“Oh, this is something, innit?” George let out a long, low whistle as we approached Hazelhurst House. “It’s like we’re walking right into a book.” Seated beside me in the Cortina, George was clutching his copy of The Fatal Folio. He had also brought a messenger bag containing notepad and pens, a metal water bottle, and a package of McVitie’s biscuits, his favorite snack.
“You’ve got that right,” I agreed, although in my case, the book was more Cinderella than a gothic tale. I still pinched myself now and then, thinking, Am I really dating a member of the nobility? So bizarre.
I slowed even more as we passed by the bridge over the moat. People were parking right up ahead in a small gravel area, and I scanned the lot for a space.
There was a spot. I slid into the space, thwarting the Mini Cooper behind me. Spitting gravel, the driver sped past toward the overflow area down the lane.
George shook his head at such reckless driving. “They better not have dinged the paint, throwing rocks that way.”
“I hope not too.” Every time I drove this precious relic, I prayed to return it unscathed. The car was older than me by more than a decade.
After we climbed out, George took a good look at the Cortina before grunting in satisfaction. “Looks all right.” Seeing the Mini’s driver coming along on foot, he sent a glare in that direction.
It was Sophie Verona, who barely spared us a glance before marching on toward the manor. Walking slowly to give her time to get out of earshot, I said, “That’s Dr. Verona from St. Aelred. She’s in charge of the symposium and Thad was her assistant.” On the way out, I’d given George the scoop on the murder and my inadvertent involvement. Third time today and I was getting the spiel down.
George nodded sagely. “Oh, I see. Has a lot on her mind, does she?”
“I’d say so.” I picked up the pace. “On another topic, how do you like the book?” I nodded at The Fatal Folio. “I started reading it last night.”
“Enjoying it so far,” George said. We were crossing the bridge now and as we reached the other side, he whispered, “Blimey.”
The bridge was the former drawbridge and now we passed under a massive arch and entered a courtyard. I’d been to a party in the summer here, complete with tents and tables, potted plants, and a string quartet. Now only a couple of vehicles were parked near the main entrance opposite the arch.
On the steps, a young man was holding open the door for his female companion. After a second, I recognized Josh Blake and Amy O’Donnell, both in jeans like everyone else. She wore a long lavender sweater that set off her dark hair while he had donned a green fleece zipped to his neck. Last night’s events seemed to have made me far more conscious of outerwear choices. Would I recognize the killer’s jacket if I saw it?
“Hello,” I called, putting on a burst of speed. When they turned with identical puzzled expressions, I said, “Molly Kimball. We met at St. Aelred last night.”
“Oh. Molly.” Josh’s face cleared. “You did look a little familiar…”
“Hey, it was dark.” And we were all reeling from the attack on Thad. “This is George Flowers,” I said. “Big gothic fan.”
“The Brontë sisters are my main area of study,” George said, his accent as lofty as any toffee-nosed academic’s. “Now I’m broadening my scope to include Selwyn Scott and other early authors.”
We were through the door and inside the Great Hall, which featured everything medieval fortress. Suits of armor. Paneled walnut wainscoting. Hanging tapestries and a fireplace large enough for the proverbial ox. Rows of folding chairs in the middle indicated this was where the lecture would be held.
“I love the Brontës,” Amy said. “Have you been to Haworth?”
George had, last summer, and he and Amy began an excited conversation about the Brontës’ home village as we all slowly moved toward the action.
Oliver was standing near the podium talking to Lady Asha and Sophie Verona, and a group of fifty or so attendees were choosing seats or browsing the refreshments to one side, Wesley Wright from St. Aelred among them. To my surprise, Daisy was behind the buffet table.
“Excuse me,” I said to Josh. “I see someone I know.”
Laughing, he stayed on my heels. “And I see a scone with my name on it.”
“Tea and Crumpets in Magpie Lane,” I said. “Everything is excellent.”
Daisy glanced up from arranging a platter and saw me. “Molly, I didn’t know you’d be here today.”
“Right back at you,” I said. In addition to scones, there were jam and lemon curd tarts, eccles cakes, and cinnamon buns. “Oh, yum.” Despite my hearty breakfast, I had to have one of those buns dripping with brown sugar and cinnamon.
“The caterer canceled late yesterday,” Daisy said. “Kieran suggested Lady Asha call me, and thankfully I was able to fill in. I doubled my batches this morning and here I am.” Daisy had a small operation with only a couple of part-time employees. One of them must be holding down the fort.
“And we’re glad you’re here.” I put a bun on a plate, thinking I’d mosey along and grab a cup of tea as well. The line was building up behind me. “Talk later?”
“You bet.” Daisy smiled patiently as someone asked her a convoluted question about ingredients.
I flopped a teabag into a cup and added hot water, then carried my treats and a conference packet to an aisle seat in the back. The ability to make a quick getaway influenced my seating choices at events and lectures. Not that I thought Oliver would be boring. It was habit.
Kieran entered the room from the back, waving when he spotted me. Dressed in a mossy green sweater over a button-down, jeans, and polished boots, he looked great. Very casual lord of the manor. In front of me, two young women nudged each other and started whispering.
