Chapter 11

Boston is a miserable city to drive around in. It has a combination of streets that were designed for horse traffic, and then updated for automobiles, and modern multi-lane highways that had to somehow be inserted into a crowded landscape. The traffic is heavy pretty much all the time. And there's nowhere to park. In the end, Bob found a pay parking lot not far from the museum. They walked to the building hand in hand. Bob felt like an older man trying to pretend he was a young lover.

Getting to see the curator was easier than he thought it would be. He told the first museum employee he saw that he needed to speak with the curator and five minutes later a tall, thin man dressed in a turtle neck approached them. The man didn't put on any airs about being an important personage, though he also didn't give them his name.

"I'm the curator. How can I assist you?"

Bob introduced himself, and Kendra as his assistant. The man eyed the girl, who was still dressed like a very feminine butch, but said nothing.

"A representative of your museum recently bought a sixteenth century portable writing desk at an estate sale in Colorado. Are you familiar with that? We'd like to see it, if possible."

"I am familiar with that item," said the man. "I'm sorry, but it's still in restoration. It won't be on display for probably another month."

Bob pulled the folded paper from his shirt pocket that he'd been carrying there for the whole trip. He unfolded it and showed the picture Nigel had sent him to the man.

"Is this the desk we're talking about?" He pointed to the right spot in the picture.

The curator took the paper and squinted at it, pulling it close to his eyes.

"Where did you get this?" he asked. "Those other items weren't in the auction."

"This is where Doctor Eldridge got that desk," said Bob. "It was in a castle in England, in the room where he and his wife stayed while they were on vacation. He bought the desk from the owner of the castle."

"This is fascinating!" said the man. "This may help us establish provenance! Do you have further information?"

"Actually, I do," said Bob. "I'll trade it to you for a look at the desk."

The man looked at him and frowned.

"Why is this so important to you?"

"Because I also bought something at the auction which may, somehow, be tied to that desk, and if that connection can be definitively made, it will make both what I bought and that desk ... priceless."

The man blinked.

"You have my full attention," he said. "Please, follow me."

They ended up in the basement, in a large room off of a hallway that split the underground space in half. Two walls were completely covered with shelves that went from floor to ceiling, upon which rested a plethora of boxes and items. The end of the room away from the door was apparently where large items, like statues, furniture, and the like were kept, either while they were being restored, or simply for storage when they weren't on display.

There was a large table in the center of the room, under a bank of lights. It was littered with tools, apparently, of the restorer's trade. A youngish man, about the same age as Kendra, sat hunched over a mantle clock, peering into the open door in the back of it. He was a little overweight, with nondescript features. He was wearing a headpiece that incorporated a magnifying lens and was holding a flashlight, the beam of which was directed into the workings of the clock.

"Gotcha!" he said, apparently unaware of his three visitors. With a foot-long pair of tweezers, he reached into the clock case and extracted something. When he dropped it on the surface of the table, Bob could see it was the carcass of a beetle of some sort.

"This is Jeremy," said the curator. "And I believe I neglected to introduce myself when we met. My name is Dan, by the way, Dan Russell. You caught me in the middle of going through the proposed budget for next year and I was a bit distracted."

Jeremy was still ignoring the trio. Examining the dead bug seemed to be more important. Finally he glanced at them. When he saw Kendra, he lost interest in both the bug and the clock. He raised the magnifying lens, which was built like a pair of glasses attached to a headband.

"Well hello," he said, standing. His eyes were on only Kendra.

She smiled prettily and said, "Hi, yourself."

Bob looked at her, his eyebrows rising. She was acting completely out of character. She was flirting with the young man!

"Jeremy, these people are academics, and are here to look at the sixteenth century portable writing desk we obtained from the Eldridge estate back in August. What's the status on that item?"

Jeremy tore his eyes off of Kendra with obvious effort, reluctantly dragging them away to fix first on Bob, but only for two or three seconds, and then his boss.

"It's almost finished," he said. "I applied the final coat of shellac yesterday. It's dry, but I'd like to let it cure a while longer before it is handled."

Jeremy abandoned his employer and turned back to Kendra. "Would you like to see it?" he asked, obviously trying to curry favor.

"Very much," she said.

"The question is, why," said Dan, finally digging for more information.

Bob removed the single page he'd reproduced for this purpose from his pocket and unfolded it.

"This is a copy of part of a manuscript I purchased at the same auction the desk was sold at. I believe it was authored by Christopher Marlowe. Are you familiar with him?"

"Of course I am," snorted Dan, as if Marlowe was a household name across the world.

"It was quite possibly written in 1593, only days before he was arrested, or possibly just prior to his murder. It is also possible he wrote it on your desk."

"What work are we talking about?" asked Dan, all his interest on Bob.

