Servant of the Crown (The Crown of Tremontane Book 1)

by Melissa McShane

More silence. Alison turned her head just enough that she could see his hand, hanging by his side—

  —his hand, gentle on her face, wiping away a tear—

  and she stood abruptly and walked away from him, moving as if to examine the stained glass windows, furious with herself for being so weak. If she were going to remember anything about their time together, it would be that cold afternoon and his cruel, drawling voice. She was fairly certain he was looking at her now. What did he think, when he looked at her? Did he remember how close they’d been once? Was he remembering how she looked naked? She felt the blotches rise again and folded her arms across her chest, trying to stop them from spreading further.

  “Zara’s asked me to take her to the theater,” Anthony said. “Henrietta Magnificat is still playing for the rest of the week. Have you seen it?”

  “No, not yet,” because someone took my box, “but I hope to go soon.”

  “It’s an excellent performance.” She heard him take a breath to say more, but just then the door opened and Alison turned to see a broad, short woman with silver-shot black hair and rosy cheeks. She looked from Anthony to Alison and came back to Anthony.

  “Good,” she said, “I’ve been waiting for those reports. Come in, Anthony.”

  “The Countess was here before me,” Anthony said.

  “No, please go ahead, I can wait,” Alison said.

  “Really, I insist,” he said.

  “No, I—”

  “Countess, come in before your display of politeness keeps us here all night,” Mistress Unwin said affably. “Anthony, have a seat.”

  Alison had trouble focusing on her brief conversation with Mistress Unwin and the chief’s approval of Henry’s hiring bonus. He lied to you, he betrayed you, he doesn’t deserve an ounce of consideration from you, she told herself, but her traitorous body insisted on bringing up disturbing memories. She crushed them into oblivion. Those memories didn’t change anything. Every one of his kisses had been a betrayal, and she refused to think of them with any amount of pleasure.

  She thanked Mistress Unwin and left the office. Anthony rose from the lime-green chair and nodded at her as she passed. She nodded in return. This would be easier if she never had to see him, but they couldn’t avoid each other entirely, especially if he intended to spend much time at the Waxwold Theater. She’d as much as promised Doyle she wouldn’t let herself be vindictive and hateful toward Anthony, but she certainly wasn’t going to treat him with kindness and definitely not with love. Polite. She could manage polite. Even if her angry heart felt otherwise.

  She took the long way back to the Library, trying to calm herself. The long way took her past the east wing, but since Anthony was with Unwin, there was no reason to avoid it. A door opened somewhere ahead of her, down a cross-corridor, and Alison just had time to realize it was the hall leading to the Dowager’s apartment before the Dowager herself appeared, saw Alison, and jerked a little in surprise. Alison stopped too, embarrassment and guilt once again filling her. Had the North family conspired to arrange these encounters today? Tension began building behind her eyes. Maybe she could just walk past. The Dowager couldn’t possibly want to speak to her, after the horrible things they’d said to each other.

  The Dowager stood looking at her, balanced lightly on the balls of her feet as if preparing to flee. She was gowned in simple white muslin like a girl and clutched a large book bound in dark blue leather to her chest like a breastplate. “Alison,” she said.

  “Milady,” Alison replied.

  The Dowager glanced at the book in her arms and hugged it more tightly. “One of the servants found this under your bed—your old bed,” she said. “I thought—I decided to bring it to you.”

  It was Flanagan’s book of plays. Alison swallowed past the unexpected lump in her throat. “Thank you, Milady,” she said, “I’d forgotten about it.” She could have sent a servant. Why come herself? She wasn’t sure what else to say. She’d been so rude, and the Dowager hadn’t been to blame for her son’s behavior—

  The Dowager cleared her throat. “I also came to apologize,” she said. “I had no idea—I never would have believed it of Anthony, but I should have known you wouldn’t lie to me—”

  “Oh, Milady,” Alison said, feeling tears slip down her cheeks, “I should never have said such things to you. I am so sorry. I was just so angry—”

  “And you had every right to be,” the Dowager said, and now she was crying too. “Can you forgive me?”

