Serpent's Gate

by Jade Astor

  Deciding to put down the shirt before he came back for the tray, but fearful of startling Uncle Vernon while he was up on the ladder, Stephen cracked the door open and peered inside.

  “Uncle Vernon? Sorry I got held up, but I went to the kitchen like you said, and—”

  His words trailed off in a gasp. In the corner of the room, Uncle Vernon sprawled face-down on the floor, his arms flung out to either side and his glasses a few feet away. The overturned stepladder had landed on top of him and a few books lay scattered around him. He wasn’t moving.

  The next few hours passed in a blur as Stephen shouted for help, Leo came stampeding through the front door with a team of paramedics, and a group of uniformed people loaded Uncle Vernon onto a wheeled stretcher. Roark had stood close by as they determined that his uncle was breathing, though barely conscious. Next came a haze of sirens, sterile white walls, and the antiseptic smell of hospital waiting rooms. Roark had driven Stephen to the hospital in his own car—a sleek black Maserati, Stephen happened to notice—and hung around while the emergency room people worked their magic.

  Strangely, in all the commotion, neither Justin nor Malcolm Argyle appeared. Stephen could only assume they’d both left the house for some reason, together or just by coincidence, before the accident.

  Eventually, a nurse emerged to say his uncle had suffered only a broken ankle and a mild concussion. His heart had not been affected, though they had administered a sedative to help him stay still and quiet. Stephen could see him for a few minutes as long as he promised not to agitate him.

  “He’ll be okay,” Roark assured him when he turned to follow the nurse. “I’ll be right here for you. Stay strong.”

  “Thank you,” Stephen said, genuinely touched by his concern but also baffled. This kind, supportive friend struck him as the complete opposite of the haughty snob he’d tried to avoid at Fairbourne House. Maybe he was just worried that Uncle Vernon would sue his family. “I’ll be right back.”

  To his relief, he found Uncle Vernon his usual self, though he seemed a bit woozy from medication and shock.

  “I’m glad you discovered me when you did,” Uncle Vernon mumbled, patting Stephen’s hand. “Sorry to scare you. Shame I had to miss lunch. Bound not to be nearly as good in a place like this.”

  “Don’t worry about lunch. The important thing is that you’re okay.” Seeing Uncle Vernon bandaged and in a hospital bed, just months after his heart attack, was nothing less than a nightmare come to life, but Stephen was careful not to alarm him. “Uncle Vernon, what happened? How did you fall off the ladder?”

  “I’m…not sure.” Uncle Vernon frowned. “Too focused on the books. Must have moved and lost my footing. Next thing I knew I was in an ambulance.”

  “You can thank Roark for that. He got help for you quickly. Leo met the ambulance at the gate and brought the EMTs straight to the house.”

  “Fine young men. Told you so.” Uncle Vernon nodded, slumping back on his pillow. His eyelids drooped shut.

  “The painkillers are taking effect,” the nurse said. “We should let him rest.”

  Tears pricked at Stephen’s eyes as he left the room. When he got back to the waiting area he saw that Malcolm Argyle and Justin had arrived. They stood beside Roark, who was filling them in on the situation.

  When he spotted Stephen, Malcolm hurried over. “Stephen, I’m so sorry about this terrible accident.”

  “Yes.” Stephen reached up to wipe his eyes. “I can’t understand how it happened. I was only out of the room for a few minutes.”

  “Damn,” said Justin. “What a crummy thing to happen.”

  Malcolm gave Justin an annoyed look. “You can’t blame yourself. We’re all victims of bad luck now and again. What do the doctors say?”

  “He’s hurt, but it looks like he’ll be all right. At least, I hope so.”

  “Very good news. And I have what I trust will be more welcome news for you. Justin and Roark would like to invite you to stay on as their guest in the main house until your uncle recovers. We’ll bring you here to visit him whenever you like—or you can drive yourself, if you prefer—and of course we’ll assist with his recovery in any way we can. That includes financial compensation, if need be. You mustn’t trouble yourself about a single detail.”

