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rainbowfic2020-09-08 09:04 pm
thisbluespirit) wrote in rainbowfic2020-09-08 09:04 pm
Entry tags:
Ecru #19 [Divide and Rule]
Name: Loitering With Intent
Story: Divide & Rule/Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Ecru #19 (replace)
Supplies and Styles: Eraser
Word Count: 2001
Rating: All ages
Warnings: None.
Notes: Edward/Julia Librarian AU; Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Christy Graves. (I was feeling fed up with myself for writing nothing but Edward/Julia AUs which somehow wound up with me hunting down a giant list of AUs and trying to write as many of them as possible instead. Anyway, it cheered me up for a bit, and made me write, so I suppose that's something.)
Summary: Edward Iveson catches a real-life criminal of sorts lurking in the true crime.
***
There was a crash from the far corner of the library that broke into the low hush and sounded disproportionately loud in the evening quietness.
Edward Iveson, Senior Branch Librarian, raised his head at the noise and glanced over at the main desk where the Library Assistant, Miss Allison, was busy with a borrower. It was clearly up to him to investigate, so he got up and left the enquiry desk, making his way over to uncover the source of the disturbance.
He wasn’t sure precisely what he expected to find, but the most likely culprits were stray children in need of ushering back into the Children’s Library or out of the Library altogether. Instead he found a fair-haired young woman sitting on the floor amidst a pile of military and naval books with a side-helping of true crime, and an upturned trolley.
“I was looking for a book,” she said, looking up at him as he stopped beside her. “And then – this.” She waved a hand at the trolley as if its current state were an act of God and no doing of hers, which, given that it was a wooden and fairly sturdy trolley, seemed highly improbable.
Edward righted the trolley and bent back down to scoop up an armful of thick hardbacks on military history (only recently returned by the retired Major Jones).
“Any book in particular?” he queried, choosing not to comment on her cavalier attitude to the truth as well as library books and furniture.
She picked up two books at random from the floor and replaced on the trolley. “Yes, but I don’t recall the name. It was a detective story.” She gave him a distractingly vivid smile. “I do remember that it had a blue jacket with a dagger on it. Or was it lead piping? There was blood all over it, at any rate.”
Edward was about as certain as he could be that, whatever her motives for her behaviour were, they did not include a genuine search for a half-forgotten murder mystery novel. He was given no chance to further his enquiries as Miss Allison called out for him from the desk, and he hastened back in a few long strides.
“Mr Iveson,” said Miss Allison, in her most ominous tones, drawing herself up behind the main desk. “That young man was trying to steal a book from the Reference Library. I saw him sneaking out with it under his arm!”
Edward followed the line of her pointing finger and saw the young man in question, standing by the fiction shelves, a yard or so from the door to the Reference Library. He did indeed have a valuable nineteenth century hardback half-concealed under his jacket. He also bore a strong resemblance to the young lady who had overset the trolley in the 300s. The plot thickened, indeed.
An open and shut case, one might have said, except for one small detail. Edward moved forward, holding out his hand to the younger man. “Would you mind handing that over?”
“I wasn’t stealing it,” he said.
Edward merely halted in front of him, his hand remaining outstretched. The young man passed the book over with a look of injured innocence on his face. Edward, once he had the volume in his hands, was hard-pressed not to let his amusement show, because a serious infringement of library rules had taken place, it was true, but not in the way it might appear.
“Mr Iveson. Shall I telephone Sergeant Robson?” offered Miss Allison from somewhere behind Edward.
“If you do,” said the young woman, suddenly arriving at the side of the guilty party, “you’ll wish you hadn’t. Christy was putting the book back. You can’t arrest someone for returning a book.”
Edward nodded to Miss Allison, who continued to stand warily by the telephone nevertheless, as if anticipating that Christy or his sister – for such she surely must be – might make a daring attempt to snatch the book out of Edward’s hands. The book – part of a long two-volume work of local history penned by a vicar at the turn of the century – had been noted as lost last week; long before Christy’s sister had pulled her stunt with the trolley. It would have been extremely difficult and expensive to replace and it was much consulted by the library’s users, and Edward had to admit he was mainly relieved to have it back.
