The Gathering of Shadows, page 13
part #1 of Glennison Darkisle Series
“You’re certain?”
She shrugged. “Okay, crossing him off with a pencil rather than a pen. And Carson and Reynolds too.”
“Which leaves Linden and Villiers….”
“Or none of the above. It’s a rarity, Jack, but I am wrong now and then.”
At that moment, something caught my eye through the landing window. Out in the rainswept night, I could have sworn I saw a light dancing briefly, somewhere down below in the middle distance. Josine saw me react and turned quickly to follow my gaze.
“What is it Jack? I don’t see anything….”
“Me neither, now. I thought I saw a light out there. Just for an instant.”
My eyes strained, but there was only darkness. “Most likely nothing. It has been a long day.”
Josine gave me a fond smile. “Don’t let the spooky old house get to you, partner. Get a good night’s sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Chapter Ten: The Object of Our Interest
Dawn broke grey and chilly. It was still raining, though not so heavily. The fire in my room had burned down to the embers. I abluted in the next-door bathroom, then dressed and went down to the Dining Room.
Breakfast was a casual affair, with people arriving and leaving at different times. As I sat at the table Campbell appeared and asked if I wanted toast, and also if I wanted a fried breakfast or porridge. They were the first words I had heard him utter and were spoken in a gruff Glaswegian accent. I chose the fried breakfast with toast: he nodded, poured me a cup of tea and then departed.
A few minutes later, Reynolds joined me. He seemed excited, grinning and fidgeting in his seat.
“Looking forward to the auction?” I enquired.
His grin widened. “Oh yes! Yes indeed! There are some most fascinating books.”
“Oh, you mean the ship’s log? And the grimoire, perhaps?”
He frowned. “Those? Oh no! I was referring to the Novus Necronomicon and the Dawning of the Golden Age. Particularly the latter. Madame Petrova truly has the most profound of insights, I believe.”
I nodded slowly. “Oh, I am sure you are right. You know a great deal about such books, I take it?”
He smiled proudly. “Well, one doesn’t like to boast…. I do have some knowledge of the occult, let us say. The Brown Collection is well-known in my circle. I had no idea this auction was anything to do with it, so this has proved to be a most pleasant surprise. Not that I wish to rejoice in the passing of Mr Brown, you understand! Poor Harold! I met him once, you know? At the Bodleian Library, as I recall.”
“And here you are at an auction of his books. A small world.”
“Indeed! Indeed!” He paused to give Campbell his breakfast order, then rapidly stirred three spoonfuls of sugar into his tea.
“I do hope I get the chance to make a winning bid or two,” he continued. “However, I fear there will be no little money in the room.”
“Present company excepted,” I commented.
He gave a high-pitched little laugh. “Oh I am sure you are being far too modest, Mr Bannister! I mean, you are associated with a wealthy American family, it would seem.”
“The Ansons, you mean?”
He nodded. “Indeed. Miss Anson’s father, what would be his line of work?”
“He owns paper mills. In Massachusetts.”
He smiled and nodded again. “Ah yes… THAT Anson! I have heard of him. Quite the collector.”
I looked at him. Was he testing me? Mocking the story Josine and I had concocted? Or was he deluding himself into corroborating it?
Campbell interrupted my thoughts. “Breakfast,” he announced and thrust a plate of sausages, bacon, fried egg and tomatoes before me. He gave Reynolds his bowl of porridge and our conversation ended.
I had hoped to catch a moment with Josine over breakfast, but she didn’t show up by the time I had emptied my plate. I returned to my room, there to find my laundry neatly ironed and folded on top of a chest of drawers. The Lees were formidably efficient, it would seem.
✽✽✽
Josine was talking with young Daniel Carson when I walked into the Great Hall a little before ten o’clock. His face was flushed and he was looking at the floor a lot. Josine waved a greeting to me and as I approached he mumbled something and moved away. Rather to his relief, I fancied.
“I practically had to corner him to get him to talk to me,” whispered Josine. “So shy!”
“A kindred spirit, hmm?”
