Page 31 of The Last Heir to Blackwood Library

Fiddling with a stem of heather, she gave a distracted nod. She wasn’t wholly convinced, but then, what was the alternative? Mrs. Hewitt would have her believe that she was nothing more than a flighty girl with an overactive imagination, but perhaps there was a grain of truth to the idea, no matter how distasteful. Ivywasprone to take a rather romantic view of things. What else had she to do in the old house beside drown in her anxieties and read too much?

“Do you know what I think?” Arthur asked, breaking into her thoughts. “I think you’re a clever woman stuck in a house by herself, with not enough to occupy her mind.”

Just because she had been thinking as much, didn’t mean that she appreciated the implication coming from him. Ivy opened her mouth but he stopped her before she could say anything. “This is why education for women is dangerous—you have all this knowledge and nothing to do with it. Come to the club. You’ll meet some interesting people, have some lively discussions.”

Ivy bit down on her tongue, hard. “I’m not sure I would fit in with that set.”

“Oh, come now,” he said, oblivious to her annoyance. “They will be utterly charmed by you, and I can show you off by my side.”

She stared out at a kestrel hovering on the wing in the distance. How little it cared for the world around it, content to drift and let the wind take it where it may. “What is this club exactly?”

“Oh,” Arthur said, gesturing vaguely, “a group of learned individuals committed to preserving the Blackwood library. We’ve been meeting for years. Never thought to come up with a name or anything like that, but my father has always referred to us as ‘the Sphinxes.’”

“Surely there are other libraries that warrant preservation?” It was strange to think of these people devoting their time to a library which, as far as she could tell, most of them had never stepped foot in.

“Well, yes, of course. But as I’ve told you Blackwood is special, and you yourself saw the state it was in.”

The kestrel dove and disappeared from view. “What’s so special about it?” she asked.

Giving a deep sigh, Arthur looked about as if they might be overheard by the sheep and the gathering clouds. “Can I trust you?” he asked, leaning in.

“Of course.”

He regarded her for a long moment and then nodded. “I believe I can, and what’s more, I like you, Ivy Radcliffe.” Sitting up, he draped his arms across his knees. “What you don’t realize about the Blackwood library, is that it’s not an ordinary library. It’s special, more special than you can possibly understand. It contains some of the most valuable and rare manuscripts on esoteric and occult subjects. Before the Dissolution, Blackwood was a center of monastic learning. Its collection was the destination for countless pilgrims and wise men, all seeking the answers to some of life’s most unknowable truths. The sheer amount of knowledge in that library...” He broke off, shaking his head. “It’s unfathomable.”

He didn’t mention that there was a curse, or some sort of spirit haunting it—Ivy almost wished he had so she had an explanation for the dust and footsteps she had seen. It was an important library, full of real history and rare books. Solid things, real things.

“If it’s as simple as that, then why has no one told me that before? Mrs. Hewitt didn’t even want me to go into the library.”

Arthur gave her a sad smile. “That’s just it, isn’t it? There are those who would see it locked up. Not all of the Hayworth family has been happy to share their gem. That is where my club comes in...we exist with the mission to catalog and share the rare works found in Blackwood with the world.”

Doubt still needled her, but it was gradually fading, secondary to her curiosity. Never had Ivy imagined that she was steward of such a diamond, one coveted by so many important people, no less. Suddenly Mrs. Hewitt’s reticence began to make sense; if Blackwood was indeed as singular and important as Arthur claimed, then no wonder the housekeeper was nervous to see Ivy lending out the books. She had served the Hayworth family for decades, and probably saw the library as an extension of her service. Perhaps the housekeeper was planting seeds of doubt in Ivy’s mind about the strange occurrences as a way to scare her off from her lending program.

“Do you see now?” Arthur’s eyes were bright as he leaned forward and took her cold hands in his. “Let us help you, Ivy. We can restore the library to its former glory. Universities would send their faculty to study there. You could charge admission or reading fees. I know how expensive these old estates can be, and you wouldn’t have to worry about selling any of your land or taking on tenants.”

Ivy’s heart quickened. It would be like her lending program, but with so much more reach. And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she needed the help. Simply keeping the library dusted was a Herculean task unto itself, never mind cataloging. While she didn’t truly understand the finances of Blackwood, judging by the skeleton crew of staff she knew that they were nowhere what they used to be. Eventually she would have to make some hard decisions about the future of the estate.

“Have us over,” he said, watching her emotions flicker across her face. “That’s all I ask. If after meeting everyone you decide to decline our offer, that’s your prerogative. But I truly think you will see how much good we could help you do.”

A raindrop fell on Ivy’s cheek, startling her from her visions of a restored library, humming with the activity of hungry readers. “I’ll think about it,” she told him as she shrugged further into her coat. She could only imagine the look on Mrs. Hewitt’s face when she broached Arthur’s proposal to her.

As Arthur hurriedly packed up their picnic and threw everything in the auto, Ivy turned his offer over and over in her head. Was it all true? Could she really be sitting on the eighth wonder of the world? After all, if his society was so concerned with the library, why hadn’t the late Lord Hayworth taken them up on their offer?

16

Someone had been in her room while she was gone.

The door was closed. Ivy never closed her door, mostly because after her first few days at the abbey she’d learned that there was no use in keeping it closed; Agnes came in the late mornings to turn down her bed and then several more times over the course of the day to tend to various tasks, so Ivy had gotten in the habit of simply leaving it open. This wasn’t Bethnal Green where one needed to worry about locking and bolting the door against thieves and other unsavory characters.

The first thing she noticed when she peeked inside was the cold. The abbey was drafty and prone to dampness, but this was like a wall of ice. Crossing to the windows, she tested each of them in turn. They were all closed tight, just as always.

The second thing she noticed was the paper scraps strewn about the furniture and carpet, like a flurry of snowflakes. It looked as if someone had shredded an entire book and left the evidence in plain sight. Crouching, Ivy scooped up some of the paper scraps. Phrases likeMad MonkandAgnes in the library,all written in her own hand, jumped out at her.

Rocking back on her heels, she let the paper slip from her fingers. Someone had come into her room, found her journal, and then destroyed it. Not just destroyed it, but made a violent mess of it. It felt like a message, a warning. Hastily sweeping up the scraps, Ivy opened the grate and fed them to the fire.

The solitary clink of silver on china and the occasional gust of wind rattling the window were the only sounds as she ate her dinner alone in her room that night. A deep sense of wrongness had settled in the pit of her stomach after finding the destroyed journal. Someone had come into her space, violated her most private possession. This might have been her house, but with rooms always being opened for cleaning and furnishings and decorations already established generations before her arrival, it hardly felt like hers. The journal had been a place to keep her secrets, document her fears and the events of her day-to-day life.

Ivy pushed her plate away, having no appetite for even the soft white bread and delicately seasoned ham. Who could she trust? Who would do such a thing? Although Mrs. Hewitt and the rest of the staff were protective of Blackwood and its library, there was also something they weren’t telling Ivy. Otherwise, why hadn’t they simply explained everything to her the way Arthur had? Why did they go to such trouble to dissuade her from taking an interest in it? Ivy would have understood, and it would have made her job of cleaning and cataloging that much easier. The more she mused on the whole situation, the more she was inclined to accept Arthur’s offer of help. She was only one person, and the librarywasspecial and warranted the best care that could be had.

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