Chapter 23

A frigid sense of dread laced its way through Ivy's veins at Ralph's ominous words. How exactly did one "release" a manuscript? Or was it something darker, whatever it was that lurked in the pages of the library? She looked down at the floor, half expecting snakes to come slithering in, or the ground to open up, the flames of Hell licking at her ankles.

But the tiles remained as they were, and before she could bombard Ralph with questions, there was a noise outside the door. The knob rattled, and Ivy tightened her grasp around Ralph's arm.

"The door is locked, isn't it?" she asked in a whisper.

Ralph didn't answer, just firmly pushed her behind him. "Get back."

The sound of someone throwing their weight into the door reverberated through the kitchen, and then it was flying open in a shower of splinters.

Ivy should have run—though who knew where—but her feet were frozen to the ground. A tall man with an athletic build stood breathing heavily in the doorway, fair hair falling into his eyes, his dinner coat torn at the shoulder. Ivy vaguely recognized him as being one of the many guests from the party.

"In here! She's in here!" he yelled back into the hall.

Almost instantly, a handful of men still dressed in their party attire appeared behind him. Ralph moved with lightning speed, putting himself between Ivy and the men at the doorway. She stood planted behind the table, gripped by something between fear and fascination as she watched Ralph take a swing at the first man.

He was a good fighter, graceful and economical in his blows. But it wasn't a fair fight. A moment later one of the Mabry servants joined and there was a flash of bronze, and then a candelabra connected with Ralph's head from behind. He sagged to the floor like a marionette with cut strings before Ivy even had a chance to warn him.

Heedless of the men standing around them, she fell to the floor beside him. "Ralph," she whispered urgently, shaking his limp body. "Ralph, wake up!"

Blood pooled from his head, racing across the white tiles. How could anyone lose that much blood and be all right? Jerking her gaze up, Ivy frantically searched about her for some way to protect herself. The fire poker she had been so insistent on bringing lay uselessly across the room, behind the table. Cold sweat beaded across her temples. This wasn't a sneaking suspicion or a story told round a table while drinking a cup of tea anymore; these were dangerous men with a deadly agenda.

The man in servant's garb took Ivy by the arm and sharply hauled her up. "Leave him," he said, before adding with a sneer, "my lady."

But Ivy hadn't come of age on a rough street for nothing, and she was able to land a good kick where it hurt, the man letting out a gratifyingly shrill yelp and going down like a rock. His companion made a grab for her and she jumped back, but her leg went out from under her in the slick blood, and she fell, slamming into the floor.

Ivy winced at the sharp pain in her shoulder as she was yanked back up.

"You're not to lay a finger on her," the man with the torn coat reminded the servant as he struggled back to his feet. "Sir Arthur specifically said that she's not to come to any harm."

Ivy's gaze ricocheted between the men. "What about him?" she asked, her breath coming fast and jagged. Blood was still pooling around Ralph's head, but it was turning brown, thick. "What will you do with him?"

The big man in the livery shrugged. "Not my job, and not your place to ask," he said.

"If we leave him here, he'll bleed out." She nearly choked on the horrible words. "We can't leave him here."

"Sir Arthur's charity only extends so far as you," the man said. "And I've something of a temper, so I can't promise what'll happen if it's tested."

"I'm not leaving him."

The man laughed, a dry, rattling sound, and gave a hard tug on her arm that sent pain spiraling through her shoulder again. "Funny you think you have a say in the matter."

She cast one last look back at Ralph's motionless form as she was pulled away. He would be all right, wouldn't he? Ralph was so strong, so vital. He'd been a soldier. He would wake up a little worse for the wear, but all in one piece. It would take more than a knock to the head to fell him.

Ivy was deposited back in the room with the green wallpaper, the door slamming and locking behind her. She stood in the still room, her breath coming in short gasps, her heart racing. In a matter of hours her whole life, her whole perception of reality had been yanked out from under her, leaving her afloat without a safe horizon in sight.

"Breathe, Ivy, breathe," she muttered to herself as she closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. Ralph's blood still coated her fingers, leaving rusty streaks on the wallpaper.

All she wanted to do was to lie down, but the bedspread was still damp from where Ralph had doused her with water. Had that really only been a few hours ago? She was locked in a room. Ralph was incapacitated, maybe even dead. Wherever Mr. and Mrs. Hewitt were, they hadn't been able to secure the manuscript. Ivy had to assume that Arthur and the Sphinxes had found them and likewise injured them. The library was...alive? She wasn't certain she understood everything Mrs. Hewitt had said, but it didn't matter if it was true or not. What was important was that Arthur clearly believed it was true, and he was willing to lie and even kill to get what he wanted.

As if summoned by her thoughts, there was the scrape of a key in the lock, and then the door swung open, revealing her fiancé.

Arthur's eyes darted about the room before landing on Ivy, something like relief passing over his face. There was a sheen of perspiration on his temples, and his shirt was crumpled, his Rudolph Valentino hair mussed. "Darling," he said in a rush of breath. "Thank God you're safe."