She wrinkled her nose. “This is no time for wisecracks, Mr Bannister. It’s nearly show time.”
No sooner had she spoken than the door to the left of the fireplace opened. There stood Chambers, as dignified as ever.
“Please come through, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “We have commandeered the old Music Room as our auction room.”
The Music Room was larger than the adjacent Library and was made to seem all the larger still by the absence of any furniture, other than that required for the auction. A lectern had been placed near the end of the room, before an unlit fire; near it was a table with the eight Lots on it. A row of chairs faced the lectern. The room’s three windows let in cool, grey daylight.
Boothroyd was standing behind the lectern, looking rather grumpy. Campbell, impassive as ever, was beside the table, white gloves on his large hands. Josine claimed the chair at the right-hand end of the row; I sat next to her. The rest of the group took their places on the other chairs. Chambers strode before us and cleared his throat.
“Before we start, I’m afraid I have some unfortunate news,” he announced solemnly. “It would appear that the bridge we crossed on our way here collapsed sometime last night.”
“PLEASE inform us that there is another route back to civilisation,” demanded Louise Villiers.
“I fear not. Campbell and I will ascertain what the damage is. I am sure the villagers will offer help from their side of the river, once they notice it has fallen. Of course, repairs may take some time.”
There were assorted grumbles. Boothroyd’s mouth became an annoyed straight line.
“It is not the largest of rivers,” commented Linden, his Scottish accent more prominent now. “Could a fellow not wade across and get help?”
“I could… I could try…,” offered Carson.
Chambers shook his head. “Mrs Lee assures me the river is deeper than it looks, at the best of times. And with all this rain, this is NOT the best of times. No, I am afraid we must accept that we may be here for a day or two longer than expected. However, I suggest we continue with the auction, as planned.”
There was more grumbling, but no argument. Chambers paced to the side of the room and nodded to Campbell, who picked up the first book and held it on display awkwardly.
“Let us get started,” said Boothroyd, taking up his gavel and leaning on the lectern. “There are no guide prices and no reserve prices. I shall endeavour to start the bidding at a fair price. Please indicate any bid by a clear gesture.”
He glanced at the book held aloft by Campbell.
“Lot 1: Travels in Unfriendly Climes, by the natural historian and essayist H.P. Sturton. Late 18th Century, excellent condition with some wonderful illustrations. Shall we start the bidding at £50?”
Silence.
“Very well, shall we say £30?”
Nobody said £30.
“£20…? £10…? Ladies and gentlemen, this book was a bargain at the starting price!” He sighed. “Very well… £5?”
“Um… yes… five,” offered Carson, raising his hand uncertainly.
“Thank you,” said Boothroyd, sounding anything but thankful. “I will take a bid of £10….”
Josine raised her hand. Boothroyd looked back to Carson, who shook his head. Instead, Reynolds’ hand rose to take the bidding to £15.
Josine leant over and whispered in my ear. “Look wise and offer me some advice. I need to buy something to look credible.” Her breath was hot on my ear, setting me tingling.
“I wouldn’t pay ten shillings for it,” I whispered back.
She looked thoughtful, as if considering a nugget of wisdom, then raised her hand.
“I have £20, with Miss Anson,” stated Boothroyd. He looked along the line of attendees. “Do I hear £25?” Reynolds grinned and shook his head.
“With Miss Anson it is then… going once… twice… and sold for £20.” Boothroyd banged the lectern with his gavel and made a note on the papers before him.
Campbell put the first book down and picked up the next Lot, The History of the Viscounts of Darkisle. This fared no better; the starting price of £30 fell to £10 before Westwood made the first and final bid.
Next came the Novus Necronomicon. Again, the starting price was £30, and again it quickly fell. An exasperated Boothroyd finally accepted £5 from Daniel Carson. At the last moment, Reynolds topped this with a bid of £10. As the gavel fell he looked around with a grin, delighted to have secured the book so easily.
Campbell next displayed the object of our interest: the plainly bound ship’s log.
