Chapter 24

Someone had fitted the windows with bars and emptied her vanity of hairpins and anything else that might have been used to pick a lock. Ivy was a prisoner, and was being treated accordingly.

Soft rain whispered against the window, the sky so uniformly gray that it might have been dawn or dusk. Arthur had provided her with morphine, left at the bedside with a pitcher of water. He thought that she would drug herself into oblivion. Well, he was wrong. It was bad enough that the headaches came and went, hours lost in a fog. She needed to keep her wits about her as much as possible, not let what was left of her mind drift away on a cloud of drugs.

A tray was brought in, but instead of the usually modest spread of cheeses and meat and toast, there was a bowl of murky soup and some sort of stuffed game fowl. Arthur must have let the cook go, and brought on his own servant. It had been a hostile takeover, the abbey infiltrated by the Mabry servants and Sphinxes in a single night. How long had they been planning it all? Since she and Arthur had gotten engaged? Or, good God, what if it had been planned from the start? Her chance meeting with Arthur in the bookshop no accident at all? Guilt nibbled at her conscience; had she been the one to allow the Trojan Horse to breach the walls?

Ivy stirred at the soup. She would need her strength, but couldn't find it in her to eat any of the food. He had drugged her once; what would stop him from doing it again?

After her untouched tray had been whisked away by another unfamiliar servant, Ivy waited until their footsteps could no longer be heard out in the hall. She quickly peeled off the torn gown, sending the delicate beads scattering to the floor. It belonged to a different Ivy, an Ivy who had dared hope that she could find love and happiness in the arms of a man. Then she pried off the pinching shoes, and pulled out an old pair of James's trousers and a cardigan. When the time came, she would be ready to run.

There were secret passages and rooms all over the abbey, so maybe there was one in here. Starting just to the left of the door frame, Ivy began a meticulous survey of the room, running her fingers over every floorboard, every panel in the wall. But after what must have been hours, she collapsed on the bed, no closer to escape than she had been when she started. Of course Arthur would have made certain that the room offered no chance of escape. He was a villain, but he was no fool.

Ivy's eyes were heavy, her head throbbing like a steam engine was running through it. It felt as if she'd been awake for days straight, not only a matter of hours. Somewhere downstairs, Ralph lay bleeding and possibly dead. Were Mr. and Mrs. Hewitt likewise injured? What had happened that the manuscript had fallen so quickly into the wrong hands? As she fought sleep, images of women wading into pools of blood filled her head, exotic flowers with gnashing teeth, and Ralph's body lying on the ground, bloated and green and rotting. I told you, Ivy, his corpse whispered over and over. I told you.

The hushed sound of voices from outside her door pried her out of her dream. The door stood ajar, a thin shaft of light spilling into the room. Silently swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Ivy tiptoed to the door and pressed her cheek against the cool wood.

"Can you translate it or not?" asked a nasal voice, thick with condescension. Lord Mabry.

Then Arthur's voice. "I—I don't know. It's not in any language I've seen before. I don't even think it is a language. It must be some sort of code."

Sir Mabry coughed, a wet rattle that obscured his words.

"I'll try my best. I—"

"Not good enough!" was the booming rejoinder.

"Father, she'll hear you," Arthur pleaded in a whisper.

"And? Do you think I care if she does? Now—" He broke off, erupting in a fit of coughs again.

Arthur murmured an offer of a handkerchief, but the older man rebuffed him with what sounded like an open-palmed slap.

"It's a good thing your mother isn't here to see you. What would she think of her son who couldn't fight, not even being able to read an old book!" Another coughing fit. "Figure it out, boy, and be quick about it."

The sound of retreating footsteps and Arthur letting out a frustrated sigh sent Ivy bolting back to the bed and diving under the covers. She clamped her eyes shut just as Arthur let himself back into the room. She held her breath, certain that he could sense she had been eavesdropping. But there was only the sound of another heavy sigh, and then the chair creaking as he lowered himself down.

Chancing it, Ivy cracked one eye open to watch him. He scrubbed at the fine sheen of bristle that was sprouting along his jaw, looking very much like a man at the end of his rope. He lifted his head, and she quickly clamped her eyes shut, pretending to sleep.

"I'll show him," Arthur muttered. "All of them. The old man will choke on his words when he sees what his son is capable of."

