Aunt Dimity Beats the Devil by Nancy Atherton

Author:Nancy Atherton [Atherton, Nancy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Suspense
ISBN: 9780141002194
Publisher: Viking
Published: 2000-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The library doors opened so easily that I nearly fell into the room. Hatch, I presumed, had finally brought his oilcan to bear on the sticky hinges.

I made a beeline for the oak table, but stopped short, frowning. Before leaving to have lunch with Captain Manning, I’d placed the gray ledger on top of Edward’s notes. Now it lay to one side, next to the inscribed copy of Shuttleworth’s Birds.

I sat in the wooden armchair and looked through the notes. They, too, had been rearranged. When I’d left, the message mentioning Edith Ann had been buried deep in the pile. Now it sat atop the stack.

I doubted that the Hatches had interfered with my work. They’d been given strict orders to leave the library alone. Nicole, on the other hand, had free rein to examine anything she pleased. It seemed likely that she’d filled the afternoon’s empty hours by reading Edward’s words.

I wondered what she made of them. She seemed to know little and care less about her great-aunt. Claire was to her a dim and distant figure who’d died without accomplishing much. I hoped the notes had changed her mind, had touched her as deeply as they’d touched me. To me, Claire was a living, breathing girl who’d loved a boy despite her father’s disapproval. A life filled with such passion, however brief, could not be meaningless.

I made a mental note to ask Nicole if she’d spent the afternoon at the oak table, switched on the reading lamps, and opened the gray ledger.

The first entry was dated July 21, 1914, when, presumably, Josiah had received his first shipment of books. The last entry was dated September 4, 1917. The cataloguer had been thorough, conscientiously recording pertinent details about each book, but he hadn’t been Edward. The anonymous librarian’s handwriting was precise, meticulous, neither cramped nor sprawling, and highly legible—nothing like Edward’s unruly scribbles.

I closed the ledger, set it aside, and began the laborious task of repacking the wooden crate. I could have left the chore to Hatch, but I wanted to touch the books again before they were returned to their dusty outpost in the east tower.

As I slid each volume into place, I felt a lingering sense of dissatisfaction. It was as if an important fact had passed before my eyes unseen and now lurked in a dim corner of my brain, awaiting recognition. The harder I chased after it, the more elusive the fact became.

My mind soon rebelled against the strain and began to wander. My first three days in Northumberland had been nothing if not eventful. I’d had a close brush with death, awakened in the arms of a beautiful stranger, unearthed a compelling love story, and been recruited by the army to help in its inquiries. If my speculations held water, I’d also been ambushed by an evil man bent on driving his young wife insane.

I wondered how Aubrey Shuttleworth would have illustrated such a remarkable chain of events. Smiling, I took up Shuttleworth’s Birds and leafed through it, pausing to admire the illustrations and reread the verse.

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