Page 42 of The Missing Pages
“‘Sudden Light.’” Emilie said the name of the poem. “It’s one of my favorites. Especially now that I’m in the November of my years, it gives me hope that perhaps love continues after we’re gone.”
“Yes, I’d like to believe true love is eternal,” Ada said.
Several respectful minutes passed between us and the lines of the poem still hung in the air. I heard Ada’s voice saying the stanzas in my ear over and over. I wanted to own the book myself just to return the memory of her speaking its words.
It would be Ada however who finally broke the silence. She delicately asked Mrs. Barrington the price.
Emilie Barrington had clearly contemplated the amount before she’d agreed to meet Ada. She was shrewd and knowledgeable. I could sense that within moments of meeting her.
“Twelve pounds,” she pronounced, her voice unwavering. Despite the brief moment of sensitivity, she revealed after Ada had read the poem, Emilie was now focused on tying up the business at hand.
I intrinsically knew it was far too much. Emilie had already admitted that the Pre-Raphaelites were no longer in fashion. She also had not put the book up for auction, thus indicating her belief that there was little public demand for the book. All she did have before her was a potentially eager buyer who had an emotional attachment to Rossetti’s poetry and who wanted something that had actually been inscribed with his pen.
Ada sat there quietly. I could tell she was contemplating her response. It was hard for me not to jump in and tell Emilie the price was far too high, but I knew this was not my acquisition to negotiate. Ada had acquired books before and had done so on behalf of the most important booksellers and antiquarians in the business. She was hardly a novice.
“That’s more than Mr. Quaritch intended to spend.”
Emilie raised an eyebrow.
I kept my expression blank. I relished seeing Ada in action. It was like watching a chess match. Ada was not going to reveal that she really wanted the book for herself.
“So it’s simply too much, I’m afraid.” She answered politely, but firmly.
If Emilie was taken aback by Ada’s answer, she didn’t show it.
“Tell me, Miss Lippoldt, how much do you think this book of poetry is worth?”
Ada smoothed the folds of her skirt with her palms. When she lifted her head, she looked directly into Emilie’s eyes.
“It’s priceless,” she replied. “But its market value, well… that’s another story entirely.” After a brief moment’s pause, she served notice that the game was indeed now afoot. “My offer is eight pounds.”
Eight pounds might not seem very much now, but it would have been close to eight hundred in today’s dollars. A rather significant sum, particularly for a young working woman like Ada.
“That’s significantly less than I was expecting,” Emilie answered. “And as you know, the impetus for selling the book is to raise funds for the restoration of this house. It is my intent to make it a museum that will long outlast me and preserve Lord Leighton’s important legacy.”
“I understand. And I appreciate that the funds received will go to a most worthwhile cause,” Ada answered. “But, nonetheless, eight pounds is all I can offer.” Her professionalism was pitch perfect.
“Then what about you, Mr. Widener?” Emilie’s head swiveled in my direction. Her eyes danced, and though her hair was streaked silver and her skin lined with age, she was a connoisseur at flirting if it served her purpose. “Perhaps you would like this book foryourcollection?”
I politely declined. There was going to be no other owner for this book but Ada.
Emilie just hadn’t realized that yet.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
WE LEFT THE GARDEN OFLEIGHTONHOUSE WITHOUT THERossetti book. I watched Ada’s face for a clue as to how she was feeling.
“That Emilie is a fierce little barn owl, isn’t she?” Ada said, rather amused by what had transpired.
“I would say so. But the price she suggested was outrageous.”
“Indeed,” Ada agreed. “It was probably just a test. I know how much we would try to sell it for at the store. And I doubt there would be more than a handful of bidders for it if it ever went to auction.”
Again, she impressed me. Ada was smart, self-possessed, and unphased by the actions of others. If I was going to be marooned on a desert island, I would now happily cast away my beloved childhood copy ofTreasure Island,which I’d always said would be my trusted companion. I wanted her.
“That’s true,” I mused. “But I know how hard it is to step away from something you love.”
Her gloved fingers grazed mine. Tiny currents of electricity flooded my body from her brief touch. Gathering my courage, I took her hand in mine and gently squeezed it.