Her body was tired, her mind aching for something familiar. Relief spread through her, and her whole body sagged in on itself. He had come to save her. Everything had been lies, or at the very least a terrible misunderstanding. He would explain it all, and someday they would look back at this night and shake their heads in wonder.

"Arthur." Ivy closed the distance between them, collapsing into his arms. "I thought... I thought that..." Emotion choked in her throat, robbing her of words.

But her relief was short-lived. Arthur didn't say anything, and when he drew back, there was a hard set to his face, and he wouldn't meet her eye.

"You have come to get me out of here, haven't you?" she managed to ask.

Raking a hand through his already disheveled hair, he shook his head. "Ivy, I'm so sorry you had to find out this way. It was never my intention to have you witness anything unpleasant."

Ivy took a jerky step back and bumped into the side of the bed. "No," she whispered.

Arthur lowered himself into the chair in the corner and lit a cigarette. When he caught her glancing at the closed door, he gave her a sad smile. "It's locked, with a man on the other side guarding it," he told her. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me for the moment."

"Arthur," she said slowly, "I need you to tell me everything."

He yanked at his tie, loosening the elaborate knot. "God, Ivy, I don't want to be the one to explain this messy business to you. You're a clever girl, aren't you? Certainly you've put the pieces together by now."

She forced her words out from between gritted teeth. "You're the one who drugged me and is holding me hostage, so the very least you could do is explain why I'm here and what's happening."

He gave a deep sigh. "Very well. What do you want to know?"

There were a thousand more important questions, but the only one she could bring herself to ask was, "Why did you ask me to marry you? Was it for me, or for the library?"

Elbows on knees, Arthur leaned over and scrubbed at his bloodshot eyes. "You, of course. Always you, darling."

"I don't believe you. Mrs. Hewitt told me everything. That the library contains a manuscript that has all sorts of knowledge in it. The secret to eternal life, things that men would kill for. You and your family want it, and used me to get it."

"The old hag told you that, did she?" Arthur sat back deeper into the chair, tenting his fingers in thought, cigarette dangling from his lips. "Well, she's not wrong I suppose. This would be best done with a drink," he said, looking about as if he expected one to materialize in his hand. "I wasn't lying when I told you that Blackwood was special. During the Dissolution, a genius monk lived here. He could turn metal into gold, cure all sorts of diseases and ailments. He traveled to the mountains of Italy where he learned the secrets of the friars and ancient orders of monks."

"Yes, I've heard the story," she said.

He looked surprised. "And you remembered it? Well, then I'm not sure what you want me to tell you."

"Mrs. Hewitt said that the library drains memories and somehow adds them into its collection. All the Lords Hayworth died young. Is that what you want? To die for this...this thing?"

"That's why I have you, darling." Arthur took a long pull from the cigarette, an elegant finger tapping the ash into a bowl. "You're a Hayworth, however thin the connection. The library will feed on you before ever turning on me, and by that time, I'll have employed another librarian. It has a taste for you, I think. You've spent so much time there already, are so weakened."

"But it will kill me!"

"Death comes for us all eventually. Every soldier knows that. Just think of the glory, the nobility in it. You're contributing to something bigger than yourself, bigger than all of us. Think of it as a war against ignorance, and you are on the front line, a soldier fighting for progress."

"And after me? Who do you think the library will take next?"

"We'll find someone, don't worry yourself over that. There will always be those who are eager to enlist for a worthy cause."

Standing, Arthur stubbed out his cigarette and clapped his hands together. "Well, as much as I have enjoyed chatting, I had best be going. I just wanted to make certain that you were unharmed. There are preparations to be made and research to be done."

"Arthur." Forcing aside her revulsion, Ivy went to him, placing a hand against his chest. It was warm and hard and had once felt like a refuge. "Let me help. I can make the wedding plans, help with the library and make sure everything goes smoothly."

He looked down at her, pity in his eyes. But it quickly passed. "You're a gem for offering, but I think it best you stay here until the wedding."

She dropped her hand. "You can't keep me prisoner!"

"I would never. But I know you, Ivy. You're much too clever for your own good. I'll have my personal servants attend to you, and I'll even have you moved back to your old room for your comfort. Then when we are married, we can discuss living arrangements."

Mrs. Hewitt would never concede to this madness to be carried out, and Ralph would dislocate Arthur's jaw before he allowed Arthur to sleep under the same roof as him. That was, if Ralph were still alive.

As if reading her thoughts, Arthur chucked Ivy gently under the chin. "See? You are clever. I can see the wheels turning in your mind. Your servants will likewise be sequestered. If it were up to my father, they would be killed. But I suppose he is right in that I am much too soft for my own good sometimes."

As if on cue, Arthur nodded to the big servant who had appeared at the door. "Mercer, please see the lady to her room." Before Ivy could protest, the man had her in a viselike grip, and was dragging her down the hall. Her flailing punches met with unyielding muscle, leaving her with bruised knuckles.

"You can't do this to me!" Ivy screamed as the man bore her away. "Arthur, you have to help me!"

"You'll be fine, Ivy," Arthur called after her. "I swear it."