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

need to have more gatherings in this gorgeous hall,” Phoebe advised. “It is good for local business. Drew and several of your guests enjoyed your whisky so well that they have ordered from your supplier.”

Lydia knew absolutely nothing of spirits but nodded as if she did. “We’re hoping to hire locally for the construction Max anticipates. And we’re keeping a tailor and seamstress busy with new uniforms as we add staff. But if this goes all wrong and the trust doesn’t come to me. . .”

“We will not allow that to happen,” Lady Phoebe said firmly. “We will hire lawyers, if necessary. We are Malcolms, and this is our library, and that’s what the trust intended.”

While Lydia appreciated the loyalty, she knew Calder Castle would languish if they fought legal battles. She couldn’t allow that to happen. She had to carry out Mr. C’s prediction and assert her hitherto invisible authority. Somehow, she must save the tower so the library might continue—in front of men who wouldn’t believe her.

“Misters Lawrence and Harrison esquires,” the footman announced from the doorway, as if the hall truly were a queen’s throne room.

The two gray-suited gentleman strolled in as if they’d been invited. Lydia wondered if that attitude of authority was arrogance or terror. They had to be just a little bit intimidated by the towering ancient oak hall adorned in weaponry and even more so by the nearly dozen ladies scattered about the seating area who had locked them up yesterday. Lydia didn’t think she knew all the women who had taken residence in her front room. She suspected the gray-haired ones might be friends of Lady Agnes and Lady Gertrude.

The visitors pretended not to notice the swords or the ladies. Lydia suspected their male bravado was derived from wearing guns or knives beneath those baggy, unflattering coats. She’d rather this test did not come to an outright battle.

Without rising to greet the new arrivals, Lydia spoke. “Your business, sirs?”

They had to look past her sea of feminine bodyguards to the far end of the hall, where she sat enthroned before the towering fireplace. The ladies truly did have a sense of the dramatic. She doubted the visitors could see her clearly in the filtered light from the floor-length, gothic-style windows.

The gentleman proceeded further into the hall. Small game tables blocked their path.

“We have come to test Miss. . . Mrs. Ives’ suitability as a librarian as required by the trust,” the older, taller gentleman said.

Mrs. Ives. Lydia considered the sound of that. She had never thought to be a wife. She’d always wished to be the Malcolm Librarian. She was both now, but in this instance, she was very definitely the librarian.

“I am the Malcolm Librarian,” she responded with the soul-deep certainty she hadn’t felt the last time she’d said it. Today, she was the authority here, and she rather enjoyed the power. It was as if she’d spent a lifetime preparing for this position. “Do you have credentials?”

The taller gentleman waved a document. Nearly as tall as he, Lady Gertrude snatched it from his hand and perused it. “It’s signed by the bounders currently managing the trust,” she said grudgingly.

Lydia really hadn’t doubted that. She’d met the bounders. “Then, gentlemen, how may I help you?”

“We have here a list of questions the librarian must answer to prove her right to the position.” The shorter, younger gentleman skirted an empty table, avoiding Olivia’s enormous skirt and the skein of yarn she dropped at their feet. They came to a halt when Azmin set up her camera tripod in front of Lydia.

Lydia wanted to laugh at the silly annoyances. She knew the ladies were simply expressing their disapproval. But after reading the journal last night, she’d decided to maintain the solemn demeanor of a judge.

Lydia didn’t accept the papers they brandished. Instead, she held up the early librarian’s journal. “According to this, there are no lists of questions. The only test to be administered is finding this book. I found it. Anything else is purely spurious pageantry for the sake of the solicitors. Turn around, address the ladies who own the library and represent its origins. If there are any objections to my status, they are the ones who must speak up. The trust’s solicitors are merely there to handle necessary business, not pass judgment.”

Lydia’s chair was on a small rise in front of the fireplace. Combined with her height, she looked down on the gentlemen from a lofty position. She could tell they didn’t like that. Both appeared flustered and annoyed.

“There is nothing in the trust agreement about the means of testing,” the older, more distinguished of them blustered. “We are perfectly in our rights—”

Lydia pointed at the ladies. “The trust belongs to the Malcolm family. Speak to them. Ladies, would you care to see the journal of Aldith Morrigan, the fifth librarian?”

“I’ve read it, dear,” Lady Agnes said placidly, helping Olivia with her skein of wool.

“I’d love to see it,” one of the unfamiliar gray-haired ladies said. “I’m Faith Merriweather, the Northumberland librarian. I daresay you were originally intended for my position, but your father’s unexpected demise sent you off in a different direction. I’ve heard of Miss Morrigan, of course. There are quite a few references to her in our journals.”

Another librarian! Lydia thrilled at the news, but she maintained her composure. “Miss Merriweather, how lovely to meet you. We’ve corresponded a time or two, I believe.” She handed the journal to the slight lady who approached—not the one who had spoken but the second of the unfamiliar gray-haired ladies.

“I’m Lady Abbott, from the new Highlands library. Your resources have been of immense help to us. Mr. Cadwallader has served us well, and you as his assistant have been a pleasure to work with.”

Even though she was scarcely half Lydia’s size, Lady Abbott turned on the two visitors with ferocity. “You should be ashamed of yourselves, and so should the men who sent you. The library is a repository of Malcolm knowledge. We know