The Augusta Peel Series
Chapter 1
July 1911.
A train was waiting in the station, hissing with steam. She ran across the footbridge as fast as she could, desperate to catch it.
The engine gave a whistle as she reached the platform. She darted for the nearest carriage, pulled open the door, and leapt inside. Then she pulled the door shut with a resounding slam.
‘Good grief!’ said a lady sitting in the compartment. ‘You almost frightened me to death with that noise!’ She wore a large hat decorated with artificial flowers.
‘Sorry.’ She slumped into the seat opposite and recovered her breath.
The train pulled out of the station and the lady in the hat peered at her. ‘Are you alright?’
‘I’m fine.’ She pulled a handkerchief from her handbag and wiped her tear-stained face.
‘You don’t look alright.’
‘I just got a little hot while running to catch the train.’
There were no further questions from the lady in the hat. Instead, she pulled some knitting from her bag and set to work on it.
The regular clack of knitting needles and the rattle of the carriage combined into a comforting sound. She rested her head back and closed her eyes.
But scenes she wanted to forget came back to her. They flashed in her mind like moving pictures in a cinema.
Opening her eyes again, she caught the lady in the hat giving her a curious look. She glanced away and opened her handbag. Shoved into the inner pocket was the bundle of ten-shilling notes. She had never seen so much money before. It had to be more than she earned in a year.
But she didn’t want the money. It didn’t make her feel better about anything. It only served to remind her what had happened.
She closed her bag and looked out at north London passing by the window.
If only she hadn’t listened to Alexander Miller.
Chapter 2
Ten years later.
‘A box of books from a mysterious donor!’ said Fred when Augusta arrived at her second-hand bookshop on a warm June morning.
She placed Sparky’s canary cage on the counter and peered into the box of books which sat on the floor. ‘This was left outside the shop?’ she asked. People had left books on the shop’s doorstep before, but never this many.
‘Yes. It was sitting outside the door when I arrived this morning,’ said Fred. He lifted out some of the books. ‘We’ve got Howard’s End here, The Wind in the Willows, Piccadilly Jim. That’s a very funny book.’ He handed the books to Augusta and looked through the rest. ‘Night and Day,’ he said, ‘The Phoenix and the Carpet, The Scarlet Pimpernel, The Enchanted Castle, Kim, The Grand Babylon Hotel, and The Invisible Man. And that’s not all of them.’
‘It’s nice to have some more children’s books,’ said Augusta. ‘And the others are all popular titles.’ She laid the books out on the counter ‘These have been well looked after. With a bit of luck, they won’t require too much repair. Just a clean and I’ll need to check they have all their pages. I wonder who left the box here?’
‘I wonder too,’ said Fred. ‘If they had brought the box in while we were open, we could have offered them some money for the books. Shall I put them back in the box and carry it into the workshop for you?’
‘Thank you, Fred. They can be added to my growing repair pile. I’ll put the kettle on.’
Later that day, Augusta looked through the books in her workshop. She decided to deal with the ones which were in good condition first. They wouldn’t require too much work on them before they could be sold in her shop.
Night and Day by Virginia Woolf was almost as good as new. Augusta checked it had all of its pages and cleaned the cover with a damp cloth and a little soap. The Grand Babylon Hotel by Arnold Bennett was also easily cleaned. Then the Invisible Man by H.G. Wells caught Augusta’s eye. It had a scarlet cover, and she smiled at the picture on it which showed a headless and limbless figure seated in a chair and wearing a long smoking jacket.
Augusta opened the book and began checking the pages were present and intact. She was about a quarter of the way through when she realised something was tucked between the pages.
She pulled it out. It was a small envelope addressed in untidy handwriting to a lady in Notting Hill. The postmark was dated July 1911 and the envelope had been neatly cut open. Augusta put the book down and pulled the letter out of the envelope. It was written on thin paper and folded twice. She unfolded the paper to reveal more of the untidy handwriting. In the top right corner was written: “18th July 1911, 72 Baker Street.”
Had the letter been hidden in the book for ten years? Augusta sat down on a stool and began to decipher the handwriting. Before long, she could read the complete letter.
My Dearest Louisa,
