Death of an Avid Reader (19 page)

‘Miss Sturgeon, we are not haunted. This is an old building. Sometimes there are unexplained noises.'

‘There is a ghost. I think that's why Miss Montague left.'

So Miss Montague had gone without fanfare or the opportunity for our stalwart Miss Heaton to take a collection for a leaving present.

‘You need no longer worry about the ghost. Father Bolingbroke saw to that.'

‘I suppose we should all be reassured, even though…'

‘Even though what?'

Her whisper became a mere movement of the lips. ‘He is a Roman Catholic.'

‘Catholics are very good at that kind of thing. They have had a lot of practice.'

Her look told me that she was not reassured.

I wondered what had brought about this resurgence of interest in the ghost. After all, it was over forty years since his first appearance. But if youthful imagination was to conjure him again, this season of restless souls and spectral fogs would prove the best and worst of times for a haunting.

‘When did Miss Montague leave?'

‘About three weeks ago.'

Although our brief conversation was muted, a stooped, elderly gentleman passing through the corridor glared at us, clearing his throat to indicate ostentatious disapproval.

‘Where is Mr Lennox?' I mouthed.

‘In the committee room.'

On my way, I saw Father Bolingbroke, in the new room, poring over Thomas Aquinas. I tried not to make a sound, but perhaps he is sensitive to another's presence. He turned and gave me a look of great concern before glancing about, to ensure we were alone, and no one would shush him. ‘Mrs Shackleton, tell me, have you recovered from your ordeal?'

‘Fully, thank you.'

‘Thank the Lord.'

I could not resist, because to tell the truth I was a little annoyed by the way he rushed off with no thought for Lennox, or for me. ‘Do you think we accomplished our task of sending the ghost on his travels, Father Bolingbroke, in spite of our dreadful discovery?'

‘We must trust in God. I did everything I could. May God forgive the poor sinner who murdered a blameless man.'

‘Umberto Bruno is innocent until proven guilty.'

‘I believe he has confessed the crime, which is to the good of his soul.'

I don't quite know what expression I plastered on my face, but I took my leave and walked to the committee room where I tapped on the door.

After a moment, Mr Lennox opened the door.

He and Mrs Carmichael were seated at the long oak table. It was piled with damaged books. After glancing at them, noticing the age and the covers, I realised that here were the volumes that had fallen and covered Dr Potter's body.

In the centre of the table was Pugin's
Gothic Ornament.

‘Good morning.' My manner was a little breezy because I wanted to be sure that no look of mine betrayed that I had seen them together, in their dressing gowns, over the Sunday morning breakfast table at Mr Lennox's flat. ‘Sorry to interrupt.'

Mrs Carmichael gave a small smile. ‘Some tasks warrant the occasional interruption.'

‘That's quite all right.' Mr Lennox pulled out a chair for me. ‘I am glad you are here. I worried about you over the weekend. I felt I let you down on Friday.'

His manner was, as usual, warm and friendly. She was calm and confident as ever, if a little detached. Given that she had insisted I take part in Friday evening's venture, I was surprised that she seemed more concerned about the books than anything else. She pointed out one that was very badly damaged.

He straightened a small pile of books. ‘These are the volumes that took the brunt when the bookcase toppled. We are examining them to see which we will be able to repair ourselves and which must go to the bookbinder.'

‘Dr Potter would have hated costing the library money.' Mrs Carmichael stretched a loving hand towards
Gothic Ornament.
‘Fortunately Pugin was not in the least damaged.'

One of Mrs Carmichael's special interests is the library's collection of Civil War pamphlets. I learned this when I had the misfortune to be co-opted onto the storage sub-committee. Mrs Carmichael put up a powerful argument against her precious pamphlets remaining in the basement after the war ended. No doubt she now felt fully vindicated.

Mr Lennox said, ‘I expect you have heard that the police have charged a man with the murder of Dr Potter.'

It gave me a small shock to realise that he did not know I had gone to the infirmary with Umberto Bruno and sat by his bed for two nights. Naturally he was ignorant of the fact that I was giving board and lodging to Umberto's monkey, and taking care of his gold sovereigns.

‘Yes, I did hear.'

