Death of an Avid Reader (27 page)

This was the longest speech I had ever heard from my neighbour. He drew murmurs of agreement, and then continued. ‘Regarding the question of whether the library should stay in these premises, or remove, Dr Potter and I looked at this matter most carefully. There was a certain attraction for Dr Potter in the idea of the removal to premises not yet built, representing a leap into the unknown. After much consideration, it is the considered judgement that we should drop this question altogether and move forward.'

Mr Castle glanced at his notes. ‘Thank you, Professor Merton.' He paused. ‘This venerable library must not be treated as a sinking ship. She is afloat. She has proprietors, a captain and crew who are devoted to her. She will sail on through this century and into the next without altering course or seeking harbours new.'

Murmurs greeted his words, mostly of approval, but with a single ‘Shame!' and a ‘Too bad'.

Mr Castle looked at Mr Lennox and Mrs Carmichael. ‘Mr Lennox, would you inform the meeting of the staff view on this matter? They are of the same mind, I believe.'

Lennox remained seated. Even from where I sat, I saw his Adam's apple leap as he gulped. ‘They are indeed of the same mind, satisfied with our present situation.' He paused, and reflected. Speaking once more, with all the emphasis he could muster, he concluded, ‘We see no advantage in removing to new premises.'

He had changed his tune since yesterday.

Mrs Carmichael nodded, her mouth a grim line.

‘Are there any questions?' Mr Castle asked.

There were two questions. A gentleman I did not know asked about some kind of permanent memorial to Dr Potter.

Miss Heaton asked whether proprietors would be kind enough to contribute to the collection for Dr Potter's nearest and dearest. The tin was on the counter.

I wondered if she knew that his nearest and dearest were a Welsh manservant, and a pony called Archie.

Mr Castle picked up his pen in a drawing the matter to a close gesture.

I stood and raised my hand. ‘Mr Chairman.'

‘You have a comment, Mrs Shackleton?'

‘Dr Potter was highly enthusiastic about moving to new premises. It is too soon to dismiss the possibility. In honour of his memory, we should have a discussion in committee, and a vote, just as we have voted on a blessing for the building. I suggest we postpone the question.'

I sat down to a couple of murmurs of agreement.

Mr Castle frowned. Professor Merton glared at me. The two men put their heads together and exchanged a few quiet words.

Finally, Mr Castle said, ‘Very well, Mrs Shackleton, we will take the matter to the committee.'

‘Thank you.'

Having spoken on a sudden impulse, I could not precisely say why I had intervened, especially since Dr Potter's enthusiasm was entirely to do with the possibility of a menagerie in the basement. It just seemed to me that a lid was being put on the business far too quickly, and I wanted to know why.

Mr Castle thanked people for their attendance and closed the meeting. Library proprietors began to file out the way we had come. Mr Castle and Professor Merton had their heads together. Mrs Carmichael joined with two lady proprietors in earnest conversation.

Mr Lennox slipped away, into the passage. Without appearing to hurry, I moved after him. I caught up with him at the foot of the staircase.

‘Mr Lennox.'

He turned. He was pale, and looked ill.

‘You changed your mind about the removal.'

‘We all thought it for the best.'

‘But you were so enthusiastic.'

‘An answer is demanded by the business group concerned. We were in a corner.' Something about the way he phrased his answer, made it seem personal, as though he were the one in a corner.

‘Do you have Miss Montague's address for me?'

Without replying, he hurried up the stairs, entered his room and closed the door firmly.

I joined the short queue at the counter, to register attendance, and took money from my satchel to contribute towards Miss Heaton's collection.

An elderly couple had buttonholed Inspector Wallis and Sergeant Ashworth. I watched Inspector Wallis carefully extricate himself, leaving Sergeant Ashworth to deal with queries or offers of information.

The inspector came to speak to me. ‘I don't believe I congratulated you on delivering the book thief, Mrs Shackleton.'

Sometimes modesty is the best policy.

‘It was pure fluke. I called to see whether I could do anything to help Dr Potter's manservant. Fortunately my assistant Mr Sykes was with me, and Mr Morgan caught Father Bolingbroke red-handed.'

