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“You own this building?” Wright asked.
“I do,” Beatrice replied.
“Then wait two seconds.” He reached inside his coat and pulled a palm-size elongated oval of wood out of an inner pocket. He flipped the wooden casing open to reveal several protruding metal implements, before selecting the one he wanted. He bent down in front of the door and inserted a thin piece of metal into the keyhole.
“He’s very resourceful,” whispered Viola in Beatrice’s ear.
“Or possibly criminal,” whispered Isobel.
Wright paid no attention, intent on his task. He moved the tool around inside the keyhole, gently turning and prodding until they heard a click. “There.” He rose and turned toward her, and all Beatrice could see for several shaky breaths was his mismatched blue-and-gold gaze and the satisfied quirk of his lips.
“What’s that tool you’re using, Mr. Wright?” Isobel asked. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Something of my father’s invention.” He held up the wooden oval and showed them how the various metal tools folded out, and then back into the curved frame. “There’s a turnscrew, a blade, pliers,a wrench, a file, and even a pick, which is what I just used.”
“That’s quite extraordinary. I wonder that he hasn’t tried to patent it.” Isobel was also studying patent law.
“My father’s always inventing some fantastical gewgaw or other. But this one happens to be quite useful, though he can’t find anyone willing to finance a patent application.”
“What does he call it?” Beatrice asked.
“Wright’s Versatile Ten in One Master Tool.”
“Oh no,” said Isobel. “That won’t do. Far too long and complicated. You need a short, memorable name. Let’s see... what about Wright’s Versatile Tool?”
“Or you could combine the words,” said Beatrice. “Wright’s Versa-Tool.”
“That’s not bad, I’ll write to my father and tell him that the lady knitters have a new name for his invention.” Wright opened the door with a flourish of his arm and an exaggerated bow. “Your castle awaits, princess.”
Something inside Beatrice’s chest clicked open and her breath caught in her throat.Beatrice, you ninny. It doesn’t matter how many locks he picks or roses he plucks, it’s only what any charming rogue would do.
Viola laughed softly. “A princess for a castle.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Beatrice muttered, as she brushed past him into the shop.
It was dark inside and took several moments for her eyes to adjust. Dust motes danced in the watery sunlight allowed through the paned glass windows.A dark wood staircase with scrolled balustrades curved upward at the end of the entrance hall. “The showroom’s through here,” she said, leading the way through the doorway to their right.
“Careful!” Wright caught her arm as she nearly tripped over a wooden crate on the floor. “Stay here until I open the curtains.” He disappeared into the room and moments later, streaks of light illuminated their way. There were crates stacked over the entire floor, some of them open and spilling forth piles of books.
“What a frightful mess!” exclaimed Viola. “Why, it looks as though it hasn’t been occupied in years.”
“My beauties.” Beatrice hugged a stack of manuscripts piled on the shop counter. “Just look at you. Left here all alone to molder. Someone should be taking care of you.”
More curtains were opened, and someone lit a lamp. Beatrice was only dimly aware of the activity in the room. She gravitated to the bookshelves lining the walls and began reading spines and greeting old friends, and new.
Viola sneezed. “It’s ever so dusty.”
“I fear the solicitor may have had the right of it—this is most dilapidated,” said Isobel.
“My delectable darling.” Beatrice cradled an early etymological dictionary in her hands, reverently opening it to the title page. “You’re here. You’re still here. And you’re all mine!”
“Should we give you some privacy with these books?” Wright asked with a sardonic smile.
“Beatrice loves books,” said Viola.
“So I’ve gathered.” His gaze made the back of herneck feel hot, so she concentrated on the book she held. “This is the original folio of Skinner’sEtymologicon LinguaeAnglicanae. I’ve only seen copies. This is the very first etymological dictionary produced in England.”
“That’s excellent, Beatrice!” enthused Viola.