  “That’s very nice of you. I can’t take advantage of you, though. I’ll call my parents and tell them what happened. I’m sure they’ll want to drive up here.”

  “You should call them, of course, but please tell them you’ll stay with us, at least until we know more about your uncle’s condition. I doubt it would be wise to move him, so it would be better for him to stay put for the time being. And obviously he’d want you to be near him while he recovers.”

  “He’s right, Stephen. We can look after you and your Uncle Vernon both.” Justin stepped forward and boldly slung an arm over Stephen’s shoulders. “It’s all arranged. You have to stay with us.”

  “It’s the least we can do,” Malcolm Argyle stressed. He turned to Roark, who hadn’t said a word since Stephen had returned from seeing Uncle Vernon. He seemed to become a different person when he was around the members of his family. “What do you think, Roark?”

  “Stephen should stay,” he said without a trace of emotion. The sweet, caring Roark had disappeared again. Stephen wasn’t surprised to find out it had all been an act. He’d been right in the first place. Fear of a lawsuit, not kindness, had motivated him all along. “Of course.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Stephen said when he noticed how eagerly all three of them awaited his answer. “Thank you.”

  Justin clapped his hands. “Then it’s settled. We can move your things over to the house this afternoon. We’ll put you in our most comfortable guest room. We have plenty of them, I assure you. And we can postpone the work in the library until your uncle is better.”

  The library! In all the confusion, Stephen had almost forgotten that he’d left a pile of books, including the strange one he’d hidden, on the table beside his laptop.

  “Actually…um….I’ll need to go back in to finish up a few things we were working on. My uncle would be upset with me if I didn’t do that much.”

  “If you like,” Malcolm said. “But don’t feel obligated. You’re our guest from this point on. Justin, why don’t you and I find someone in charge here and give the hospital whatever information they’ll need to treat Mr. Carlyle and contact Stephen as needed? Roark, perhaps you would be kind enough to take Stephen back to the house and tell Ivy to prepare a guest room. Justin and I will follow you home. Simply let Roark know if you need anything, Stephen. He’ll make sure you get it—won’t you, Roark?”

  “Absolutely,” Roark said. He seemed to be putting on his sincere act again. “Just say the word.”

  Though embarrassed to be the center of so much attention, Stephen appreciated Malcolm Argyle’s take-charge attitude. He could call his parents from the house later, after he’d had a chance to calm down.

  “Are you all right?” Roark asked as they walked back to the car.

  “To tell you the truth, I’m a little lightheaded,” Stephen confessed, reaching up to rub his throbbing forehead.

  “I’m not surprised. I noticed the lunch was untouched by the door. You probably haven’t eaten all day.”

  “That was the strange thing. Was my uncle okay when Ivy brought the lunch? I’m trying to figure out what made him fall.”

  “I asked her, and she said she knocked on the door but got no answer. She assumed your uncle had stepped out, so she left the tray and didn’t bother to check a second time.” Roark made a scoffing sound. “I asked if she might have startled him by banging on the door too loudly, but she insists she didn’t hear him cry out or fall. Assuming she’s telling the truth, he may already have been on the floor when she arrived. I’m sorry I didn’t go myself, Stephen. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Stephen said, though privately he thought the
whole fiasco had resulted from Ivy’s poor behavior—which, in turn, Roark had inspired. But he was in no mood to get into that.

  “Let me solve the problem of your lightheadedness by getting you something to eat. I know the perfect place. Nothing fancy. I know you probably don’t have much appetite, but you’ll be in a better position to look after your uncle if you keep up your strength.”

  “Okay,” Stephen agreed wearily. It seemed wrong to go out for a meal while his uncle was sprawled in a hospital bed, in pain and probably frightened—not to mention angry about missing a nice lunch. Yet Roark had a point. He needed to take care of himself so he could help Uncle Vernon in any way he needed. “That would be great. Thanks.”

