Chapter 14 #2
It had to be the same man. It must be that package. She was sure of it. No she wasn’t. She must be getting nervy, all these
raids and Margaret leaving them in forever-shifting waters.
She sighed. And where was their sister? This was not like Olivia at all.
When they closed the shop at seven, there was still no sign of their wayward sister. “So where is she?” Daphne asked as she
held the door open for Celia to push the carts inside.
“How should I know,” said Celia. “You heard her, and I don’t know more than that. She’s probably talking shop with the other
dealers. We can’t begrudge her a little free time. We got the whole morning off.”
“I don’t. It’s just that I’m worried.”
“You could help with the carts. It might take your mind off your worries.”
Daphne sighed and slumped against the door, pushing it wider.
Celia made a face at her. “Don’t let Mr. Starling see you slumped like that. He might think you’re not the royalty you think you are.”
Daphne stuck her tongue out. “Normally, we’re wondering where you are. This is not like Olivia.”
“No, but she didn’t get the morning off and we did.”
“Do you think she’ll be back in time for dinner?”
“She said to make our own.”
“I heard, but do you think she really will be late? What’s she doing? Do you think she’s making a sale? Maybe Mr. Delereux?”
Celia snorted a laugh. “I don’t think she’d miss her dinner over Mr. Delereux.”
“Maybe she’s having dinner with him.”
“Don’t be daft.” Celia went back outside and shoved the throwaway box against the wall. She was tempted to bring it inside
ever since the discovery of the Sappho poems. But she was equally afraid that if she did, the crooks would come inside to
look for it.
And what was Mr. Starling’s part in the affair? Why was he still hanging around? He didn’t appear to be buying anything, and
she didn’t trust him.
She closed up the front, then double-checked the lock on the back while Daphne stood in the center of the open space at the
entrance frowning and chewing on her lip as she looked around.
“Stop worrying,” Celia told her. “We’ll leave a light on for her.”
“I’m not worrying—I’m thinking.”
“Come on, you can think upstairs.”
“Wait, I have to feed Jane Austen.”
The calico magically appeared and pattered down the hall toward the kitchen, Daphne following.
Celia turned out the lights except for the one near the door, and since Olivia wasn’t there to lecture about exercise, they took the elevator upstairs.
It was almost ten o’clock, and they had just finished cleaning their dishes after a supper of scrambled eggs and toast, when
the apartment door opened and Olivia let herself in. Daphne ran to meet her, with Celia close behind.
“What on earth?” Olivia said, pushing them away.
“We were worried.”
“No, we weren’t,” countered Celia. Actually, she’d been hoping Olivia would be back before dark. She still had to get over
to Yannis’s to pick up her pamphlets.
“Well, I did stay out longer than expected. You know book people.”
Of course we know book people, thought Celia. They were practically the only people they did know.
“Shall I make you some eggs?” Celia asked.
“No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”
“Are you feeling okay?” Daphne asked. “You look flushed.”
“I’m quite well. It’s just that it is rather warm this evening. I’m sorry I worried you. I think I’ll have a bath and get
early to bed. It’s been an exhausting day.” And she smiled at her sisters in a way Celia didn’t quite trust and walked lazily
down the hall.
And that was all they could get out of Olivia about where she’d spent the afternoon and evening.
And what had she done with her briefcase? She didn’t have it with her now. She must have stopped on the third floor to deposit it in her office on her way upstairs.
Daphne sighed, went over to pull out the drawers of the highboy, and began rummaging around.
Celia had no inclination to speculate with one sister about the goings-on of the other, so she went to the kitchen and sat at the table waiting for Olivia to retire.
She would have liked to have an early night herself.
It had been a busy day. Too busy. But she’d told Yannis she would be over, and he would be worried if she didn’t show up.
At one point she could swear she heard humming coming from the bathroom. Olivia was acting strangely, no doubt about it. Olivia
didn’t hum. Maybe Celia was losing her mind. She was under a lot of pressure, between the clandestine Sanger printings and
the discovery of an ancient stolen papyrus.
Add to it the man in the window coming into the store. And Joshua Starling being outside Kirsch’s when the man left. It couldn’t
be just a coincidence. But no one knew about the Sanger printings. They’d only had the papyrus pages for a few days. And none
of them would dare spill the beans even if they had had time to tell anyone about it, even if they had been inclined to. Which
they most definitely were not.
