SILENCE IN THE LIBRARY
A LILY ADLER MYSTERY
Katharine Schellman
For my parents, Jim and Andrea Schellman, who turned all of their kids into readers.
And for Brian, the only adult I could handle living with during a pandemic lockdown.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing a book in the middle of a global pandemic is not an experience I ever expected to have, and it’s one I hope I won’t have to repeat. Still, I feel incredibly privileged to have had the opportunity and to have had so much help along the way. Many more thanks are due than I can possibly include here, but for a start …
… to Faith Black Ross, for her unerring guidance and incisive edits.
… to Whitney Ross, for being the best partner and advocate a writer could hope for.
… to Melissa Rechter, Madeline Rathle, Rachel Keith, and the entire Crooked Lane team, for their endless hard work.
… to Margeaux Weston, for her generous and insightful sensitivity read.
… to Alexander Gillies and Shannon McLeod, two of the very best writing buddies.
… to Neena Narayanan and Gemma Furman, who always have words of encouragement.
… to the Beach Crew, for their endless excitement and weirdness, even from far away.
… to my parents, siblings, and in-laws, who all believe in me so beautifully.
… to every reader who enjoyed Lily’s first adventure and wanted her to have another.
And last but never least, to Brian, who joyfully took on so much at home so I could write this book faster than I thought possible (and who, even as I write this, I can hear arguing with a four-year-old and making dinner while I squeeze in just a few more minutes of work). You are my beloved partner in everything, and I am so grateful to have you by my side.
CHAPTER 1
London, 1815
The sound of angry voices cut through the sleepy morning quiet.
There were never raised voices on dignified, out-of-the-way Half Moon Street, and certainly never from Lily Adler’s own terrace. Her butler, Carstairs, was conscious of his youth spent as a boxer and prided himself on his decorum. But as she drew closer to her home, she could see him standing on the front steps, facing another man in a dark suit and gesturing broadly, his voice just barely controlled enough not to be a shout. Lily was so surprised that her steps slowed to a halt.
“Is … are those fellows carrying luggage into your house?” her companion asked, stopping beside her and frowning in confusion.
“Of course not, Captain, that would be …” Lily trailed off, watching as two postboys finished unloading the pile of trunks and cases from a carriage and began hauling them one by one inside her home, pushing past the two arguing men with the dogged determination of those who intended to finish their task, collect their pay, and depart as quickly as possible.
For a moment Lily panicked. The house on Half Moon Street was let to her for the indefinite future, and it had finally begun to feel like home. She had nowhere else to go. If she was forced to leave …
Lily squared her shoulders. She would not be leaving. Forgetting about the captain and not caring which of her too-curious neighbors might be watching, she stalked toward her house.
The postboys, who hadn’t expected a well-dressed lady to elbow past them, fell back. At the top of the steps, Carstairs was nose to nose with a man in the dark suit and painfully starched collar of a valet. Their heated voices tumbled over each other so rapidly that Lily could barely make out what either of them was saying. Mrs. Carstairs, the cook and housekeeper, stood in the doorway just behind her husband, hands on her hips and a duster in one hand as she harangued both men at the top of her lungs. Just as Lily drew in a breath to speak, the strange man turned enough for her to see his profile.
Her resolve crumbled into weary fury, and though she managed to keep her voice from growing too loud, it still cut through the noise. “Branson.”
The two servants stopped arguing abruptly and turned toward the foot of the stairs where she stood, one hand gripping the banister so she wouldn’t tremble. Carstairs, a vein visibly throbbing in one temple, opened his mouth to speak, but Lily held up a hand to forestall him.
“Branson, where is he?”
“Miss Pierce.” Robert Branson winced, then quickly corrected himself. “Beg pardon. Mrs. Adler. He is waiting in the drawing room. Your servants—” He cut a quick, irritated look at Carstairs, who instantly jumped in.
“Mrs. Adler, this man is claiming that—”
“No one told us about anything—” Mrs. Carstairs started speaking at the same time.
The small scene began to descend into chaos once more. The postboys took advantage of the confusion to resume their task, and Lily could see the luggage piling up in her front hall. She took a deep breath.
“If you please,” Lily said, pitching the words to carry, though she tried to keep any sharpness out of them as she gestured for everyone to move inside, away from any prying eyes.
They obeyed promptly, all three looking embarrassed, and Lily sighed. She resented being caught in the middle of the confusion and uproar, but the three servants weren’t to blame for it. The man responsible was, no doubt, currently making himself comfortable in the drawing room and growing irritated that no one had yet brought him any refreshments.
“Carstairs, see these men paid and sent on their way. I assume,” Lily said to Branson, fixing him with a narrow-eyed stare before indicating the piled luggage with a sweep of her hand. “I assume that he intends a visit?”
Branson frowned. “I understood you were aware of his plans.”
