Next to him, Olivia stepped forward and embraced her heavily pregnant friend in a warm hug. “I didn’t expect you to come help so soon.”
“We were in town and saw the lamps were on as we walked past.” Lady Weston’s eyes sparkled with good humor. “This is so exciting. I feel like a small child sneaking into her parents’ bedroom when they are gone.”
Olivia nodded. “It does have a different feeling without Mr. Buxley being here.”
“You mean a without his scowl watching your every movement through the store?” Lord Weston said archly.
“I told Mr. Drake…I mean Lord Rivenhall about Mr. Buxley’s unique shelving system, and he insisted on helping with the reorganization.”
“Just thinking about it made me itch,” Max said. “And please, just Drake will do. It still feels strange to be called Lord Rivenhall.”
Lord Weston nodded up at the opening in the ceiling. “I always wondered what was through there. What did you find?”
“Have a look for yourself,” Olivia replied.
Max frowned. Damn it; he was curious to see for himself too. Weston grabbed up a lantern and made his way up the winding staircase. “Hmmm. I wonder how all this got up here? Mr. Buxley seems far too frail to heft anything up these stairs.” His voice echoed from the attic space.
“That’s exactly what I thought,” Olivia called up.
When Weston came down, Max took the lantern and climbed to see for himself. Old treasures were his specialty. If anyone should assess what’s in the attic, it should be him. When he lifted the light, his gaze immediately swung to the left, where a half dozen paintings leaned against the wall. Sixteenth-century by the look of the few he could see with the dim light from the windows and the small circle of light from the oil lamp. He moved the lamp around to look at the large trunk.
Curious, he climbed through the hole and scooted over to the trunk on his knees. He lifted the lid with a rusty squeak. The trunk was full of bottles of wine, stacked in neat rows. The green glass glinted as he raised the lamp and tried to read the labels. Barely legible, Max squinted to make out the words. Definitely French, and not wine but brandy. Well, well, French contraband. He turned and tried to lift the lid on a crate nearby. The lid was nailed shut. More and more interesting.
“Max?” Olivia’s voice called up.
“Coming.”
He backed out and descended the stairs. “Sorry, my curiosity got the best of me. The trunk is full of French brandy.”
“Really?” Olivia exclaimed. The Weston’s looked equally shocked.
“The small crates are nailed shut, but I doubt they are full of books. Between the paintings and the brandy, it seemed like your Mr. Buxley was using the attic as a place to store contraband goods during the war. It doesn’t look like anybody’s been up there in years based on the layers of dust over everything.”
Olivia’s eyes widened even further. “Crabby old Mr. Buxley trafficking contraband? I can hardly imagine it.”
Max shrugged. “During the war, things were hard, and people turned to smuggling to make ends meet.” It was how his father had gotten into the underground business of fencing artwork himself. The salary for a diplomat apparently had not been enough to fund his parents’ extravagant lifestyle. His father had always resented how much harder he had to work than his titled older brother. Such was the luck of being a younger son.
Olivia tilted her head with a slight frown. “I suppose. It is still hard to imagine.”
Lady Weston clapped her hands together. “Well, where should we get started?”
Lord Weston took his wife’s elbow and guided her to the table. “You should get started by sitting right here. You have been on your feet all morning.”
“Pish! I feel fine. I can at least dust a bit.”
Her husband crossed his arms and glared down at her. “You need to be off your feet,” he said firmly.
Max fought back a smile at the stubborn look on Lady Weston’s face. Luckily Olivia stepped between the couple. “Charlotte, we will start unloading the shelves, and you can be in charge of sorting the books into appropriate categories here at the table.”
Lady Weston smiled. “Good plan.”
They had only just begun to pull books off the shelves of one wall when the door opened again, and two ladies bustled inside along with the cold breeze. Both women were bundled in scarves and fur-lined capes, their hands hidden inside muffs. Max wondered if they were customers or more of Olivia’s friends.
His answer came with Olivia’s exclamation, “How did all of you guess I would be here today?”
The shorter of the two ladies unwound her scarf revealing a wide smile. “We were dropping off a pie for my father and Mr. Evans at the church. We saw you all through the window as we passed by.”
The other lady pushed back the hood of her cloak to reveal jet-black hair and dark brown eyes set in an oval face. “Eleanor told me about Mr. Buxley’s misfortune. I’m glad to hear you will keep the bookshop open.”