Chapter 15
While her brain was registering that she’d surprised a would-be burglar, the shadow turned into a dark bulky figure. Instead
of fleeing, he grabbed her and pushed her against the wall, momentarily stunning her. Then survival took over. She twisted
and managed to elbow him in some bony part. She lunged to the side. He grabbed the strap of her knitting bag, and it tore
away from her shoulder. The impact sent her sprawling.
She tried to get to her feet, knowing in her panic that she couldn’t get away before he attacked again. She kicked out blindly—and
connected with something hard.
“Ouch.”
She stilled. There was something familiar about that voice. She heard footsteps running away, realized she had closed her
eyes, expecting a different response from her kick.
She looked up.
The figure standing over her was still dark, but it was tall and supple as it reached over and stretched out a hand.
She flinched back, ready to spring.
“Truce. Truce. The culprit is gone.” A click of a lighter and the face of Mr. Starling flared to life, before going dark again.
“Let me help you up.”
She just scooted back and scrambled to her feet.
“Who are you?”
“As to the one, I’m Joshua Starling. We met earlier. Remember?”
“I know your name, but who are you really? Why were you even back here?” she asked, keeping her distance, just in case, though she knew he hadn’t been the man who
attacked her. “Who was that man?”
“I think you’ve had enough questions. My turn. What are you doing back here, skulking around in the dark?”
“I wasn’t skulking.” Her knees felt weak, and she knew she was shaking, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “I was . . .” She took
a step, and her toe came in contact with her knitting bag. Her birth control pamphlets had fallen out and were spread across
the pavement. He was only a few feet away. Could she grab the papers and escape? To where?
Adrenaline turned to panic. He’d probably been lying in ambush for her; he must be a Comstock agent after all. Would he arrest
her now? And Yannis? But who was the other man?
“Well?”
“I was . . . taking out the trash.” She bent down and shoved as many pamphlets as she could back into her bag.
In one quick move, he stepped forward and snatched up a stray page. It was a graceful move, one that made her hesitate for
a moment. Her shoulders slumped as she admitted to herself that the jig was up. Even if she ran, they would know where to
find her. She was so inept at clandestine activity. She just hoped Yannis hadn’t heard the scuffle and wouldn’t come out to
help.
Another click of his lighter illuminated both the paper and his face.
“Hmm,” he said finally. He said no more. The lighter snapped shut, but she got the feeling he was looking at her more closely. Then he held out the paper.
She just looked at it. She’d heard about agents getting people to exchange illicit material—and birth control techniques were
definitely that—then arresting them for breaking the law.
“I’ll take it from you, and I’ll come quietly if you promise not to bother my sisters, ever. They don’t know anything about
this.”
“Ah, for pity’s sake, Miss Applebaum. I’m not employed by the postal service or the Society for the Suppression of Vice. I’m
not one of Comstock’s thugs. I am merely an art agent for a wealthy collector.”
“So why were you in my alley late at night?”
“I was returning to my hotel after dinner and saw your interloper slip into the alleyway. I surmised he was up to no good.”
Celia cocked her head. Now that she was beginning to calm down, more rational thoughts swept in.
“Wasn’t that a dangerous thing to do?”
“Probably. I just reacted. And quite frankly, you should be glad that I did.”
“I am, I guess. If you’re really not going to arrest me.”
She could suddenly see his face. Someone must have turned on a light in one of the upstairs windows. Please don’t let it be Olivia or Daphne, she thought, though they would know soon enough.
Mr. Starling looked down at her, then lifted his face to the sky, then looked back at her. Celia wondered what he was thinking.
She clutched her bag closer.
Then he shoved the paper he was still holding into her knitting bag.
Her knees by now were knocking so badly that she staggered back out of sheer surprise.
He caught her and pulled her back on her feet, but her bag slid off her shoulder, its weight throwing her off balance and into Joshua Starling’s arms. For a long moment they stood entwined, Celia wondering if he was going to wrest the bag from her—and her trying to ignore the pleasant tingling she felt with his arms around her.
Dolt. He might not be a Comstock agent, but he could be a murderer or sex maniac.
She attempted to pull away. And he let her go . . . which was a tad disappointing.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
“What?”
“You take a few days off. Do not try to move any secret material that you may or may not have. Not one piece. Do not mention
our little contretemps tonight, and I’ll keep your secret for as long as I can.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Good. Can you just promise me?”
“But this is important information. My . . . people are waiting for it.”
“I appreciate your determination. But sometimes prudence wins out over a jail cell.”
She didn’t miss the clip to his words. She was annoying him.
It occurred to her she might be making a deal with the devil. “How many days?”
He barked out a laugh. “If the women’s movement is filled with girls like you, they’re bound to win the vote and everything
else they desire. Let’s get you inside.”
She took out her key, still not totally trusting him. But when she tried to put it into the lock, she found that her hands were still too shaky and she fumbled for a few seconds before he lifted the ring from her fingers and opened the door for her.
She hesitated, but he gave her a gentle push inside. “Be brave, but don’t be reckless.” He dropped the keys in her hand and
closed the door.
She stood just inside, holding still, listening, but if he had gone, he’d done it without a sound.
She quickly hid the knitting bag and stopped in the downstairs washroom to tidy herself. Her hair was a bit wild, but it often
was by the end of the day. Her dress was definitely the worse for a brawl in the alley. Hopefully, both her sisters were asleep.
Though she really could use some company right now.
Had he really promised not to tell her sisters? In all the back-and-forth she couldn’t remember exactly. It seemed to be tied
up with her not distributing her birth control papers for a few days. A small price to pay.
She could wait for a few days, but one thing couldn’t wait. Someone had tried to break into the shop tonight. Mr. Starling
could have been her savior, or he might have been the thief’s confederate, and his act was giving the man time to get away.
