Hopefully, meeting with Anastacia at the library would confirm that Myrtle’s prediction of a “significant” man from her past and her family curse were both hoaxes. Then Carla could return to the UK confident she and Tom were supposed to be together, for good. That way, she’d never have to think about the two remaining tarot cards ever again.
Carla crossed her fingers tightly.
“I hope you don’t mind, I arrived early and started to conduct a little research already,” Anastacia said, meeting Carla on the steps of the library. “As a historian and former magician’s assistant, I am very curious.”
Carla patted her travel journal in her handbag. “I really appreciate you taking time out of your day to help me. I’ve brought along the actual family tree in my old travel journal.”
“Perfect. You’ll make a fine researcher.”
“I hope so.”
Anastacia led the way inside, then wrote Carla’s name in the guest book and handed her a pen to add her signature.
Carla had expected the library to be a little fusty, shelves upon shelves of leather-bound books and wooden ladders the height of two-story buildings, but the interior was modern and spacious, full of glass and space-age-style staircases under a white domed ceiling.
“I have good news and bad news,” Anastacia said, turning to look at her. “A lot of records have been digitally transferred, which should make our search a little easier. Unfortunately, they won’t all necessarily have keywords or people’s names assigned to them.”
“I’ve got all day,” Carla quickly replied, in no rush to see Ruben again.
“Hopefully it won’t take as long as that.” Anastacia laughed. She took a seat and invited Carla to sit down next to her before tapping a few keys. “We only have access to the one device and I’ve already logged in. I’ve looked for engagements under the name of Agatha in 1923 and have found several, but none were connected to the name Lars.”
Carla leaned forward, fascinated by a list of articles that had appeared on-screen. The majority of them were in Dutch, but a couple were in English. “If Lars was supposed to be in a relationship with someone else, perhaps he and Agatha avoided announcing their engagement publicly,” she mused.
“Yes, good point, Sherlock. What was I thinking?” Anastacia tutted and shook her head at herself.
Carla paused for a moment. “If Lars was engaged to someone else, perhaps that announcement is there...”
“Yes, that sounds more likely. I think the lesson here is not to have too many fiancées,” Anastacia noted. “It complicates matters.”
Her words made Carla think about Tom again and she felt her eyes sting with tears. She really was feeling more emotional recently. She had an overwhelming urge to confide all her doubts and fears to Anastacia, to tell her she was getting married soon but was having terrible doubts about everything. To cover up her emotions, Carla looked down and fumbled for her journal, opening it up on the page of her family tree.
Anastacia typed in Lars’s name and clicked the end of her pen while she waited for results to appear. “Hmm, nothing. I’ll try general announcements in 1923. It will probably throw up lots of marriages, births and deaths, not necessarily in any chronological order.”
The two women nodded to each other in agreement.
Anastacia scrolled down the page for some time until a pained expression fell across her face. “Oh,” she said, flattening her lips and pointing to the screen. “I think I’ve found something.”
Carla caught her breath. “What is it?”
Anastacia leaned back so Carla could get a better view.
The piece was very short, in a faded, old-fashioned font, scanned from a newspaper.
AAKSTER-Lars. Nov. 25, 1923. In zijn 28e jaar. Begrafenis privé.
Carla’s tried to translate some of the text. “Does that mean he was twenty-eight years old?”
Anastacia nodded slightly.
“So, he did die young,” Carla said, her shoulders sloping. Lars had been even younger than Jess when he’d passed away, and she took a moment to digest this sad thought. “What do the last couple of words mean?”
“‘Begrafenis privé,’” Anastacia read. “It means an ‘interment private,’ a private funeral. It is not very common but not unusual, either.” She placed a hand on Carla’s arm. “Are you okay to continue?”
Carla nodded. This was the first time she’d learned anything concrete about Agatha and her fiancé, and she wanted to know more.
Anastacia added more keywords, clicking buttons and scrolling so adeptly that Carla found it difficult to keep up. She perused articles and listings until she emitted a long “Ah...” She met Carla’s eyes with a solemn stare.
Carla’s fingers tingled. “What is it?”
“I think I’ve found something else. There is a newspaper article in Dutch, an engagement announcement that says a man named Lars Aakster was engaged to marry Isabelle Roelof in 1922.” She stopped reading and her face paled.
Carla searched her expression and felt a sense of fear rising inside her. “What is it?” she asked, grabbing hold of her necklace. “Is something wrong?”
Anastacia swallowed. “I have seen this woman’s name before. Isabelle Roelof was a prolific medium in the twenties, not a witch.” She frowned, as if searching the inner recesses of her mind. “I believe she wasn’t averse to issuing curses or removing them, if she was paid to do so.”
Carla felt like a centipede was crawling down her spine. “Like a business?”
Anastacia nodded.
Carla shivered as she tried to absorb this information. Her family history was like a rash she needed to scratch. “Is there anything to link Isabelle to what happened to Lars and Agatha?”
“I will take a look.” Anastacia had just started to scroll again when a man wearing navy overalls arrived at her side. They spoke to each other in Dutch. “Sorry, Carla. I need to move my car. Apparently, I’ve parked in the space of a fellow academic.” Anastacia tutted. “I’ll only be a few minutes. Please do continue without me.”
The last time Carla had been in charge of a computer was when she ran the database to search for a match for Jess, and that hadn’t worked out well. Her hand shook a little when she typed in the name Isabelle Roelof and pressed the search key. Frustratingly, the two articles that appeared were written in Dutch and she could make out only a few words.
What did you expect? Carla sighed to herself. She copied the text but couldn’t work out how to open Google Translate on the computer.
Sitting back in her chair, she tapped her fingertips on the table before leaning forward more determinedly, to input a wider search: 1920s, curse, medium.