  “If you can forgive me,” Alison said, walking forward with her hand outstretched, and was completely startled when the Dowager dropped the book (don’t hurt it!) and embraced Alison. Alison put her arms around the woman and hugged her. “I’m so glad you came,” she whispered. “I was too proud, it wouldn’t have occurred to me….”

  “Someone always has to be the one to speak first, when both of you are wronged,” the Dowager said. “And I’ve never regretted being that person. So much better than letting things fester, even if the other person can’t forgive.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Alison said. They released each other, both of them laughing a little self-consciously, and Alison picked up the book, covertly examining it for damage and seeing none. “Thank you for bringing this to me,” she said.

  “I wondered why you’d left it, and why it was under your bed,” the Dowager said. “It looks rather valuable. I—” she smiled, and blushed a little —“I admit I read it before bringing it to you. Such enjoyable plays!”

  Alison laughed, more heartily this time. “I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

  “Well, it deserved better than to languish in the dust, and I’m appalled that my cleaning staff took so long to discover it. I’ve only had it four days. I hope you weren’t too inconvenienced.”

  “Oh, no, it’s not mine, it’s—” Memory struck her so hard she couldn’t breathe, how excited she’d been when she chose it.

  “It’s whose, dear?” She must look awful, for the Dowager to look so concerned.

  “Just a friend,” Alison lied. “She didn’t know I bought it, so she’ll be so surprised to see it now.”

  “That’s fortunate.” The Dowager embraced her again, making the hard edges of the book press into Alison’s breasts. “I have an engagement now, but do come and see me, please? I miss your conversation.”

  “I will, Milady,” Alison said, and the two of them parted ways. She felt lighter now, all her anger and confusion over meeting Anthony gone. It was so good to have made things right between her and the Dowager; it lifted a burden she hadn’t realized she was bearing. She turned over the large book in her hands. It couldn’t go to its intended recipient, so it might as well enrich her Library.

  She handed Henry his hiring bonus with nonchalance, dismissing his concerns and insisting he not be ridiculous and refuse it. “I want to be sure you don’t go anywhere else for employment,” she pointed out. “I need you too much.”

  He laughed. “It’s nice to be needed,” he said. “Now, what exactly do you need me for?”

  Alison looked around at her piles of books. “Tell me, Henry, do you know how to construct a mobile file catalog?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Henry folded the banker’s draft and put it inside his waistcoat. “You’re sure you don’t want to come?”

  “You know more about the cabinets than I do,” Alison said, “and I don’t think it really needs two of us to order them. Besides, I still have books to sort.”

  “I’m a little concerned you’re still paying for all of this,” Henry said. “Shouldn’t it come out of the Library budget?”

  “The budget’s not resolved yet, and all of this barely touches the interest on my income. And if I wait any longer to start on this catalog I’m going to go mad. The Magisters have been in Aurilien for two days and I have yet to see them.”

  Henry leaned against the librarians’ desk. “Maybe that’s good news.”

  “And maybe they’re just trying to increase
the tension. Zara said they would bring pressure to bear on me. Not knowing what kind of pressure that might be has got me so keyed up I can barely focus on my actual responsibilities. I wish they’d just get it over with.”

  Henry squeezed her hand. “You’re stronger than they are,” he said, “and I’ve never known you to give in to bullies. There’s no sense worrying about something you can’t control.”

  “You’re so rational it’s sickening. Go. I have to find space for the next batch of books.”

  She went down into the Library, but instead of bringing up a new pile of books, she wandered the stacks, letting her tension bleed out of her into the stones. If there were ever a day when the Library failed to calm her…she couldn’t finish that thought. She pulled a random book off a shelf and paged through it. It was written in Veriboldan, so she only recognized a few words. Everything else on that shelf was in Tremontanese. Maybe Bancroft hadn’t had a system at all.

  “Milady!” Declan shouted. She heard him leaping down the stairs, then he came skidding around a corner and scrambled to stop before he ran into her. “Milady, they’re here!”