Though that just didn’t make sense. How did her birth control papers fit into it? And for the first time, she blushed hot
as she realized what he had read from the glow of his lighter.
Well, so be it. It would be hard, but she could wait, except she had to tell Olivia about the thief attempting to break in
tonight. What if he came back? But how, without giving herself away? She went back to the door, double-checked the lock, held
very still as she listened for signs of anyone lurking outside. And was a little disappointed when she only heard silence.
That didn’t prevent her from imagining that someone more sinister was watching her from behind every bookcase and feeling
just a little bit of trepidation about what lay ahead. Afraid to take the elevator, lest she wake up her sisters, Celia climbed
all three flights of stairs, starting at every creak and shadow along the way. The parlor lights were out; Daphne must have
gone to bed. So Celia quietly headed to the hall. She hated to wake Olivia, but it had to be done. She knocked lightly. Receiving
no answer, she eased the door open and slipped inside. She groped her way to the bed, only to find it empty when she reached
out to awaken her sister.
She turned on the lamp.
The bed was still made, though she could see where Olivia had been lying across the counterpane.
She turned off the lamp and went out into the hall, checked the bathroom and kitchen. Olivia wasn’t there.
There was only one other place she would be, and Celia reluctantly climbed back down to the third floor and let herself in.
Only the moonlight shone through the front windows of the clients’ parlor. She made her way down the row of locked glass cabinets
and the array of books they held on display. Peered from side to side in the darkened room as she walked toward the back to
Olivia’s workroom, following the sliver of light that shone from beneath the door.
Celia took a breath and stepped inside. The corners of the office were cloaked in darkness, but the big desk was bathed in
a pool of light from a work lamp. And in the center was Olivia, her head bent over her work.
She was so involved in whatever it was, she didn’t notice Celia until she was almost in front of her.
Almost at the same time Celia saw what was on the desk. The open metal box in the far-right corner, a large heavy reference book spread out in front of her sister, the stack of vellum pages that held the ancient poetry fragments.
“Olivia!” Celia barely whispered. They had all learned long ago not to surprise a restorer or bookbinder when they were in
the midst of a project.
Nonetheless, Olivia started, looked up, and for a moment tried to hide the pages.
“What are you doing? You were supposed to be finding out who the owner is.”
Olivia glanced down at the desk. “I intend to . . . at the auction this week. Until then . . .” She looked up suddenly, her
face aglow. “Oh, Celia, this is a discovery of a lifetime.”
“They’re real?”
“Yes, we’ll need further validation, but they appear to be. And not only that. I can’t remember having ever seen these lines
before. They may be entirely unknown. Do you know what that means?”
“Then how can you tell if they’re authentic?”
“The Sapphic meter. Listen to this.” She took a breath, then spoke in Greek, words Celia couldn’t begin to understand. Her
voice was soft, lilting in an easy rhythm.
She looked again at Celia, eyes shining. “As a whirlwind swoops on an oak Love shakes my heart.”
“That’s beautiful.” Celia moved closer until she was standing at Olivia’s shoulder.
Olivia had written pages of Greek; she must have been working on them all day and night since they had almost literally fallen
into their laps.
“I tried not to translate them until I had transcribed them. The slightest mistake could change the meaning or the cadence. But the lure was too great. The most perfect verse ever written. Largely lost, until now. A chance of a lifetime.”
Celia swallowed. Olivia was sounding possessed. “We can’t keep them.”
“We can’t very well turn them over when we don’t know to whom they belong.”
“But you’ll find out. You said they were stolen; someone must have reported them missing.”
Olivia didn’t answer.
“Olivia? You have to find the owner and give them back.”
“This is the safest place for them.”
Starling’s word sliced into Celia’s mind. Don’t try to move any secret material. Was it possible that he wasn’t talking about Margaret’s flyers, but that he knew about the papyri?
What if he knew about the fragments, and he and his confederate had been attempting to break in to steal it. All that talk
about seeing the thief and saving her was just a big Banbury tale. They’d been trying to break in. They must know, or at least
suspect, the papyri were on the premises. Maybe it wasn’t about her birth control pamphlets at all.
It was about the Sappho fragments.
She swayed on her feet, but Olivia didn’t seem to notice, so enthralled was she with her poem fragments. And Celia had to
agree, the safest place for the fragments while they researched their provenance was in the safe.
“Was there something else?”
“What?”
“Was there something else you needed?”
“I . . .” Celia shook her head. How could she warn Olivia about the thief without giving away her own part in it.
Perhaps she should, but that would be the end of everything.
For Olivia would forbid her to continue.
Still, she couldn’t let the shop go unprotected.
“I, uh, I think I heard someone trying to break in the back door this evening when I went downstairs.”
“Hmm,” Olivia said. She had already returned to her transcribing. “Probably just a cat or a rat.”
“Really? It sounded like a human trying to get in the back door.”
“If you’re worried, I’ll ask Officer O’Halloran to pay extra attention to the courtyard on his nightly rounds. If someone
did try to trespass, surely you must agree that, for now, the safe is the best place for them.”
But they weren’t in the safe, were they? They were lying across her sister’s desk in the open, ready for the taking by any
thief who had made his way past the back door and upstairs. Or any Comstock thug who came looking for Margaret’s manuscript
and found something bigger than he ever imagined.
“Then lock them up and come to bed.”
“In a bit. You go ahead.”
Celia knew she should insist, but she was suddenly too tired to argue over something she was bound to lose.
“Goodnight, then.”
She’d just reached the door when Olivia said, “It’s a chance of a lifetime, Celia. My chance of a lifetime.”
And Celia wasn’t going to be the one to take that from her. She quietly left her to it, carefully shutting the door behind
her.