Page 45 of The Last Heir to Blackwood Library

Trying to tease out more information from Ralph was like asking a stone to spill its secrets. Eventually Ivy gave up and settled back into her seat, eyeing the door and trying to decide if it was worth simply making a dash for it and finding answers for herself. As she raised her cup to her lips, a tremor in her hand flared up out of nowhere, tea splashing onto her dress. It seemed her nerves were finally catching up with her. She reached for a cloth to wipe it up, when there was a violent shaking. This time there was no mistaking it for a tremor in her own body; it came from the very house itself. The floors rumbled as if they might open up, and the walls swayed, dishes clattering to the ground. Nearly toppled from her chair, she grabbed ahold of the table.

Ivy had read about the great earthquake in California in the newspapers, but England didn’t have those, did it? “What was—”

She didn’t have a chance to finish. “Ivy, come here,” Ralph said in a low voice, eyes trained on the door.

There were no second thoughts, no hesitation. As quick as she could she slid from her chair and bolted around the table, taking Ralph’s arm. “What is it?”

His mouth was set in a grim line, the muscles in his arm tensed and coiled. “The Mabrys found it. And they’ve released it.”

23

Afrigid sense of dread laced its way through Ivy’s veins at Ralph’s ominous words. How exactly did one “release” a manuscript? Or was it something darker, whatever it was that lurked in the pages of the library? She looked down at the floor, half expecting snakes to come slithering in, or the ground to open up, the flames of Hell licking at her ankles.

But the tiles remained as they were, and before she could bombard Ralph with questions, there was a noise outside the door. The knob rattled, and Ivy tightened her grasp around Ralph’s arm.

“The door is locked, isn’t it?” she asked in a whisper.

Ralph didn’t answer, just firmly pushed her behind him. “Get back.”

The sound of someone throwing their weight into the door reverberated through the kitchen, and then it was flying open in a shower of splinters.

Ivy should have run—though who knew where—but her feet were frozen to the ground. A tall man with an athletic build stood breathing heavily in the doorway, fair hair falling into his eyes, his dinner coat torn at the shoulder. Ivy vaguely recognized him as being one of the many guests from the party.

“In here! She’s in here!” he yelled back into the hall.

Almost instantly, a handful of men still dressed in their party attire appeared behind him. Ralph moved with lightning speed, putting himself between Ivy and the men at the doorway. She stood planted behind the table, gripped by something between fear and fascination as she watched Ralph take a swing at the first man.

He was a good fighter, graceful and economical in his blows. But it wasn’t a fair fight. A moment later one of the Mabry servants joined and there was a flash of bronze, and then a candelabra connected with Ralph’s head from behind. He sagged to the floor like a marionette with cut strings before Ivy even had a chance to warn him.

Heedless of the men standing around them, she fell to the floor beside him. “Ralph,” she whispered urgently, shaking his limp body. “Ralph, wake up!”

Blood pooled from his head, racing across the white tiles. How could anyone lose that much blood and be all right? Jerking her gaze up, Ivy frantically searched about her for some way to protect herself. The fire poker she had been so insistent on bringing lay uselessly across the room, behind the table. Cold sweat beaded across her temples. This wasn’t a sneaking suspicion or a story told round a table while drinking a cup of tea anymore; these were dangerous men with a deadly agenda.

The man in servant’s garb took Ivy by the arm and sharply hauled her up. “Leave him,” he said, before adding with a sneer, “my lady.”

But Ivy hadn’t come of age on a rough street for nothing, and she was able to land a good kick where it hurt, the man letting out a gratifyingly shrill yelp and going down like a rock. His companion made a grab for her and she jumped back, but her leg went out from under her in the slick blood, and she fell, slamming into the floor.

Ivy winced at the sharp pain in her shoulder as she was yanked back up.

“You’re not to lay a finger on her,” the man with the torn coat reminded the servant as he struggled back to his feet. “Sir Arthur specifically said that she’s not to come to any harm.”

Ivy’s gaze ricocheted between the men. “What about him?” she asked, her breath coming fast and jagged. Blood was still pooling around Ralph’s head, but it was turning brown, thick. “What will you do with him?”

The big man in the livery shrugged. “Not my job, and not your place to ask,” he said.

“If we leave him here, he’ll bleed out.” She nearly choked on the horrible words. “We can’t leave him here.”

“Sir Arthur’s charity only extends so far as you,” the man said. “And I’ve something of a temper, so I can’t promise what’ll happen if it’s tested.”

“I’m not leaving him.”

The man laughed, a dry, rattling sound, and gave a hard tug on her arm that sent pain spiraling through her shoulder again. “Funny you think you have a say in the matter.”

She cast one last look back at Ralph’s motionless form as she was pulled away. He would be all right, wouldn’t he? Ralph was so strong, so vital. He’d been a soldier. He would wake up a little worse for the wear, but all in one piece. It would take more than a knock to the head to fell him.

Ivy was deposited back in the room with the green wallpaper, the door slamming and locking behind her. She stood in the still room, her breath coming in short gasps, her heart racing. In a matter of hours her whole life, her whole perception of reality had been yanked out from under her, leaving her afloat without a safe horizon in sight.

“Breathe, Ivy, breathe,” she muttered to herself as she closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. Ralph’s blood still coated her fingers, leaving rusty streaks on the wallpaper.

---