The Vanishing at Loxby Manor by Abigail Wilson (grave mercy .TXT) 📕

didn’t hear me enterthe room at first, and as I stood there in the doorway, I found myself hesitant to alert him to my presence.

Loxby Manor boasted a considerable library, and as I breathed in the musty scent of paper, I took a quick glance about theroom. Although the books stood in dire need of a good dusting, they were handsomely displayed along three tall bookcases.A small, white, scrolled fireplace centered the room and peeked at me behind two crimson winged chairs.

Piers had removed his jacket and climbed the central bookshelf ladder to peruse the uppermost shelf. A scholar at heart, he’dspent little time refining his physique, but there was a lithe gracefulness to his movements, a familiarity that sparked thesame fascination I’d had before. I could barely take my eyes off him.

He extended his arm, leaning as far as he could to reach a book. All at once, the ladder tipped to the side.

I raced across the room, but he’d pushed the old wood as far as it would permit. Just as the tips of his fingers crested the edge of a book, the ladder took one last moan and creaked beneath his feet, separating at the rungs. He clawed at the bookcase as he attempted to slow his descent, but the frantic movement only loosened the top shelf. I arrived a split second after he hit the hard floor. Then the first book struck my shoulder, and I threw my arms over my head, the resulting deluge lasting but a few seconds.

Silence followed the stridency of literature, and slowly I lifted my arms. Books lay sprawled around us, some open, some torn,the ladder split like a banana peel in a heap on the floor. I sneezed, puffs of dust glistening into the air.

My shoulder felt numb, limp even, as if my arm simply hung from the joint. Instinctively, I cradled my elbow.

Piers was quick to my side, his hands urgent but restrained. “Are you hurt?”

I shook my head, but I knew something was wrong.

Relieved, he rested his back against the bookshelf, an amused expression sneaking onto his face. “Regardless, I daresay helpwill be here soon. They could probably hear your pert little scream from the stables.”

I slid a few more books from my legs. “Oh, did I scream? I didn’t know it.”

“No?” He chuckled. “What brought you in here?”

“I thought I was saving your skin.”

“Ah, but I’m afraid you took the brunt of it. Here, let me help you to your feet.”

I tried to extend my hand, but I couldn’t.

He stepped back, his smile fading. “You’re not all right.”

“I may have injured my shoulder when the books hit it and I fell, but you needn’t concern yourself. I doubt it’s broken. Perhapsif I were to lie down in my room.”

“You shall do no such thing.” His arm slipped around my waist. “Come with me to the sofa at once.”

I allowed him to carefully seat me. “Did you fall directly onto your shoulder?”

“I’m not certain. All I remember is extending my hand to prevent the fall.” I attempted to lift my arm once again. “I can’teven move it.”

He felt around the shoulder joint and then winced. “There’s a rather large groove here as well as a bump on the back side.I’m afraid your shoulder may have slipped out of place.”

“Out of place?” My heart stopped. As a child I’d seen such a thing happen to a groom after being bucked from a horse.

Piers’s hands were gentle. “I do have some experience with this sort of thing.” His gaze fell to mine. “Will you trust meto help you?”

“Always.” I swallowed hard.

One simple word, but how it hung on the air like a swirling mist, clouding my vision. I did as Piers instructed and lay down,but my mind could do little more than churn through the complexities of such a word.

I did trust him. The bonds we’d forged in our youth hadn’t broken, not by time or distance, my experiences or his shame. Somuch had changed for me while I was in Ceylon, but somehow Piers hadn’t.

He knelt beside me and took my hand, lifting my forearm at a ninety-degree angle. “You might want to brace your feet, buttry to relax your shoulder.”

I pressed my feet against the armrest and closed my eyes as a sharp slice of pain ripped through my shoulder, then relief.

“Charity?”

Piers sounded as if far away, but then I felt his fingers swipe a loose strand of hair from my forehead and I opened my eyes.

“It’s done. Do you think you can sit up?”

I nodded, and he used my good shoulder to assist me into a sitting position. The room swirled for a moment, then settled into place. Carefully I moved my injured arm and was relieved the pain had significantly abated.

Piers moved away a few inches from me on the sofa. “I don’t think you should move it too much as of yet. I’ll call Baker forthe materials for a sling.”

I waited as he tugged the bell pull.

“What were you looking for?” I motioned with my chin. “Up there?”

His focus retreated to the uppermost shelf. “I got to thinking after witnessing Avery and his friends at the abbey. A whileback, my father told me he’d been part of a secret society called the Ancient Noble Order of the Gormogons. He was only amember for a short time, since it was my understanding they were disbanded along with all the secret societies except forthe Freemasons by an act passed in 1799. The group was formed by a collection of Jacobites but later went on to focus moreon charitable dealings. At least that’s what Father said.

He rubbed his forehead. “I’m not certain he meant to disclose anything about the society to me at all. I simply stumbled ontoa medal in his room that he’d buried in a drawer and forgot about. It was a round silver medallion, which had the sun anda dragon on one side and a large gentleman sitting on a throne on the other. My