  Besides, they would just be grabbing some food and heading right back to the house. And Uncle Vernon was asleep, in good hands at the hospital.

  They pulled up at a small tavern-style restaurant at the edge of the village, where they settled into a corner booth with menus. “Order whatever you like and don’t worry about the cost,” Roark told him. “This is on me.”

  “I’m not sure I can eat very much. And I can pay you back as soon as we get back to the house.” Stephen thought he should to pay for his own meal on principle, but to his embarrassment, he hadn’t brought any money with him. “Just something small and light should be enough.”

  “Nonsense. Nothing will help you get your head together like good food and good company. Proper meals are important, especially in a crisis. At least that’s what Mrs. Mulgrave always says.”

  Stephen wondered exactly how often crisis struck at Fairbourne House, but he tried to make the best of things and ordered a modest burger and fries platter. Even that struck him as too much food in him current state of agitation and worry.

  Roark ordered the same, trying hard to cheer Stephen up by chatting about the town and the restaurant. Stephen listened, nodding politely. He noticed that a few of the patrons in the booths, not to mention the waitstaff, seemed to be watching them intently. More than one of them gave Roark a quick dirty look before turning away. Roark noticed, but didn’t react.

  “I wish I had been the one to fall and not Uncle Vernon,” Stephen blurted as his frustration with the whole terrible situation grew. “I’m younger, so I can heal faster. And he’s still recovering from a heart attack. When I first saw him lying there, I thought—” He stopped, unable to go on.

  “Ideally, it would have been neither of you. Still, we can’t change that now. Have to make the best of it.”

  “Agreed.”

  Roark seemed to be thinking something over. Finally he spoke again. “Tell me the truth Stephen. Do you really enjoy selling used books? When I came to your store that day, you seemed as though you would have rather been anywhere else than stuck among shelves of old books.”

  “Uncle Vernon says we need to call them antiquarian books,” Stephen corrected automatically. “He’s insistent that used books are a different thing altogether.”

  “Okay, then. The terminology isn’t the issue. What I’m really asking is if you’re happy working for your uncle. Or is it something your family forces you to do?”

  “’Force’ would be too strong a word, though I guess there was an element of expectation. Everyone in my family is involved with the antiques in one way or another. And I do have a business degree now, though no job after graduation. So when Uncle Vernon needed some help in the store, well, it just seemed a natural fit. And it hasn’t been terrible. Some of the books in the store are kind of interesting. I’ve learned a lot about history.”

  Roark wasn’t fooled for a second. “You don’t like it, then.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t have to. I suppose you think it’s boring?”

  “My uncle keeps me too busy for boredom.” Feeling guilty, Stephen bit his lower lip. More than anything, he wished his uncle were still on his feet, ordering him around while he tried to dust and organize the shelves. He made a silent vow never to complain about Uncle Vernon’s musty books, his longwinded stories about Charles Dickens’ literary debt to Maynard Carlyle, or his taskmastering again. He thought about Geoffrey, too—another person he would have to call. He only hoped that Uncle Vernon’s condescending attitude hadn’t destroyed their friendship forever. Surely he would welcome a visit from Geoffrey while he was in hospital. Maybe Stephen could arrange that.

  “That was sort of my point.” Roark fought back a smile.

  As luck would have it, their food arrived just then and stalled the conversation for a while. When the waitress moved off again, she gave Roark another distinctly hostile glance.

  “What’s her problem?” Stephen asked, offended on Roark’s behalf.

  “Don’t worry about it. My family isn’t too popular around here, that’s all.”

  So Geoffrey had been right about that, at least. “Why not? What did you ever do to them?”

  “Me personally, nothing. The Fairbourne family, though—well, that’s another story.” Roark spent a few moments applying ketchup and salt to his food. Then he looked directly into Stephen’s face. “Since we’re asking one another blunt questions, I have one for you. I want you to level with me, Stephen. What did you and your uncle really find in our library?”

