Page 79 of A Sorceress Comes to Call
Hester was surprised by a sudden rush of affection for her brother. Loud, satisfied, and oblivious as he often was, she loved him very much, and she was sending him off with the proverbial viper in his bosom. And other, rather lower bits, if we’re being honest. Dammit, Samuel. She won’t kill you, it would be foolish to kill you, both she and Cordelia would have to go into mourning for a year and she wants Cordelia safely married off first, but I still feel like I’m abandoning you.
She hugged him tightly. “Here now, old girl,” he said, looking surprised. “Only going to be gone a few weeks. Not like we’re sailing to the old country, or dropping off the face of the earth.”
“I know,” she said, stepping back. “Just… err… be happy.”
“Happiest man in the world,” he assured her, glancing at his watch again. “Blast, is everything ready? Why do these things take so long…?”
The carriage was announced to be ready and waiting at the edge of the estate. Cordelia and Hester stood on the step and waved as the Squire and his doom rode away, down the road and into the gap in the trees.
Long after the last sign had vanished, Hester leaned on the doorframe. “Well,” she said, and exhaled. “They’re gone.”
Cordelia wiped at her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” she said. “I’m relieved, really.”
“That’s probably why you’re crying. Come on.” Hester turned. “Let’s go take a look at this library of Richard’s, and see what we can see.”
CHAPTER 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?”