Ivy sensed his presence hovering at the side of the bed, the smell of alcohol on his breath, and she prepared herself for him to shake her awake. But he just stood there breathing heavily for a drawn-out moment, and then his footsteps were retreating, the door closing and locking behind him.

Her eyes opened, and she lay still for what felt like hours. Rain was just starting to fall when the sound of an auto cut through the silence. There was a pounding at the front door, and a flurry of voices. Rushing to the window, Ivy craned her neck, trying to see round to the front drive. But the angle of the windows and the bars made it impossible. She went back to the door, and pressed her ear against the wood. It was a man, or maybe a few men, and a woman. They must have been speaking very loudly for her to be able to hear them all the way from her room.

One rang out louder than the rest. "Ivy? Ivy, are you here?"

The voice was familiar, a woman's voice. It brought to mind smoky dance clubs and mornings spent in robes drinking tea in a cold room with mildewy wallpaper. It didn't matter if it was the queen mother herself; if they could hear her then they could get her out.

"In here!" Ivy banged against the door. "I'm in here!" There was a pause in the commotion, and then footsteps growing closer.

The doorknob rattled. "Ivy? Can you open the door?"

"It's locked!"

A second set of footsteps, heavier and slower, approached and the rattling stopped. "Just what do you think you're doing here?"

"I'm here to find my friend. What have you done with her? Why is she locked up?"

"Ah, yes, the infamous London friend. If you had bothered to ask before you barged in, you would know that Ivy is very ill, and suffering from a nervous collapse. She is being kept safely in her room under strict orders from her doctor, lest she hurt herself or others."

No no no. Ivy wasn't sure who the "London friend" was, but they were clearly on her side. She shook the doorknob again, sending pain lacing up her sore shoulder. "He's lying! Let me out!"

"Ivy would never harm herself, never mind someone else. She also never mentioned being engaged. I'm her best friend, she would have told me."

A deluge of images of a tall woman with light brown skin and an infectious laugh came flooding back to her, causing her to wince with guilt. Susan. Her friend. How could she have ever forgotten about her?

"Lady Hayworth is ill. If you require proof of this from her physician, then you are more than welcome to seek him out and ask him yourself. In the meantime, I would thank you to keep your voice down and not inhibit her recovery with your hysterics."

"I will not, you can't keep someone locked away against their will!"

"As Ivy's fiancé, I assure you I have only her best interests at heart," Arthur said with barely constrained impatience. "Now, if you please, I'll show you back out."

"I'm not moving until you prove to me that Ivy is safe. Unlock the door."

Ivy held her breath, but there was no sound of a lock or movement of any kind. "Susan!" she screamed. "Susan, don't leave!"

"Ivy? Are you all right?"

"I must ask that you keep your voice down," Arthur commanded, his own voice crawling with irritation. "Mercer, show the lady to the drawing room, and I will have Ivy sent down presently. There," he said. "Will that satisfy you? Take tea with Ivy and see for yourself that there is nothing untoward afoot."

Susan must have nodded, because it grew quiet save for the sound of a woman's heels clicking down the hall. A moment later Arthur was showing himself in.

Ivy glared at her fiancé. He had changed since she'd seen him last, dressed now in tweeds, his hair foppishly combed. Locking the door behind him, he heaved a sigh and propped an elbow on the mantel. Even now, as he kept her under lock and key, Arthur was so handsome, his face so familiar and comforting amongst a sea of lost memories and unknowns. Ivy pushed the traitorous thoughts from her mind. He was repulsive, and she had been a fool to only see the shiny veneer that protected a rotten core.

"I'm sorry for the disturbance. Your friend was very rude, barging in here and making a scene like that."

"I want to see her. You have no right to keep me from receiving friends."

"I couldn't agree more. Which is why you will be joining her downstairs for tea presently. Well, don't look at me as if I was a monster! I don't appreciate people calling unannounced and then making demands. It's terribly uncouth, and judging from her dress, she is not the sort of person I want my fiancée associating with. But if it would give you peace of mind, then I'm only too happy to oblige."

"Why would you allow that?" she asked.

