Page 21 of The Missing Pages

He had not protested my mother’s bringing them. He was as proud as she was of her beautiful adornments. She wore them like an empress. Their value was unrivaled by anything most of her social peers could afford.

“The insurance company says they will be insured only if you’re wearing them,” my father cautioned. “They’re stipulating they must be on you at all times.”

“Even when I’m sleeping, George?” My mother was clearly amused.

“I’ll be protecting you from thieves. So I suppose you can take them off then, my darling.”

“That is a relief,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Pearls until bedtime it will be.”

I smiled as they both became excited for the trip in their own way.

My father spent most of his afternoons in his study in the weeks before, writing telegrams to his numerous business associates with instructions on all the matters they needed to attend to while he was abroad.

My mother met with the decorator who was helping her with the furniture and tapestry purchasing for the house my parents were building in Newport, Rhode Island.

Mother had already named it Miramar, which in Spanish meant “to look over the sea.”

I was looking forward to the trip so much I could already taste and smell the salt of the ocean.

And when I was not busy writing down my various book-buying wish list, I was dreaming of seeing Ada again.

Three days before we were to depart, I made one last visit to Walnut Street to see Rosenbach, or “the Doctor” as his friends and family affectionately called him.

His ancestors, while one of the oldest Jewish families in Philadelphia having settled in the area in the early 1800s, had been merchants, not scholars.

So the familial pride from his having gone on to study beyond his baccalaureate at the University of Pennsylvania to get his doctorate was evident.

It was a rather short trip for me into Philadelphia from our family’s residence, and I always loved visiting the Rosenbach store.

The display in the main window of the charming brick townhouse changed periodically based on their most recent acquisitions.

The last time I visited there, the display was devoted to the original works of William Shakespeare.

Rosenbach had put a sign in front signaling that the entire collection was for sale priced at $985. 00.

I already owned a complete Shakespeare Folio and thus had no need for such a purchase. I was more interested in hearing what Rosenbach had in the back. Those editions that remained out of sight, that perhaps he wasn’t even sure he wanted to part with. That’s where the true prize always lies!

I stepped into the store that I’d been to so many times since I was that twenty-year-old student at Harvard, the little bell on the door sounding my arrival.

Rosenbach stepped out in his tailored suit, waistcoat, and tie.

He was robust, as my mother liked to describe people who had a bit of flesh on their bones.

His face, with its pink cheeks, was almost cherubic.

Behind his wire spectacles, his eyes glinted with the spark of a man who lived for a great hunt.

“Harry, my dear boy, how wonderful for you to stop by for a visit.” He seemed genuinely happy to see me. “You’re looking quite well!”

I thanked him and hung my coat and hat up by the door.

“We’re leaving in five days, and if I had my druthers, I would have already boarded the ship. So many books to look at over there and so little time.”

“Indeed!” he agreed enthusiastically. Rosenbach ushered me past the main room with its glass displays and walls of books, toward his personal “book room,” where we could talk more privately.

This room was notable for its carved plaster ceiling, bookcases crowded with leather books, and the Dutch master paintings framed in elegant gold frames that lined the walls. The scholarliness and elegance perfectly reflected my friend.

“A drink, Harry?” he asked, as he stepped behind his desk and poured himself a generous glass of brandy. He’d increased the desk’s surface twofold by adding filing cabinets to each corner.

“No, thank you,” I said while trying to glean a sneak peek at what books he had out.

“Well, sit down then. Make yourself comfortable. You must be excited to meet Quaritch soon.”

“Yes, very much so,” I said as I settled into the gilded Louis XVI–style chair, the arms carved with the face of a bald eagle. The “book room” was where Rosenbach held court.

“Has Miss Lippoldt suggested any particular books she thinks might interest you?”

His mentioning of Ada’s name threw me. I knew I had informed Rosenbach that Quaritch had asked her to find out what I was interested in seeing, but I’d never shared with him that we had already met twice in New York.

“She didn’t mention anything other than a signed copy of David Copperfield,” I lied. I knew I couldn’t dare mention the Little Bacon to him, as Ada had sworn me to secrecy about that newest acquisition.

“Well, it will be wonderful for you to go there. To see the shop. To meet Quaritch.” He leaned back in this chair and clasped his fingers in his lap, pondering his thoughts.

“Those of us who love books are drawn to each other like magnets. And it’s interesting now to see women stepping onto the scene.

I welcome it!” He opened his hands. “Of course, there’s also Mrs. John Rylands of Manchester, England.

Who would have thought a woman could have the boldness to purchase Lord Althorp Spencer’s entire library!

And now Mr. J.P. Morgan has the gift of such a knowledgeable and passionate personal librarian in Belle da Costa Greene.

So, I am quite curious about this mysterious Miss Lippoldt. ”

“I shall come back with a full report,” I promised.

He grinned. “I look forward to it.”

I had a request to make to him, but it was essential that I make it look as informal as possible.

“Recently, I was having a conversation with a friend who mentioned they lost a book they’d had as a child. It was very dear to them. I would love to give it to them if you had a copy of it in your collection to purchase.”

“You’re leaving out the most important part, Harry. What’s the name of this book?”

I laughed. I had written it down on a piece of paper. I gave it to him and he smiled.

A broad smile crossed his face. “Published in 1885 by Lockhorn Press. Beautiful illustrations. Small printing. I know it well.”

“But do you actually have one I could buy?”

“Do you think I’d tempt you without having the goods, dear boy?”

He stood up and pressed his palms onto the edge of his desk.

“Give me a moment,” he said, excusing himself.

I’d seen Rosenbach do this countless times.

He’d leave me sitting in the book room while he searched through his bountiful inventory in one of the many storerooms. He had an amazing memory of where everything was archived, but I’d been known to sit there by myself and wait while he lost track of time rummaging through his vast collection to find just the book I was looking for.

After nearly thirty minutes, he returned with the book.

“Here it is!” He sounded triumphant as he walked over and handed it to me.

“The illustrations really are quite beautiful.”

I opened it slowly, amused by how the text was accompanied by a series of colorful etchings of fairies with large, delicately drawn wings.

The artist had also rendered many garden insects around the border of each leaf.

Grasshoppers in verdant green, black beetles, and saffron-colored butterflies adorned each page.

One could only imagine the delight this book had brought to a small child.

“I’d like to purchase it,” I told him. “How much?”

“Three dollars,” he said. “It will hardly break your coffers.”

“That’s welcome news,” I said and winked.

All kidding aside, I knew London would be setting me back substantially. While I did go into Philadelphia a few days a week to learn more about the family business and its holdings, I didn’t receive a salary. I lived off the monthly allowance I received from my trust.

Rosenbach’s expression now turned more serious in nature.

“Shall we go over a few suggestions of mine while you’re there?

” He rummaged through some papers on his desk.

“I’ve made a list of books that I know Quaritch has recently purchased but not yet sold.

If I’m correct, there might be some good finds to add to your library. ”

“Quite so.” I leaned in excitedly. I was eager to tell him about the miniature Bacon. “They say the Titanic’s an unsinkable ship. So, I intend to load it with as many books as I can carry.”