“Thank you for telling me. It isn’t the same as what I’ve done.”
“I feel the same way about it.”
They sat for a while, listening, until the notes died.
“I have to go see Angelo,” Charles said. “Maybe he is a redemption for both of us.”
“I’ve never had a congresswoman cry on my shoulder before,” Charles said. He didn’t sit in his chair. “Is Angelo upstairs?”
“Yes,” Dorothy said.
“Have you talked with him?”
“We were waiting for you.”
“I’ll get him.”
“Sit down.” Charles had sat and Dorothy was sitting. Angelo lowered himself to the chair, bending but not yielding. He was absolutely expressionless.
Charles faced the black hair and narrowed eyes and swarthy skin that were all anyone saw of him.
“Do you understand what happened?”
“That judge, he said no more probation.” His voice was as blank as his face.
“Yes. He did.”
“And you said no jail.”
“No jail, no probation. It’s all over. You’re free.”
Silence.
“What will you do, Angelo?” Dorothy said.
More silence.
“You can do whatever you want now,” Charles said.
It was unnerving.
“All right,” Charles said. “We can talk again after you’ve thought about it.”
Angelo stood and left.
“What did that mean?” Dorothy said.
“I don’t know. He’s never been closed up that tight.”
“I’m almost scared, Charles.”
“Mr. Beale?”
“Yes, Alice?”
“Mr. Leatherman is here.”
“Jacob.”
Charles held out his hand. Jacob Leatherman took it, frail as an autumn leaf, his other hand propped on his walking stick.
“Do you have it?”
“I have it. I’ll bring it up.” Charles looked closer at Jacob. “Alice, bring a chair.”
“Whippersnapper.” But he didn’t complain, and he sat, his face the color of yellowed pages and faded ink. Charles knelt down on one knee.
“How are you, Jacob?”
“Just give me a minute.”
“Alice, get Dorothy.”
Jacob’s color was getting better.
“Jacob!” Dorothy flew down the stairs. “Why in the world did you fly overnight? Let me look at you.”
“I’m fine.” He glared at the three of them around him, Charles, Dorothy and Alice. “Just get short of breath once in a while.”
“And do you think you’re flying back tonight?” Dorothy asked.
“It’s this afternoon.”
“Alice. Call Mr. Leatherman’s store and tell them to change his flight to tomorrow. Then get a hotel room. Try the Marriott on Duke Street. Jacob, you need to take better care of yourself.” Dorothy looked him straight in the eye. “You are not as young as you used to be.”
“He never was,” Charles said.
“I’m not staying over the night,” Jacob said, but not firmly. Nothing about him was very firm.
“You need to do what she says,” Charles said. “There’s no use fighting. Believe me.”
“Well.” Jacob took a deep breath. “Maybe I could use a rest.”
“Of course,” Charles said.
“Flight was the worst I’ve ever had.”
“I know the best thing to revive you,” Charles said. “Can you make it downstairs? Dorothy, I think we’ll be all right. Thank you.”
It was a slow process going down the steps. Jacob was recovering, though, and at the bottom he clattered across the floor with his stick as fast as Charles could keep up with him. He put Jacob in the desk chair.
Jacob Leatherman took a few minutes to look around the room, and to breathe it in.
“You have a few nice books down here.”
“They’re all nice,” Charles said.
“Yes. They are. You treat them with respect, Charles, and it’ll show.”
“Let me get you the Homer.” He took it from the shelf and laid it on the desk. “Here it is.”
“Here it is,” Jacob said. He pushed his wrinkled hand into his pocket and pulled out a magnifying lens set in an eyepiece. He took off his glasses and fit the magnifier to his eye and tightened his cheek to hold it in place. “Now I can see.”
Charles was silent as Jacob hunched over the book, the glass only an inch from the gold letters on the cover.
“Hand-stamped, of course. Give me gloves.”
Charles handed him the white cotton gloves and the thin silver page turner. Jacob opened the front board.
For three minutes he stared at the faded signature, first moving side to side, then without any motion.
“Her own hand, Charles. Rested right there. She put her pen to the page and wrote the name of a queen.”
“I assume it was hers. It hasn’t been authenticated.”
“It has been now.” There was no strength in his wavering words, only absolute authority. “It was hers or I don’t know anything.”
“Then it was,” Charles said.
Jacob turned the page. For a while he didn’t move.
“I’ll let you be by yourself,” Charles said.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll be back down in a while.”
“Is he all right?” Dorothy asked.
“Yes, he’s fine. I’m still planning to go to New York this afternoon.”
“Charles! With everything else happening? Can’t you reschedule?”
“I can’t. I don’t have any way to communicate with Mr. Smith.”
“If you don’t show up, he’ll call you.”
“I don’t think this is a meeting that I can miss,” Charles said.
“What about Angelo? I… I don’t think you should leave. We don’t know what he might do.”
“I’m going to take him with me. If he’ll come.”
Two quick knocks. The dark head peered out.
“Angelo. I would like you to come with me on a delivery. Would you do that?”
“Now?” He was still in his nice clothes from the morning.
“In a while. We’ll be taking a train to New York.”
“New York City?”
“Yes.”
Angelo didn’t speak. He might have been deliberating or he might just have been waiting.
“You don’t have to,” Charles said.
“You do not want to go alone?”
“I’d rather you went with me.”
“Why?”
Charles did deliberate. “It’s a very valuable book and I don’t know exactly what will happen. I might want help.”
“I will come.”
“We’ll leave in a couple of hours and we’ll be back tonight, late.”
“Angelo will come with me.”
“I know you can’t answer this,” Dorothy said, “but could you tell at all what he was thinking?”
“I had one clue. When I asked him to come, he asked me why. He’s never questioned me before.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I made it sound like it might be dangerous, and I might need help.”
“Will it be dangerous?” Dorothy said.
“I really don’t think so,” Charles said. “And while I’m up there, I think I will make one other stop. I wonder where I put Edmund Cane’s telephone number.”
“He was the man who bid on Derek’s desk?”
“Yes. I would really like to know who he was representing.”
“May I speak with Mr. Edmund Cane, please?”
“Who is calling?”
“This is Charles Beale, from Virginia. He and I have spoken before.”
“Just a moment, sir.”
Several moments passed.
“Mr. Beale?”
“Yes.”
“This is Edmund Cane. It is so nice to speak with you again. I hope you are calling to discuss the sale of Derek Bastien’s books?”
“Not on the telephone. I’m coming to New York on business, and I’d like to stop in for a moment if it’s convenient for you.”
“When would that be?”
“I’m leaving here by train in a few hours. I would be at your showroom about six. Is that too late?”
“We are open until nine. Would you prefer to meet later?”
“No, I have an evening meeting afterwards.”
“Very well, Mr. Beale. We are on Fortieth Street, near Seventh Avenue.”
“Good. I look forward to it.”