“That’s Dr. Scott’s cousin,” the redhead said. “He lives here.” They glanced around, eyes wide with amazed envy.
“Is he single?” the brunette asked with a laugh. She shrank back in her seat. “Don’t look. He’s coming this way.”
Suddenly, I couldn’t resist the urge to show off my boyfriend, just a bit. I leaned forward. “I’m sorry, he’s not. Single, I mean.”
Their heads swiveled around. The brunette frowned. “How do you know?”
In response, I lifted my hand and waved as Kieran got closer. “Hey, sweetie. Saved you a seat.” I hadn’t, but there was an empty chair next to me. I moved over.
“Sweetie?” he mouthed as he sat down. He gave me a quick kiss. “Good morning. How are you?”
The women’s ears were practically standing straight out as they pretended not to listen, tempting me to say something naughty about last night. Instead I said, “Wonderful, thanks, despite the lack of sleep.” There. Semi-naughty. “Catch up later, after this? I’ll be in the library.”
He rested an arm across the back of my chair. “Speaking of the library, we have a little surprise later.”
I leaned close; luckily the lusty women seemed to have moved on, tittering between themselves. “Can you tell me?”
“We put the original manuscript on display,” he said under his breath. “We’ll let everyone walk through and view it after the lecture.”
“Wonderful. They’ll love it.” I had been thrilled to see the pages penned by Selwyn Scott, and I was sure this group of gothic fans would be equally as enthralled.
Sophie Verona stepped up to the podium and adjusted the microphone. “Good morning,” she said, her voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room. “Welcome to the first event in this year’s Gothic Institute. We gather to learn, enjoy our favorite genre, and have a good time.” A brief round of applause broke out. She cleared her throat. “Before I introduce Dr. Oliver Scott, who will be speaking to us about a novel penned right here at Hazelhurst House, I have some sad news to share.”
The audience began to shift around and whisper, and I guessed most of them already knew about Thad.
“I’m sorry to report,” Sophie went on, “that Thad Devine, my assistant, and a true student of the gothic, was attacked and killed last night.” Gasps flew around the room. “The case is in the hands of the most capable Cambridge police.” As people started to babble, she put up a hand. “I’d like to have a moment of silence for Thad before we begin.” It was a nice touch, also a way to rein in the audience.
Silence settled over the hall, everyone’s heads bowed. Then, after about fifty seconds or so, a startling rattle and crash broke the quiet.
A suit of armor near the wall collapsed, sending the helmet rolling across the floor. It ended up close to Oliver’s feet. Not missing a beat, he picked up the helmet and holding it, said, “Did you arrange this, Lady Asha? I couldn’t ask for a more perfect introduction to my talk, ‘Cursed Objects in the Gothic.’” Everyone laughed and, as Oliver took his place at the podium, settled in to listen.
“How did you like the talk?” I asked George when he ambled up to me after the lecture. “I certainly learned a lot. I like the way he identified common themes.”
Oliver had compared the coveted manuscript, The Ramblings of a Monk, to Wilkie Collins’s moonstone and the monkey’s paw in the short story by W. W. Jacobs. The objects were alluring—well, the monkey’s paw for its purported power—appealed to humanity’s worst instincts, and provided a comeuppance. He’d also touched on themes like gothic settings and weather, as well as eccentric characters and a mood of brooding danger.
“I did as well,” George said, showing me the notes scrawled on his notepad. “I’ll be reading with a much more informed eye.” He glanced around, noticing that people were lining up at the back of the hall. “Are you going to see the manuscript?”
“Not right now,” I said. “Kieran showed it to me the other day so I don’t need to clog up the queue.”
“Lucky you,” George said with envy in his voice. “You’re cataloguing the library, Violet said?”
“I am. Oh, George, you’ll love it. They have so many first editions, bought hot off the presses.” I had an idea. “If you can hang around a while, I’ll give you a private tour.” I was sure the Scotts wouldn’t mind. Kieran thought the world of George.
George beamed. “I’d love that, I would. Well, I’d better get in line. See you later.” He strode off toward the group waiting to view The Fatal Folio.
I went over to the refreshments table. Daisy was letting people pick at the remains while packing up what she could. “Heading out soon?”
“I am.” She placed extra paper plates and napkins in a tote. “See you back in town?”
“Why don’t we grab a beer at the pub later?” I could use some time to decompress and a chat with my best friend. “I have a lot to tell you.”
Daisy checked to be sure no one was listening. “About Thad? The police called me earlier. They want another interview.”
I nodded. “Kieran and I were at the college talking to the police until almost midnight. And we met several of Thad’s friends. All of whom are here today.”
“Any theories?” Daisy asked. “I know it’s early days…” She combined three stacks of paper cups and tossed them into the tote.
“Sort of.” Thad’s harassment of Amy was all I knew so far. This wasn’t the place to discuss that, though. “Do you need some help?” I offered belatedly. Daisy hesitated. In response, I skirted the table and put my bags down. “What should I do?”
“Thanks, Molly,” Daisy said. She handed me a plastic container. “Start with the baked goods. I’m going to leave the extras.”
