Chapter 10
M irren wasn’t sure how much Violet had heard of her conversation, and anyway, it didn’t really matter. Mirren was pretending she was calling to give her updates and keep her involved with the book hunt, but of course really she was calling to make sure she was still alive. And trying to distract her with something, anything, even if she had to yell at her. Violet had seemed confused, which was deeply worrying.
Still, at least she had definitely lucked out with where she was staying. There was a freestanding bath in the middle of the room, but the receptionist had made it quite clear they weren’t going to be serving dinner for long, and basically if she wanted to eat she had to get downstairs pronto. Bit bossy, but Mirren could have a bath when she got back. She was so damp, though, she dried herself off and put on a nice flowery dress and fresh tights. You always need fresh tights. Plus this place had tons of books too, might as well take a rummage. There was some grumpy bloke in the library already behaving like it was his personal sitting room rather than an actual public bar, but she could ignore him; hardly her fault he thought he could check into a hotel and have the whole place to himself.
There was a delicious smell of a warming stew coming from the kitchen, and Theo was growing sleepy when the irritating girl reappeared, looking fresh and scrubbed, and falling on her gin and tonic with alacrity. She immediately started chatting to the receptionist about the history of the inn, and its connections with the book trade in the town. Just a busybody, Theo thought grumpily. Can’t stop herself talking to anyone. Verbal diarrhoea.
Until, half dozing, he heard the words ... Robert Louis Stevenson. And Theo’s ears pricked up and he sat up in his chair, which made the dog prick up too, and they looked at each other. Theo wanted to hit himself for being so dense. Okay, she’d been absolutely drenched, rather than smiling and filtered as she was in her Instagram pictures, but even so. He should have twigged. What was her name again? It was an odd one. Melon something.
‘Mirren Sutherland,’ said the girl to the receptionist, as she finished filling in a registration form.
The whisky warming Theo added to a general sense of well-being; his uncle, not in any way an easy man to please, would be delighted with his nephew for tracking down the target with such perspicacity. As well as some pure dumb luck.
‘You’re the only two diners tonight,’ said the receptionist pleasantly. ‘Are you happy to eat at one table? It’s quite a big table,’ she added quickly, in case they had already decided this would be a terrible idea.
Mirren shrugged, having already clocked the man’s grumpy expression, but to her surprise, Theo stood up.
‘Why not?’ he said, rather charmingly. The receptionist beamed and vanished back into the kitchen. It was increasingly clear that she was not just the receptionist but the general everything person.
The table was a long, rough-hewn thing that was obviously meant for large groups. It would have been stupid for them to sit at opposite ends, Mirren supposed.
‘Hi,’ she said, slightly reserved after his grumpy look before.
‘Hi,’ he said, suddenly much more keen and eager. Mirren wondered if it was because she looked less like a drowned rat now, whether her hair was drying frizzy or not. He shook her hand keenly. Outside, the rain pounded hard against the windowpanes.
‘I feel like we’re two stranded travellers out of time,’ he said, looking around the room under the dim light of the candles. ‘Like our horses are stabled out the back, and we shall have to tell ghost stories to pass the time,’ he went on.
Mirren couldn’t help it: this very idea appealed to her bookish soul enormously. She spread out her long dress and sat carefully at the head of the table.
‘Why, sir, I’m not sure I can permit you to approach me in this manner as a woman travelling alone.’
He smiled back. ‘Indeed, maiden. However, here comes your trusted chaperone.’
And they were both smiling as the woman came in bearing two plates, each of which held a perfect little meatball, served in a warm, smoky, tangy broth. She poured them each a glass of rich red wine from a decanter and, smiling, left them to it.
Theo raised his glass. ‘Your health,’ he said. ‘Miss ...’
‘Sutherland.’
‘Theodore Palliser. Delighted.’
Mirren did not make the name connection, and smiled. ‘What brings you to this road on so gloomy an evening?’
‘I am on an errand for my uncle,’ said Theo. ‘And you?’
‘I am hunting down a legacy,’ said Mirren, taking a sip of wine. ‘On behalf of my great-aunt.’
‘Well met then,’ said Theo, polishing off the broth, which was truly delicious. The woman came back, cleared the plates and set down their main course – you could only order a meat or a vegetarian dish, and they’d both opted for the former, a plate of lamb chops, richly scented with herbs and a red wine sauce, and the creamiest mashed potato, buttery and soft, along with dark roasted vegetables. Mirren, who hadn’t eaten all day, was overjoyed. She bent her head to take in the marvellous, warming scent and sighed with contentment. Theo, watching her, smiled.
‘You have waited some time to break your fast, milady?’
Mirren looked at him. ‘I’m not sure I can keep up being an olde-time lady while I’m eating this. I don’t think I can take very genteel bites. Feel free to keep reading your book. Are you in the book trade? I suppose most people are round here.’
‘I am ... and I wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Theo, getting stuck in. ‘Eat with your mouth open, I wouldn’t care.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t do THAT.’
‘Well, there you are, you’re basically an aristocrat.’
Mirren grinned and dived in with a will. The sauce was utterly divine; the potatoes turned out to have cheese through them, and there was fresh bread on the table to mop up the gravy. It was absolute heaven, with the fire flickering and the candles burning steadily while the rain drummed on the old windowpanes. They were quiet until Mirren sat back with another sigh.
‘Do you want to go back to being posh now?’ said Theo.
‘No, it’s all right,’ said Mirren, ‘because I might burp or something and then I think I would have to go and join a convent and I don’t think I’d like that at all.’
‘Smart thinking. So what is this legacy you’re looking for?’
Mirren looked at him sideways. ‘Hmm, I don’t know, what on earth would one come to Hay-on-Wye for?’
‘A book,’ said Theo.
‘You’re very smart for the youngest son of a nobleman sent on family errands.’
‘Thank you, milady. Had any luck so far?’
‘No,’ said Mirren. ‘There are, like, miles of books here. I mean, actually miles. I think I’d have to look through every one in the world. For a book I don’t even know definitely exists. In fact, I’m beginning to think it doesn’t. I mean, if something exists, it’s on the internet, right?’
‘Uh, usually.’
‘I mean, someone somewhere would have heard of it.’
‘Is there no mention of it at all? What is it?’
‘It’s a children’s book. But with a famous artist illustrating it. Not like printed. Like actual drawings.’
Theo hadn’t realised this. He’d thought it was a printed book. But if it was filled with original Beardsleys ... well. This was something.
‘And nobody’s ever seen it?’
Mirren shook her head. ‘According to the internet, it’s just a rumour. But my great-aunt swears she’d held it.’
‘And have the artist’s illustrations ever shown up sold separately?’
Mirren looked at him strangely. ‘I never thought of that,’ she said.
Theo bent down to his now empty plate with a piece of bread to hide his face.
Mirren pulled out her phone and googled the artist. There were so many drawings, none of which particularly had children in them. There were fairies; ladies and men – both naked; Salomes; a mother and child, but nothing that would obviously illustrate the Stevenson.
‘Huh,’ she said. Then she googled ‘lost artwork of Beardsley’ and saw a tiny sentence from an ancient, buried article that had escaped her before, as it didn’t contain the words ‘book’ or ‘Stevenson’. ‘The Longmans commission was never delivered.’
‘Mister Palliser!’ she said in consternation. ‘Bloody hell. I think ... Longmans was the publisher of the original book.’
‘So what does that mean?’ said Theo, unable to hide his eagerness.
‘Well. It’s not proof. But it means something. That it might actually exist!’