“Lot 4,” said Boothroyd, wearily. “The original hand-written journal of one Saul Farrell, commonly known as the Idra Log. Written in the Gaelic during the voyages of the Idra in 1791 and 1792. Generally in good condition, other than for some evident damage to a few pages. A quite unique record from the Golden Age of exploration. Surely I hear £100?”
Louise Villiers raised her hand a few inches and nodded curtly.
“Thank you, Miss Villiers! Now, do I hear £150?”
Linden gave a salute-like flick of his hand.
“It is with you, Mr Linden,” stated Boothroyd, smiling for the first time.
Louise Villiers arched an eyebrow but otherwise betrayed no emotion. Linden focused earnestly on the Log, brow slightly furrowed. The two of them traded bids up to £500, at which point Boothroyd was emboldened enough to take the bidding up in hundreds.
Linden bid £600. Villiers started toying with the heavy circular silver pendant she was wearing as she bid £700. I glanced around the room: Carson sat open-mouthed; Westwood watched on with interest. Reynolds looked from Villiers to Linden and back, delighted excitement on his face. Josine sat very still, her big eyes narrowed a little as she watched the bidding progress. Chambers, standing off to one side, regarded Villiers and Linden with hawk-like intensity.
The bidding passed £1,000. Linden moistened his lips; Villiers’ fiddling with her pendant became more pronounced. The bidding continued, on up to a bid of £1,900 from Villiers. For the first time, Linden looked across at her and paused.
“Mr Linden?” prompted Boothroyd. “The bid stands against you. Do I hear £2,000?”
Linden looked back at Boothroyd and nodded.
Boothroyd returned the nod and turned to Louise Villiers. “Miss Villiers? Will you make it £2,100?”
For the first time since I had met her, her glacial poise faltered. She let go of the pendant and opened the handbag on her lap, reaching in to check something.
“£2,050,” she said.
“I will take that. Mr Linden? I will accept £2,100.”
Linden took a deep breath. Everyone’s eyes were on him. He shifted in his chair, glanced at the book in Campbell’s hands, then finally shook his head. I looked over at Louise Villiers: a faint smile pulled at her lips.
“£2,500!”
The bid came from Reynolds, hand high in the air, voice shrill.
Boothroyd was taken aback. “Mr Reynolds! A bid of £2,100 would be sufficient at this stage.”
Reynolds gave a giddy little laugh. “Oh, it’s time to end this back-and-forth, I rather think. I am convinced it is a fair price for such a singular book. £2,500 is my bid.”
Boothroyd raised his eyebrows and looked around the room.
“Very well then. Do I hear £2,600? No? The bid is with Mr Reynolds. Going once… twice… sold to Mr Reynolds at £2,500.” The gavel hammered the lectern, reminding me to breathe again.
The rest of the auction was anti-climactic.
A scowling Linden outbid Westwood to claim the Zanthu Tablets translation for £30. Nobody would even offer £5 for the Commentary on the Green Book of Murthock: eventually Carson stammered an offer of £2 that was accepted by Boothroyd with a sigh. Westwood then bid on the grimoire at the starting price of £300. Reynolds entered the bidding with an apologetic smile but soon dropped out to leave the impressive tome with the Professor for £500. Finally, Reynolds snapped up the signed book of gibberish by Anastasia Petrova for £5.
“That concludes the auction,” announced Boothroyd as he finished making his notes. “May I remind you that payment must be received in cash, in full. Mr Chambers and I will arrange all that after lunch. In the event of a winning bidder being unable to produce sufficient monies, the maker of the next highest bid will be offered first refusal, at the price they bid at. I do hope that will not be necessary.”
Chambers strode over to stand beside Boothroyd.
“We will prepare the books for sale,” he said. “Lunch will be served at one o’clock. Afterwards, as Mr Boothroyd stated, we shall attend to the matter of payment.”
“Well, there is no rush, as we cannot leave,” grumbled Westwood.
“I fear you are right, Professor. But we will not, I hope, be detained here for too much longer.”
Boothroyd gathered up his notes while Campbell carefully packed the lots in a small suitcase. The two of them then accompanied Chambers out of the room. Westwood and Carson went over to congratulate Reynolds. Villiers and Linden left and headed upstairs. Josine and I met again on the landing above the Entrance Hall.