“No doubt he believes everyone is aware of them and prepared to accommodate him at a moment’s notice. Which I must endeavor to do, I suppose. Mrs. Carstairs.” Lily turned to the motherly woman who kept her home comfortable and her life running in perfect order. “It seems we will have a visitor with us. For some time, judging by the amount of luggage he has brought. Will the two of you see his things installed in the best spare room and accommodations for his valet as well? And Branson?” Lily managed to smile, though the expression felt stiff. It wasn’t Branson’s fault his employer was so damned difficult. “You might start by introducing yourself to my servants and explaining the situation. I do not want to hear shouting in my house.” She gave each of them a pointed look. “From anyone.”
“Of course, Mrs. Adler,” Carstairs rumbled, looking embarrassed. “May I ask, madam, who our visitor …” He trailed off, eyeing her warily.
Lily tried to school her expression back to its normal calm, wondering what she must have looked like to make her stoic butler so uneasy. “Our visitor is Mr. George Pierce,” she said. “Branson will explain, I have no doubt. And Mrs. Carstairs, if you could first see tea and some light refreshments brought into the drawing room? No doubt Mr. Pierce is famished after his journey.”
As they nodded and began to move about their tasks, Lily became aware of someone standing just behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she found that her companion had followed her inside and was watching, his arms crossed and his brows raised as he leaned against the doorway.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, the concern in his voice in direct contrast with his casual attitude.
“Yes,” Lily said immediately, and a little defensively, before she shook her head. “No. I have a visitor.”
“I gathered. Is it really—”
“Yes.” Lily’s expression grew grim. “You ought to come say hello, Jack.”
Taking a deep breath, she gathered her composure, lifted her chin, and walked briskly to the drawing room door. Throwing it open, she met the eyes of the man waiting for her.
He sat in the tal
l chair across from the door as regally as if it were his own home, two hands resting on top of the walking stick planted between his feet and, oddly, a small pile of books on the floor beside him. His familiar eagle-eyed stare bored into her.
“Hello, Father,” Lily said, her voice dripping with false pleasantness that she knew didn’t fool him for a moment. “How good to see you. And how unexpected. May I ask what in God’s name you are doing in my house?”
CHAPTER 2
“Lily.” George Pierce stared at her, brows raised. There were wings of gray in his dark hair, just above his temples, and the effect was quite distinguished. Lily knew others thought her father handsome, but she never could—whenever he looked at her, lines of disapproval appeared between his eyes. They were there now, along with a tightness in his jaw as he eyed her from head to toe. “What a lovely way to greet your father. I had a tolerable journey; thank you for inquiring. May I ask why there was so much noise in the hall just now? Your servants do not seem particularly well trained.”
“I could say the same of Branson, Father, as he contributed equally to the noise.” Lily took a deep breath and sat across from him, glancing out of the corner of her eye at Jack. He had strolled in with his usual swagger but was hanging back in the doorway, watching the small scene unfold with an unreadable expression on his face. Lily turned back to her father, not yet ready to draw Jack into the line of fire by making an official reintroduction. “The noise was due entirely to your own arrival. So I ask again, what are you doing in my house?”
“Where else am I supposed to stay? Is it truly so much of an imposition to have your own father staying with you while he must be in town? Or is it an issue of household management?” He sighed. “Your dear mother was a perfect manager, you know. She would never have allowed shouting in her home. Or trash like this,” he added, gesturing to the small stack of books on the floor by his feet. “I was disappointed to find several novels on your shelves. I will instruct your butler to see them disposed of.”
Behind her, Lily heard Jack draw in a breath, and she spoke quickly to prevent him from saying anything. “Is it truly so much of an imposition to send notice before you descend on my home?” she asked, trying to direct the conversation back to her original point and biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from adding more. Arguing with her father would only draw things out, and she refused to let him see that he was provoking her.
Mr. Pierce sniffed. “I wrote to you of my plans.”
Lily knew her father well enough to ask, eyes narrowed, “When did you write?”
He waved a hand absently back and forth, as if the question were unimportant. “A day or two ago, I suppose. I don’t concern myself with details, as you know. I have more important things to keep track of.”
“Your letter has yet to arrive.”
“Well, in that case.” Mr. Pierce sighed, leaning heavily on his walking stick as he rose slowly to his feet. Lily wondered if it was from fatigue or simply to show that he was disappointed with her. Again. “I suppose my presence here is too much of a burden on you. I shall find accommodation elsewhere.”
Lily gritted her teeth. “Father, please sit down,” she said quietly. Drawing in a deep breath, she looked toward the ceiling for a brief moment while he obeyed. “I have already instructed my servants to prepare a room for you,” she continued, keeping her voice as pleasant as possible. “You are, of course, welcome to stay.”
“I suppose that will have to do. Though I hope your beds are more comfortable than your chairs,” he said, looking down at his own seat and grimacing. “Wherever did you purchase such monstrosities?”
“The house came furnished,” Lily said, her jaw so tight that it was a struggle to get any words out at all.
“A furnished house?” Mr. Pierce sighed. “Well, I suppose if that is the best you can afford.” He settled back into his chair—looking quite comfortable, Lily noted, though she managed not to point that out—and glanced toward the doorway, acknowledging Jack’s presence at last. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my daughter’s home?”
Lily’s hands clenched into fists before she carefully relaxed them, one angry finger at a time. “Father, this is Captain Jack Hartley. The captain was Freddy’s boyhood friend in Hertfordshire, and he has been most gallant since I returned to London. Captain, you of course remember my father, Mr. Pierce.”
