Chapter 28

C HAPTER 28

"Look," said Evermore, "there's a reason I describe it as a collection and not as a library. Granddad wanted to own the books. Catalogue and display were someone else's problem."

They stood in what was likely the largest room in Evermore House. Acres of oak flooring stretched out before them, mostly obscured by stacks and piles and boxes of books. Knee-high stacks braced up waist-high stacks that leaned precariously against stacks towering over Cordelia's head. The room held more books than Cordelia had ever seen in her life, from tiny palm-sized books of hours to enormous folios bound in calfskin, and where normally Cordelia would have been enthralled by the prospect of so many books to read, the idea of trying to locate one single piece of relevant information was daunting.

"Mother of God," said Imogene. "Was this a ballroom?"

"It was. We don't have many balls. Grandfather took it over for his collection."

"This isn't even a collection," said Hester, gazing at the precarious stacks. "This is a hoard. Did your grandfather sleep on them like a dragon, too?"

"Certainly not while my grandmother was alive. I won't swear about after. Being a widower didn't agree with him." He ran a hand through his hair. "Come to think of it, about half of these arrived in the year after she died."

"Grief takes people in odd ways," said Imogene, lighting another lamp. "Though compulsive book-buying isn't one I've heard of before."

There were several long tables, all piled with books, and a number of chairs that someone had arranged in a semblance of a reading nook. (The chairs had also been overrun with books.) There were also bookcases pressed against the walls, though they had long since given up any hope of holding the collection and now appeared more like bulwarks that had fallen to the enemy.

Cordelia picked up a book and opened it cautiously. It was dry and clean and thankfully didn't rain silverfish. "They seem to be in good condition, at least?"

"The staff takes very good care of the room, and we employ two highly skilled mousers." He leaned over and wiggled his fingers, and a small tuxedo cat ambled from behind the desk. "Here's one now, in fact."

The cat accepted tribute in the form of head skritches, then strolled away, twining once around Hester's ankles, and out the door.

"So what do we do?" asked Cordelia, looking down at her book. "Everyone grab a book, start reading, and hope to find something about stopping sorcery?"

"Seems like it." Richard moved a stack of books aside and pulled a chair close to the window for Hester, then drew his own up alongside. "Lady Hester… would you care to share a stack?"

"Scandalous," said Imogene, plopping down onto a couch. "Someone ring for tea. I expect we're going to be here for a while."

By midafternoon, they had achieved exactly nothing.

"The problem is that too many things could be useful," said Imogene bitterly. "I thought, ‘Oh, this book of herbal remedies can't possibly help,' but then it occurred to me that one of the herbs might actually be used to break spells, and I had to fish it back out of the discard pile and skim through it."

"And?" Richard looked up from his book. "Were any of the herbs useful?"

"If you've got scrofula or an upset stomach, I can probably whip something up. For magic, though, no luck."

Cordelia slumped back against the sofa. Her stack had gone down by four books, but like Imogene, she hated to set a book aside that might be useful. She was currently halfway through a book of folktales, and everything had begun to blur together into a morass of lost princesses, feckless soldiers, evil wizards, and dogs made of bones.

"At this rate, Evangeline will die of old age before we find a solution," said Hester.

A delicate cough sounded in the doorway. "Perhaps I might be of service, madam?"

Hester sat up. " Willard? "

Everyone turned. Cordelia felt her spine trying to straighten, because sure enough, Willard the butler stood just inside the library door. She immediately felt underdressed.

"What are you doing here?" asked Hester. "Is something wrong at home?"

The butler shook his head. "I fear I do not know. Shortly before leaving for her honeymoon, the new Lady Chatham informed me that my services would no longer be necessary."

"She what ?" Hester half rose from her chair, her face going chalk white with rage. "How dare she? She can't do that to my friends in my hou—"

She stopped. Her teeth closed in the middle of the word with an audible click.

For the first time, Cordelia saw an emotion cross the unflappable butler's face, as sorrow and pity filled his eyes.

"Oh," said Hester, much more quietly. "Oh. I suppose it's not my house any longer, is it? She's the mistress of the place now, and I am there on sufferance." She wiped her hand across her face, then waved Richard away as he moved toward her. "Don't worry about me. Tom's the one who's out of a job."

"Indeed," said Willard. "I thought perhaps I would come here and ask if you were planning to set up your own household, and if there might be an opening there."

"But Jack…" Hester put her hand to her mouth. "You and he have an understanding."

Willard inclined his head. "It has made things more difficult, yes."

"Has he quit?"

"I have convinced him to wait. There are not so many jobs available for a stablemaster who comes from outside, instead of being promoted."

Richard cleared his throat. "I suspect that we can sort something out," he said. "I can't possibly replace my butler—I'm sorry—"

"Lord Evermore," said Willard, with cool dignity, "I should not consider it a kindness to put another out of his longtime job on my account."

Richard's mouth crooked up at the corner. "You're right, and I apologize."

"Nevertheless," said Willard, "it seems to me that you have a task where, perhaps, my organizational skills may help." His gaze swept the library. "And since I am no longer an employee, at the moment, perhaps, Lady Hester, you will finally deign to explain to me what exactly is going on?"

Tom Willard took the explanation about sorcery far more matter-of-factly than any of the rest of them had. He did not argue. He did not even express doubt. He simply nodded. "Very well. The immediate path is clear, then."

"You believe us?" asked Cordelia meekly.

He turned toward her, still tall and imposing, like a great heron sighting a fish. Then he smiled at her and Cordelia nearly fell off her chair. "It is not my place to believe or disbelieve," he said. "You all believe it, and therefore we shall act as if it is true. If it turns out that you have all been misled—well, then we shall deal with that when it comes." He turned back to the library ahead and brushed his hands together. "Now. What is needed here is triage."

"Triage?" asked Cordelia, who wasn't entirely sure what the word meant.

"Triage," said Willard firmly. He pointed. "Any book that is most definitely useless goes there. Any book that might possibly have something useful goes here. Any book that looks as if it is exactly what we need, put on the table here and Lady Hester shall start reading it at once."

"Why does she get to do the reading?" asked Imogene.

"Because I read fast and my knee hurts too much to carry books back and forth."

"… Fair enough."

Willard tapped a finger on the table. "I would bring in more servants, but I fear that the gossip would become unmanageable in short order. I understand why you attempted to keep it quiet at Chatham House." He nodded to Hester.

"Did we succeed?"

"Admirably, yes. All of us belowstairs knew that there was a conspiracy of some sort, of course, but the assumption was that you were to elope with Lord Evermore and perhaps take Cordelia with you, out of reach of her mother."

Hester blushed. "But…"

"Come now," said Willard, in a chiding tone, "do you think that anyone who has known both of you really believed that Lord Evermore would marry anyone else?"

Richard grinned like a shark, grabbed Willard's hand, and pumped it enthusiastically. "We will absolutely find a post for you," he said.

"As long as my mother believed it," said Cordelia, torn between worry and relief.

"As to that, miss, I cannot say. But I daresay that we will find a way to deal with such a complication." He gazed at the stacks and snapped his fingers. "To work, then. And for the next little while, as I am in no one's employ, I believe that you may all call me Tom."