Page 44 of The Last Heir to Blackwood Library

An indecipherable look passed between Ralph and the Hewitts. But Ivy already knew. She had seen the list of the Hayworths, had seen how they all died far too early.

“It has to do with what you said about the library taking memories, doesn’t it?” A foggy recollection of her conversation with Ralph resurfaced, something about how she would start forgetting. “Is that what will become of me? I’ll lose all my memories, and then die?”

“If you stay here, yes,” Mrs. Hewitt confirmed. “As soon as you stepped foot in Blackwood, you bound yourself to the library.”

“And if I leave?”

Mrs. Hewitt’s lips compressed into a tight line. “You would need to find a replacement, a librarian who would live here, tend to the library. A small number of the lords in the past realized this, and brought on librarians to take their place. The library fed off of them instead, sparing the current holder of the title.”

“For some time, anyway,” Hewitt amended. “There’s no escaping the library for good.”

“So I would be condemning someone else to die.” Ivy’s shoulders slumped. It was hopeless.

Hewitt stood, clearing his throat. “We need to go make certain that they haven’t found the manuscript. It’s well hidden, but I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

His wife nodded and began gathering up the tea things. “Most of the Mabry servants have returned but I don’t trust Lord Mabry not to have left any spies or sentries.”

Ivy moved to stand, but Mrs. Hewitt stopped her with a firm hand to her shoulder. “It would be best if you stayed here, my lady.”

She didn’t want to be in the kitchen by herself. The world was spinning away from her, the basic truths of her existence and what was real called into question. Now was not the time to sit with oneself and reflect on immortality and the vengeful nature of ghosts. She desperately wanted to be back in London, with bright city lights and the sound of motorcars around her, people going about their shopping and everyday errands.

“Ralph will stay with you. You’ll be safe here.” Mrs. Hewitt offered Ivy a rare smile, but it did little to assuage the feeling of dread which had taken root in her gut.

After the butler and housekeeper had gone, Ivy chanced a look at Ralph brooding across the table, arms crossed and jaw stubbornly set. His hair had grown just long enough to fall over his eyes, giving him the look of a moody schoolboy.

“You should have told me,” Ivy said finally.

Ralph gave a grunt. “You wouldn’t have believed me, and even if you had, you would have forgotten.”

“You did though, that day I found the manuscript. You told me that I should leave. I remember that much now. What would have happened if I had left? Because it sounds as if someone else would suffer in my place.”

He finally looked up, the flashing anger in his eyes almost enough to make her wish she hadn’t said anything. “Does it matter? You would have been safe.”

Her face heated. “It does matter, to me. I don’t want people to die, and I certainly don’t want to be the one to send them to their death.”

Ralph tipped back in his chair, eyes trained on the ceiling as if searching for the right words. “That’s the problem. You’re too—”

“Too what? Too stubborn? Too independent? I assure you, I’ve heard it all before.”

Tipping the chair back down with athud, Ralph gave a long exhale. “Too good,” he muttered. “The problem is you’re too good, Ivy.”

There were a thousand pressing matters that should have taken precedence, but somehow her name from his lips utterly undid her. It was resigned and angry all at once, and so, so tender. Every look at him tore her heart further, threw her already muddled mind into delicious chaos. She took a long sip of her cooling tea as the silence deepened around them.

“What will Mr. and Mrs. Hewitt do?” she forced herself to ask, desperate to steer the conversation in another direction, one that wouldn’t leave her feeling strangely unsettled and stormy inside.

“Make sure that the Mabrys don’t find the manuscript.” He paused, darting a glance at her from under dark gold lashes. “In however many years, you’re the only one to have found it.”

“And then what?” she asked. Would there be a tug-o-war between the Hewitts and the Mabrys over the manuscript? Would military lorries come rolling in and confiscate it?

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“You’re right. I suppose I should just sit back and drink my tea while a convoluted plot to secure an old manuscript and let it destroy everything unravels around me.”

Ralph tapped on the table, distracted. “Then they’ll probably either move it, or stand guard with it,” he offered with a shrug. “I don’t really know.”

Ivy considered this. “How come you aren’t affected?” At his raised brows, she pressed on. “The Hewitts are supposedly immune to the library or the manuscript’s powers, whatever it is. But you, you work here too and you don’t seem to be affected. Same with Agnes. Why not?”

Draining his cup of tea, he set it down with a rattle and pushed it away. “I’m not in the house much. Try to stay out of the library. Same for Agnes, I guess.”

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