The Librarian's Spell by Patricia Rice (reading eggs books TXT) 📕

never spoken to Mr. C? “A ghost?” she asked weakly. “You saw a ghost—in our cellar?”

“He couldn’t walk where?” Max demanded.

Of course he’d notice that misstep, drat him. If she told him the truth, he’d think she was just another woman tricking him into staying. But she was so bad at lying! “Very well, he couldn’t walk well. Do you really think you saw a ghost?”

“I don’t normally believe in ghosts, but last night, after lecturing me, he walked through a stone wall! What do you mean, he didn’t walk well? When he accompanied me through the cellar, he walked as well as you walk—” His voice trailed off, and he studied her with suspicion. “The ghost was shorter than you. The Mr. Cadwallader I spoke with was as tall as you and walked like you. How ill was he?”

“Very,” she said with a sigh, giving up. Max was much better at figuring out puzzles than she ever would be. “He couldn’t talk. He lost most of the use of his hands. And one leg was paralyzed. He refused to see anyone, and most of the time, he just slept. I’m hoping he’s in a happier place now. He was a very good man. If his ghost talked to you, you heard more than I have in a long time. What did he say?”

“He said you were more valuable than you know. I can’t believe I’m saying ghosts give warnings.” Max pressed the base of his palm to his forehead, as if forcing himself to focus. “You’re the one who has been nagging me to see my mother, not Mr. Cadwallader.” It wasn’t a question. “And you’re the one who told me to trust you with my journal. That’s not fair, you know.” He didn’t sound angry, just tired. Or maybe resigned.

Mr. C had said she was valuable? Or Max’s odd hallucination had said it. She found that a bit hard to accept.

“I only said what Mr. C would have told you, if he could,” she said defensively. “You cannot let your mother lose her home and school.”

“If we’re to believe the phantasm, he was corresponding with my mother,” Max said, anger apparently building. “So I telegraphed a friend while I was in Calder today. He has the head for business I don’t. I have no idea what he can do, but I asked. I had hoped to stay here until he replied, but if you’re bringing in servants, that will be a disaster. Do you have a remote cottage, by any chance?”

She didn’t think Max was a lunatic or making up his fear of women. The problem apparently seemed very real in his mind. She supposed she was so large that he thought of her as a man and wasn’t afraid of her, which made her feel ugly, but that was nothing new.

What mattered was that he seemed to sincerely believe the maids would sneak into his bed like the loose women he’d known, and he was angry and unhappy. She needed to placate him if she meant to have him stabilize the tower. If it needed stabilizing.

“I’m not aware of the extent of the estate’s property,” she admitted honestly. “I believe Mr. C leased land to farmers, but his bankers and so forth handled all that. I only manage the household.”

Max frowned. She could almost feel him packing his bags and running into the village. Or to a train and a ship and. . .

She glanced at the tower stairs just down the corridor. “This is the oldest part of the house. I put guests in your room because it’s convenient to the public part of the library, where most of our guests spend their time.” She nodded at the book-lined chamber directly across from his—the one he’d never set foot in to her knowledge. “But there are small cubicles with cots inside the tower, and the downstairs tower door locks.”

His expressive face lit up with curiosity. She’d finally caught his interest. He strode toward the tower entrance. “I could lock the whole tower and not be disturbed?”

“Mr. C has been removed to the chapel, so it shouldn’t be a problem,” she said sadly. “I’m not sure what to do about Lloyd, though. His room is up there. Once he cleans out Mr. C’s effects, perhaps I could ask him to stay as a footman.”

Max snorted as he examined the ancient wooden door at the foot of the tower. “Lloyd’s not tall and good-looking. Isn’t that how footmen are chosen?”

He started up the stairs, apparently in search of the cubicles.

Lydia ran after him. “The rooms are very small. I don’t think there is space for both you and your son. And they’re farther from the bath. Shouldn’t you at least wait to see if anyone disturbs you?”

“Is there anything else at the top besides that chamber I saw last night?” he asked, glancing into the first cubicle and moving on.

“It’s all Mr. C’s suite. I’ve never seen more than the front parlor where he made his bed this past year. Lloyd tends it. You can’t stay there!” She rushed after him.

“We should at least take a look. It might hold clues to the tower’s listing.” He continued up, taking the narrow, winding steps two at a time. The late afternoon sunlight illuminated only the west-facing stairs, throwing a pattern of dark and shadow.

Flustered, Lydia ran after him. “Your son can’t climb all these steps!”

“Have you ever watched small boys? They never sit. They run up and down stairs and hills and will climb anything within reach. He’ll love this. That doesn’t mean we should occupy the suite. I simply want to take a look.”

She hoped he knew what he was talking about. He hadn’t known much about feeding small boys.

She really wanted to hear from the solicitors before being so presumptuous as to enter Mr. C’s chambers. She hadn’t even read his private thoughts in the journal except those last pages with her name on them. She preferred to move