“I can’t believe it!” Natalie repeated. “They are remarkably similar. I knew Uncle Richard often came across rare books, but this is priceless!”
“But let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Calvin cautioned. “It could be a forgery, after all.”
At that moment Mrs. Murphy shouted at the bottom of the stairs, “Come down for dinner, you filthy bookworms!”
~
After dinner, they were completely exhausted. “I don’t think we should tackle that manuscript till we’ve had a good night’s rest,” suggested Natalie. “It’s been a long day.”
Her brother let out a huge yawn. “I agree,” he said. “You might think I’m being paranoid, and I’m not kidding when I say this, but I honestly think Mrs. Murphy has been drugging our dinner ever since we learned how to read.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” she said in agreement. “I have a very clear memory of her yelling at me one morning when I was probably only six or seven. “I’m sick and tired of you children staying up all night reading and waking up looking like little zombies from some horror movie, with temperaments to match!” Natalie laughed at the memory. “I distinctly recall her walking away muttering, ‘And I’m going to do something about it, by God!’”
“I wonder what she gives us,” mused Calvin. “I bet it’s laudanum!”
“Laudanum?” Natalie laughed, shaking her dark head. “You’ve been reading too many Victorian novels! No…I rather think our lethargy is due to her comfort food. It seems to make one rather too comfortable.”
“Well, if Mrs. Murphy ‘helped’ us get sleepy tonight, I, for one, am grateful,” he replied. “I’m going to have enough trouble quieting my thoughts after our discovery this evening.”
“Well, we’ve got to try, in any case,” said Natalie. “Otherwise our brains are going to be pudding, and we’ll need to be sharp tomorrow if we’re going to figure out that manuscript.”
After much tossing and turning, Natalie finally drifted off to sleep and dreamed she was meandering through a distant garden of impossible beauty.
~
Calvin woke early the next morning and stretched his arms. He looked out the window, shaking his head sadly. It was a blustery and rainy morning. Looks like our fall sunshine won’t be making an appearance today, he thought glumly. He remembered his recent trip to Africa with fondness. How he loved the dry heat of the Serengeti! The weather in England sometimes makes one feel like one will never be warm again, he reflected bitterly. If this manuscript business took too long, he might miss the annual migration.
Calvin had fallen in love with wild animals from the very moment he first laid eyes on a real tiger, in the West Midland Safari Park. While Natalie’s first memory was of their arrival at this house, Calvin’s was of his trip to the park. He was almost certain he had been with his mother, who had bought him a large stuffed tiger in one of the gift shops.
“There, Calvin!” she’d said, as he wrapped the animal in his chubby arms. “Now you have your Hobbes.” Calvin rubbed his eyes. Thinking about his mother made him feel sentimental and sad, so he tried not to think about her very much.
After he finished his doctorate in zoology, he was offered a job at National Geographic, a dream come true. When his uncle died so unexpectedly three weeks ago, the magazine had generously given him a three-month sabbatical to settle his affairs. Luckily, Natalie was a self-supporting author, so her time was always her own. As she presently had no looming deadlines hanging over her head, she had plenty of leisure time to spend at their childhood home.
Calvin stepped into his favorite sheepskin slippers and pulled on his robe. After locating his glasses under his pillow, he headed down the hall and knocked softly on his sister’s door. She had always been a late sleeper, and it was oftentimes an effort for her to wake up and get straight to writing, except when she was under a deadline. She worked well under pressure, but was a terrible procrastinator otherwise.
“Ten more minutes,” he heard her mumble beyond her door.
“Fine, I’ll be back,” Calvin warned. He knew it was useless to argue. Even in college, she barely made it to class in time, often with items of clothing inside-out or missing altogether. His sister spent many mornings shivering in a thin sweater at the Department of Plant Sciences, because she had rushed out the door without her coat.
Calvin headed downstairs to fetch coffee for them both. In the kitchen, Mrs. Murphy was already busy making breakfast.
Calvin looked around happily. “You sure are going all out, Mrs. Murphy,” he noticed. “It looks like you’re making the full Irish breakfast!”
She looked quite satisfied with herself. “Oh yes, I’ve made eggs, sausage, bacon, grilled tomatoes and black-and-white pudding.” She went on, “Oh, and of course my own brown bread with sweet butter.”
Calvin gave her a huge bear hug.
“Off me, you big goon!” she cried, and pushed him away with a laugh. “I’m not doing this just for you. We have a visitor.”
“Oh? Who is it?”
Just then a man appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing a dapper black overcoat and carrying a cane with a lion’s head topper.
“Il est moi, votre Oncle Julien,” the gentleman said brightly. “Now where is my breakfast?”
Calvin gave his uncle a warm hug. Julien was younger than Richard by fifteen years. He lived in Paris, and was a former head librarian of the Bibliothèque Nationale de France. Julien had persuaded his brother to become a librarian as well. Richard had just graduated from the Royal Naval College in Greenwich and had every intention of making his career as an officer. After one visit from Julien, however, Richard abruptly changed his mind—and the course of his life. He took a position at the Bodleian instead, as a part-time library assistant. He quickly worked his way up the ranks, after it became obvious that he was extremely passionate and thorough about every detail of his job. In time, he was appointed head librarian while still in his 30s.
Pressently, Natalie shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. She saw her uncle standing in the room and cried, “You’re back!”
“Of course I’m back,” he said with feigned gravity. “You summoned me.”
A Guiding Spirit
Natalie looked confused and shook her head. “I never called you, Uncle.” She looked questioningly at her brother. “Did you?”
“Not I,” he replied.
Mrs. Murphy looked flustered. “Well, what does it matter anyhow? Would you all sit down already and have your breakfast?”
They needed no further encouragement, and pulled out their chairs. Uncle Julien buttered his bread and took a bite, closing his eyes as he did so. “How I’ve longed for your cooking, Madame Murphy,” he sighed. “French cuisine is delectable of course, but nothing compares to the comfort I reap from your kitchen. You are an angel, cheri.”
Mrs. Murphy blushed. She always had a special place in her heart for Julien Romarin.
“Uncle,” Natalie interrupted, “What do you mean when you say we summoned you? I assure you we didn’t, although we’re very glad to see you again so soon.”
“Yes,” added Calvin, “you just left us a week ago, right after the funeral. I assume you went back to Paris?”
“I most certainly did,” replied their uncle, “and little did I know I’d be back again within the week,