"Other than the fact that I don't like to see you sad?" Arthur crossed to her, crouching and running a thumb along her jaw. She jerked away. "Ivy, I care about you," he said softly. "I know this isn't how you thought things would go, but you have to trust me. Besides," he said, standing, "it wouldn't do to have the village think that I kidnapped you or something equally macabre. Rumors are nasty things, and they fly fast and plenty around here."

"I'll tell her what you're doing, what your family is doing."

Arthur tutted, searching his breast pocket for a cigarette. "I think it would go very badly for you if you do, but if you insist then, I'll have no choice but to tell my side of things. Isn't it a shame?" he said, affecting a shrill, gossipy voice. "Sir Arthur's pretty new bride went mad, raves like a lunatic. Well, she was from the gutter, you know. It can hardly be surprising that her upbringing won out over her new title." His little vignette finished, he lit his cigarette and gave her a meaningful look.

She dug her fingernails into the edge of the bed. Who would ever dare to go against the word of a man, and a lord? If Arthur said Ivy was mad, then she was all but mad in the eyes of the world. She would rot in this room, slowly losing her memories and everything about her that made her Ivy Radcliffe, and marry the man who had put her here. There was no one to save her, and she was rapidly losing the ability to save herself.

"So, you will have a lovely tea with your friend, and assure her that all is well. And if you need another reason to comply, I'll give you one." At this, he came closer, taking her chin in his hand, tilting it up to him with more force than was necessary. "If you so much as breathe a word of nonsense about the Sphinxes or the manuscript, I will cut off the ear of that chauffeur that so obviously is in love with you."

"What are you talking about?" Ivy managed to ask from dry lips.

Arthur gave her a patronizing look. "Oh, please. It's obvious the man is obsessed with you. Stares after you long after you've passed by and can hardly keep the hunger out of his eyes. Disgusting, really."

Heat climbed her neck, and she swiftly looked away. "Don't be ridiculous. You must be imagining things."

"If only I was imagining it," he said. He was leaning against the mantel now, making a show of nonchalantly inspecting his fingernails, but there was a tightness in his jaw.

He's jealous. Ivy stared at Arthur, the man who seemingly had everything and was happy with none of it. He shot a sidelong glance at her, as if waiting for her to deny it.

"Does that mean that Ralph is alive? That all the servants are alive and safe?"

"For now," he said, affecting a careless tone. "Though that depends on your conduct."

When she didn't say anything, he gave a sigh. "Knowing you, you would fold if I so much as threatened to harm a dog. So I think all in all, you will be a good girl and cooperate."

He was right, damn him. She had already lost so many people she held dear; Ralph might not have numbered among the few people she loved in her life, but she would not have his blood on her hands. And she had no doubt that Arthur would make good on his threat. He was a soldier without a war, a man hungry to prove himself to his father and peers.

"I'll leave you to dress and then come back to show you down." Arthur threw a glance at the untouched tray of food on the table before unlocking the door. Lingering with his hand on the knob, he gave her a look that almost passed for concern. "Please do eat something, darling. I would hate to see you waste away."

Rain was falling soft and steady, a gentle rhythm that should have been comforting but heralded only a deeper sense of despair. From somewhere on the grounds, a raven crowed into the misty afternoon. If only Ivy possessed wings and fairtrade winds, she would fly away, never to return.

Dressing with lightning speed, she surveyed the tray of kippers and porridge, with toast and marmalade on the side. There would be tea downstairs, but she was hungry. More than hungry—ravenous. She would have to trust that Arthur had not tampered with her food; it wouldn't look very good if Ivy was foaming at the mouth.

No sooner had she finished her food than there was a knock at the door, and one of Arthur's servants came to escort her downstairs.

Susan was pacing in front of a window in the parlor, her fingers flicking her cigarette lighter open and closed over and over. The rain was letting let up, and a weak ray of sun filtered into the room, illuminating her dark hair and the stubborn set of her chin. Relief instantly unfurled in Ivy's chest.

At Ivy's entrance, Susan left off her pacing and spun around. Her face was tight with worry, her finely-drawn brows gathered in a frown. "Ivy, my God." Susan closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around her.

Closing her eyes, Ivy allowed herself to breathe in her friend's familiar scent of rosewater and cigarettes, bringing with it buried memories of their time together in London.