Mr Lennox raised his eyebrows and sighed. ‘Bad business. I can't decide how I feel about it all. It's such a mess. In a way, it could be a relief that some vagrant found his way in and was disturbed by Dr Potter, that it was an outsider.'

‘Why do you believe that is what happened?'

‘What else could it be? The police have charged the organ grinder fellow.' He blinked. ‘Do you have another explanation?'

‘Not yet. Mr Lennox, is there anyone else who could have been in the basement on Friday?'

‘I was here from half eight till noon, when I went to a meeting at the Central Library; we like to ensure we are not duplicating acquisitions. I saw Dr Potter briefly when he came in with you, and that was all.'

Mrs Carmichael made a neat pile of books with damaged bindings. ‘I was here all day, but only on the counter when Miss Sturgeon went for her midday break. Professor Merton was here in the late morning. He and Dr Potter sometimes walk back to the university together.'

Mr Lennox said, ‘The police inspector tried out a ridiculous theory – that Dr Potter was stealing books, or that he caught the organ grinder stealing books.'

‘What makes him arrive at such a conclusion?' I asked.

Lennox sighed. ‘Because you found Pugin's
Gothic Ornament
near the body, the police seem to think that Dr Potter may have been our thief but that is not so.'

Mrs Carmichael said. ‘It's such a puzzle. Dr Potter had every right to be in the basement. We cannot say that this or that area is out of bounds to a proprietor, especially one as esteemed as Dr Potter.'

Lennox nodded agreement. ‘He was a man beyond reproach, entirely unworldly and interested only in his subject, a most selfless and impartial individual.'

‘Mr Lennox, you just said that the police “seemed to think that Dr Potter may have been our thief”. What do you mean by that?'

My question upset both Mr Lennox and Mrs Carmichael. They exchanged a look.

Mrs Carmichael said, ‘Shouldn't we tell Mrs Shackleton?'

Mr Lennox made chewing motions, as if tackling a tough cut of mutton. ‘We kept it quiet.' He swallowed the mutton. ‘Well, not to put too fine a point on it, valuable books have been stolen.'

So that was what Dr Potter had meant when he asked me about stolen books in the same breath as he mentioned the lovely and obliging counter assistant. ‘You have your own suspect, I believe.'

Mrs Carmichael's nostrils quivered with distaste. ‘We certainly do. Will you tell Mrs Shackleton, or shall I?'

‘We can no longer be sure,' Lennox said. ‘Don't you see that?'

‘I am sure.' Mrs Carmichael picked up a damaged book and moved it across the table. ‘The thief was a member of staff. That is how we know it was not Dr Potter, and certainly not the organ grinder, who would not have known which books are valuable.'

Lennox barely moved his lips. ‘Perhaps we were wrong.'

‘We were not wrong. She hid books somewhere, intending to take them later when the coast was clear. Don't you see, that is why she had no objection to working in the basement.'

‘Let us say no more.'

For a moment, neither spoke. ‘Mr Lennox, Mrs Carmichael, you can't leave it like that.'

Mrs Carmichael lowered her eyes, and left the talking to Mr Lennox.

‘She is no longer here. We dismissed her.'

‘Who was it?'

‘One of the counter assistants.'

‘What did she steal?'

‘William Bligh's
Narrative of the Mutiny on the Bounty.
Mrs Carmichael suspected her when the cleaner found the index card in her waste bin and asked was this card meant to be thrown away.'

‘She stole more than one book?'

Mrs Carmichael sighed but took her cue. ‘She denied it, of course. She went almost hysterical with rage. I thought she was going to strike me. Mr Lennox had to restrain her.'

Mr Lennox nodded grimly. He lowered his eyes, as if the memory pained him.

Mrs Carmichael continued. ‘She thought that by disposing of the index cards, anyone searching through the drawer for titles would not know the books were meant to be in stock, or would assume they had been withdrawn or disposed of.'

How stupid of her not to take the cards home, I thought.

Now Mrs Carmichael warmed to her tale. ‘She did not take into account that I have a shelf list and checked most carefully, cross-referencing with loans.'

