Chapter 10

A hesitant sun was peeking through the clouds and a warm autumn breeze stirred the old house to life. Ivy had convinced a reluctant Mrs. Hewitt to open some windows and invite the fresh air inside, and now she moved along the library shelves as dust motes floated in the buttery shafts of light.

Despite Arthur's reservations about starting a lending library, the idea had taken root in Ivy's mind, and, working through the headaches, Ivy threw herself into curating a selection of books, determined to bring them into the village for her first round of lending.

Arms full of books and more in a bag hefted over her shoulder, Ivy practically tripped down the stairs in her excitement to go into the village and see her plan in action.

"Mrs. Hewitt, have you seen Ralph?"

The housekeeper gave her a wary glance from behind the silver urn she was polishing. "I believe he's outside working on the auto. Wait, my lady." She stepped out from behind the urn, hands on hips. "Where are you going with those books?"

Ivy glanced down at the unruly stack of books in her arms. Nothing too valuable, and ranging in a wide variety of interests and reading abilities. Novels and adventure stories, and some history and special interests thrown in for good measure. "I was going to take them to town. I'm starting a lending program."

Mrs. Hewitt dropped the polishing cloth, her mouth twitching. "A what?"

"A lending program. There's no library and no bookshop in Blackwood and I thought that the community could benefit from it," she said, some of her excitement draining in the face of Mrs. Hewitt's less than enthusiastic reaction.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why ever not?"

The housekeeper's lips pressed tight. "It isn't the done thing."

"Well, the world is changing, and as I'm lady of this house, I decide what the ‘done thing' is." Tightening her grasp on the books, Ivy moved to go find Ralph outside.

But Mrs. Hewitt shot out an arm, blocking the doorway. Ivy took a teetering step back in surprise.

The housekeeper's sharp eyes flashed a warning, and suddenly she seemed taller, dangerous, even. "Do you know what it means to be lady of a house such as this? You are not just a resident, you are steward of all those who have gone before you, of a legacy. This house will stand long after you have come and gone and been forgotten. These books are not simply books, they are part of the house, and they belong here."

If an outsider had been watching the exchange, they might have mistaken Mrs. Hewitt as the lady, dignified and stately in her immaculately tailored navy dress, and Ivy the meek and cowering servant.

"You cannot think to remove a book from the library," she continued, taking a step closer. "It would be like prying a bone from a skeleton, or a painting from a frame. You may be one lady of many, but there is only one Blackwood Abbey."

Blinking, Ivy clutched the books tighter, her shoulder aching from the weight of the bag. It was unthinkable that a housekeeper speak to a lady in such a way, but then, Ivy wasn't a true lady, and Mrs. Hewitt knew it. But she had been looking out for herself for a long time, and she wasn't about to let a sour old woman stand her down.

"It's a lending program, Mrs. Hewitt. The books will come back. Now if you would be so kind as to let me pass."

Short of locking Ivy up, there was nothing Mrs. Hewitt could do to stop her, and they both knew it. Mrs. Hewitt dropped her arm, allowing Ivy to pass but not without a cutting glare. Long after Ivy had emerged into the mild afternoon, she could feel Mrs. Hewitt's disapproving gaze.

Dressed in grease-stained coveralls, Ralph was half under the automobile, clanking away and occasionally muttering a curse. The man seemed to be everywhere around the grounds all at once, whether it was chopping wood, taking out the ponies, or fixing the car. Without Ralph, Blackwood would have been a house out of a fairy tale under some sort of silent enchantment; he brought it to life, even if it was with coarse language and the energy of a restless wolf on the prowl.

"I need a ride into the village," Ivy informed his feet. Being polite had gotten her nowhere with Ralph, and she wasn't in the mood for a drawn-out song and dance of manners.

"Axel is broken," came the muffled reply from under the car.

"Well, when will it be fixed?"

"When it starts working again."

Gritting her teeth, Ivy stalked off.

