraid that it could.

  “Mary, Queen of Scots’ documents? About her?” Tom said.

  “No, written by her. Journal entries, things about collecting taxes, tasks that went along with being the queen,” I said.

  “Aye?” he said. “In a box, in the museum cellar?”

  “I don’t know where the box was in the museum, but isn’t it weird that it’s in today’s, of all days, paper?”

  “Aye.”

  “It’s astounding that any of her papers survived.”

  “It really is,” Tom said. “How did they not disintegrate, or fall apart?”

  “They weren’t bothered, I guess, by humans or the environment,” I said. “I’m really not sure. Maybe Joshua will let me look at them.”

  “You might not want to tell Mary that you know someone at the museum who could show you real Queen of Scots’ papers. She might bother you to come along.”

  “Maybe she can tell me what they say before I even look at them,” I said with a half smile.

  “If she’s telling the truth, maybe.” He glanced at his watch. “Time to gather Rosie?”

  “Let’s go.”

&
nbsp; We were living in my cottage, not Tom’s house as we’d expected to do. The electrical system in the old blue house by the sea had gone on the fritz, so Tom and I’d had to move out before we’d even moved in, just so the issues could be fixed. It was too cold in Edinburgh to live someplace where there wasn’t heat, especially when there was a place that had plenty of heat—as long as we remembered to feed the machine on the wall that regulated the electricity with the proper amount of coins. But, that wasn’t necessarily true either. My landlords and friends, Elias and Aggie, made sure the machine was always topped off. They didn’t know I knew, but I knew.

  We were enjoying the cottage, but it was a small space. I wondered if Tom would quickly grow impatient with the tight quarters, but he seemed fine so far.

  We were newlyweds; we still hadn’t quite figured out the timing of some of our routines, like getting ready for our days, cooking, cleaning, relaxing. Those things that come with time were still to be figured out some. They would be for a while, but I was enjoying every moment. It seemed Tom was too. Not once had he behaved as if the walls were closing in. Not once had I sensed that he regretted committing himself to one person.

  We knew each other well, had almost lived together before we were married. But married and actually living together with that piece of paper were different, not by much, but it was sometimes noticeable. So far so good.

  Elias and Aggie were thrilled we were there, no matter how temporarily. I half-wondered if maybe they’d sabotaged the blue house’s electrical system just so we’d have to stick close by. They denied doing as much when I’d teased them about it, but I’d caught the quick look they’d shared: not a bad idea.

  I hoisted myself up off the couch and smoothed my dress. I felt particularly girly.

  Tom didn’t hesitate but immediately pulled me close. “You are the loveliest woman I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe how lucky I am that you’re mine.”

  I pulled away slightly and looked up at him. “Well, this is probably all a dream and soon I’m going to wake up in my parents’ house in Kansas. I’m going to be highly disappointed that none of this was real, but it’s made a wonderful dream. Maybe a wizard and a tornado will be involved.”