‘Excuse me, Inspector.'

Wallis turned to see who had spoken, and was immediately engaged in conversation.

As I signed the register of attendance, I fastened my coat and adjusted my satchel. Then I noticed that the basement door was open just a fraction. Marian was the one who did not mind working in the basement. I remembered noticing a desk there, just by the small pulley lift used for transporting books between ground floor and basement.

People were gathered in twos and threes, and small groups. Looking at this bookshelf and that, I edged closer to the basement entrance. Once at the door, it was a matter of a second to slip through, and to flick the electric switch. The shiver I felt as I went down the stairs was not simply due to the change in temperature.

As I had remembered, the desk was to my right, its surface clear. I opened the drawers one by one. There were two on either side and one in the centre. In the centre drawer was a neatly written list, headed ‘things to do'. A quick glance told me that there was nothing personal on the list; it was to do with cataloguing, rearranging files, searching for a title. The side drawers contained pencils, pen and ink, typed sheets whose text had been struck through, indicating the paper should be reused on the blank side.

In the last drawer was a five-tooth silver hair comb, embossed with fruit and flowers. I ran my fingers across the decoration. That was hers, I felt sure. Miss Montague always had some pretty comb in her hair.

Surely there would be nothing to find, after the police search, but all the same, I would take a look. Otherwise I would regret the missed opportunity. I walked past the coal hole. The grate above, through which coal was delivered from the street, let in a grey light. Next to that was a half window and beyond, a cupboard of a room. There was a shovel, a pick, and a broom. I realised that I still had Marian Montague's silver comb clutched in my hand so hard that it hurt.

The lighting was poor. I took a torch from my satchel and played the light back and forth. The bookshelves that had toppled were once again upright, but their stock had not been returned. It gave me goose pimples to pass so close to the place where Dr Potter had lain. I pressed on, towards the spot where Umberto had curled himself in a ball and would have died had we not found him. The floor was flagged with paving stones, and there were the marks of a broom, where it had been swept.

I had not heard footsteps, but suddenly knew someone was behind me. Startled, I turned to see Mr Castle. ‘What are you doing down here, Mrs Shackleton? You could have been locked in.'

He was standing far too close. I moved aside. ‘Oh I don't think so. Someone would have noticed the lights.'

‘What are you looking for?'

‘I'll know what I'm looking for when I see it. Isn't that the charm of our library? We come across the unexpected.' I was determined not to let him intimidate me; reminding him that though he was library president, he held only one share, as I did.

‘You are being rather enigmatic.'

‘All right, perhaps you can help. Where has Marian Montague gone? You, Mr Lennox and Mrs Carmichael are the only ones who know she was wrongfully dismissed.'

He is not a man to show his reactions, but I would have sworn that in the dim light, his jaw dropped. ‘Why do you want to know about her?'

‘She was sacked without a character and has left her lodgings. It won't do.'

Suddenly, he was blocking my way, standing close, looming over me. When I stepped aside, so did he. ‘Wrongfully, why do you say that? It is a mistake to think there can be only one thief in the world.'

‘There was only one thief in the library, and it was not her. Anyway, thief or not, I want to find her.'

‘It must be very hard being a detective, Mrs Shackleton, imagining all sorts of terrible things. Do you think I smuggled the girl home and am keeping her in a cupboard?' He gave a mirthless laugh.

I dodged aside and began walking back towards the stairs. ‘I shouldn't think Mrs Castle would want her in the house.'

He was beside me again, and the corridor of books was too narrow. ‘I won't have my dear wife's name mentioned in the same breath as that woman of Babylon, excuse my language.' I glanced up at him but in the dim light could not read the expression on his face. ‘She was no good. I do not expect a lady to understand my meaning. We are fortunate that she went quietly.'

I was cold, but suddenly turned colder. ‘What do you mean, she went quietly?'

‘You must know she tried to latch her hooks into Mr Lennox. She would not be the first.' He put his hand on my arm. ‘You are going in the wrong direction.'

‘What?'

He gripped my arm. ‘It's a labyrinth down here. This way for the stairs.'

