The Secrets of Paper and Ink

by Lindsay Harrel

  Sophia caught Ginny watching them both, a small smile playing across her lips.

  Once they were all inside the room, George turned to them. “Now that we are inside the room, feel free to converse as much as you’d like.” His pointed stare shot Sophia with a twinge of guilt for her earlier failure to observe the librarian’s golden rule of silence.

  But William stepped forward and clapped a hand on George’s shoulder. “Thanks for agreeing to help us out today, George. We’d be lost without your expertise.”

  His flattery seemed to puff George up a bit. The librarian pushed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and nodded. “Why don’t we all take a seat and discuss your search.”

  At first, Sophia hadn’t wanted to accept William’s help in searching for Emily Fairfax. After all, something about the whole thing felt intensely personal. But William had access to the university’s resources, including a research librarian who specialized in genealogy. George had agreed to give them a quick overview of the process of tracing ancestry and help them figure out where to begin.

  They all slid into seats at one of the tables.

  George sat ramrod straight and picked a piece of lint off his polyester suit. “So William told me the basics of your search.”

  She’d loaned the journal to William to read yesterday, when she’d finally accepted his offer of help.

  “And I have to warn you that it will be difficult. In fact, maybe impossible.”

  The words splashed icy water over the hope that had been lit just being here in this place. Sophia couldn’t help the way her shoulders fell. “Oh?”

  “Come on, George, old chum. There is some chance, isn’t there?”

  The librarian straightened his glasses. “There is always some chance. But even with a lot of information to begin your search, it can be difficult. All you have is a single full name. No date. No place of birth.”

  What had she been thinking? This was a mistake. “We’re sorry to have wasted your time.”

  William held out his hand. “Just wait, Sophia. George, we may only have one full name, but we have a few context clues to help us with the other things. Thanks to the reference to the Daily Telegraph and Courier, we know the story had to have taken place after 1855, when that newspaper was founded. Of course, we don’t know exactly how old Emily was, but it’s likely she was in her late teens to midtwenties. And there are several other clues that point to this story taking place during the Victorian era. So that at least gives us bookends for our search.”

  Sophia flashed him a look of gratitude. “And while we don’t know for sure the county of Emily’s birth, we do know the setting of the story or journal is England, so that’s likely where she was born too. We don’t have to have all the specifics, right? Isn’t there a way to cast a wider net for the search?”

  “Yes, of course. It will just take you much longer to wade through the entries.”

  “That’s fine.” William glanced once more at Sophia. “Right?”

  Sophia couldn’t hold his gaze for long. “I’m here all summer, so long as my landlord doesn’t kick me out.” Her poor attempt at a joke fell on deaf ears, though. Ginny sat next to her writing in a notebook. A quick glance at her scribbles showed a bunch of numbers. Poor girl. Sophia should have let her stay home to brainstorm ways to save her bookstore instead of having her come here. Next time, she’d find the courage to come alone with William.

  If there was a next time.

  Sophia cleared her throat and redirected her attention to George. “So what do we need to know about this process?”

  “It’s tedious and takes patience. Always begin with what you do know. You’ll mostly be searching birth, death, and marriage certificates. In England, civil registration did not begin until 1837 and was not compulsory for births or deaths until 1874, so there are some gaps in those records. Reporting marriages was compulsory, so those records are a bit more reliable.”

  George paused to be sure she and William were tracking with him. Upon their nods, he continued. “After 1837, the government divided England into registration districts and subdistricts, where records of marriages, births, and deaths were kept. Each quarter, the districts submitted an index of these events to the central registration office. But an index only includes the most basic information. Here is where your search can get tricky.”

  Then he rattled off a list of resources, as well as possible complications—indexes could have errors in transcription, some records might have been lost due to fire or other issues in the districts, names might be spelled incorrectly, the records might not yet be available digitally, et cetera.

  As he spoke, Sophia’s shoulders continued drooping until they felt like they were hitting the floor.

