The Sky Beneath Her(30)

She prompted me to think of the black market book broker I’d first met in my great-uncle’s shop years ago. She’d become a regular visitor by 1938, always with a rare book to sell. She’d saunter into the shop, wary but full of confidence. She’d carefully look at the titles first to make sure we were alone.

The woman wasn’t like our normal customers. Though her dark dress was subdued, she favored bright lipstick, and her ringed fingers suggested she lived anything but a restrained life. The Germans didn’t approve of ostentatious women who didn’t fit their idea of chasteness.

On one occasion, she’d moved toward the counter, meeting my gaze with sharp blue eyes. “Is your uncle here?”

“No. Not today.” My uncle was unwell, and he’d said many times now that he was grateful Alfred had asked for my hand and I’d agreed to marry him.

When she grinned at me, I was immediately cautious. My uncle had called her a selkie, but I worried more about the German spies who’d infested the city.

“Good morning,” I added. “It’s been a while.”

“I’ve been on the go. I hear congratulations are in order. You’re to be married,” she said.

My engagement wasn’t a secret, but still I was surprised she knew. “Yes.”

“When is the wedding?”

“Two weeks.” Alfred had insisted I visit an exclusive dressmaker in Vienna. She’d created a wedding dress fit for a princess, made of silk that was as modest as it was extravagant. There’d also been fittings for dresses and gowns for entertaining. It had been a whirlwind courtship, and I still hadn’t processed my good fortune.

“I hear the weather is going to be lovely the following week, when you wed,” she said.

“How do you know that?”

A shrug. “Magic.”

When I’d last seen Alfred a few days earlier, he’d been tense and worried about his business. “I can only hope.”

“Trust me.” And then, in the wake of my silence, she asked, “Would you be interested in buying a rare book?”

Uncle Eric had bought many of the books she’d brought to us, but as the wedding grew closer, his health had also taken a bad turn, and he wasn’t in the shop often. Alfred had allowed me to stay there, but I sensed that after our marriage, I would have to leave the bookshop behind. I expected a German soldier or the local police to be waiting outside. But she appeared to be alone.

“We are very careful about what we can buy now.”

She reached into a small sack and removed a thin volume. Its old leather cover was embossed with gold flowers. “I think you’ll find what I have of great value. And the price will be hard for anyone to resist.”

Despite the dangers, I nodded. She set the book on the counter, and I realized immediately that what she was offering was quite rare—a First Folio of William Shakespeare’s works. “Where did you get this?”

She shrugged. “A client.”

Many of the wealthy citizens who’d used her as a broker had long fled the city, been transported, or died. I carefully opened the cover and studied the bold ink. The book had been published in the 1620s. Still fearing a trap, I asked, “Who is the owner?”

“I cannot say. But I can assure you it’s genuine.”

She wasn’t lying. I’d handled enough books to know just from the binding which volumes were genuine and which ones were forgeries. I had special clients who still collected and could sell this if the price was right. “How much?”

Her smile widened. When she named her price, I was hesitant. She’d greatly undervalued the book.

“I am no German or police spy,” she said. “I’m simply a woman looking to make a deal that would help us both.”

Many in the city were struggling now. Food was scarce, the best saved for the Germans and Austrian officials.

“I could really use the money,” she added. “I have never steered you wrong, have I?”

“No. But my uncle likes to make these deals.”

“Then get him. I will wait.”

I suspected she knew my uncle was bedridden. “I’m afraid that I will have to pass.”

“Are you sure? This is a very rare opportunity.”

“Yes.”

“Very well.”

When she’d left the store and vanished around the corner, I’d expected never to see her again. But three years later, she’d found me by the river. My body was bruised and my head ached. I’d never questioned how she’d found me. On that day, we’d struck a different deal, and I hadn’t seen her since I’d left Vienna.

Was I now losing my mind? Was I so worried about Vienna that I was turning strangers into past ghosts?

I climbed the stairs and was slightly breathless when I reached the dining room floor. Following the sound of conversation and clinking silverware, I found a steward standing by the dining room entrance.

“I am late for my seating,” I said.

His gaze bobbed between my face and belly. Whatever practiced rejection he had prepared for tardy diners never materialized. “A seat just opened. Let me clear the place, and I’ll seat you.”

The steward angled his hand toward the dining room. I recognized Dr. Brooks. He and the other man at the table stood.