"One I've never heard of before, and I've heard of all of them," Bob replied. "I think it was the start of a new play. Unfortunately it is incomplete. In all, there are only five pages."

"And why would you possibly think it was written on our desk?" asked the curator.

"Because, if the desk is the one in that picture, then it was once in the castle where Marlowe once stayed, either as a guest, or while he was completing some project for a benefactor."

"What picture?" asked Jeremy, who was still staring at Kendra. She appeared to be ignoring him, her face turned toward Dan, but Bob knew her well enough to know she was fully aware of his scrutiny, and that she was, in fact, posturing for the man. She didn't normally stand with her chest thrust out. The question was ... why?

Bob extended the photograph. Jeremy took it, peered at it, and then reached to lower the magnifying lens over his eyes. His opinion didn't take long to come out.

"If it isn't ours, it's the twin of ours. And that's unlikely, because they were all hand made, one of a kind."

"May we see it?" asked Bob, reminding the man he'd offered to show it to them.

"Sure," said Jeremy. "It's right over here."

He took them to the wall covered by shelving and pointed to a wooden construct about two feet wide and nine or ten inches tall. Bob stared. It was like seeing something from a dream, something that had been hazy and dim, which had been brought into the world of firm reality.

"It's beautiful," said Kendra, her voice low. Bob could tell she really meant that.

"Is it possible there is a secret compartment in that desk?" asked Bob, unable to remain patient.

"Of course," said Jeremy, as if every third grader knew that. "Almost all of them had a secret compartment."

"Really?" Kendra's voice was sugary sweet. Her avid interest was feigned, but only Bob knew that.

"Absolutely," said Jeremy. "Well, at least every one I've ever seen," he added, humbly. "People kept secret documents in them. Or money. Anything they wanted to hide from highwaymen."

"What's a highwayman?" asked Kendra.

Finally, Jeremy started thinking with something other than his balls. Bob and Kendra had been introduced as "academics", after all. Suspicion flittered across his face at her seeming ignorance. She was quick, though, and apparently saw that too.

"Kidding," she said. It was lame, but it worked. Jeremy smiled. It didn't occur to him to wonder why she'd decide to joke about something like that. That's because his balls had taken over thinking for him again while he looked at her.

"I think the manuscript I bought was in the secret compartment of your desk at one time," said Bob. "I think it was there when Doctor Eldridge bought the desk while he was on vacation at Woodbury Castle. Whether he knew that or not is unknown at present. I have literally half a ton of his papers to finish going through, but thus far I have discovered no documentation about where he obtained the manuscript."

"We haven't discovered it yet," Kendra corrected him, pointedly.

"Yes," said Bob instantly, feeling his face blush. "We."

"But we did find a receipt for when he bought the desk," said Kendra, taking over. "And when Bob talked to Nigel, the caretaker at the castle, Nigel said that the castle records show Mr. Marlowe was a guest there. Maybe he left his writing box thing there when he left."

"He didn't voluntarily leave his writing ... box thing ... anywhere," said Jeremy, again frowning at Kendra. "That was one fancy desk, even back then. Prior to this I thought it might have belonged to some member of the nobility, some gadabout son of Lord whoever, who played at writing poetry for the girls to impress them."

"That's all well and good," said Dan, "but I can't think of any way it could be proved that your manuscript was ever in our desk."

"I can," said Jeremy, instantly.

"How?" asked three voices at once.

"If you're right, then those documents were in that compartment for hundreds of years, right? So the desk got moved around during that time, which means the papers inside it shuffled around too. And threads of that paper got deposited on the felt lining of the drawer. Every living thing has DNA, and paper was once a living thing. You have the original source of that DNA. If we collect the microscopic leavings in our secret compartment, they could be compared. If the DNA matches, then that's the proof."

"Wouldn't the process of making the paper destroy the DNA?" asked Kendra.

"Now that is the question," said Jeremy. He shrugged. "I don't know. We'd have to ask an expert in that field."

"The point is moot," said Dan. "You already cleaned the interior of the desk, I presume."

"Yes ... and no," said Jeremy, looking uncomfortable.

"What does that mean?" asked his boss.

"When it comes to furniture, I remove easily visible dust and insect eggs and that sort of thing," said the restorer. "I don't normally use a vacuum on antiques. I feel like some of that dust should remain. In many cases, like with this desk, that dust has been there for centuries. It's part of the item. It's part of the character of the item, if you will."

"So you did not thoroughly clean the interior of this desk," said Dan, making it a statement, rather than a question.

"No, sir," admitted Jeremy, looking uncomfortable.

"Good," sighed Dan with a gusting breath.

"You're not mad?"

"I understand your sentiment," said Dan. "What I care about is that the exterior of the item is presentable."

"Thank you," said Jeremy.

"So there might still be flakes of paper from our manuscript in your secret compartment?" asked Bob, breathlessly.

