is stuff somebody collected—old guidebooks to Jane Austen sites, maps, reviews of Austen biographies, things like that. Then there’s some original work—at least, it appeared to be original. Looked like research papers on Regency topics, some short stories written more or less in Jane’s style. It will take awhile to read and evaluate it all.”
“Could the short stories be by Edith?”
“It’s possible. I suppose a scholar will need to compare the styles, get the paper and ink analyzed. They may be of interest.”
“But no real monetary value?”
Richard shook his head. “Not worth breaking and entering and committing assault and battery, at my guess.”
“So you’re thinking that letter is the only thing of real importance?”
Richard nodded. “Unless there was more and the thief got it.”
“Or maybe he/she did want the letter, but overlooked it. Although, I can’t see why it would be important enough to hit anybody over the head.”
Elizabeth was quiet as she finished the last of the roasted shallots and beetroot that accompanied her goat cheese tart. “Oh, that was scrumptious. Now I need a cup of tea.”
The waiter was quick to fulfill her request. After her first sip, she continued, “You know what’s really bothering me?”
Richard raised his eyebrows in query.
“Who knew?” Elizabeth asked.
“Who knew what?”
“Well, that is rather a separate question, isn’t it, since we don’t know what they were looking for. But assuming it was something in that box, who knew about the anonymous donation?”
“Well, the staff at the Centre, I suppose,” Richard began.
“And the person who donated it,” Elizabeth added.
“But if they discovered there was something in the box they didn’t mean to give away, why not just walk in and ask for it back?”
“Apparently they wanted to remain anonymous.” Elizabeth wrinkled her brow. “And if it was someone who worked there, they could have volunteered to help sort the stuff. No need for violence.”
Richard was still mulling over possible answers to the very pertinent question when Elizabeth took another tack. “So where was this garret?”
“What garret?”
“The garret where your Edith found those papers she wrote to her father about. I realize it’s more than a hundred years ago, but what if they’re still there? There could be some original Austen letters or manuscripts. It’s possible, isn’t it? And that would be worth hitting someone over the head for.”
“Chawton.”
“Really? You’re sure?”
Richard nodded. “That’s what she wrote. In the upper right-hand corner of her letter, before the date.” And now Richard, who was known for his phlegmatic calm, felt a frisson of excitement. A visit to Jane Austen’s home in Chawton was next on their itinerary when they finished in Bath. Could they be on the trail of a major literary find?
Elizabeth sighed. “So many questions. I wish we knew who donated that box.” She finished her tea and pushed the cup away, indicating her satiety. “But then, suppose the whole thing has nothing to do with old documents—or even with Jane. Suppose it was personal against Claire?”
Richard sincerely hoped not. Random violence in pursuit of information or money was bad enough, but a personal vendetta seemed even worse.
Chapter 6
THE NEXT DAY, ELIZABETH felt less worried about their friend when she and Richard stopped in at the Centre and were greeted by a smiling Robert Sheldrake, who informed them that Claire had been dismissed from hospital and hoped to be back to work Monday morning.
Richard went into the shop while Elizabeth stayed in the foyer with Robert. It was her first time to talk to the soft-spoken, sandy-haired, bearded assistant. He seemed kind and inoffensive, but Elizabeth wondered. Did he covet Claire’s job? Enough to try to scare her off? Surely the man they encountered on the street that night hadn’t had a beard.
“She’s very anxious to get to work
“Could the short stories be by Edith?”
“It’s possible. I suppose a scholar will need to compare the styles, get the paper and ink analyzed. They may be of interest.”
“But no real monetary value?”
Richard shook his head. “Not worth breaking and entering and committing assault and battery, at my guess.”
“So you’re thinking that letter is the only thing of real importance?”
Richard nodded. “Unless there was more and the thief got it.”
“Or maybe he/she did want the letter, but overlooked it. Although, I can’t see why it would be important enough to hit anybody over the head.”
Elizabeth was quiet as she finished the last of the roasted shallots and beetroot that accompanied her goat cheese tart. “Oh, that was scrumptious. Now I need a cup of tea.”
The waiter was quick to fulfill her request. After her first sip, she continued, “You know what’s really bothering me?”
Richard raised his eyebrows in query.
“Who knew?” Elizabeth asked.
“Who knew what?”
“Well, that is rather a separate question, isn’t it, since we don’t know what they were looking for. But assuming it was something in that box, who knew about the anonymous donation?”
“Well, the staff at the Centre, I suppose,” Richard began.
“And the person who donated it,” Elizabeth added.
“But if they discovered there was something in the box they didn’t mean to give away, why not just walk in and ask for it back?”
“Apparently they wanted to remain anonymous.” Elizabeth wrinkled her brow. “And if it was someone who worked there, they could have volunteered to help sort the stuff. No need for violence.”
Richard was still mulling over possible answers to the very pertinent question when Elizabeth took another tack. “So where was this garret?”
“What garret?”
“The garret where your Edith found those papers she wrote to her father about. I realize it’s more than a hundred years ago, but what if they’re still there? There could be some original Austen letters or manuscripts. It’s possible, isn’t it? And that would be worth hitting someone over the head for.”
“Chawton.”
“Really? You’re sure?”
Richard nodded. “That’s what she wrote. In the upper right-hand corner of her letter, before the date.” And now Richard, who was known for his phlegmatic calm, felt a frisson of excitement. A visit to Jane Austen’s home in Chawton was next on their itinerary when they finished in Bath. Could they be on the trail of a major literary find?
Elizabeth sighed. “So many questions. I wish we knew who donated that box.” She finished her tea and pushed the cup away, indicating her satiety. “But then, suppose the whole thing has nothing to do with old documents—or even with Jane. Suppose it was personal against Claire?”
Richard sincerely hoped not. Random violence in pursuit of information or money was bad enough, but a personal vendetta seemed even worse.
Chapter 6
THE NEXT DAY, ELIZABETH felt less worried about their friend when she and Richard stopped in at the Centre and were greeted by a smiling Robert Sheldrake, who informed them that Claire had been dismissed from hospital and hoped to be back to work Monday morning.
Richard went into the shop while Elizabeth stayed in the foyer with Robert. It was her first time to talk to the soft-spoken, sandy-haired, bearded assistant. He seemed kind and inoffensive, but Elizabeth wondered. Did he covet Claire’s job? Enough to try to scare her off? Surely the man they encountered on the street that night hadn’t had a beard.
“She’s very anxious to get to work
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