The episode still rankled and it incensed her to speak of it. She made the slightest gesture towards Lennox, as if to comfort him, but made no contact. ‘The person in question said I could search her locker and her bag if I did not believe her. She had never stolen anything in her life and anyone who said different was a blatant liar. That was her bluff. But I did search her bag and found Joseph Priestley's
History and Present State of Electricity.
We know she took other books, including the Bligh, but unfortunately did not have the proof.'

Why were they being so exasperating? I wanted them to speak her name. ‘Who was it?'

‘She has gone.' Mr Lennox looked distinctly uncomfortable, almost as if he had been the thief's accomplice. ‘Mrs Carmichael pointed out that she would have had to remove the library's nameplate, a task of some skill. No doubt that is why she volunteered for the bookbinding course. Naturally Mr Castle has been informed.'

‘I don't know why you are being so protective of her if you are sure of your facts. It is clearly Miss Montague. I saw her name in the minutes as having taken part in a bookbinding course, and she left three weeks ago.'

‘Yes,' Lennox said. ‘You would have learned of her departure at the next committee meeting, under staff matters.'

‘What else went missing?' I did not yet want them to know that my interest was in the person, rather than the books.

‘Walker's
Costumes of Yorkshire
and Dugdale's
Monasticon.
'

‘Were charges laid against Miss Montague?'

‘No.'

‘Did you tell the police?'

‘No. We discussed the matter with Mr Castle and decided to keep it quiet, for the sake of the library's reputation. We dismissed her without a reference. It could have been a most unwelcome scandal.'

Just like the bank clerk Sykes had been investigating. An organisation must hold onto its reputation. Take the blow and say nothing.

‘I wish I had known. My assistant, Mr Sykes, is very good at instituting security into establishments.'

Mrs Carmichael glanced at a book for damage and deftly set it aside. ‘Indeed. One does not expect to have to make random searches of staff leaving a library, as if they were factory workers who might wrap a length of cloth around themselves and cover it with a bulky coat.'

‘I am sure we could come up with some discreet measures to minimise the risk of theft. Let us talk about it when things are a little more settled.'

How should I approach finding out more? By pretending to know less than I did.

‘Remind me, what was Miss Montague's Christian name?'

Mr Lennox answered straight away, and softly, as though her name waited to fall from his tongue. ‘Marian.'

‘Mary Ann?'

‘No, Marian.'

‘Ah, I thought you said Mary Ann.'

‘She may well have been a Mary Ann,' Mrs Carmichael said. ‘Perhaps she lied about her name as about everything else. A pity you weren't on the appointments committee when she came, Mrs Shackleton. I expect you must be adept at spotting individuals with criminal tendencies.'

‘I'm afraid not. In my experience, appearances can deceive.' Keep her on the subject, I told myself. ‘I'm trying to remember Miss Montague. Didn't she have auburn hair?'

Mrs Carmichael said, ‘Yes, she wore her hair long, not very well done up in a chignon, with fancy combs.'

‘She was quite striking.'

Hastily, Mr Lennox stood and clumsily pushed back his chair. ‘If you'll excuse me, I'll telephone to the bookbinder from my office.' Looking most uncomfortable and without another glance at either of us, he left the room.

Mrs Carmichael waited until he had closed the door. ‘Oh yes, Miss Montague was striking. She turned heads.' It gave me a shiver to hear Mrs Carmichael use the same words about the library assistant as my Aunt Berta had used to describe Lady Coulton all those years ago. She turned heads.

Mrs Carmichael continued. ‘At first I thought her a decent person but she had a coarse habit of rolling up her sleeves to just above the elbow, as if about to sink her arms into a tub of washing.'

Just as young Sophia Wells had rolled up her sleeves and swept the pavement outside the wet fish shop in Scarborough.

Mrs Carmichael wrinkled her nose. ‘Her demeanour gave a bad impression to gentlemen proprietors. It would not have surprised me in the least if she had come to work wearing earrings.'

A dozen thoughts dizzied my brain. Mrs Carmichael's sleeves ended just above her scrawny wrists. Her hands were veined and spotted. It would not suit her to have a young, attractive woman drawing the eye of her lover. It must have been convenient for Mrs Carmichael to have Marian Montague caught stealing.