“Well…!” she exclaimed.
“I did not expect THAT,” I commented. “Could Reynolds be the Shadow after all?”
“He must really want the Log to go in with that bid. That was quite a bit more than the £2,000 that Randall defrauded.”
“Hmm. Yes… but that money could have been added to an existing cash fund.”
Josine pursed her lips. “True. That leaves us with three people willing to pay £2,000 or more for the Log.”
“It does. And as soon as the bridge is repaired, away they will all go.”
She sighed. “One of them MUST be a Shadow. We need to find a way to look through their personal things.”
I puffed out my cheeks. “Well, you’re sharing with Miss Villiers, so you might get a chance with her. But for the other two that will involve breaking into their rooms. And what would we be looking for?”
“It’s a very secret society, Jack. Most Shadows will be strangers to each other. So, when they meet up, they must have some way of proving they’re in the Church of the Celestial Shadow.”
“What, like a membership card? Or… oh! Or a calling card. Like that of Andrew Randall’s?”
“Exactly. So, we’ve narrowed it down to three. This broken bridge is a godsend – it gives us time to think of ways of finding which of them has that Church calling card.”
“It still won’t be easy….”
“Nothing about this is! Right – I’m going to console Louise, see if I can get anything out of her. You put your thinking cap on and earn your fee! I’ll see you at lunch.”
She went up to the room she shared with Villiers. I lit a cigarette and looked out of the window. It had stopped raining, though the low, grey clouds threatened more. The bare, brown hills were now visible. Despite seeing no lights in that direction the night before, I could now see some sort of building up on the skyline, at a point where the hills dipped down to a saddle.
Breaking into a room, I reflected, was one thing. Doing it unnoticed was quite another. And besides, something as small as a calling card was likely to be kept on the person. I did indeed need to put my thinking cap on.
✽✽✽
There was a good deal of chatter over lunch. Rosie alone served us poached plaice with boiled potatoes and vegetables, followed by a rich treacle pudding with custard. Reynolds was holding court, beaming and full of false modesty. He proclaimed the Idra Log his best purchase but expressed amazement and delight to have picked up both the Novus Necronomicon and the Anastasia Petrova book for so little.
“Most insightful works. So scholarly! So erudite!” he gushed.
Westwood looked at him askance but said nothing. Instead, he addressed Linden.
“Speaking of bargains, you got the Zanthu Tablets translation for a snip, old chap. Care to sell it on? I could offer you an instant profit.”
Linden managed a strained smile. “Please allow me my one modest success, Professor. Besides, you had your chance to bid.”
“I did indeed. But I wasn’t to know just how cheaply I would snag the grimoire for!”
Westwood looked across at Daniel Carson. “Pleased with your purchase, Mr Carson? I wish I knew who wrote that Commentary. Rather interesting, from what I saw of it. Some controversial notions in it, mind.”
Carson smiled and nodded. “Um… yes… quite pleased. I had rather hoped for… um… the Sturton or the Novus Necronomicon but… um… I have a limited budget.”
“My dear fellow,” exclaimed Reynolds, who was sitting beside him. “I must say I do feel churlish for snapping up the choice titles. Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement, eh? One that doesn’t leave you too out of pocket?”
Carson brightened. “Oh… um… that would be most kind….”
“And what about the Idra Log?” asked Louise Villiers pointedly. She was toying with her pendant again. “Would you be willing to come to an arrangement for that?”
Reynolds grinned, made apologetic sounds and declined.
Rosie poured tea for everyone. Josine asked to take it without milk, which drew surprised looks from everyone. Louise Villiers, as if making a point to the Colonial, asked for a little more milk. Josine couldn’t help but grin when Louise managed to drop her cup as she passed it back to Rosie, splashing tea over the white tablecloth. There was a hurried dabbing with napkins while Rosie put things right.
“You were exceedingly determined to secure the Idra Log,” commented Linden to Reynolds once things had settled down. “I must say, I allowed myself to bid more than I think the book is worth. But you paid hundreds on top of that.”
