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George chuckled. “Well, now, I wouldn’t go that far. But I’d happily fill you in on some lesser-known facts and folklore. Why,did you know there are rumors of buried treasure near the old lighthouse?”
As George enthusiastically launched into tales of shipwrecks and smuggler’s coves, I smiled. Jan’s eagerness reminded me so much of my youthful passion for writing. And George seemed delighted to share his knowledge and guide the next generation.
“You know, Jan, I think George would be the perfect person to help you develop a section on Pebble Point’s history,” I suggested. “His knowledge of local lore could really add depth and authenticity to your story.”
Jan’s face lit up at the idea. “Would you really be willing to work with me on that, George?”
“It would be my pleasure,” George replied, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “It’s high time someone recorded the scandalous history of our little seaside hamlet for posterity.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Scandalous, George? Do tell.”
“Oh yes,” he continued, clearly relishing the drama. “Why, this town has seen its fair share of smuggler’s coves, shipwrecks, ghosts, and even rumors of buried pirate treasure.”
“You’re kidding!” Jan exclaimed.
“Not at all. In fact, legend has it that the lighthouse keeper in the late 1700s was part of a notorious smuggling ring that ran rum and spices up the coast under cover of darkness.”
“Well, it seems like Pebble Point has some secrets,” I said with amusement. “Who would’ve thought our sleepy town had such a colorful past?”
“So you’ll work on this with me, then?” Jan asked George eagerly.
“We can meet on Sundays after I finish my shelving. I’ll dig out some historical records that might help bring the setting to life.”
“That sounds perfect!” Jan said. “Thank you so much, George. This is going to add so much richness to the story.”
I smiled as I watched them excitedly discuss ideas, George gesturing animatedly as he described local legends and folklore. It warmed my heart to see storytellers from different generations connecting over their shared passion.
“You know,” George said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “the library has quite the collection of original historical records and manuscripts. Things the public never gets to see.”
He raised his eyebrows meaningfully as Jan and I exchanged an intrigued glance.
“Go on,” I said, curiosity piqued. “What exactly might be in this secret collection?”
George’s eyes twinkled behind his spectacles. “Oh, all sorts of fascinating documents and artifacts. Old maps, personal journals, letters...” He trailed off tantalizingly.
Jan set down her notebook, eyes wide. “Do you think we could see some of these treasures? I’d love to get a firsthand glimpse into Pebble Point’s past for my novel research.”
“What a splendid idea!” George clapped his hands together. “We should take a peek at some of the choicest pieces.”
He beckoned us over to a locked wooden door marked “Staff Only” at the back of the library. Producing an old-fashioned key from his pocket, he unlocked it with a click and waved us through.
We followed him into a small, windowless room lined floor to ceiling with boxes and shelves. The space felt hushed, filled with the weight of history.
“Here we are,” George proclaimed proudly. “My private stash of artifacts.”
He pulled on a pair of white gloves and opened one box, gently lifting out a brittle, yellowed sheaf of papers. “This journal was kept by a young governess in the late 1800s,” he explained,handling it delicately. “She documented her time working for one of Pebble Point’s founding families.”
Jan and I crowded close as George let us examine the journal. The elegant script detailed the governess’s daily experiences and impressions of the household, providing a fascinating glimpse into the past.
“This is incredible,” Jan breathed, eyes scanning the pages reverently.
George carefully returned the journal and retrieved a battered leather case. Unlatching it, he revealed a collection of daguerreotype photographs depicting stern-looking men and women in formal Victorian dress.
“Some of Pebble Point’s earliest residents,” he told us. As we marveled over the antiques, he brought out other artifacts - a lady’s beaded reticule, weathered maps, and even an ornate silver hair comb.
“George, this is amazing,” I said, my mind spinning with ideas. “Would it be possible for us to come back and study some of these original sources? They’d be invaluable for our novel research.”
“My dear, I’d be delighted to grant you access.” George gave my shoulder a paternal pat. “Perhaps we can unravel a few historical mysteries together, hmm?”
