The Cracked Spine (7 page)

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.

The only thing to do now was get through the auction and, afterward, try to get some answers from Edwin. Birk was very good, and sounded just like any auctioneer I'd ever heard, but with a Scottish accent, which made everything sound better. However, though his accent was light, when he started speaking quickly my American ears struggled to keep up.

Genevieve Begbie won the auction, and Benny helped her carry her prize out to her car like it was just another item she'd picked up shopping that day, even though Edwin confirmed that I'd heard correctly—her winning bid had been fifty thousand pounds, close to eighty thousand American dollars. I didn't witness a money transfer and Genevieve didn't pull out her checkbook.

“How will she pay?” I asked Edwin quietly as we followed behind everyone down the grand hallway and staircase.

“It's all electronic transfer. Rosie handles all the money from our end.”

When we were outside and she reached her car, Genevieve's eyes caught mine. I thought she might smile, but she didn't. She nodded and then looked at Birk, who had his head down as he inspected something on his mobile phone. I thought Genevieve was trying to tell me something, but the silent communication could have been my imagination. Before I could shrug or raise my eyebrows, she slipped into her red sports car. She revved the engine before backing away from the curb. Monroe and Hamilton followed suit.

Somehow, Benny had quickly gathered the cars from wherever he'd hidden them and lined them up outside the front doors. He handed each driver their keys and didn't offer much in the way of a farewell.

I told him it was nice to meet him, but he just huffed in my direction.

For such an easy incorporation into the group, I certainly wasn't left with a sense of comradery. It was too soon to judge, of course, and maybe too soon for the others to extend warmth my direction. Maybe I was expecting too much too quickly, but I hoped our next meetings would be less cryptic.

 

SEVEN

I didn't get to ask all the questions of Edwin I wanted to, but I did get one in.

“I'm concerned about my sister, Delaney. I'm going tae drop you at the shop and then I think I'll go look in on her.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, I don't think so, but I have an idea. Ask Rosie tae show you the warehouse. You need tae see what's in there and then you'll understand the auctions better.”

“That sounds great, but Edwin, can I ask you something?”

“Aye,” he said too abruptly.

“Did you really buy a First Folio from Birk?”

“I did.”

That was all he had to say? Just “I did”?

“How … I don't understand … they aren't…” I took a deep breath and let it out. “The First Folios are priceless, and most of the ones still in existence are accounted for, Edwin, and though there's a chance there are more out there, they aren't something that's typically just found. Was this something that was in Birk's possession? If so, how? Why wasn't it locked up somewhere safe, a library, a museum, a maximum-security vault?”

“Birk has a story of how he found the Folio. I don't believe him, but it's a better story than his cousin in London, I suppose. I'll let him tell it tae you someday.”

“If you don't believe him, where do you think he got it? And do you think it's real?”

“I searched and found that none had been stolen or lost or damaged, so I don't know where he got it, Delaney. I do think it's real, but I was hoping tae have you help me know for certain.”

“Is it in the warehouse?” I hoped beyond hope that the alleged Folio was locked up somewhere safe. If not a library or a museum or a bank vault somewhere, at least secure behind the red door at the shop.

“No, I gave it tae my sister, Jenny, tae care for it.”

“Did she lock it up?”

“I don't know what she did with it. That was our argument yesterday. Well, part of our argument. We argued about other things first, but then about where she hid the Folio.”

“Oh, my.” Truth be told, I wanted to faint and cry. At least whimper a little.

“I know what you're thinking, Delaney, that I was stupid and careless, and you might be right, but perhaps if you understood my past with my sister, you'd know I was just trying tae rebuild something that broke a long time ago. Entrusting her with the manuscript was my way of telling her she was welcome into my life, that I believed that she'd moved on from her terrible past. I admit, it was probably a bad choice and one that I will regret forever, even if we find the Folio and are able tae mend our family anyway.”