“That is what libraries are for,” Edward agreed. “In this case, however, Miss, er –?”
“Graves.”
“Miss Graves. Well, in this case, this item is a reference book and not for loan. I’m not going to inform the police, but,” he turned to Christy, “I am going to ban you from using the library for the next two months and permanently if you ever repeat such behaviour.”
Christy shrugged, not much perturbed. “That’s fine. That was the only book I wanted. Now you’ve got it, can I go?”
“Please do,” said Edward, and watched him make his way out, Miss Allison giving him a look that would have slain him on the spot had she had the ability. Edward shook his head and decided merely to be glad that he had recovered the book.
A small movement beside him made him realise that Miss Graves had not followed her brother out. He inclined his head towards her. “I take it you weren’t actually looking for a book?”
“I was providing a distraction,” she said. “But I wouldn’t mind a good detective novel if you’ve got one. I didn’t see any over there.”
Edward walked back towards the enquiry desk, tucking the recovered reference book safely out of the reach of any more light-fingered users. “You were in the non-fiction so you wouldn’t. Although you were aptly close to the true crime section.”
“Yes,” she said. “Sorry about all that. Am I banned, too?”
“Not yet. I don’t think aiding and abetting the return of a book is an offence.”
Miss Graves gave a bright smile. “So, where is the crime section?”
“I’m not sure you need any more encouragement when it comes to illicit activity.”
“Now you’re exaggerating. But not to worry – I’m sure I can find it on my own.” She looked up at him sidelong with a gleam in her eye. “Just call me Sherlock Holmes.”
Edward gestured towards the crime section and then walked her over, which was not strictly necessary, but unless Miss Graves had another brother hiding somewhere among the shelves planning further trouble, she had no need to be flirting with him any more and he didn’t mind playing along, if only to find out where this was going. It was an entrancingly novel experience.
“I’m sorry about Christy,” she said more soberly as they reached a bay full of detective stories. “We really did need the book – we had to look up some details for something important and he didn’t have time to stop the other day.”
“Yes, well, I’d prefer it if he followed the library rules next time he needs a book.”
Miss Graves leant against the edge of the shelves, arms folded. “Oh, I don’t think he’s likely to want another one! And I don’t steal books; you needn’t stand watch over me. It was my plan to bring it back.”
“Thank you, then,” said Edward and withdrew. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave you in peace.”
Miss Graves’s attention drifted towards the spines of the books and she said, “If I did steal the books, would it be your duty to come to my house and demand them back?”
Edward stiffened, wary of the exchange now the edge of flirtation had become so open. Perhaps she was still up to something? He couldn’t imagine what, but it surely had to be more likely than her making advances to him. His job description itself usually precluded that sort of thing. “No,” he said. “You would merely receive a sternly worded letter on the subject and a fine.”
“Hmm,” said Miss Graves, pulling out two Michael Inneses and one Agatha Christie. “So I’d have better luck behaving like a model member of the library and hoping you were on duty when I returned them?”
Edward took a small step away. “I’m afraid I’m mostly out the back.”
“Oh, dear,” said Miss Graves, her forehead creasing in feigned sympathy. “Don’t they let you out very much? I suppose that explains it.”
He straightened down his jacket and said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’m supposed to be manning the enquiry desk.”
“But I’m full of questions,” said Miss Graves. “Like – that book Christy borrowed. Did anyone ask for it, do you know?”
“Nearly a dozen people, thank you. Some of them were fairly irate on the subject.”
She absorbed that and then said, “Yes, I suppose they would be. Sorry. And the person I’m thinking of would probably just be able to buy one from a rare books dealer or march into the British Library or somewhere. Never mind.”
“Do you want a crime novel or have you escaped from one?”
Miss Graves laughed suddenly. “No, it’s not quite that bad. Just one of those terrible old inheritance cases, like something out of Dickens. We’re destined to lose, but at least we’ve given it a shot now. So, you see, it was all done in a good cause.”
“Any other enquiries, or may I return to my business?”
The amused light died out of her blue eyes. “I thought I was your business, at least for five minutes.”
“Have you found your blue book?” he asked more softly. “With the dagger or maybe the lead piping?”
