“Yes, Mr. Beale. I believe he’s right here.”
Charles prepared himself.
“Charles? What do you want?”
“The benefit of your immense experience and wisdom, Jacob.”
“That’s what everybody wants. Everybody thinks they know everything. Then when they get stuck, they call me.”
“I have a question, and I am stuck. And besides, I call mainly as a favor to your staff, to keep you busy so they can have a few minutes of peace to get anything done. Anyway, I have a book, and it’s a little odd.”
“Odd, you say?” His voice changed. “Those are the ones that are worth anything.”
“This is an Odyssey, the Pope translation, and it looks like it’s about 1830, nice leather-”
“Wait a minute, you.” Jacob’s volume went up a notch. “That was the one in Denver?”
“That’s right.”
“You got that? Whippersnapper! I put a bid on that.”
“How much?”
“Eight hundred dollars.”
“Then you were quite outclassed. I got it for almost eighteen. There were more than just you and I bidding.”
“What’s it like? The picture wasn’t worth anything.”
“The title page is cut out. There’s a volume title page. No half title.”
“You think it’s a part of a set?”
“I wonder if it’s a private printing.”
“Then you wasted your money. It won’t be worth a thing except for the leather and the age. Wait, you don’t know who owned it, do you?”
“I don’t know. I wonder if that was on the true title page.”
“It’s been cut out, you say? That might be, Charles. That might be. They were broken that way, back in the twenties and thirties.”
“It’s only one page.”
“But that was the fashion, about 1920 to 1935. People wanted that title page, nothing else out of it. Happened to a lot of books, mainly in England. And especially if the title page had something special about it. Have you collated the whole book?”
“I’ve been through every page, but I don’t have anything to compare it to. What do you know about early nineteenth century private collection printings?”
“There were the cheap ones then like they make now-all the popular classics in matching volumes by subscription.”
“No, it’s not one of those. The leather is very nice.” He paused for effect. “And Jacob, it’s vellum.”
“Vellum?” The telephone shook in Charles’s hand. “Vellum? Are you sure?”
“I think I can tell.”
“I suppose even you could,” Jacob said. “So, 1830s and vellum?”
“Have you ever seen anything like that?”
“Only once. Twenty years ago. It was an 1820 Gibbon, in four volumes, and it was printed for the Duke of Wellington.”
“Do you remember the publisher?”
“Padding and Brewster.”
“What about the title page?” Charles asked.
“Besides the city and date, there was the Duke’s name, the name of the collection, then the name of the volume.”
“So that’s what’s been cut out.”
“It would make a nice picture on a wall,” Jacob said, very sarcastically. “I hate book breaking.”
“I know your opinions on the subject. What do you think of it being the Alexander Pope translation?”
“That’s an odd one, too, isn’t it, Charles? That’s an odd one. Long out of fashion by that point. Mostly. But it had a small following. Tutors used it. Private tutors.”
Charles’s eyes had not left the volume on the desk in front of him. “A wealthy child around 1830, studying Homer with a private tutor. A name springs to mind…”
Jacob cackled. “Don’t get your hopes up, Charles! But that would be a catch if it were.”
“There is an unreadable signature. I’m going to compare it to a few specimens. And I might run it up to the Library of Congress, to see what they think. It will just be so disappointing when they tell me I’m wrong.”
“Have them call me, and I’ll tell you. I’d look forward to it.”
“I’m always glad to give you something to live for. Except I’m going to run out sooner or later.”
“It’s touch and go, Charles, but this will keep me going for a week or so. And say, what happened to that matchmaker you were after?”
“I met him, Jacob. A very interesting person. The story isn’t over yet, but if you can stay alive for a couple more weeks, I might be able to tell it to you.”
“You’ve been down here a long time,” Dorothy said.
“I’m on the hunt,” Charles said.
She sat beside him, worried. “I hope you haven’t found more secret papers.”
“No!” He had to laugh. “No, dear, not that at all. This is far more interesting.”
“That’s your Odyssey?”
“Literally, and literally literally. And literately. This Odyssey is my odyssey. Come, look at this signature. The first letter. What is it?”
“My first thought was an A, but it isn’t. Maybe a V.”
“Yes! That’s what I think. An expensive leather set, 1830s, that includes Homer in a classic translation that was already out of date. And the letter V. Any guess?”
“No…”
“Possibly a private printing for a child, a student, per Jacob Leather-man. On vellum. Now compare that signature to this.” Regally, he set a paper on the table next to the book, a printed image of a signature. “Do they look the same?”
“I-Charles-it couldn’t be.”
“Do they look the same?” he said again.
“Yes.”
“Exactly the same.” He sighed deeply. “Victoria.”
“I don’t believe it!” Dorothy said. “What are you going to do?”
“Going to do?” Charles laughed. “Just enjoy it as much as I can before I find out I’m wrong.”
“Will you try to get it authenticated?”
“I might. I can call the Library of Congress and ask if they would inspect it.”
“Would the title page have had her name?”
“That would be worth breaking out, don’t you think? Jacob says it would have been done in the 1920s, which would have been about when our seller’s grandfather would have received this as a gift.”
“Would he have done it?”
“I think not. I think it was sold after it was broken. At that point, it was just another book. Now-I wonder whatever became of Victoria’s library?”
“It must still be in England. In a castle or palace.”
“This sounds like a job for Morgan.”
He was up and moving, two steps at a time, with Dorothy far behind.
“Morgan?”
“Yes, Mr. Beale?”
“I am sending you on an odyssey.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Start with Queen Victoria.”
“Not Troy?”
