The Librarian's Spell by Patricia Rice (ebook offline reader TXT) 📗

and tested the door. Still unlocked. He pushed it open and let the boy step in first.

The first thing that struck him was a strong odor of vinegar and lemon oil. The second was the sound of voices. Voices, in a tomb with all of three people in it? They could inhabit different territories and not see each other from one week to the next.

Gazing at the towering walls of this back corridor, the boy had frozen in place. Max hadn’t given the walls a second glance. They were full of the usual sorts of portraits of musty ancestors, aging hunting paintings, a few blunderbusses, a few claymores. . . gruesome, not awesome. But he supposed nothing in the boy’s home of Egypt would compare except maybe a museum. Or a mausoleum.

What did he do now? Just install the boy in his room and find Lydia to tell her he was here? Find Lydia first? That could take a while. And if he found her, did he tell her about the ghost in her cellar?

Not any time soon, he resolved.

Her office wasn’t too far away. He needed to see if his half-Egyptian son was welcome. Nudging the boy to keep moving, he led the way to the room where he’d first seen sunshine. Lydia Wystan lit a room without need of a window.

He had to quit thinking like that. He stopped at the office door and admired the stack of red-blond tresses bent over the desk. She was so absorbed in her task that it took a second before she looked up.

Her whole face lit, but she wasn’t looking at Max. She was looking at Bakari.

“Your son has arrived! What a pleasure to meet you.” She came around the desk and crouched down to Bakari’s height, to the best she could. “I am Miss Lydia. How do you do?”

The boy burst into tears. Max panicked.

Lydia cast him a glance of annoyance, then took the boy into her arms, gently patting his back. “It’s been a long, long journey, hasn’t it? You must be very hungry and tired. Shall we see if the kitchen has a cake or sweet you might like?”

Bakari nodded half-heartedly. Lydia swept him up in her arms and carried him into the corridor.

“Here, let me carry him,” Max said, annoyed. It had never occurred to him that the boy might be exhausted. He usually pushed right through his own fatigue, but he wasn’t a child. “He’s heavy.”

“No heavier than my little sister used to be when I carried her about after she broke her leg. And this poor lad is positively scrawny. Have they not been feeding him?”

There was that tone of disapproval he expected from everyone, although Lydia hadn’t used it as much as others. She sounded like her late employer. She’d start nagging about his mother next. Maybe that’s what librarians did.

“Jones said he was seasick most of the way.” So the lad was probably starving now. And Max hadn’t given it a thought. He’d never taken care of anyone or anything except himself in his life. He’d never even owned a pet. More proof that he needed to send his son off to school immediately.

“Oh, my, you poor boy!” Lydia cuddled the lad against her curvaceous bosom, and Max felt a stab of envy. “What’s your name?”

“He doesn’t seem to talk,” Max replied after an awkward silence. “His name is Bakari Ives Elmahdy. We should probably call him Brad or Bob.”

She sent him another look that smacked of disapproval. “He’s lost his mother and his home and you wish to take away his name too?”

“I’m only trying to be helpful,” Max protested as they descended to the kitchen. “The other students will poke fun at him enough as it is. You have no idea what those schools are like.”

“And knowing that, you mean to send him to one?” she asked in scorn as they emerged into a kitchen containing actual servants besides Marta.

The kitchen contained females. Reflexively, Max backed up the stairs. One of the younger girls hurried toward them, wearing a bright smile. He had to get out of here.

“Mary, welcome back,” Lydia said, oblivious to the danger. She handed her burden over to the young maid. “We need to see what Master Bakari likes to eat. Have we any oatcakes left?”

“I’ll fetch some, miss.” A second young maid curtsied, while sending Max a fetching smile. “We have some berries and cream too. Would the gentleman like a pint to wet his whistle?”

Max shook his head and backed up another step. Unlike her servants, Lydia’s attention was entirely on his son—and not him—he’d never become used to that. She failed to notice his retreat.

“Berries are an excellent idea. Mary, set Bakari down at the table and see what else is in the pantry that might tempt a growing boy. Cheese, maybe?” Lydia finally turned to Max. “Is he vegetarian by any chance? Lady Phoebe has a friend from India who does not eat meat.”

Max hadn’t thought about his eccentric cousin in ages. He rolled his eyes. “Phoebe collects oddities. His mother ate meat. The last time I saw him, he was still drinking mother’s milk, so I can’t say if that changed.”

“Shall I help Mr. Ives set up a cot for his son?” a third smiling young thing asked, stepping forward.

“Don’t be silly, Sally. Beryl can handle that. You need to be scrubbing pots.” Lydia sat down across from the boy as oatcakes and honey were placed in front of him. “Break off a piece and dip it. It’s fun and messy.”

“Beryl?” Max asked warily, easing up another stair when Mary returned her predatory gaze to him. Usually, he could count on distance halting whatever this thing was that possessed him, but staying out of sight worked best.

Lydia frowned at him, puzzled, rightfully so. “I’ve asked all our former servants to return if they’re available. I am very much hoping that the trust has enough funds to pay them. Mr. C used to deposit money