Her expression brightened immediately. It was an odd but warming sensation to realise that she genuinely must have taken a fancy to him, at least in passing; God only knew why. “I’m not really that particular about the colour,” she said, “but none of these have plots where the detective did it, do they? I hate that in a murder.”
Edward surveyed her choices and said, “Not to my knowledge, but I don’t actually read all the books in the library, contrary to popular belief.”
“Well,” said Miss Graves, and hugged the hardbacks against her. “Thank you for your help, Mr Iveson. Hopefully I shall see you again sometime. I’m sure I shall have plenty more enquiries for you.”
His mouth quirked involuntarily. “I can believe it.”
Edward watched her walk over to the issue desk and then made his way back to his seat at the enquiry desk. An elderly gentleman immediately shuffled over to ask where The Times was.
“That’s the third time this week it’s not been here,” said the elderly gentleman. “Somebody keeps taking it. It didn’t ought to be allowed.”
It wasn’t, but Edward didn’t think the regular newspaper thefts were going to be a mystery as easily solved as Christy’s reverse theft of the reference book, so he merely apologised and promised to keep The Times behind the desk for the next few weeks until the newspaper thief finally gave up.
Having placated the old boy, he found Miss Allison gesturing to him to join her at the main desk, which he did.
“She took books out,” Miss Allison said, her tone implying that that didn’t ought to be allowed either. She pushed the card with Miss Graves’s details on over to him, the green holder with the pink book ticket slips inside it clasped tightly in her hand. “Shouldn’t we do something?”
Edward picked up the card, biting back a smile. It was one way to give someone your full name, telephone number and address. Julia, he noted, unable to help himself. Her name was Julia. He kept his expression carefully bland, however, and handed the card back to Miss Allison with due solemnity.
“File it with the rest,” he advised. “And, on the whole, I don’t think we need worry too much – but if Miss Graves does return, you’d better let me know at once.”
***
Story: Divide & Rule/Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Ecru #19 (replace)
Supplies and Styles: Eraser
Word Count: 2001
Rating: All ages
Warnings: None.
Notes: Edward/Julia Librarian AU; Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Christy Graves. (I was feeling fed up with myself for writing nothing but Edward/Julia AUs which somehow wound up with me hunting down a giant list of AUs and trying to write as many of them as possible instead. Anyway, it cheered me up for a bit, and made me write, so I suppose that's something.)
Summary: Edward Iveson catches a real-life criminal of sorts lurking in the true crime.
***
There was a crash from the far corner of the library that broke into the low hush and sounded disproportionately loud in the evening quietness.
Edward Iveson, Senior Branch Librarian, raised his head at the noise and glanced over at the main desk where the Library Assistant, Miss Allison, was busy with a borrower. It was clearly up to him to investigate, so he got up and left the enquiry desk, making his way over to uncover the source of the disturbance.
He wasn’t sure precisely what he expected to find, but the most likely culprits were stray children in need of ushering back into the Children’s Library or out of the Library altogether. Instead he found a fair-haired young woman sitting on the floor amidst a pile of military and naval books with a side-helping of true crime, and an upturned trolley.
“I was looking for a book,” she said, looking up at him as he stopped beside her. “And then – this.” She waved a hand at the trolley as if its current state were an act of God and no doing of hers, which, given that it was a wooden and fairly sturdy trolley, seemed highly improbable.
Edward righted the trolley and bent back down to scoop up an armful of thick hardbacks on military history (only recently returned by the retired Major Jones).
“Any book in particular?” he queried, choosing not to comment on her cavalier attitude to the truth as well as library books and furniture.
She picked up two books at random from the floor and replaced on the trolley. “Yes, but I don’t recall the name. It was a detective story.” She gave him a distractingly vivid smile. “I do remember that it had a blue jacket with a dagger on it. Or was it lead piping? There was blood all over it, at any rate.”
Edward was about as certain as he could be that, whatever her motives for her behaviour were, they did not include a genuine search for a half-forgotten murder mystery novel. He was given no chance to further his enquiries as Miss Allison called out for him from the desk, and he hastened back in a few long strides.