Jack’s expression was carefully neutral as he bowed. “Indeed, sir, you are not the sort of man one ever forgets.”
“The Indian boy,” her father said rudely, making a dismissive gesture with one hand. “I know you.”
Jack smiled. “My mother will be so pleased to hear that you remember her.”
He was, strictly speaking, half Indian, with a British father. That meant different things to different people, especially to those who, like her father, had particular ideas about good breeding. Jack’s family was unapologetic about his parents’ marriage, though such unions were becoming increasingly uncommon. For the most part, his naval career and his family’s comfortable wealth were enough to smooth aside any objections that might otherwise have been voiced publicly.
But Jack seemed unconcerned by Mr. Pierce’s comments, giving Lily a quick conspiratorial wink before he took a seat at last. Lily tried not to let her relief show—she had years of experience handling her father and could do so again without support. But it was still comforting to have a friend here.
“What brings you to London, sir?” Jack asked. “I was not aware that Mrs. Adler was expecting the pleasure of your presence.”
“Private concerns,” Mr. Pierce said. “Where is the damned tea?”
Lily’s maid Anna, her timing impeccable, entered only a moment after he spoke. She bobbed a quick curtsy as soon as she had set the tray down. “Mr. Pierce.”
“Anna.”
He had known her for years; she had been a housemaid in the Pierce home before becoming Lily’s personal maid and leaving with her upon her marriage to Freddy Adler. And after Freddy’s death, Lily had been grateful to have Anna still by her side, a single familiar thread she could cling to until she found her feet once more. But George Pierce hadn’t seen Anna since Freddy’s death, and as he looked her over, Lily waited for him to say something critical.
Instead, he pursed his lips. “I see you were not chased away by Miss Lily’s odd choice to remove to London. I admire your loyalty.”
“It is a pleasure to serve Mrs. Adler, as always,” Anna said politely.
But Lily heard the subtle reminder that she was a grown woman in her own home, and she could have hugged Anna with gratitude. Instead, she met the maid’s eyes and smiled. “Thank you for the tea. Will you please see that Branson is settled in and has everything he needs to make Mr. Pierce comfortable?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Anna curtsied again. “Sir. Captain.”
After she left, Lily poured the tea, measuring out a careful teaspoon of milk and adding it in while her father watched with narrowed eyes. Apparently she did that right, at least, because he took the cup and turned to Jack once more.
“And what brings you to London, Hartley? I should have thought you would be in French waters.” If it had been a trifle less dignified, the expression on his face might have been a smirk. “Or are you one of those spare captains without your own ship?”
“Only in the strictest sense,” Jack said, leaning back in his chair while Lily silently marveled at his easy manner. Nothing ever seemed to fluster him. “My frigate has been undergoing repairs since the spring, so I unfortunately missed the final action in France.” Accepting his cup from Lily with murmured thanks, Jack continued. “With Napoleon defeated once more, I may be kept in London or Portsmouth even after repairs have been completed. At least until the Admiralty gets organized and decides where it is best to send me.”
“And what brings you to my daughter’s home?”
“Father,” Lily said, her voice tight with warning. “I’ll thank you not to interrogate my gu
est.”
“I’ve a right to know,” Mr. Pierce said, reaching for a slice of cake from the tea tray.
Lily tried not to clench her jaw. “No, you haven’t.”
“Well.” Mr. Pierce shrugged.
Jack laughed, breaking the tension in the room. “Well, there is no need for secrecy. Mrs. Adler had received a letter from our mutual friends, Sir Edward and Lady Carroway, that she was going to share with me. But perhaps I shall return another time for news of Ofelia and her new husband.” Rising, he bowed politely. “Mrs. Adler, Mr. Pierce, a pleasure. I am sure we will meet again soon.” As he turned, he caught Lily’s eye and made an exasperated face—more suited to a boy of ten than to a man of his rank—before smiling encouragingly.
Lily held back an unladylike snort as he took his leave, before a long sigh from her father interrupted her. She turned to him. “Are you well, Father?”
Mr. Pierce sighed again. “Tired from the journey. It is not a comfortable trip.”
“You are welcome to go rest,” Lily said, trying not to sound too hopeful. Fifteen minutes in her father’s company was very nearly too much.
“Already eager to be rid of me?” he asked, poking at his cake without enthusiasm before settling backward with a sigh and closing his eyes.
“What brings you to town, Father?” Lily asked, taking a moment to study him while he couldn’t see. There were deep lines around his eyes and jaw that she didn’t remember noticing before. Her father had always been a man of robust health and too much vitality. She wondered if this time there was something actually wrong.
“Seeing a doctor,” he muttered, his eyes still closed. “I was sick over the winter, you may recall. My lungs are still troubled with wheezing, so the physician in the village suggested I see a colleague here in London. I’ve no notion of him being able to improve anything, but you know I am not one to argue.”
Lily bit her tongue. Her father liked nothing better than to argue, unless it was to argue and be proved right. “Well, I shall be glad to have you,” she lied.
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