‘You know your way around the labyrinth then?'

His grip on my arm tightened. ‘What do you mean by that?'

‘Nothing. Just that I have seen enough.'

A sense of unease flooded through me, but I struggled to behave normally as we walked side by side.

When he spoke again, it was as if he had forgotten Marian Montague, or wanted to change the subject. ‘You were talking to Dr Potter on the day he died.'

‘Yes.'

‘What did he say?'

‘The usual pleasantries.'

‘Scurrilous remarks more likely.' Castle uttered a small dismissive sound. ‘He handed you something, a student magazine I think. Have you read it?' He tried to sound nonchalant, but there was something like dismay in his voice, or fear.

I thought about mentioning Dr Potter's written account of the ghost, but it suddenly struck me that the more relevant article may have been the one concerning Nelson, Castle and Nelson, solicitors. ‘There was an item about embezzlement and a Mr Nelson and his secretary going missing.' Someone going missing, like Marian Montague. I kept my voice light, as if we were walking along the street, chatting, and not blundering about between high bookcases and turning corners. ‘Were you in the same practice, Mr Castle?'

‘I was. It was most unfortunate. Nelson almost ruined us. He helped himself from the estates of several clients, and then made off with a secretary. I had to rebuild the practice from scratch. I would hate people to begin talking about it again.'

‘What about the other Nelson? There were two.'

‘Old Mr Nelson had died. It would never have happened on his watch. His son was a disgrace to the profession.'

I had kept him talking, and given the information he wanted. While we walked, I thought we were leaving the basement, moving towards the stairs, but we had come full circle. We were back by the corner where Umberto had lain. Castle did not seem to notice. ‘Where is that scurrilous magazine of Potter's? I did not know there was one still in existence, until I saw it on the list of borrowed items today.'

‘I returned it.'

‘No, you did not return it.' In the dim light, his eyes had an intense, almost desperate gleam.

On the stone floor, the pool of light from my torch created a world of shadows all around. We were once more near the spot where Umberto had almost died. By torchlight, the broom marks created an abstract pattern of swirls. ‘Then the magazine is still in my satchel. I'll look when we're back upstairs.' I tried to sidestep.

He was in my way and jostled me. The torch fell from my hand and clattered on the floor.

He stuck out his foot and shoved me, making a sudden grab for my satchel. I fell sideways onto the hard floor, the whole of my left side hitting the ground so hard I cried out. A firecracker went off in my head, blazing through temple, cheekbone, eye socket. I felt as if my eye might pop out. As I lay there, a searing pain shot up my arm. When I tried to move, my hip and leg refused.

He was picking up the torch.

It was him, I thought. He killed Potter. He left Umberto to die. He would kill me too. With a great effort, I used my right hand, to push myself onto my knees.

Ignoring me, his attention centred on the spilled contents of my satchel. He shone the light. ‘Where is it? Where is it?'

He thrust his face into mine, grabbing my shoulder, pushing me backwards. I raised my right hand and brought the teeth of the ornamental comb down his cheek. He let out a cry and staggered back, holding his face. I pushed myself to my feet, my left leg feeling useless. Grabbing at my wrist that was now throbbing with pain he shoved me against the wall. The back of my head bashed against the brick, but having the wall at my back gave me support so that I brought up my right knee and slammed it in his groin. He relaxed his grip. I pulled free and turned to run, trying to scream for help but no sound would come. My left leg felt as if it belonged to someone else.

Suddenly, Inspector Wallis stood in my way.

He leaned towards me, all concern. ‘What happened, Mrs Shackleton?'

‘Castle attacked me.'

‘Attacked you?' Now
he
was blocking my way.

‘Let me out of here.'

Castle was suddenly beside us, full of solicitude, carrying my satchel, not speaking to me but to the inspector. ‘She tripped over the uneven flags and dropped her bag.' His voice was calm as he turned to me. ‘The contents spilled, Mrs Shackleton. One or two more bits back there. I'll get them for you.'

Wallis said, ‘Good thing you came down here, Mr Castle. You could have been locked in, Mrs Shackleton.'