“Mr Iveson,” said Miss Allison, in her most ominous tones, drawing herself up behind the main desk. “That young man was trying to steal a book from the Reference Library. I saw him sneaking out with it under his arm!”
Edward followed the line of her pointing finger and saw the young man in question, standing by the fiction shelves, a yard or so from the door to the Reference Library. He did indeed have a valuable nineteenth century hardback half-concealed under his jacket. He also bore a strong resemblance to the young lady who had overset the trolley in the 300s. The plot thickened, indeed.
An open and shut case, one might have said, except for one small detail. Edward moved forward, holding out his hand to the younger man. “Would you mind handing that over?”
“I wasn’t stealing it,” he said.
Edward merely halted in front of him, his hand remaining outstretched. The young man passed the book over with a look of injured innocence on his face. Edward, once he had the volume in his hands, was hard-pressed not to let his amusement show, because a serious infringement of library rules had taken place, it was true, but not in the way it might appear.
“Mr Iveson. Shall I telephone Sergeant Robson?” offered Miss Allison from somewhere behind Edward.
“If you do,” said the young woman, suddenly arriving at the side of the guilty party, “you’ll wish you hadn’t. Christy was putting the book back. You can’t arrest someone for returning a book.”
Edward nodded to Miss Allison, who continued to stand warily by the telephone nevertheless, as if anticipating that Christy or his sister – for such she surely must be – might make a daring attempt to snatch the book out of Edward’s hands. The book – part of a long two-volume work of local history penned by a vicar at the turn of the century – had been noted as lost last week; long before Christy’s sister had pulled her stunt with the trolley. It would have been extremely difficult and expensive to replace and it was much consulted by the library’s users, and Edward had to admit he was mainly relieved to have it back.
“That is what libraries are for,” Edward agreed. “In this case, however, Miss, er –?”
“Graves.”
“Miss Graves. Well, in this case, this item is a reference book and not for loan. I’m not going to inform the police, but,” he turned to Christy, “I am going to ban you from using the library for the next two months and permanently if you ever repeat such behaviour.”
Christy shrugged, not much perturbed. “That’s fine. That was the only book I wanted. Now you’ve got it, can I go?”
“Please do,” said Edward, and watched him make his way out, Miss Allison giving him a look that would have slain him on the spot had she had the ability. Edward shook his head and decided merely to be glad that he had recovered the book.
A small movement beside him made him realise that Miss Graves had not followed her brother out. He inclined his head towards her. “I take it you weren’t actually looking for a book?”
“I was providing a distraction,” she said. “But I wouldn’t mind a good detective novel if you’ve got one. I didn’t see any over there.”
Edward walked back towards the enquiry desk, tucking the recovered reference book safely out of the reach of any more light-fingered users. “You were in the non-fiction so you wouldn’t. Although you were aptly close to the true crime section.”
“Yes,” she said. “Sorry about all that. Am I banned, too?”
“Not yet. I don’t think aiding and abetting the return of a book is an offence.”
Miss Graves gave a bright smile. “So, where is the crime section?”
“I’m not sure you need any more encouragement when it comes to illicit activity.”
“Now you’re exaggerating. But not to worry – I’m sure I can find it on my own.” She looked up at him sidelong with a gleam in her eye. “Just call me Sherlock Holmes.”
Edward gestured towards the crime section and then walked her over, which was not strictly necessary, but unless Miss Graves had another brother hiding somewhere among the shelves planning further trouble, she had no need to be flirting with him any more and he didn’t mind playing along, if only to find out where this was going. It was an entrancingly novel experience.
“I’m sorry about Christy,” she said more soberly as they reached a bay full of detective stories. “We really did need the book – we had to look up some details for something important and he didn’t have time to stop the other day.”
“Yes, well, I’d prefer it if he followed the library rules next time he needs a book.”
Miss Graves leant against the edge of the shelves, arms folded. “Oh, I don’t think he’s likely to want another one! And I don’t steal books; you needn’t stand watch over me. It was my plan to bring it back.”
“Thank you, then,” said Edward and withdrew. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave you in peace.”
Miss Graves’s attention drifted towards the spines of the books and she said, “If I did steal the books, would it be your duty to come to my house and demand them back?”