Celia shuddered just thinking about it.
She wished she could confide in someone. Not Yanni; she didn’t want to involve him in their troubles more than necessary.
And not her sisters. Daphne would be frightened, and Olivia . . . Well, it was hard to know what Olivia would think. She wasn’t
in the habit of confidential conversation. Or any conversation really.
Celia was yawning by the time Olivia came out of the bathroom. She went into her bedroom and closed the door. As soon as Celia
thought she would be safely asleep, she tiptoed to the parlor and was surprised to see Daphne sitting at the mahogany writing
desk that overlooked the avenue, the table lamp creating a halo around her curls. At first Celia thought she was reading,
but as she drew closer, she saw that Daphne had brought out the inkstand and cardboard and was working on her calligraphy.
Odd. They had all learned calligraphy. Dealing in books and bookplates and the like, their training even as children had gone beyond penmanship into fine writing.
But only Olivia had really taken to the activity; Celia had no interest, and Daphne’s letters often wandered into floral endings or hearts and rabbits and puppies.
Celia quietly crossed the room and went downstairs.
She didn’t go directly to Yannis’s. She was still nervous about the raid. And her part in being involved in the things that
possibly made the agents target the Tellers. She was gratified that his father wanted to make a stand, but she didn’t want
to be responsible for what might happen to them. Or to her sisters. Was she being irresponsible? Should she stop and leave
it to other, braver, smarter people to fix what was wrong?
Then she remembered her mother growing weaker, until she could barely attend her living children while losing one baby after
another. Her weak screams of childbirth, the tiny cry, then the silence. And she thought about the settlement house she’d
visited this morning. The mothers and children there were thriving, where once they had not. The good the volunteers at the
settlement were doing often in spite of their own harassment.
She had to carry on.
She slipped out, crossed over to the Tellers’ door, and gave the secret knock. Yannis let her in, and they went downstairs.
No one else was there, but the press was out. Out and partially dismantled. In the overhead light, she could see that Yannis
was crumpled and covered in ink and oil.
“What happened?” she asked, her fear rising like a thief in the night.
“Moving parts. I got a jam, and I’m trying to get it unjammed. . . . Well, you can see.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Oh yeah, it’ll just take an hour or so. “I did manage to get the rest of your flyers done before it broke down. They’re on
the table.”
“You stayed tonight just for these?” she asked.
“I think everyone is playing it safe. They’ll be back. Best we don’t dawdle.”
“You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble just to do these.”
“Hey. What kind of attitude is that?”
Celia shrugged.
“How are your sisters taking all this?”
The question surprised her.
“They don’t know about this.”
“Oh, I know, but I thought maybe they would stop by today . . . to see how the shop looked.”
And they’d had the morning off. Celia would have come in, except she’d thought she was persona non grata. But the other two . . .
Daphne especially . . . had had the morning off.
“We’re not going to be shunned, are we?” he asked, his brown eyes doleful.
“God, no!” Celia said, stunned out of her ambivalence. “Daphne had to go out this morning, and Olivia . . . had several appointments.
I’m sure they’ll come by to check on you tomorrow.”
Yannis’s cheek twitched. She knew he didn’t really care that neither she nor Olivia had checked on him. It was Daphne who
mattered.
Celia sighed. Daphne was so concerned about finding a husband and having a family, and there was a perfectly good choice working right next door. Stupid girl. And there was nothing Celia could possibly say.
“You want me to help you put the printer back?”
“No, I’ll do it. You’d better not stay too long.” He smiled suddenly. “After all, it’s not your knitting club night.”
They quickly stuffed the papers into her bag. “I’ll see myself out. You get the printer concealed and go home. See you tomorrow.
Don’t forget to double-lock the door before you leave.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She climbed the stairs and let herself out the back. Closed the door firmly, then stood for a second to accustom her eyes
to the dark; tonight it seemed even the starlight couldn’t find its way into the courtyard.
She hoisted the knitting bag over her shoulder and groped her way along the rail toward the Arcadia. She never got there.
As she felt in her pocket for her door key, she didn’t notice the hulking shadow that barred her way.