"Ladies," Arthur said from the doorway as they drew apart. "I've arranged for tea to be brought in shortly. I'll give you your privacy, but Mercer here will be on hand if needed. Ivy," he said, turning eyes deep with concern on her, "if you become overwrought or feel at all unwell, just let him know and I'll come at once. There's no need to overexert yourself simply to prove a point to someone." He shot Susan a caustic look.

A table had been set near the fireplace, laid out with dainty china and lace napkins. It was all so ordinary, as if she were a lady receiving morning callers. It was the first time Ivy had been out of her room since the night of the party, and she had expected to see shattered windows and other signs of chaos, figures in black hoods chanting around the manuscript. But the abbey looked much the same except for some wilting flower arrangements and abandoned champagne flutes, remnants of the party.

Arthur pulled out a chair for her, but as she sat down, she momentarily lost her balance, her legs wobbling beneath her. She shot a questioning look at Arthur, and he gave her the ghost of a smile. The bastard had put something in her food after all. Probably a light sedative, but it was enough to make her foggy and a little unsteady. It seemed he was taking no chances.

Susan was watching them with needle-sharp eyes, sitting straight as a board with her hands clenched around her silver lighter. After Arthur had left, an unfamiliar maid scurried in with tea, hastily poured, then curtsied and left.

"Is he going to watch us the entire time?" Susan jutted her chin to the door where the guard was standing with arms crossed.

"Just pretend he's not here," Ivy said, forcing a smile. "It's so good to see you. I'm glad you were able to come for a visit."

Susan pursed her lips, and she fingered her cigarette lighter on the table, tap tap tap. There was a drawn-out moment of silence, and then, "Ivy, what on earth is going on? You completely disappear—no telephone calls, no letters, nothing—and then I come and find out that you're engaged? To this prig Sir Arthur?"

"It all happened so fast. I didn't have time to write or—" Ivy stopped at the incredulous look on Susan's face.

"And what is this rubbish about you being ill? Why were you locked up? Sir Arthur said you had some sort of nervous episode. You may live with your head in the clouds, but you've never showed any signs of hysterics or nerves, or whatever it is the doctors are diagnosing ladies with these days."

"Oh, that." Ivy worked her cup around in her hands, wondering if the tea had been tampered with as well. "I—I've been having some terrible headaches, and disorientation. The medication the doctor gave me makes me foggy, and Arthur was worried that I would hurt myself if I was up and about."

Susan's eyes ran over her, taking careful inventory of her friend and leaving Ivy's cheeks hot. "I don't like this, Ivy. Why don't you come home with me? It's no grand house, but you'll be with someone who actually cares about you, doesn't lock you in a room when you're unwell." She glanced around at the parlor, and Ivy saw it through her friend's eyes: the high ceilings, the overly formal furnishings and dark paintings. "This is no place to be by yourself without friends. Do you know, I couldn't even find a cab willing to take me up here?"

Nothing sounded better than going back to London with Susan. They could make a go of it together again, start fresh. Ivy would be free of this wretched house and the curse of the library. But if she left, people would die. And besides, Arthur would never let her leave.

She shook her head and forced what must have looked like the world's least convincing smile. "I'm in good hands here, truly. You know me, if something was wrong, I would be the first to sound the alarm."

"I do know you, and you would carry on as if nothing was the matter, all the while letting whatever it is chew you up from the inside."

"Please, just leave it."

"Is that supposed to convince me?"

When Ivy didn't respond, Susan gave a resigned sigh and took a long sip of tea.

With nothing left to say on the matter, the rest of the meal was finished in silence. Soon, Susan would leave and Arthur would come to return Ivy to her room. How long was he planning on keeping her hostage? And what was he doing with the manuscript? What sort of horrors might be released at any moment? She wasn't certain what was going to happen, but she knew she had to buy herself time, as much time as she could.

"Would you like to see the library before you leave?" she asked Susan as they stood.

"If it means I can spend a little more time with you, then yes, by all means."

Ivy rang the bell, and Mercer materialized from the doorway. He was a stocky man with little in the way of a neck, and a nose that looked as if it had taken some punches in its day. "Please tell Sir Arthur that I would like to show Susan the library before she leaves."

They waited in awkward silence until Arthur appeared. He cast a wary glance between the two women as he came in.

