As the centuries had passed, the Edinburgh Medical School had become world-renowned. Studying medicine wasn’t in my future, but I had a deep respect for those who had the calling to do so. As I set off down the long hallway toward Dr. Eban’s office, I spent a moment already missing what my friendship with Sophie and Rena had become and their sharing of some of the things they learned. If I couldn’t find it in me to be a doctor, at least I liked to hear about what future doctors were learning.
I hoped we’d be okay.
Education never ends, Watson. It is a series of lessons, with the greatest for the last.
“Got it, Sherlock. Thank you,” I said quietly as I zeroed in on Dr. Eban’s office door.
I debated knocking, but didn’t. Instead, I put my hand on the knob as I tried to formulate what I would say to him if he was there.
I finally shrugged and decided I’d just go with whatever happened.
But the door was locked.
“Can I help you?” a woman asked from over my shoulder.
“Hello, yes, I’m looking for Dr. Eban,” I said as I jumped in my skin and then turned.
“He’ll not be in today,” she said. “Are you a student?”
“A friend,” I said. It was a lie, of course, but this stately woman with importantly styled gray hair was probably a professor. She knew I wasn’t a student even as she’d asked the question.
“I see,” she said as her eyes bored into mine. Hers were intelligent, inquisitive eyes that matched her hair.
Her scrutiny was uncomfortable, but unwarranted, I thought, so I stood my ground and tried not to back away.
“Aye,” she said as she cocked her head. “He’ll not be in. In fact, many of our office hours are canceled for the day. We’ve had a tragedy.”
“I’m so sorry. What happened?” I asked.
“A death in the family. Of sorts,” she said. “Are you a new friend of Dr. Eban’s?”
“Well, I suppose, yes. I didn’t meet him all that long ago.”
“And you’re not a student? Or a prospective student?”
“No, neither.”
When I didn’t go on, and after she’d sized me up some more, she continued, “I’m Dr. Eban’s wife.”
“Oh!” I said reflexively. Hadn’t Sophie and Rena described her as fierce? That would have been one of the words I’d have used too, even before she’d introduced herself. However, they’d been complimentary, I thought, and I was glad to meet this intelligent and fierce woman. A plan came together in my mind. It wasn’t a perfect plan, as I would soon find out, but it was better than nothing. “I … Yes, we met recently. I’m friends with some medical students. I work at a bookshop, and I was coming by to ask his advice on some old medical books. My boss is looking to sell the books, and since Dr. Eban is the only person I know here, I decided to begin with him. I thought he could direct me appropriately. You know, to an expert who could tell me more about the books.”
She relaxed in the way I’d seen other women who didn’t trust their husbands relax—after they realized he hadn’t been cheating.
“I see,” she said again, the now friendly if small smile making her seem younger. “You chose well. He is the one tae speak tae. He knows his books. He’s set up many a display from his collections.” She half-smiled again. “You might be sorry you asked him, but I’m sure he’ll be happy tae share his knowledge, wordy though it will be. Perhaps you could come back another day? And block off a good chunk of time.”
“Of course. Thank you. I’ll try to call first. I’m sorry about the death in the family.”
She nodded, and grief pinched at her eyes. She extended her hand. “I’m Dr. Meg Carson.”
“Delaney Nichols.”
“You’re from the U.S.?”
“I am. I was lucky to be offered the job here in Edinburgh, and I jumped on the opportunity. I’ve only been here for about a year.”
She turned as if to lead me out of the building. I went along as we walked slowly down the hallway.
“An adventure?” she asked in the way everyone did, a tinge of jealousy with the curiosity.
“Yes.”
“That’s a lovely idea,” she said, sounding even more youthful. “I’d like tae do something like that someday. We’ll see.”
“I recommend it.”
“What’s the name of the bookshop? You said you wanted tae talk tae Bryon about some books. What kind of shop is it?”
This is where my plan would implode or be the reason that Meg Carson might not be so happy to have met me. I didn’t know how much she knew about where Mallory had been killed. But I had to give her an answer.
“The Cracked Spine. Mostly used. We have many rare books and manuscripts we acquire and then resell or trade.”
“I have a … novel,” she said, seemingly embarrassed, but not aware of the connection of the bookshop to Mallory. “It’s old. I’ve thought about selling it.”
“We love novels,” I said.
I thought back to meeting Dr. Eban at the pub. He seemed almost sixty, but a young almost sixty. Dr. Carson didn’t look old either; her hairstyle was so sophisticated that even her gray hair didn’t make her seem older. But she had that old-fashioned shame about enjoying novels. I still knew some book snobs who thought fiction wasn’t important, but for the most part that was a dated and long-dead attitude.
“What’s the book?” I asked as we stopped just this side of the entryway.
“The Scottish Chiefs by Jane Porter,” she said.
“I’ve heard of that one. Early nineteenth century?” I said.
“Aye. 1810.”
“It’s about William Wallace?” I said, having recently been submerged in Wallace’s history. Goose bumps rose on my arms as I thought about the dangers of that recent experience. I rubbed my arms, but Dr. Carson didn’t seem to notice.
“Aye.
