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

find his room, a gray-cloaked figure stepped out of a hedged garden.

Ah, at last!

He strode toward his host, who waited for him by the garden gate. “Mr. Cadwallader, thank you for your generous hospitality. I—”

“Have you read the letters your mother sent?” the librarian asked sternly.

“I will hire a solicitor,” Max said impatiently. “You asked me to bring my journals. I need to explain—”

“That you haven’t written them.” A dismissive hand appeared briefly from the cloak.

The librarian wasn’t as old as Max had thought, judging by the smooth skin of that almost. . . feminine. . . hand. Distracted, he didn’t respond immediately to the accusation.

“My gift is sensing Malcolm journals.” The husky voice persisted as the hand returned to the cloak folds. “Yours is incomplete.”

That set him back a little. “Well, yes, you see. . .” How did he explain his inability to read or write? He was a successful businessman and engineer—one who had never graduated school.

“Other members of the family have had difficulty with writing,” the librarian abruptly continued, as if reading his mind. “They dictated their journals—as you’ve had your correspondence dictated.”

Amazingly, Max heard no disapproval of his grievous, humiliating disability. With relief, he poured out his need. “I can’t dictate my journals. They’re supposed to be private. Which is why I am here. I ask your privacy, please. Do I have your promise of that?”

The cloaked figure remained remarkably still. “A Malcolm librarian keeps all the family secrets. Your journal will not be revealed to anyone but the librarian while you still walk this earth.”

Max grimaced. It wasn’t the promise he wanted but close enough. “For all intents and purposes, I’m dead. I’ve spent this past year letting people believe I’m gone. It’s much simpler that way. But I’ve learned my son has lost his mother, and I’m facing the unanticipated task of preparing him for school. He’ll be arriving any day. It’s not something I can explain to my mother.”

“You have a son?” There was the disapproval again.

“Three, actually. I do not apologize for their existence. I could live like a hermit in a cave on a mountain and women would find me. And spending months in the company of only men, I occasionally succumb to weakness when presented with temptation.” More than occasionally, but that was neither here nor there.

“Women just fall into your bed?” his host asked with what almost sounded like amusement.

“Actually, yes.” Irked at having to explain himself, Max paced. “If I were lodestone and they were nails, the magnetism couldn’t be stronger. But I always leave a mail office where they can reach me. I take care of my responsibilities.”

“Not if their mothers are raising them alone.” The disapproval was back.

Max accepted the justice of that accusation. “You have not seen the parts of the world I’ve seen. I’ve made them wealthy with only a few spare coins. They marry well. But Bakari’s mother fell ill and died, and her husband does not want the boy. He insisted on shipping him to Edinburgh, so I’ve come back to meet him. Bakari is six and old enough for school. I have some friends who might take him in the rest of the year. I can’t be seen in the city, so I’ve arranged for him to travel here.”

“Here? The boy is coming here?” The librarian sounded incredulous.

“I didn’t know how else to arrange it. I hired an agent at the train station to watch for him and bring him up here. This place is well known, and I knew of no other. If you have a horse or some form of transportation, I could go back to town and make other arrangements, of course.” Max had really been counting on a stable.

He had to wonder what kind of income a librarian had. He’d believed that the man was wealthy, like many Malcolms. Perhaps he should be offering payment for services rendered?

“Will someone be traveling with the boy?” the librarian asked sternly, disapproval clear.

“Yes, of course. He’s coming from Egypt. The new canal keeps thousands of Brits employed. I paid passage for one of them to accompany the boy. He’ll not be staying, if that’s your concern. I mean to remove him to school immediately. We’ll not trespass on your hospitality,” Max promised.

He had survived all these years by studying his surroundings, analyzing reactions, and finding ways to work with others. He had a strong suspicion that the librarian was clenching his fists beneath that overlong cloak. Admittedly, books and librarians were out of Max’s scope, and he was on edge in this unfamiliar environment as he wasn’t in rough mining towns or ports, where money bought all he needed. He wasn’t certain what it would take to gain a booklover’s cooperation—particularly one who was a hermit.

“I don’t know how to repay you for your hospitality,” Max hurried to add, when the man didn’t immediately respond. “But I can take a look at the tower’s foundation, see if it can be shored up before it falls over.”

Clutching the cloak, the librarian swung to examine the edifice. “It could fall?” he asked in what sounded like shock.

“You might consider removing the tower’s contents to the main block of rooms,” Max said sympathetically. “I daresay there have been underground shifts that have dislodged crumbling stones and walls.”

“The library is in the tower,” his host said hoarsely. “It would take years to move and arrange and build shelves and. . .”

“The weight of those books is probably responsible for the foundation’s sinking. You’d be better off carrying them to the cellars and using them to prop up the walls.”

The librarian practically hissed in outrage. Without another word, he strode through the garden gate, slamming it behind him.

Max whistled and wondered if he should start hiking back to town.

Three

The library could collapse!

Lydia had spent her entire adult life cautiously calculating how to climb over one obstacle after another without unnecessary kerfuffle. In less than one day, Maxwell Ives had thrown her normal equanimity into turmoil and confusion.

When her father had died, leaving