"Hello, darling," Ivy made herself say with a smile. "We had a lovely tea, and now Susan would like to see the library before she leaves."

"I'm not certain that's a good idea. Some of my father's friends are in there, and I don't think they would appreciate the interruption."

Out of the corner of her eye Ivy could see Susan opening her mouth to argue so she swooped in. "Please? This may be the last time I see Susan before the wedding." This may be the last time I see her at all, Ivy thought. But if she could just get Susan into the library, she might be able to slip her a message in a book. Might be able to do something to alert her friend that all was not well without raising Arthur's suspicions any further.

"I'll escort you both," Arthur said finally. "But you mustn't disrupt my father or anyone in there."

"It's her house, isn't it?" Susan said, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke in his direction.

Arthur's coiled posture said that he was only barely tolerating Susan. But he gave her a tight smile. "Of course, and that's why I am more than happy to escort you."

They made a wordless procession across the house, Ivy forcing her sluggish mind to come up with some sort of plan. She would have written a note before she'd come downstairs, tucked it into a book, but Arthur had taken away all her paper and correspondence in her room. Her only option was to slip Susan a book, let the book speak for itself. She would have to pick something that would let Susan know that there was something amiss. But what? The wrong book could unleash more harm than good.

Now that she knew the dark nature of the library, Ivy felt as if she were seeing it for the first time. Had the air always been so heavy, the windows so sinister and watchful? Sir Mabry and some of the men from the other night were gathered round a table, backs to her. No black robes, no incantations or burning incense. They simply looked like a group of scholars engaged in intense study. They looked up sharply at the sound of the door opening.

"What is she doing in here?" Lord Mabry demanded.

"Father," Arthur said with cool politeness, "this is Ivy's good friend from London. She has come to visit and wanted to see the library before she goes back."

A long look passed between father and son, but finally Sir Mabry gave a tight nod before returning to his work.

Ivy made a show of parading Susan around the library, pointing out coats of arms and architectural features. Arthur trailed them like a shadow, never more than a few feet away. But the other men had gone back to working with hushed whispers, paying no attention to Ivy and Susan. Behind their bowed backs lay the manuscript, she was sure of it. What did they see in it? What secrets might they be prying out at that very moment? Since the house had shaken, there had been little evidence of anything amiss.

Ivy led Susan to the back of the library near the great window. The cushions lining the low casements were warm and inviting, but there was no time to rest. Arthur had just turned his back for a moment to inspect a book that had caught his eye, and if she was going to slip something to Susan, it had to be now. Her movements made clumsy from the sedative, she grabbed at a book, only to have it slide through her fingers and land with a soft thud on the floor.

Arthur spun around, his gaze narrowing in on her.

Susan quickly bent down and picked it up, sliding it back onto the shelf. "My fault," she said brightly. "I'm all thumbs."

"These are old books, Miss..."

"Loveday," Susan supplied.

"These are old books, and very valuable, Miss Loveday," Arthur continued. "Please do be careful."

"Arthur!" Lord Mabry's voice rang out from the other end of the library. "Come here a moment."

With a lingering look of misgiving, Arthur made his way to his father, leaving the two women alone.

There wasn't a moment to lose. Ivy opened her mouth, but her words got stuck, the entire ridiculous situation too fantastic to explain. Susan was her dearest friend, but even her capacity for understanding had limits. It had to be a book so that Susan could see the strange power for herself, and it had to be now. Ivy's hands shook, clammy with perspiration, as she grasped at a random shelf.

Arthur turned back just as she slid the book into her cardigan pocket. "It's getting late. Ivy, you need your rest. Perhaps it's time to say goodbye to your friend."

In the hall, Ivy embraced Susan, burying her face in her friend's shoulder as she slipped the book into her purse. She committed to memory the lemony scent of Susan's pomade and her rosewater perfume, the silky texture of her blouse under her fingertips.

"Call me, darling. Or write," Susan said. "And you know that you're always welcome to stay with me as long as you like. I'm staying at the King's Head just outside the village—you can come there and stay with me, no questions asked." She shot a glance at Arthur who was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, endeavoring to look casual while they said their goodbyes.

Ivy reluctantly pulled out of the embrace. "I'm fine, really."

Susan looked as if she wanted to say something, but just nodded and gave her hands one more squeeze before disappearing out the door.