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

as executor of anything. She needed her own man with her. Would Morgan go?

Uncle filed request to declare you dead, she read. Her expression echoed the dread he felt.

“What will you do?” she whispered.

Max rubbed his face. “We discussed this. Morgan says I must appear in court with witnesses to declare I’m alive and that I am who I say I am. And it’s not as if I can ask my cousin or uncle to do so.”

“You can’t have your own solicitor simply charge them with fraud or theft? Wouldn’t that stop them?”

“Not if I’m dead,” he pointed out with warped humor. “I believe that’s the whole point. I can’t sue if I’m legally dead. The dead have no rights. And I’ve been gone long enough for them to have a case, although Morgan can produce my letters to prove I’m alive. But he can’t prove the letters come from me, because, of course, they were written by other people.”

She folded the paper and creased it with her fingers. “How did you meet Mr. Morgan? Would that count if he saw you in person at some point in those years?”

“Good thought but not workable. Morgan owns shipping firms. I had my assistant correspond with him over supplies we needed while I was in Egypt. He had some sensible suggestions. We continued corresponding. We became friends and business partners, but I never met him in person before the other night.” Max wanted to pace, but his son was watching him worriedly, and he didn’t want to upset the lad.

He could see his hostess fretting, and he hated that he was adding to her burdens. “We’ll go into the city together,” he impulsively suggested. “Morgan will arrange to keep everyone clear of the courtroom when I arrive. And after, we’ll talk to your solicitors. Perhaps Morgan will have a lawyer willing to accompany you. Will that help?”

The relief on her fine features was so enormous that Max actually felt a little proud of himself for a change. Now all he had to do was figure out how to make this happen.

“If you wouldn’t mind. . . if you would. . . oh, please, yes. I’m terrified they’ll tell me things I don’t understand or make demands I can’t carry out. If I can’t keep the castle running, I’ll have to send everyone home again.” She looked as if she wanted to hug him.

Max wanted her to hug him. Huh. He usually backed off at this point, but his arms were feeling empty. But he could not, would not, use this admirable woman as he used others. “If they take away the castle, you’ll lose your home and the library as well.” He pointed out the obvious to show he grasped the problem. “We can’t let that happen.”

Her smile was positively beatific. “Thank you for understanding. I can have Laddie harness the mule to take us into Calder. I’ll have to hire a carriage there. We won’t have another train coming through until tomorrow, and these messages seem urgent.”

Now? Today? Max almost panicked. He had hoped to dally a little longer, work on the tower. . . Avoid any chance of seeing his mother, who would take his head off, then introduce him to every female in her damned school. . .

At his hesitation, Lydia looked worried. He wanted the happy look back. She was an intrepid female who would keep marching forward, doing what was right, even if she had no idea what she was doing and was too terrified to speak. She’d go into the city by herself if he didn’t go.

The Librarian’s ghost had said to take care of Lydia, that she was more valuable than she knew. Max knew damn-all about specters, but the advice seemed sound.

“I’ll start packing. Do you think Lloyd would mind watching after Bakari? If we leave within the hour, we might reach the city by lunch, but I don’t imagine we’ll accomplish everything in an afternoon. We’ll have to take rooms.” Rooms somewhere no one knew him and wouldn’t immediately report his presence—a gentleman’s club maybe. Could he join in one day?

“Lloyd and Laddie will help with Bakari. He can ride a mule and polish silver or whatever. I’ll telegraph Lady Phoebe to let her know I’m coming. She’ll arrange. . .” She caught his look and sighed. “I’ll simply tell her I’m coming, and I need a place to stay. You can make your own arrangements.”

“An hour then. We’ll send telegrams from Calder to let them know we’re on our way.” At her worried look, he remembered what she’d said about having no funds. “I’ll take care of the telegrams and carriage. It’s the very least I can do given all you’re doing for me.”

She nodded uncertainly. “I’ll repay you if I can. I’m reasonably certain Mr. C had funds. I simply don’t know if I’ll be allowed access to them.”

She left to pack her bag.

Max studied the tidy nest he’d made of the tower and the boy watching him with worry. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t eager to hit the road. He must be growing old.

He crouched down to meet his son’s eyes. “I will be back, I promise. I’m your father now, and I hope to be a good one. Is there a book or game you’d like me to bring back?”

Max felt pretty adult when the boy threw his arms around his neck as if he actually were a father worth holding onto.

Lydia was glad that it was a lovely summer day as Laddie drove the open cart down to the village. In her effort to look like a lofty librarian, she’d left Mr. C’s old cloak behind.

“Do you think I could ask the trust solicitors to reimburse me for the money I took out of my savings to keep the castle running?” she asked as the wheels rattled down the rutted path. “It would be nice to buy one or two things I need since we’ll be near shops.”

“I’m appalled that they didn’t make