  If it was possible for a task to be more than impossible, this was it.

  “Any questions?”

  William glanced sideways at Sophia. “I think we’re good for now. I’ll let you know if any come up, though. Thanks so much, George.”

  George nodded, stood, and left.

  Just then, Ginny’s phone rang. “Oops. I forgot to silence it.” She pulled it from her purse. “Sorry, I have to take this.” She left the room.

  For the first time since that day on the beach, Sophia was alone with William. Out of habit, she scanned for exits—the entrance they’d come through was one. And there, an emergency exit door to the right.

  Get a grip, Sophia. Don’t be weird. He’s not going to hurt you.

  She just needed to rediscover the camaraderie they’d found so easily on the beach.

  “So, should we get started?” William sat back in his chair. “The computer has several of the databases George mentioned we should try.”

  Sophia couldn’t hold in her doubts any longer. “This is totally ridiculous. We don’t even know if this story is fact or fiction. It’s silly to spend so much time chasing a ghost who might never have existed in the first place.”

  “But it’s fun. And it seems important to you.”

  “I don’t know why I can’t just let it go. I mean, it’s a cool story. And I definitely connect with a lot of what the author says. But it feels like more than a normal novel, you know? It feels . . .”

  “Real?”

  “Yes.” And familiar. But why?

  He leafed absently through the book on the table again. The thick pages swooshed as he turned them. “There’s definitely something special about the story. It is of course well written, which begs the question of why it was buried in a box of books donated to the bookstore in the first place.”

  “I know. And I did a Google search of some of the key phrases and came up empty, so it’s not a published book that was somehow printed off someone’s home computer. Unless it’s published but not on the Internet.” Sophia stood and paced. She’d thought a lot of this through already, but it helped to talk it out with someone else.

  William pulled a pad of paper and a pen from his messenger bag. “That’s a possibility if it’s older, but the notebook itself doesn’t appear to be more than ten years old. So the real question is, was this something someone wrote originally on a computer, printed out, and accidentally placed in a donation box? Or was it copied and typed out to preserve an original document that was written by someone in the past?”

  “Ugh. George was right. This is impossible.”

  “If you recall, he also said there’s always a chance. Let’s just take it one step at a time, all right? Follow the clues. If we are meant to figure this out, we will. Have faith.”

  Have faith in who? Herself? That had been a dismal failure considering all she’d been through.

  Nodding, she shoved the thought from her mind. “You’re right. Let’s get to work.” Sophia headed to one of the two computers, sat, and maneuvered the mouse. “Looks like I need a login.”

  “Right.” William got up and came to the desk. He leaned over her, placing his hands on the keyboard.

  As he typed in his username and password, she couldn’t h
elp but take in the faint scent of lemon that gave him that fresh-out-of-the-shower smell—one she liked very much.

  David had smelled like citrus too—oranges. Clean. Always clean.

  Suddenly, the air closed in around her, claustrophobia looming. She wanted to move out of William’s way, but the wall on her other side boxed her in.

  The last time she’d been this close to a man, she was pressed against a wall, held there with one hand around her throat and . . .

  She stood abruptly, knocking over the chair behind her.

  “Whoa, you okay?” William tried to steady her, but she backed away from him.

  William is not David. William is not David.

  “I’m sorry. I just—”

  “Sorry, guys, that was Steven with an update on my website.” Ginny breezed back into the room and halted as she looked between the two of them. “What did I miss?”

  “Nothing.” She felt William’s concerned gaze on her as she righted her chair and sat down again. “William is just helping me sign in to the computer so we can start our search.”

  Without another word, he signed in to Sophia’s computer and navigated to the correct collection they had planned to use. He then did the same for the computer terminal next to hers. “Okay, Gin, here’s one for you all queued up.”

  “Thanks, bro.” Ginny slid into the seat next to Sophia. “Now what in the world am I looking for?”