"It wouldn't take long to find out," said Jeremy. "Actually, that's not true. I can collect whatever's there, but that expert I was talking about would probably have to be the one to tell you if there's anything useful in the sample."

"Do that," said Dan, immediately. "Document everything you do. Take pictures. Treat the collected material as if it is forensic evidence." He turned to Bob. "Who will be responsible for finding this expert, and who will pay for the examinations required?"

Bob thought of Brady Williams, the document examiner in Chicago.

"I might already know the expert," he said. "If not, he'll be able to identify one. I have no idea what it will cost, though."

"Can you contact him and get us more information?" asked Dan. "Since both of us stand to benefit from the results, I propose we split the examination fee."

"That will depend on how much it is," said Bob. "I'm not a wealthy man."

"And the reason I was so distracted when we met is that meeting my proposed budget will be a serious challenge to meet," said Dan.

"I'll call Brady and ask a few questions," said Bob. "Meanwhile, if Jeremy does his collection, at least we'll know the material is safe and secure for whenever we need it."

"That sounds like a good idea," said Dan. He turned to Jeremy. "I presume you'll want some time to do this, under controlled conditions? Wind currents and all that sort of thing?"

"Sure," said Jeremy, carelessly. He looked at Kendra. "Maybe you'd like to assist me?"

"I'd love to," gushed Kendra, blinking her eyes at him, rapidly.

"I'm not sure having an unauthorized person involved is a good idea," said Dan, frowning.

"This is a partnership of sorts, is it not?" asked Jeremy. "I'd think that makes a member of their team 'authorized', at least for purposes of this project."

"I can document it all for our side," agreed Kendra. "I wouldn't have to actually touch anything."

Bob felt a twinge of jealousy at her obvious interest in being around Jeremy. Then he pushed that aside. She was acting. He knew her well enough to sense that. And she probably had her reasons, which he could learn about after they left.

"How long are you in town for?" asked Dan.

"We can stay a day or two longer," said Bob.

"I can show you around town," said Jeremy, looking at Kendra.

"Work comes before pleasure," said Kendra, suddenly serious.

"Yes, but all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," argued Jeremy.

"Why don't we do this collection thing today," suggested Kendra. "Then we can talk about playing."

"Deal," said Jeremy, smiling widely.

"After lunch," amended Kendra.

"Where do you want to go for lunch?" asked Jeremy, still smiling.

"Oh, Bob and I have something else we have to do. We'll grab lunch along the way. How about I come back around two-ish?"

"Oh," said Jeremy, disappointed. "Okay. Yeah. I can be ready by then."

"Good," she simpered. "I'll see you then."

She extended one gloved hand, as if to have it shaken, except that it was presented palm down, with the fingers bent, like she expected him to bow and kiss the back of her hand. He grasped two leather-covered fingertips awkwardly and shook them gently. She turned to Bob.

"Okay, let's go take care of that other thing. I have things to do this afternoon."

"Yes!" said Bob, eager to get Kendra away from the enamored young man.

"Just what is this 'thing' we have to do that is so important?" asked Bob, once they were back in the van.

She looked over at him and shook her head sadly.

"Do you really have to ask? I'm disappointed in you, Professor."

"You seemed pretty interested in Jeremy," he said, expressing his jealousy and knowing, at the same time, that it was a stupid thing to do.

"He's just a kid," she said, carelessly. "He wouldn't be able to give me what I need. For that, I need a real man."

Bob felt guilt wash over him like a wave washes over a surfer.

"I'm sorry," he said, miserably.

"You don't have to be sorry," she said. "A teensy little bit of jealousy makes a girl feel good sometimes."

He shook off his guilt, justifying it as coming from a "muscle" in his psyche that had never been used before, and wanted to come out and play.

"So why the act?" he asked, thinking that should have been the question in the first place.

"He'll knock himself out trying to give us what we need," she said, simply. "We really do need this examination thing, right?"

"It will be circumstantial, but the more evidence we have, the better it will be when it comes time for peer review," said Bob. "The fewer questions people can ask that we haven't already asked ourselves, and already have answers for, the more likely the Elizabethan community will embrace this find, rather than resist it."

"Okay, then," said Kendra. "All I'm going to do is a little harmless flirting."

"What if he wants more than that?"

"Of course he wants more than that. All men want more than that," she said, smiling. "But as soon as these paper flakes are safe and sound, I plan to tour Boston with you, not him."

"He lives here," said Bob. "He'd be a better tour guide than me."

"Okay, then, I take him up on the offer and then you go with us."

"Jeremy may not like that."

"Who cares what Jeremy likes or not?" she asked. "He's just this guy we met who can help us get something we need."

Bob wondered himself why he was pursuing this line of thought. The epiphany he had was sudden and clear.