While O had been picking her way warily along the banks of the stream in the ravine, Emily was back in the shop, poring over one of the carriage-house books she’d brought downstairs and doing her best to forget what day it was. Still, now and then, a wave of dread would suddenly wash over her, leaving her limp.
When the telephone rang, she nearly jumped out of her skin. She expected it to be O and was ready to give her an earful for having disappeared so long. It had something to do with that boy, she was sure. He’d shown up at the shop around one and, as soon as he learned O wasn’t there, had hurried off.
But when she picked up the phone, she was surprised to hear the voice of Lenora Linton.
“Hello,” said Miss Linton in her slow, measured manner. “Is this Miss Endicott? It’s Lenora Linton calling.”
“Hello, Miss Linton. How nice to hear from you. I thought you would have moved by now.”
“I’ve been unavoidably delayed. The buyer for the collection has withdrawn his offer. It seems the financing fell through.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” A faint tremor of hope stirred in her breast.
“Forgive me, Miss Endicott, I’m afraid this is rather awkward. But since you had made an offer on the collection already, I was wondering if you might still be interested.”
Emily sat bolt upright in her seat. She tried to keep the excitement from her voice. “Yes, I might still have an interest – if the price was right.”
“Well, I’m rather up against a wall right now, as you can imagine. I’m sure we could work out something agreeable to both of us. Could you possibly drop by today?”
“Today?” Her mind was racing a mile a minute. “Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid I really must leave tonight.”
“I see, but I’m alone in the shop right now. And I’d have to contact my bank, of course. I’m not sure I could get everything in order that quickly.”
“I understand perfectly. Forgive me for troubling you, Miss Endicott. I thought it might be worth a try. Good-bye.” And with a quiet click, the line went dead.
Emily sat at the desk in a state of shock. Her hands would not stop shaking. The find of a lifetime had slipped through her fingers not once, but twice. It was more than she could bear. Quickly gathering her thoughts, she decided to close the shop early and leave a note for O. She called the bank to confirm that the line of credit she had set up earlier was still in place, then rifled through her Rolodex for the Linton number.
She dialed with trembling fingers. The line was busy. Miss Linton was no doubt talking to someone else about the collection. She hung up, waited a few minutes, and called again. Miss Linton answered on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Miss Linton, it’s Emily Endicott. I’ve been able to make the necessary arrangements. I could come by today, and we could talk.”
“That would be splendid.”
She glanced up at the clock, estimating how long it would take to pull herself together, close the shop, and get over to the Linton house. “Shall we say five o’clock?”
“Five would be fine. I look forward to seeing you.”
Emily had been so preoccupied when she woke up that morning that she had pulled on the first things that came to hand. She changed into something more presentable now and ran a brush through her hair, while staring into the startled eyes of the old woman in the mirror.
Putting her checkbook in her purse, she went downstairs and switched off the lights in the shop. She turned the sign in the window to CLOSED and locked the door behind her. On her way to the car, she realized she had forgotten to leave the note for O. There wasn’t time to go back now. She would try to call while she was out.
The car started on the first try; she took it to be a good sign. As she threaded her way through the sunlit streets, a breeze blew cool upon her face, and she felt the cloud that had settled over her these past few weeks begin to lift. A new optimism flowed through her and, with it, the conviction that things were about to turn her way.
She found the little cul-de-sac street without even thinking about it, as though the car had driven there by itself. Parking around the corner, she walked to the house. The house next door was no more. Even the rubble had been cleared, leaving a flat empty lot with a startling view of the ravine beyond.
There was a hollow sound when she knocked. She heard approaching footsteps. Miss Linton opened the door, looking wan and frazzled. She had a kerchief tied in her hair. “Miss Endicott, do come in. I’m afraid the place is in rather a state. I’m arranging some last minute things for the movers to pick up tomorrow, after I’ve gone.”
The hall was a jumble of boxes. The pictures had been taken down, and the rug had been rolled. Their footsteps echoed on the bare wooden floor.
“I’ll just show you to the library,” said Miss Linton. “I imagine you’d like to have another quick look at the collection.”
Emily followed her up the stairs and along the hall, glancing through open doors at empty rooms shrouded in shadows. Miss Linton walked her as far as the foot of the narrow staircase that led to the turret room.
“The room felt damp. I laid a fire for you. There’s tea on the table. Please help yourself. I’ll be back shortly, and we’ll talk business.” She hurried off down the hall, muttering fretfully to herself.
Emily mounted the stairs and entered the library. The fire burned pleasantly in the grate. A silver tea service sat on the table. The books were ranged on the surrounding shelves. She felt like a child in a toyshop.
She’d brought along her notes on several titles she had researched following her first look at the collection. She took those books down now and went through them, confirming the details. It was a marvelous collection! She could hardly believe it would soon be hers.
It would fetch a very good price. The titles in the magic section were extremely rare. She scanned the books on the shelves again – histories of stage magic and magicians, early volumes linking magic with witchcraft – one rarity after another. The profit she stood to make from the sale of these alone would more than cover her costs.
Time passed. She wondered what was keeping Miss Linton. No doubt she had much to do. No point in putting up a fuss. Emily still hoped she could finesse the price a little. Pouring herself a cup of tea, she surveyed her estate. There was that sound of cooing she had heard last time. In a minute, it passed.
Miss Linton had left a few empty boxes on the floor of the room. Emily presumed they were for her. She began carefully boxing a few of the prize items she hoped to carry away with her today. As for the rest, she would arrange for Miles to accompany her, sometime over the next couple of days, to pick them up. A smile came to her face as she imagined his reaction to this find they had dreamt of for years.
Here was something she hadn’t seen before – a thin booklet in paper wraps entitled Secrets of the Magic Art. She looked in vain for a date. It was cheaply produced, the printing uneven, and the binding no more than a simple stitch. Nonetheless, it was a curious little volume and, no doubt, quite rare.
She sat down with it in the comfortable chair before the fire. It carried her off as soon as she started to read. There was something arresting in the tone of the writing. For all its crudeness, there was a note of solemnity to it, a sense that magic in whatever guise was something not to be taken lightly. It cautioned devotees of the art to enter into its study with heart and mind prepared. Following the introduction, a number of magical feats were described – with no suggestion that they were illusions, but rather an underlying presumption that magic was a real and potent power.
The fire crackled in the grate. She found herself glancing up at it from the pages of the book. It was hypnotic. She took another sip of the tea. Her eyes felt heavy. Her mind was playing tricks with her. As she stared into the fire, she saw faces in the flames, heard voices in the crackling of the wood.
In some dim corner of consciousness, Emily knew she ought to be getting home. But with the book and the tea and the heat of the fire, all that began to fade. A lethargy crept over her and, with it, a feeling of absolute peace. She felt as she had on those long lazy summer afternoons in the sun when she was young.
It was as if some high forbidding wall she had been standing in front of had suddenly fallen away. A wondrous sense of endless possibilities stretched out before her. Lines of poetry floated fully formed into her mind. There was magic in the air, and she fell willingly into its warm embrace.
She closed her eyes and laid her head back against the chair. A delicious lassitude spread like sweet warm light through all her limbs. And she slept.
The old woman who had entered the room lay slumped in the chair like a castoff coat, and a young woman full of life and light rose and walked through her dreams.
The book slipped from her hands and fell quietly to the floor.