Edward stiffened, wary of the exchange now the edge of flirtation had become so open. Perhaps she was still up to something? He couldn’t imagine what, but it surely had to be more likely than her making advances to him. His job description itself usually precluded that sort of thing. “No,” he said. “You would merely receive a sternly worded letter on the subject and a fine.”
“Hmm,” said Miss Graves, pulling out two Michael Inneses and one Agatha Christie. “So I’d have better luck behaving like a model member of the library and hoping you were on duty when I returned them?”
Edward took a small step away. “I’m afraid I’m mostly out the back.”
“Oh, dear,” said Miss Graves, her forehead creasing in feigned sympathy. “Don’t they let you out very much? I suppose that explains it.”
He straightened down his jacket and said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’m supposed to be manning the enquiry desk.”
“But I’m full of questions,” said Miss Graves. “Like – that book Christy borrowed. Did anyone ask for it, do you know?”
“Nearly a dozen people, thank you. Some of them were fairly irate on the subject.”
She absorbed that and then said, “Yes, I suppose they would be. Sorry. And the person I’m thinking of would probably just be able to buy one from a rare books dealer or march into the British Library or somewhere. Never mind.”
“Do you want a crime novel or have you escaped from one?”
Miss Graves laughed suddenly. “No, it’s not quite that bad. Just one of those terrible old inheritance cases, like something out of Dickens. We’re destined to lose, but at least we’ve given it a shot now. So, you see, it was all done in a good cause.”
“Any other enquiries, or may I return to my business?”
The amused light died out of her blue eyes. “I thought I was your business, at least for five minutes.”
“Have you found your blue book?” he asked more softly. “With the dagger or maybe the lead piping?”
Her expression brightened immediately. It was an odd but warming sensation to realise that she genuinely must have taken a fancy to him, at least in passing; God only knew why. “I’m not really that particular about the colour,” she said, “but none of these have plots where the detective did it, do they? I hate that in a murder.”
Edward surveyed her choices and said, “Not to my knowledge, but I don’t actually read all the books in the library, contrary to popular belief.”
“Well,” said Miss Graves, and hugged the hardbacks against her. “Thank you for your help, Mr Iveson. Hopefully I shall see you again sometime. I’m sure I shall have plenty more enquiries for you.”
His mouth quirked involuntarily. “I can believe it.”
Edward watched her walk over to the issue desk and then made his way back to his seat at the enquiry desk. An elderly gentleman immediately shuffled over to ask where The Times was.
“That’s the third time this week it’s not been here,” said the elderly gentleman. “Somebody keeps taking it. It didn’t ought to be allowed.”
It wasn’t, but Edward didn’t think the regular newspaper thefts were going to be a mystery as easily solved as Christy’s reverse theft of the reference book, so he merely apologised and promised to keep The Times behind the desk for the next few weeks until the newspaper thief finally gave up.
Having placated the old boy, he found Miss Allison gesturing to him to join her at the main desk, which he did.
“She took books out,” Miss Allison said, her tone implying that that didn’t ought to be allowed either. She pushed the card with Miss Graves’s details on over to him, the green holder with the pink book ticket slips inside it clasped tightly in her hand. “Shouldn’t we do something?”
Edward picked up the card, biting back a smile. It was one way to give someone your full name, telephone number and address. Julia, he noted, unable to help himself. Her name was Julia. He kept his expression carefully bland, however, and handed the card back to Miss Allison with due solemnity.
“File it with the rest,” he advised. “And, on the whole, I don’t think we need worry too much – but if Miss Graves does return, you’d better let me know at once.”
***
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(I was a children's librarian for 10 years, but it all ended in a tragic tale of budget cuts and me photographing dog poo in alley ways instead, because such are the arcane ways of the reorganised council staff. And then I just got ill, but I like to blame the dog poo job and my broken librarian's heart, even if that's not really true. Much.)
ETA: It's so calm! And unlikely to lead to prison or murder!
True, although he has just now met Julia and Christy, so nothing can be ruled out. But I like to think this is a very mundane and cosy AU for them. With only minor annoyances of library users to contend with. (Sorry, did I say minor?)
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♥