“Yes,” whispered Vivien. “They’re both even-handed.”
Something in the way she said it told Susan that Vivien would like to be one of the even-handed.
“Aunt Zoë, Aunt Helen!” called out Merlin.
Both women continued their tasks for several seconds, and then at exactly the same time, they leaned back and turned their heads to look at the visitors.
“Hello, my dears,” said the closer woman. “We had a note from Thurston to say you were coming over with a little puzzle sometime. But we’re quite busy now. Could you come back—”
“No, I’m afraid we can’t,” said Vivien. “I’m sorry, but I think it’s more urgent than Great-Uncle Thurston realizes. Um, this is Susan Arkshaw, by the way. Susan, our aunt Helen and behind her, our aunt Zoë.”
Aunt Helen blinked and pushed the magnifying lens up her forehead, like a knight lifting a visor. Aunt Zoë pursed her lips and leaned forward, eyebrows lifting in anticipation of something interesting.
“We think it might be related to what happened to Mum,” said Merlin quietly.
“Poor Antigone,” said Helen. Behind her, Zoë nodded. “Well, what is it you want us to look at?”
“A lending library card,” said Vivien, pushing Susan forward. “I don’t know which library it’s from, and the name of the person it was issued to is gone. Then there’s a 1964 Harshton and Hoole cigarette case, I know it’s silver, not paper, but there’s something about the design on the front . . . I’d like your opinion on. It reminds me of something. . . .”
“Let’s see it!” declared Helen, wheeling out from the table to hold out her shining right hand. Zoë stood up and came up to stand behind her cousin.
Susan took the cigarette case from the pocket of her boiler suit, popped it open, and handed it over. Helen took out the library card and held it up to the light, flipping it over several times. Zoë watched closely, then took the card herself, Helen handing it over her shoulder without looking around.
She examined the cigarette case next, and smiled immediately.
“Oh, they have such cunning artists up at Harshton and Hoole,” she said. “I can almost forgive them forsaking books in the great split of 1553.”
“You know what that is, then?” asked Susan.
“I will shortly,” said Helen. She pushed her wheelchair over to one of the smaller tables and rummaged in the boxes upon it. “Heelball, heelball . . . ah . . . here we are.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Susan. “A rubbing! I should have thought of that.”
Helen held up a ball of inky black material and took it and the cigarette case back to her table. Placing the case on a heavy wooden chopping block branded “Fortnum & Mason” in pokerwork in the corner, she laid a piece of paper over it and rubbed it with the heelball, a black image forming as she rubbed. At first it seemed no more than many small lines, but within a few seconds, the lines made sudden sense, though were still somewhat abstract.
“It’s a mountain,” said Merlin. “Or a hill. With clouds.”
“Yes,” said Helen thoughtfully. “Very simple lines, the lesser ones are almost invisible in the silver, hence the need for a rubbing to see it clearly. It reminds me of something, some part of a broader landscape, a painting or drawing . . . I daresay it will come to me. . . .”
“Thank you so much,” said Susan. “That’s already incredibly helpful. If I . . . we . . . can work out where this mountain is—”
“It’s not a very distinctive mountain,” muttered Merlin.
“What about the library card?” asked Vivien.
“The where is easy,” replied Zoë, surprising Susan, because she had an American accent, a notable Western twang. “It’s from the Robert Southey Library, one of the smaller private libraries that sadly hasn’t lasted. It closed down in 1967, and the collection was sold to the London Library, which also absorbed the membership.”
“And the name?” asked Susan. “I thought perhaps it starts with an O.”
“More likely a C, I think,” said Zoë judiciously. “With this sort of thing, the surname was often written first; I think the trace of the comma separating the names is visible. The good news is even though the ink has almost completely faded, we can probably bring up the name with a photographic technique, using ultraviolet light.”
“Thank you,” said Susan. “I’m very grateful.”
“But we don’t have the UV lights here; a friend at the museum does that kind of specialized work for us,” said Zoë. “When she can fit it in.”
“I think it really is urgent,” said Vivien.
“I’ll call Jocelyn and see if she can do it tomorrow morning,” said Zoë. “We’ve put in to get fluorescing UV light for the darkroom here in the annual stipendiary requests, but it never gets approved. I think Thurston won’t sign it off because the globes come from America now; the local manufacturer went out of business a few years ago.”
“Made in Britain,” muttered Merlin.
“Now, now, dear,” said Helen. “You were made in Britain, after all. We still make many fine new things, and who but us know the value of the old so well?”
“I know,” sighed Merlin, giving his aunt a smile so bright and charming Susan felt she had to look away or go weak at the knees. “I guess I’m . . . I don’t know . . . on edge.”
“And hungry,” said Vivien. She looked at the grandfather clock. “It’s after four and we still haven’t had any lunch!”
“They’ve got stargazy pie in the canteen today,” said Helen brightly.
The others all shuddered.
“And corned beef and Branston pickle sandwiches.”
Susan brightened at this, suppressing an urge to lick her lips. Merlin did not seem cheered.
“I’m sure Jocelyn at the museum will help as soon as she can,” said Helen. “What’s this about, anyway?”
Susan looked at Merlin, who
