Page 124 of The Ladies Least Likely
“And I have told you already of a different work also known as the Book of Secrets, theKitab al-Asrarby Muhammad al-Razi,” Karim continued. “This one is on the practiceal-kimiya,what I believe you English call alchemy. But the book is much rarer and harder to find. I was told once that the Duke of Hunsdon had something like it in his library. Your brother is tutor to the young duke, I understand.”
Amaranthe nodded, holding his gaze. Joseph had come across such a book, in passing, and mentioned it to her. If Karim knew about it as well, then the manuscript must indeed be a legend among antiquarians. The one to find it would possess a treasure indeed.
Was the bookseller dropping a broad hint? Or had Amaranthe become so sly that she detected subtle meanings now in everything?
There was no slyness in Malden Grey. He was an open book, as such things went.
“I shall keep a lookout for such a volume,” Amaranthe said. “I imagine you’d be delighted to negotiate the sale of it, should the young duke be willing.”
Depending on how much damage the duchess and her steward had done to the Hunsdon estates, the young duke might well be reduced to selling off his library to feed himself and his siblings. Amaranthe only had so many manuscripts locked in her cedar chest.
Again that needle pierced her chest. If she had found the Hunsdon book last night, she might be making a very different negotiation today. An honest, aboveboard negotiation. But Grey needed money, and she had arranged for two dozen servants to descend on the house tomorrow, servants who must be paid wages, fed, and supplied with uniforms. She pressed her hand to her pocket. Would she return the two hundred guineas to have herBook of Secretsback?
No, because she had a second copy, the first and highly inferior one she’d made as practice, attempting such a large work untutored and all on her own. She could use that in her shop display. Joseph had contributed to the terrible state of things at Hunsdon House, and she felt obliged to exonerate him. Sacrificing herSecretorumwas not too high a price, just as shehad been willing to sacrifice herPhysiologusto keep a roof over their heads.
Sacrificing her Book of Hours had been a steeper price, but necessary to extract herself from Reuben’s clutches. She hoped nightmares dogged his sleep and followed him into everlasting torment.
She was not stealing, Amaranthe told herself as she patted her purse. Oxford was an institution designed for education. And if she made a second copy of books she was commissioned to restore or reproduce, they were intended for her private use, as displays for her eventual bookshop and demonstrations of her skill. If she had now and again been obliged to sell those copies to support her household—well, she could justify the necessity, at least to herself.
The chime above the door jangled, and Mr. Karim stepped away, ending their conversation. Amaranthe turned to see Malden Grey enter the shop. Tall, stern, handsome as a devil, he filled the room.
Her heart fluttered with pleasure. He was an imposing man, not to be overlooked. He was also a dangerous man, though his strength lay leashed and civilized under a gentleman’s coat. He looked displeased about something, his jaw set in that way she’d noted when he burst into her house, and the little thrill shifted to alarm.
“Buying books, Miss Illingworth?” he inquired.
Malden Grey, man of the law, would have a very firm opinion of the activities she engaged in with her commissions and her copies. Like her father, he would see black and white, wrong and more wrong.
“In truth, I am buying from her,” Mr. Karim answered in a pleasant tone. “Miss Illingworth had the good fortune to come across a Latin version of theSecretum Secretorum, what we call in Arabic theKitab Sirr-al-asrâr, theBook of the Secret ofSecrets. She has done me the very great honor of transferring it to my hands. Look you, sir, do you not find the workmanship astonishing?”
“Aristotle’s advice to young Alexander the Great? And Miss Illingworth in possession of a copy? I am astonished indeed,” Mal said.
Amaranthe’s belly splashed into her heeled slippers.He knew.
They exchanged a long look, and the hair on her arms lifted in warning. He was about to expose her. But he mustn’t do it here, in front of the bookseller who provided the larger portion of her income. She stepped forward to urge him toward the door when the chimes rang again and another man entered.
Mal’s posture grew taut and alert.
“Grey.” The new entrant regarded Mal with surprise. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Oliver.” Mal inclined his head, acknowledging a superior. “My first visit.”
The newcomer looked at Mr. Karim. “I’ve come for my set of lectures, if you have them bound.”
“Of course. Only a moment.” The bookseller whisked into the backroom.
Amaranthe straightened her elaborate skirts, wondering if she could edge out the door while the newcomer distracted Mal. Except that the two men blocked her exit, the shop made narrow by the closely set shelves of books and book-binding supplies. In the awkward silence the noises from the street outside penetrated: the clop of hooves as a wagon rolled past, the calls and conversations of passersby, and, startling in their clarity, the sonorous bells of St. Paul’s as they rang the hour.
“Never seen you with a woman, Grey,” the newcomer said, regarding Amaranthe with interest.
She lifted her chin. She’d never been looked at so much in her life as she had this day. Next time Eyde and Mrs. Blackthorn tried to coax her into the duchess’s clothes, she’d put a flea in their ear.
“Forgive me,” Mal said. “Amaranthe, this is Mr. Stephen Oliver, one of the Benchers of the Middle Temple and by far our favorite reader. Mr. Oliver, this is Miss Amaranthe Illingworth, a—friend to the Duke of Hunsdon.”
She wished he hadn’t put it that way. It sounded like she was a courtesan. She might as well be, plumed in a duchess’s gown without the rank or birth to deserve it.
Oliver flicked a gloved hand in the air. “Favorite reader, my foot. No one comes to the lectures. Having them bound to force something between the students’ ears. Nothing but a meal requirement to be called to the bar! And thumb a few books!” He shook his bewigged head. “Law was a serious business in my day.” He fixed a stern look upon Mal.
“What topics do your readings specialize in, Mr. Oliver?” Amaranthe asked, since Mal looked at a loss for words.