  Sophia kept her eyes on the screen. Her heart rate was finally returning to normal.

  William spoke from behind them. “Right now all we really have to go on is Emily Fairfax, since all the other names in the story are first names only. You two look for any Emily Fairfaxes, circa 1830s to 1890s in England. I’ll browse through census information like George suggested, and we can cross-reference any information we find.”

  Ginny saluted. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

  Yes, she was very glad Ginny was here. So far, William had remained completely respectful, never even flirting, except for that wink on the walk to this room. He seemed to be a genuinely nice guy who was going out of his way to help her. And she’d reacted like a fool. At least Ginny helped to diffuse some of the tension in the room, and maybe her presence would keep at bay William’s questions about what had just happened.

  Sophia grabbed a water bottle from her bag and took a sip, swallowing hard.

  Ginny raised an eyebrow. “How will we know if we have the right Emily Fairfax?”

  According to George, the only information they’d find on the databases was the index, which listed basic information. “We won’t necessarily. William and I think that maybe she was from Cornwall, since the notebook was found here, but there’s no way to be sure of that. But George said we can send away for a birth certificate if an entry looks promising. That takes time, of course, but it might give us a context clue. We know her father was a reverend, so that information might be included on a birth certificate.”

  With that, Sophia input the information they had and hit Search. Over a thousand Emily Fairfaxes in England alone during the Victorian period. “Must have been a popular name.”

  “You seeing what I’m seeing?” Ginny peeked at her screen. “Yep. Okay, should we split them up and start investigating one by one?”

  “Sure. Let’s keep a list of any Emilys in Cornwall specifically. Then we can narrow from there.” Or something.

  After several hours of searching, Sophia tucked her hair behind her ear. “Maybe we’re going about this wrong. Is there another starting place we haven’t considered?” An idea formed. She snapped her fingers. “William.”

  His head popped up from his laptop. “Hmm?”

  He’d put on reading glasses, the thick-framed kind. Whew. She’d always been a sucker for the professor look.

  Sophia cleared her throat. What had she been about to say? Oh, right. “What about looking for landmarks? Like Edward and Emily’s tree? Maybe that’s a real place?” But was it unique enough? Maybe combined with the fact it had been part of a larger country estate and was close to a lighthouse . . .

  William’s mouth flattened, and his brow wrinkled. “That’s a good thought.” He paused, as if heavily considering his next words. “Actually, I know a professor in London who has intensely studied the terrain of England. We haven’t spoken in a while, but . . .”

  “Do you think this professor might be willing to help us?”

  “Perhaps. Like me, she enjoys a good intrigue. She can be rather difficult to get ahold of, though. Very old-school in that way. She hates talking on the phone.”

  “I’ll take it.” Perhaps a little help was all right now and then.

  18

  GINNY

  Every day just before closing, Ginny cheered on the inside.

  The clock tonight read 6:59 p.m. Only one more minute and she could close up shop for the day, go home, and do something that didn’t remind her of the gaping hole in her heart.

  The clock’s hands clicked into place. Hallelujah. She moved from behind the desk toward the door and flipped the sign. Then she closed out the register. It wasn’t all that different from this morning, though the promo she had run for a free muffin with each purchase had attracted some new blood. A few of the tourists who had come through had raved about her chocolate scones, buying up every one and some other pastries too, giving her at least some sense of accomplishment.

  It still wasn’t enough to make a difference financially in the big scheme of things, but it was a start. And tourist season was bound to pick things up. She just needed to think positive.

  Ginny hummed some song she’d heard on the radio this morning while she unloaded the display case—a couple of oatmeal raisin cookies and three blueberry muffins. Perhaps she’d bring them by William’s house later. They hadn’t had a chance to talk much after their library adventures last weekend.

  A knock sounded at the door. Huh. Everyone around here knew she closed at seven, but maybe this was something important. Had Mr. Albert forgotten his wife’s birthday and needed a last-minute gift?