Between the two of us, we soon had the buffet table cleared and everything packed in totes stacked on two dollies. The hall was mostly deserted now, with only an occasional person passing through. Everyone must be in the library.
“I’ll bring the van around,” Daisy said, jingling keys. “Be right back.”
Pulling out my phone, I sat on the closest chair and checked for messages. I also snapped a picture of the hall and posted on the bookshop social media page. Where it all began. #TheFatalFolio #GothicLiteratureInstitute
“Food all gone?” Wesley Wright stood in front of the empty table. His curly hair was a mess, one corner of his collar was turned up, and his eyes were red-rimmed. He looked like the poster child for a bad night, and I could guess the cause.
“I’m sorry, we just packed up,” I said. He gave a tiny groan so, taking pity on him, I picked up the container of scones and peeled off the lid. “Here.”
He took one, his fingers fumbling. “Thanks.” He tossed his hair out of his eyes and took a bite. After swallowing, he said, “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“I was with Oliver last night.” I left it at that.
“Oh yeah.” He crammed the rest of the scone into his mouth. “Thad.” He grimaced, blinking rapidly. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”
“You roomed near each other?” I asked, to confirm what I’d gleaned.
“Right next door.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “He was my cousin.”
I inhaled sharply. Thad had been his family member as well as a friend. “I’m so sorry.”
“Wesley?” Amy was in the doorway at the back of the room. “You’re going to miss the exhibit if you don’t hurry.”
He threw me a wry smile. “I’d better scoot. See ya.” He shambled off to join Amy.
Daisy soon returned and I pushed one dolly while she did the other. Outside, we loaded the van and Daisy closed the double doors. “Well, Molly, I’d best be off. Send me a text when you’re free later.”
“Will do. Hopefully we can get together and catch up.” I stood in the fresh—very fresh—air for a moment, watching as she drove across the former drawbridge and along the drive. A frosty winter sun touched the battlements and a small flag snapped in the wind. A sense of timelessness, of vast history stretching back centuries, settled around me. We all had our brief moment and this was mine. A librarian from Vermont privileged enough to curate and preserve great literary works while spending time in some incredible places, like the courtyard of Hazelhurst House.
Unlike Thad, whose life had been abruptly cut short. How tragic and unfair.
Behind me, the double doors opened and attendees began to emerge, chatting and laughing. The event was over, which meant I should go find Kieran. After we ate, I’d settle down in the library and continue the cataloguing job.
Inside the Great Hall, Kieran and some helpers were stacking chairs and carrying away the podium and tables. “Mum said lunch in ten,” he told me, pausing his work.
I checked the time on a grandfather clock. Almost noon. “I’d better go find George. I promised him a tour of the library.”
“Ask him to stay and do it after,” Kieran suggested. “George is a favorite of hers so she won’t mind at all.”
George sure did get around. “I’ll do that.” I set off through the hall in search of my friend.
After a delicious lunch of pea soup made with local ham, Kieran accompanied George and me to the library. It had been locked after the attendees viewed the manuscript and Kieran had the keys.
We waited in silence while Kieran searched the bundle for the right one. “Ah, here we are.” He turned the brass key with a decisive click and then opened the door. “I’ll be heading back to town shortly, George, if you want a ride.”
“That would be lovely,” George said. “I was planning to take the bus.”
“No need. Hang out with Molly here and I’ll swing round to get you.” With a nod, Kieran withdrew, leaving us alone.
“Where to begin?” I said as George and I crossed the carpet. I put my laptop bag on the table. “As you can see, the library is divided into sections by subject. The fiction is right over here.” That was his area of interest. “The books are more or less in order by author.”
George padded along behind me, admiration shining on his good-natured face. “This library is like a time capsule. The history of a family’s love of books.”
“Good way to put it.” No doubt the Scotts’ collecting choices could serve as commentary on the reading tastes and interests of literate Brits through the centuries. I gestured. “Here are the Brontë sisters, if you want to take a look.”
He moved closer to the shelf, the admiration replaced by awe, and carefully removed the oldest book, a copy of Wuthering Heights. “It’s a first edition, all right. Published under the name Ellis Bell.”
“Why don’t I fire up my laptop? That can be the first entry.” The catalogue could be sorted by author as well as classification, so entry order didn’t matter.
As I went back to the table, I felt a cold breeze. Glancing around, I didn’t see any source of cold air. A gust down the fireplace? That didn’t seem likely.
“Someone leave a window open?” George asked. “I feel a draft.”
“Maybe.” I moved toward the closest set of windows, covered by long curtains to protect the books from sunlight. “Though I have no idea why anyone would open a window in this weather.” When I pulled back the curtains, I discovered that the tall casement windows were open slightly. “How dumb was this?” I pulled them closed.
On the way back to the table, I noticed a glass cabinet sitting on another table. That must be where they’d displayed The Fatal Folio. “Kieran put the manuscript away, huh?” I commented.
George looked over his shoulder. “Did he?”
I took a closer look at the case. The glass at the back was broken, and the cabinet lock lay on the table.
The open window, the empty case, and the broken glass added up to a terrible conclusion: the Fatal Folio manuscript had been stolen.