Page 38 of Lord of Fortune
She took it, but there was wariness in her gaze. When she was on the ground, he said, “I didn’t mean to overstep. I get rather excited about things in the museum. I would very much like you to go there someday and if I’m able to join you, so much the better.”
“Because you’re an expert in these things?” she offered helpfully.
He smiled, knowing that she knew he was trying to rectify a potentially awkward situation. “Just trying to keep things professional.”
“Which I appreciate.” She turned toward the building they’d stopped in front of. “Mr. Mackinley’s Bookbindery.”
“Let us see what we may learn.” He offered her his arm, and they went into the small shop.
The scent of parchment and leather filled Penn’s nose as the door closed behind them. A large man, both in height and breadth, stood behind a wide table, where he could stand to do his work. He looked up. “Good afternoon.”
Penn moved farther into the shop. “Good afternoon. Are you Mr. Mackinley?”
“I am,” he answered in a dark, throaty burr. He looked down at their hands. “Did you bring a book?”
“No, we came to ask about a book that was in your possession some years ago. Around the time of the fire.”
He exhaled—it was a sound of deep remorse. “If I had it before the fire, it’s gone.”
Penn grimaced, hating to think of such a treasured object incinerated. “We’re hoping you might be able to tell us about it. The book, I mean. It was rather distinctive—the White Book of Hergest.”
Mackinley grunted. “Every so often, one of you Oxford types comes in here asking about it.”
Surprised to hear this, Penn stepped toward the table. “They do?”
“Most of them are far younger than you—maybe still in college. They think they’ll somehow be able to find a lost masterpiece. They fancy themselves heroes maybe.”
“Well, thatwouldbe rather heroic.” Amelia had come forward to join Penn. She offered Mackinley a wide smile that would have disarmed even the most cynical of men. “We’d like to ask you about the manuscript itself, specifically the story concerning Ranulf and Hilaria. My grandfather used to tell me the tale when I was a child. It holds a great deal of sentimental value for me.”
Mackinley, who was probably nearing fifty, was not immune to her charms. He smiled in return. “I do remember that manuscript, of course. The Williams-Wynn family are excellent clients. Their library is extensive. I was quite devastated when that book was lost.” He grimaced and shook his head.
“I’m so sorry,” Amelia said, taking another step toward the table and resting her gloved fingertips upon the edge. “Such a tragedy.”
“Indeed it was. The theatre was a complete loss, of course. That’s where the fire started.” His gaze clouded, and it seemed he was chasing a memory.
Penn moved to Amelia’s side, and they exchanged glances before he said, “Is there any chance you recall anything special about the story in the White Book?”
Mackinley nodded, returning to the present. “Yes, back to your wife’s request.”
Penn and Amelia exchanged another glance, but this one was far more charged. She opened her mouth, likely to correct him, but Penn shook his head gently, urging her to remain quiet. It was best not to draw attention to their alliance. Despite her widowed status, he wouldn’t want their activities to reflect poorly on her.
“I’m afraid I don’t recall anything special. That story was written like all the others, but I will say it’s one of my favorites too.” He gave Amelia another smile.
The door opened once more, and Mackinley’s gaze moved past them to the new arrival. “Afternoon, Mr. Edwards. I’ll be right back with your book.” He looked back at Penn and Amelia. “Please excuse me.”
As Mackinley disappeared through a doorway into the back of the shop, Penn moved away from the table. Amelia joined him, her forehead creased.
“Well, that wasn’t helpful,” she said, sounding as disappointed as Penn felt.
“Not terribly,” Penn said, frowning.
A slight man with a stooped back followed Mackinley from the rear doorway. While Mackinley went to meet with Mr. Edwards at the table, the other man, who was at least twenty years Mackinley’s senior, his head topped with a shock of bright white hair, ambled toward Penn and Amelia.
“Hamish wanted me to see if there was anything else I could help you with?”
“I don’t think so,” Penn said.
The man squinted at Penn. “I heard you asking about the fire and a book. The White Book.”