  Zipping up the plastic baggie containing the pastries, she placed it on the counter and returned to the door. She peeked out through the glass. Why was her landlord here?

  Ginny unlocked and swung open the door, then put on her best fake-it-till-you-make-it grin. “Julia, hi.”

  The woman held a baby in one arm and had a toddler clinging to her leg, with two more school-aged children standing behind her. “Sorry to disturb you, Ginny. Can we talk?” Her limp brown hair hung around her face, a sincere but cautious smile on her face. The woman looked just plain tired. Ginny couldn’t imagine—well, she had imagined, but when she and Garrett hadn’t gotten pregnant . . .

  “Of course. Come on in.” Holding open the door wider, Ginny reached for the hand of the toddler. “Hi, Rosie. Would you like to see some of the new toys I bought?”

  The little girl’s eyes widened and she nodded, breathless, dried peanut butter flecked above her upper lip. She and her two older brothers raced off to the kids’ corner.

  Julia blew out a breath and switched the baby from one hip to the other. “Thank you. They’ve been quite the handful today. We ate an early dinner, and I needed to get them out of the house for a bit. Plus, I’ve been needing to talk to you.”

  Ginny reached for little Sammy. “Here, let me hold him.” Before Julia could protest, Ginny took Sammy in her arms. Whew. He was a hefty guy. She looked the gurgling eight-month-old in the eyes and made a funny face, earning herself a hysterical giggle. When she moved her gaze back to Julia, the corners of the woman’s eyes were crinkled, almost as if she were in pain. “What’s going on, Julia? I’m not late on rent, right? I thought it was due next week. Of course, Garrett was the one who always handled the lease agreement and payments, but it’s just me now and I’m doing my best to make sure . . .”

  Shut up, Ginny. Not everyone needed to know every thought that popped into her head.

  “No, you’re not late.” The woman sighed. �
�I don’t exactly know how to say this.”

  Sammy snatched a handful of Ginny’s hair and tugged. She bit back a yelp and gently unwound his hand from the strands still attached to her head.

  “You’re making me nervous.” She added a light laugh to urge Julia on, but on the inside, her stomach roiled.

  “Aldwin says things are tighter because of the economy.” Julia fiddled with the buttons on her shirt, which looked stained with something orange. “So we must start charging more for rent at all our properties. He’s already spoken with Mr. Trengrouse and Mrs. Lincoln. So it’s nothing personal, I promise.”

  The news caused acid to climb up Ginny’s throat. She could hardly afford the lease as it was. “How much?”

  Julia named the price.

  “But what about our lease agreement?”

  “It’s time to renew the lease.”

  It was? “Oh.” Ginny absently stroked Sammy’s soft arm. He snatched at her necklace and started sucking on it. “I’m not sure—”

  From the other side of the store, loud voices interrupted her words. Julia heaved a sigh. “Would you please excuse me for a moment?” She marched off toward the children’s section.

  “Sammy, what am I going to do?” Ginny snuggled the infant close, breathing in the scent of him—was that milk and sweet potatoes? But he pushed away from her chest, clearly not wanting to be restrained.

  Julia strode back, holding each of the older kids by an arm. Rosie toddled after them, crying huge crocodile tears. “I’m sorry, Ginny, we need to go.” She crouched and gave the boys directions in a very firm but quiet voice. They both nodded, solemn, and headed toward the door. Julia took Sammy from Ginny and ushered Rosie to the exit as well.

  Before she stepped out the open door, Julia turned again. “I really am sorry, Ginny. I know things are rough for you right now. I pleaded with my husband, and he understands your predicament, but . . .”

  “It’s all right, Julia. You have a family to take care of. A beautiful one.”

  Julia’s shoulders relaxed a tiny bit. “Thank you for understanding. Aldwin will be contacting you about whether you are able to renew the lease or not. He offered to contact you initially—he was always the one to deal with Garrett on this—but I said I would be able to break the news in a more . . . personal way.”