The gravel crunched behind her, and Ralph emerged from beneath the car, wiping greasy hands on his coveralls. "Where are you going?" he called after her.

"To get my bicycle." If no one would help her, she would do it herself. She wasn't keen on repeating her disastrous ride in the storm, but she was ready to walk the whole way if it meant putting her newly-found dream into action.

Even fitted out with a big basket on the front, taking the bicycle meant sacrificing some of the books. As Ivy pedaled down the long drive and out onto the winding country road, she could feel the abbey's dark gaze boring into her back, a lazy cat watching a mouse scurrying away. It was only when she crested the hill and was finally out amongst the moors that her shoulders finally relaxed, her heart finally lightened.

Ivy arrived in town damp with perspiration and legs aching. Leaning her bicycle against the stone wall edging the green, she began taking out the books and arranging them on a blanket she'd brought. Sunlight filtered in from the golden leaves of the oak trees, and already her headache was dulling away to nothing. This was the bucolic Yorkshire that Ivy had envisioned, and as she unloaded her books, she felt better and better about her decision to stand up to Mrs. Hewitt and see her plan through.

Standing back, she surveyed her work. Having a table or a display shelf would have been more impressive, but laid out on the blanket, they looked nothing so much like jewels, their gilded titles winking in the sun. People doing shopping and taking afternoon strolls threw her curious looks, and soon onlookers began approaching her, eyeing Ivy warily and whispering amongst themselves.

"Hello, welcome," she greeted them. "All the books you see here are from Blackwood Abbey's library and are available for borrowing."

"You mean to say you're the new Lady Hayworth?" asked one woman, braver than the rest. She had bright copper hair and was dressed in a smart, if not worn, housedress and looked not much older than Ivy. She jiggled a chubby baby on her hip, the child wide-eyed and drooling. Her companion, a short woman in her thirties with blond hair and sharp features, elbowed her in the ribs. "I mean, my lady," the red-haired woman quickly amended.

Ivy smiled at the women. "Yes, I suppose I am. You'll have to forgive me if I don't speak much like a lady or know all the proper etiquette."

The first woman grinned. "Oh, I like her. You just watch out for some of the old-timers—there are those who still expect a lady to be a lady and act the part. Me, I don't care a tuppence for all that rot," she continued, switching the fussing babe to the other hip. "My Jack fought alongside lords and gentlemen, and I don't see why we have to go back to scraping and bowing now that we're all home again."

"Edith! You can't talk like that!" her companion chided her.

"She just said she wasn't really a lady!"

Ivy cleared her throat and directed their attention to the blanket on the ground. "Would you like a book? They're all from my library, and I'm starting a program to lend them out."

Edith's green eyes lit up. "Have you any novels? Something with some adventure to it."

Ivy selected The Swiss Family Robinson. "This has plenty of adventure—I think you'll like it." It had always been James's favorite as a child, and she and her brother had spent many afternoons pretending to be shipwrecked in the local park, until their mother had come to collect them at dusk.

"Oh, thank you," Edith responded, reverently holding out her free hand for the book. "You don't know what a blessing this is. There isn't any money for books, but I do so love to read. It's like going somewhere far away, but you don't even have to leave your kitchen."

A young man chose a book on the monsoons of India, and a local farmer a book on beekeeping. The small stack quickly dwindled. For every book that she lent, Ivy made a note of the borrower's name, the book title, and the author. Even though she had assured Mrs. Hewitt that all the books would come back, she was taking a risk by letting them out of the library and into the hands of strangers.

There was still a queue when the last book had been selected, and she promised the remaining villagers that she would bring more next time. Ralph would have to drive her if she wanted to fulfill her promise; she couldn't fit that many books into her basket, and the weather would not be so accommodating every week as it had been today.

Wheeling her bicycle out to the lane, Ivy rode back to Blackwood. For the first time since coming to Yorkshire, the horizon held something more than just a vague sense of foreboding, her chest more than just a knot of apprehension. She belonged here, and after years adrift, it felt good to know that she was more than just a ghost, that she truly existed.