Chapter 25

Ivy had hardly had time to splash some cold water on her face and kick off her shoes, when the door to her room flew open and Arthur strode in. He wore a stormy expression, a fine red vein standing out on his temples. He looked remarkably like his father when he was angry. Slamming the door behind him, he threw something on the bed. Ivy's heart sank; it was the book.

"Did you really think I wouldn't check your friend's bag before she left? I'm not sure what you thought a book of poetry would accomplish, but for Christ's sake, Ivy, you have no idea the harm you could have done."

That was it, then. Her one chance to get a message to Susan, squandered. A cold hopelessness settled around her like a noose.

"Do you know how delicate the balance of power is? What this place is capable of? I watched as you handed books out like cans of soup in a bread line, but those at least came back. Who knows what would have happened if this one had disappeared out into the world? My father was right—you are proving to be more of a liability than anything else. If it weren't for the library's need to feed..."

Ivy closed her eyes while Arthur droned on. Had he always possessed that cruel edge to his voice? Had she simply been too infatuated to notice? He might not kill her, but there were any number of things he might do to make her life even more miserable.

When she opened her eyes, he was regarding her with a malevolent contempt that made her shift in her seat on the bed despite herself. "I think we ought to see about some sort of restraint, or perhaps moving you somewhere more secure. You might have failed in your little scheme this time, but I don't trust you not to try again." He turned to leave, and with him went her chance to escape.

"Wait!"

Arthur halted, his lip curling as Ivy grasped his hand.

"I can translate the manuscript."

His body went still. "What did you say?"

"The manuscript. It's in a strange language, or code, isn't it? I can translate it. I know I can."

He slowly extricated himself from her grasp. "How did you know that?"

"It doesn't matter how I know. That's the case, isn't it?"

He glanced around as if they might be overheard. "What makes you think you could translate it?"

"I told you before that my father was a great mind in the field of cryptology and esoteric manuscripts, and I assisted him in his work. Let me look at it," she said, sensing that his misgiving was slowly waning. "I am sure that I can at the very least identify the language."

Ivy's father had been brilliant, a genius, really. She had spent her childhood hanging over his shoulder at his desk, as he taught her everything that he knew about cryptography and ciphers, ancient riddles. But that was before she started to lose her memory, and she had only been a child. Even when she was clearheaded and with all her faculties about her, she still wasn't her father.

Arthur regarded her for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. "And why should I trust you with the manuscript? What assurance do I have that you will not use it for your own ends?"

"I suppose you will just have to risk it," Ivy said, endeavoring to sound indifferent. "I'm losing my memory, and I don't understand the workings of the library such as you do. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't know what to do with it."

Arthur ran a thoughtful finger along his jaw, then with a sudden exhale, shook his head. "It won't do. I must do it myself, show my father that I'm worthy of inheriting the title as well as the legacy of the Sphinxes. I won't give him the chance to gloat. I must do it myself," he repeated.

"But can you?" she asked, unable to help herself from poking at the irritable beast.

His gaze snapped up to her, sharpened. "You're very bold considering I hold your life in the balance. But I—"

Whatever he was about to say next was lost as a heaving shudder ran through the house. The mirror in the vanity cracked, the floor undulating as if it were a carpet being shaken out by a giant. Wild-eyed, Arthur steadied himself against the wall, and Ivy grabbed at the bedpost, just narrowly avoiding being thrown to the ground. They locked eyes, an unspoken understanding passing between them. The abbey was making Ivy's case better than she could make it herself.

The shuddering stopped, a preternatural stillness following. Arthur cursed, straightening his tie. "Very well, you can try your hand at translating it. But I warn you," he continued, his voice hardening, "if you so much as try to twist the manuscript to your own gains, I'll see to it personally that your tenure at Blackwood is as unpleasant as possible."

"And if I'm successful?"

"You're mad if you think I'd release you."

"Of course not," she said. "But I want assurance that you will at least not make things harder for me. The staff must likewise be treated well. And books. I must be allowed to read if I am to be a prisoner."

Ivy's throat grew dry as she waited for Arthur's response, but he finally nodded. "Very well. I will try to transcribe it tonight after the rest of the house has retired."

Arthur finally left her, the sound of his receding footsteps growing quieter until the house settled back into its prevailing laconism. Slumping against the door, Ivy let her tired eyes close.

The weak sun was dipping low, gray clouds gathering out the window. How long would it take for the library to drain her? And what had it already taken from her? With Susan gone, there was no one else to come looking for Ivy. She would slowly rot here, her mind turning to dust, and the only legacy she would leave behind was a vague impression of a woman who once was. Arthur was all but giving her a key to escape, and all she had to do was fit it to the lock. But if the greatest minds in the country couldn't decipher it, what hope had she?