  Alison steadied the young man and looked up at the Library door. Maybe the Magisters would respect its dignity and stay in the scriptorium. Then she shook herself. They thought it was their Library. Of course they wouldn’t. “Do I have any smudges on my face?”

  “No, Milady. But what do we do?”

  Alison drew herself up to her full height, which put the top of her head level with Declan’s nose. “We keep working. They’re no different than any other visitors.” Having unsuccessfully lied to herself, she went up the stairs with what she hoped was quiet dignity.

  There were four of them, all in full regalia, black hoods and gowns and stoles in shades of blue or red. The man in the red stole, poking around the piles of books wearing a pained expression, was merely a Master. The other two men, in blue stoles with black bands, were full Magisters, and the woman with seven black bands on her stole could only be Margaret Bindle, Magistrix of the Scholia. She was a pleasant-looking woman in her sixties with warm, welcoming brown eyes who walked with the help of a cane. She gazed around the scriptorium, at the apprentices working the dehumidifier, and at Gwendolen holding a stack of books, standing frozen in the great woman’s path.

  “Gwendolen, please don’t stand in the Magistrix’s way,” Alison said, and Gwendolen snapped out of her trance and moved to put her stack down.

  “Thank you,” the Magistrix said. “You seem a bit old to be an apprentice.”

  Alison tried to relax her clenched jaw. “I’m not an apprentice,” she said. “My name is Alison Quinn, Countess of Waxwold, and I am the Royal Librarian.” Bancroft wasn’t the only one who could pronounce capital letters. Alison lifted her chin and met the woman’s gaze calmly.

  “My mistake,” the Magistrix said, though her eyes told Alison it had been no mistake. “Margaret Bindle, Magistrix of the Scholia. May I ask the reason for this untidiness? I was under the impression that the Library had plenty of room, but you seem to be overflowing.”

  Alison realized that in all her worrying, she hadn’t given any thought to how she was going to handle the Magistrix. Blame Bancroft for everything? Challenge her on the missing catalog? She opted for breezy competence. “I’m afraid in the commotion surrounding my appointment, the Library catalog disappeared. An unfortunate situation, don’t you agree? We’re in the process of rebuilding it. Would you care to see the Library?”

  The Magistrix and one of her companions were on their way through the Library door before Alison had finished speaking. Alison had to scramble to catch up. She stood on the landing as they went down the stairs and saw the Library with new eyes. The shelves were even barer than they’d been when she’d first seen them. The clean windows and floors dispelled the gloom that had made Bancroft’s depredations look so much worse. Piles of books—on the shelves, not the floor, but still piles—ready for removal to the scriptorium made the room look untidy as well as ransacked. Alison imagined how it all looked to the Magistrix and felt guilty and embarrassed. Then she mentally slapped herself. She was repairing the damage the Magistrix’s flunky had caused. If anyone had reason to feel guilty or embarrassed, it was the woman in the blue stole. Alison stiffened her spine and descended the stairs.

  “This is quite the undertaking,” the Magistrix said, “particularly for someone with no formal training.”

  “I spent four years at the Scholia, studying literature,” Alison replied.

  “Four years, and chose not to pursue the robe? Why is that?”

  “There were other demands on my time.”

  “I see. Unfortunate.” The Magistrix did not say for whom. “I don’t recognize your organization system. Something you invented, no doubt?”

  “I use the Catherton system.”

  “Henry Catherton? The name is familiar. Wasn’t he expelled? I’m sure he was expelled. I’m not mistaken, am I, Darius?”

  Her companion said, “No, Magistrix, you are correct. Henry Catherton was expelled for conduct unbecoming a Master.”

  “Yes, I recall now. Some business with a girl. And you choose to adopt his system. I don’t remember it. Perhaps he never chose to present it for ratification.”

  Conduct unbecoming a Master. Some business with a girl. As if Tessa could be so easily dismissed, turned into nothing more than a black mark on Henry’s record. Alison swallowed an angry retort and said, “All I know is that it’s easy to use. Henry’s quarrel with the Scholia isn’t my concern.”

