Page 18 of The Last Heir to Blackwood Library

She cleared her throat, but he continued chopping. “Ralph?”

Each punishing chop sent splinters flying as he took some primal anger out on the wood. Edging her way around the gravel path, Ivy tried again to catch Ralph’s attention.

Lifting his head for his next ax stroke, he caught her gaze and nearly lost his grip. There was something wild in his eyes, a fierceness that transcended mere concentration, or even anger. Then it passed and, cursing, he stumbled backward. “Don’t sneak up on a man like that,” Ralph snarled.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“I could have hurt you, killed you even,” he said, giving voice to the flash of fear she’d felt coming upon him like that. Wiping the perspiration from his temple, he seemed to collect himself. “What are you doing out here?”

“I—I needed to ask you something.”

Some of the wildness in his eyes dimmed, giving way to his usual guarded expression. Chest still heaving with exertion, he chucked the ax to the ground, either an invitation to continue, or a hint that she shouldn’t bother him.

Assuming it was the former, Ivy hurried on. “Mrs. Hewitt said that there is bad wiring in the library, and that it isn’t safe to have the lights on there. Is that something you would be able to look at?”

Ralph stared as if she were speaking a foreign language, his gray eyes boring through her. “The wiring?”

“Well, yes. It’s faulty or old, I’m not certain the exact problem.”

Squinting up at the clouds, Ralph ran a hand through his hair. “Aye.”

Ivy waited for more. “What does—”

“I’ll look at it,” he said, cutting her off. Throwing a tarpaulin over the woodpile, he set off for the house.

It seemed Ivy was always running to catch up to him. “Right now?” she asked, hope mingled with confusion.

“Said I would, didn’t I?”

Ivy bit her lip to keep from smiling, jogging to keep up. Ralph might have been as surly as a cat awakened from its nap, but she was beginning to think there might be something decidedly more agreeable under all that bite.

Mrs. Hewitt intercepted them in the hall, as if she had been watching them from the window. “Ralph, a word please?”

Ivy pretended not to listen as Mrs. Hewitt drew him aside for a conversation of hissed whispers. Whatever they were talking about, Mrs. Hewitt was adamant, but Ralph only nodded and then raised his shoulders in a shrug. He was a good head taller than the housekeeper, but Mrs. Hewitt was staring him down all the same, and Ivy was glad it wasn’t her on the receiving end of the housekeeper’s cutting lectures for once.

A moment later Ralph broke away and headed for the library. Ivy wasn’t sure if he expected her to follow, but she didn’t want to be left alone with the disapproving Mrs. Hewitt, so she took off after him again. But at the end of the hall, he turned to go downstairs instead of the library.

“Wait, where are you going?”

Ralph stopped, turning abruptly so that she nearly skidded into his chest. He still smelled of wood chips and exertion. “To get my tools. Is that all right with you, my lady?” he asked, a mocking edge of condescension in the last two words.

“Oh. Yes. I mean, of course.”

Ivy fidgeted at the top of the stairs until Ralph returned with his toolbox, then she trailed after him like a lost puppy to the library. He got to work right away, taking out his tools and setting up a ladder against the wall. When it became clear that watching him wasn’t going to make him work any faster, Ivy decided to do some work of her own by the light of the windows.

There should have been a catalog of the library’s contents, but thus far she had not come across one. Who knew what treasures were hidden there? Creating one would not only benefit the library in the long run, but would be a way to keep busy, keep her mind from dwelling on the shadows of the past. She’d never really had a purpose before, or rather, she had but the world and society at large would not allow it. Her parents had never exactly told her outright that a university education was out of the question, but it was clear enough from the way her father’s colleagues were all men—and besides, education, a good one, was a privilege of the wealthy. But now she had the time and the means to lose herself in her work, and the title and position so that no one could question her.

The shelves, at least, seemed to be arranged in some semblance of order. There were novels, natural histories, encyclopedias, and every manner of classical text. But the deeper she ventured into the library, the stranger some of the subjects became. Memoirs by people she’d never heard of, texts in unrecognizable languages. The bulk of the shelves lined the room, but there were also a handful of freestanding shelves tucked in the back corner, away from the windows. Wiping away a thick layer of dust, Ivy revealed a vast collection of the genealogy and biographical history of the Hayworth family, each labeled in a neat hand. Were the Radcliffes mentioned somewhere in a footnote? Or perhaps they had had their own straggly branch on the family tree? She was just pulling down a volume when Ralph’s voice cut through the silence.

“There’s your problem.”

Ivy let the book slide back into place, and looked back to where Ralph was holding up a fistful of wires.

Wiping dust from her hands, she hurried over. “What is it? Can you fix it?”

“Mice—or something—chewed clean through these.”

“Oh, well that’s easy to fix, isn’t it?”

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