  Though his heart began pounding, Stephen forced himself to remain nonchalant. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “I’m asking if you found anything strange. Anything I should know about.”

  “My uncle already told everyone last night he hadn’t seen anything rare or valuable. If that changed, he didn’t inform me.”

  “Don’t play games. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m referring to books you wouldn’t find in any normal bookstore, old or new, or on any ordinary reader’s shelf. Are you sure there wasn’t something like that?”

  “No. There’s nothing. What makes you think there is?”

  “It’s just a feeling I have.”

  “I thought you’d never spent much time in the library. How could you develop a sense of what’s in there?”

  “Damn it, Stephen.” Roark sat up straight, slapping the table in a sudden burst of frustration. A few other diners looked up at him, then leaned together to gossip. “My father was obsessed with that library. He wouldn’t tell us what was so special about it, but for as long as I can remember he spent as much time as he could in there. All night, sometimes. And he never shared what he found so fascinating. He wouldn’t let us in there with him. When we went alone, everything seemed normal and ordinary. We must have overlooked something.”

  “Not necessarily.” Stephen shrugged. “So he was an insomniac and a bookworm. It’s not unheard of. I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

  “I don’t know, either! But something in there got hold of him—changed his personality. At first he just withdrew from the family. Justin and I thought it was because our mother left him. But I don’t think that was the case. Finally, it happened.” Roark put both hands to his ears and mimicked flash bulbs going off. “Pop. Just like that. His mind snapped. He started babbling, incoherent. By the time Malcolm and I dragged him out of there, he could barely form a coherent sentence. What was he studying that he became so obsessed with? I still can’t figure it out.”

  “Is that why you hired my uncle and me? You weren’t interested in the value of the books. You just thought we might be able to find this missing treasure, whatever it might be.”

  “No! Well, I mean, yes, sort of. The thing is, I don’t know what this treasure, as you call it, might be. It could be a rare book of some kind, or a letter Abraham Lincoln wrote one of my ancestors. I have no idea. I had hoped someone with expertise in old books could recognize something unusual.”

  Stephen nodded. “That makes sense, and you might be right. But if my uncle and I did see it, we didn’t realize what it was. Or we didn’t find it at all. It’s kind of a tall order when you don’t even know what you’re looking for.”

  “I know. Look, if you do come across som
ething odd, no matter how insignificant you might think it is, I want you to bring it to me straight away. Don’t worry about wasting my time. Don’t tell anyone else, either. Not your uncle, or Malcolm, and especially not Justin.”

  So it came down to Justin again. He should have expected that. Disgusted with Roark, Stephen took a few more bites of his burger, moved things around on his plate, and sipped at his ice water.

  “The books belong to Justin, too, don’t they? He has a stake in the estate, just like you do, even he is the younger son.”

  “You don’t understand.” Roark sighed impatiently. “I’m trying to protect him…and you. I don’t mean to scare you, but my family has secrets you’ve probably never suspected. No one sane would.”

  “Like what?” Stephen recalled the painting of Obadiah Fairbourne on trial for witchcraft, and the bizarre story of his fiery escape and revenge on his tormentors. Surely he couldn’t be referring to a scandal hundreds of years in the past. Besides, sorcery wasn’t a crime in the modern world. In some circles the practice was considered cool and edgy. “And how would the books in the Fairbourne library fit in?”

  “I can’t go into that now. I’m just asking you to trust me here. If you care about Justin, and I think you do…” To Stephen’s surprise, his voice seemed to catch on the words. “...you’ll take my warning seriously.”

  His stare grew more intense, and Stephen’s mind seized on a creepy idea.

  “Are you implying that something in the library caused my uncle’s accident?”

  “I’m pretty sure that was just an accident. Ladders cause them all the time. But you never know, do you? The point is we have to be on our guard.”