  “I’m sure ease of use would be very important to someone in your position.” The Magistrix’s soft brown eyes scanned the room, never resting on Alison. “This is such a big responsibility. I imagine you must feel overwhelmed.”

  Alison forced herself to remain calm. Losing her temper was what the Magistrix wanted her to do, so she could add lack of self-control to her list of Alison’s other shortcomings: incompetence, inexperience, and lack of respect for Scholia standards. She still had no idea what the Magistrix planned to do with that list, but Alison was certain she would make it some kind of weapon.

  She replied, “It is quite a large task, but I find it invigorating, don’t you? Though I imagine in your position you don’t have much time for actual library work.” She put the slightest emphasis on actual and saw the Magistrix’s brow furrow with annoyance briefly before settling back into its expression of pleasant concern.

  “My opportunity to oversee every library is quite fulfilling,” the Magistrix said, her emphasis on every not slight at all. “I only regret I haven’t visited the Royal Library sooner. All this unpleasantness might have been resolved before it began.”

  “You mean Master Bancroft’s using the Library as his personal collection.”

  “I mean Master Bancroft’s failure to see what crimes his subordinates were committing.”

  “Bancroft stole Library property and sold it and kept the proceeds for himself.”

  “Master Bancroft’s guilt has not been proven to the satisfaction of the Scholia. Our Masters have impeccable reputations. His conviction requires a higher standard of proof than that of a common criminal. We’re convinced his subordinate Baxter sold the books and stole the money; he was, after all, in charge of acquisitions.”

  Alison chose to let this go. “I believe that’s something you’ll have to take up with her Majesty. I have enough to do running the Library.”

  “Yes, I imagine it takes all of your resources.” The Magistrix ran her finger along an upper shelf and brought it away dusty. “I’ve seen all I need to see.”

  Alison followed the pair back to the scriptorium, matching her pace to the Magistrix’s limping one. She disliked letting the Magistrix lead the way, implying she was in charge, but Alison didn’t want to have those two at her back. In the scriptorium, the other blue-robed Magister was reading one of the books in a pile of dramas, the apprentices were standing in a corner, looking like a small flock of green and brown s
heep huddling together against the storm, and the red-robed Master stood behind the librarians’ desk, turning over pages of Alison’s notes.

  “Excuse me,” Alison said to him, “those are private.”

  He looked up at her as if surprised she’d spoken. He had a round face with a fringe of black hair and pale gray eyes. “Library business is private?” he said. “Is there some reason you want your plans for the Library to be concealed?” He flipped over another page. “Or is it your naïveté you don’t want on display?”

  “You have no business behind that desk,” Alison said, keeping a tight rein on her temper.

  “More business than you,” he said.

  “Now, Arnold, there’s no call for rudeness,” the Magistrix said. “Countess, this is Arnold Gowan. He’s here to relieve you of this burden.”

  “This burden? You mean the Library?” She could feel anger seeping out from the cracks in her calmness. “I don’t see it as a burden.”

  “Come now, be reasonable,” the Magistrix said. “You’re untrained. You have no support staff. You have no experience in creating a catalog. You’re using an unapproved, untested cataloguing system. And you no doubt have duties in your county that prevent you from giving your full attention to what is a demanding responsibility. You are unsuited to this position. The Scholia is grateful for your interim service, but it’s time for you to let go.”

  The weapon struck home. For a moment, Alison wavered. Everything the Magistrix said was true. She was about to tackle a project whose enormity would have been daunting even to a trained professional. She had responsibilities as Countess she’d neglected. For a moment, she wavered. Then she remembered having this conversation with Zara. She was untrained. She didn’t have experience. What she had was passion. She wanted this job. She was committed to this job. And she was damned if she was going to let some academic who was probably a political appointee take it away from her.

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” she said. “Queen Zara appointed me to this position, which means it’s not mine to give up. I realize I don’t have the qualifications you believe are necessary, but at least I’m not a peculator or a thief. If the Queen has confidence in me, I wonder that you don’t respect her decision. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a great deal of work to do. As you so kindly pointed out.” She turned to Gowan. “Get out from behind my desk or I’ll have you removed.”