“Just taking a second to appreciate the moment,” she scolded. “Whatever is in here could change your life.”
“Or be a box of rocks,” Holt replied and gesturedup.
Nodding, Caitlin lifted the lid, the hinges creaking as it moved.
“Needs a bit of WD-40,” Holt remarked.
Caitlin didn’t bother to answer. She was entranced by what the chest revealed. Stacks of stereographic prints, and wrapped in muslin that she carefully unfolded, the stereoscope used to view them.
“Old postcards?” Holt asked, derision in his tone.
“Ye have never seen these? Or their like before?”
He shook his head. “What are they?”
She examined the viewer before lifting it to show Holt. It appeared to be in perfect condition. “This is called a stereoscope. Put any of these stereograph cards in here,” she said, pointing to the slot they fit into, “look through the eyepiece, and the two images become one 3-D view.”
“No kidding.” He reached into the trunk for a card.
Caitlin slapped his hand away. “Don’t! Don’t touch them. No’ yet. I dinna ken what condition they’re in. The paper might fall to bits.” She held up a hand as he looked ready to object. “Just wait.”
She set the stereoscope back on its bed of muslin, then dug her cotton gloves out of her back pocket and donned them. The corner of the top stereograph felt solid and didn’t stick to the one below it when she shifted it. She slid her hand under and picked it up, then moved it into the nearby lamp’s light. It showed a street scene, carriages and horses, mostly, with a few men in garb from another century.
Confident now that the card wouldn’t fall apart, she placed it into the stereoscope and looked through the viewfinder. Protected from dust by its wrapping and the trunk, the lenses were clear.
Smiling, she passed it to Holt. “Take a look.”
* * *
Holt had never seen a contraption like this one, but he had to hand it to its creators. It did just what Caitlin described. The card with two images became one with depth and detail. He studied the carts and the clothes the men wore, trying to place the image in time. “How old is it?”
“I’ll have to examine it, and the pictures stored with it, but I’d guess it’s Victorian or Edwardian. Nineteenth century to early twentieth to you Yanks. The viewer was invented in the early nineteenth century.”
“I wonder how long it’s been sitting in this attic,” Holt remarked, handing the viewer back to her.
Caitlin replaced the card in the stack and tucked the cloth wrapping around the viewer. “No telling. But these pictures might tell us more about your family’s background, or at least about what interested your ancestors.”
If they weren’t worth much, Holt wasn’t sure he cared. “So, not rocks,” he prompted.
“Nay. But perhaps something quite valuable, I think, at least to the right collector.”
Good. Someone might buy the lot. “Or a museum?”
“Doubtful. These were quite common until the mid-twentieth century when they couldn’t compete with modern photography or later, entertainment such as television. Their value will be in the uniqueness of the images, I’d say.”
Holt surprised himself by spending the rest of the morning, once Caitlin forced him to don a pair of cotton gloves, going through stacks of stereographs, helping her photograph and sort them. He’d found a small rectangular table at the other end of the attic and moved it into the circle of lights, giving her an adequate, she said, workspace. Her detailed notes impressed him, both with the seriousness with which she approached the investigation, and her apparent competence. Any lingering uncertainty about why the estate’s executor had hired her vanished over the course of the morning.
Eventually, a loud growl from the region of his stomach reminded him they’d been at this for hours, so Holt called a halt. “Let’s get some lunch. You need a break.”
“Speak for yourself.” Caitlin’s stomach chose that moment to answer the growl his had made. She blushed and quirked an eyebrow, then set aside her notebook and the stereograph she’d been studying, stretched her arms over her head, and stood, looking anywhere but at him. “Yeah, okay. You’re right. I guess I am hungry.”
The color flooding her cheeks captured Holt’s attention. Did she blush like that all over? Pink. No, dusky rose, at least in this light. She’d blushed redder at lunch, but that might have been the malt vinegar she used on her fish and the difference in lighting. He tore his gaze away and gestured toward the stairs. “After you.”
Over lunch, Caitlin filled him in on the history of the stereograph, convincing him that in and of itself, it was nothing unusual.
“But I hope to find some interesting and unique images, or images of clear historical value, among the stereographs. I’ve already found a few possibilities, but going through that trunk is going to take time.”
“What can I do to help?”
