Alison hesitated. Finally, she said, “Would you? I know there’s nothing she can do, but she ought to know they’ve started harassing me.”
“Well, I don’t know why they thought this was going to intimidate you,” he said, still looking at the mess. “I imagine it just made you angrier.”
“They don’t know me at all,” she agreed. “But it does make me worry about what they’ll try next.”
“I’ll have someone see about replacing that lock with something a little more robust.” He finally looked at her. “Tell me if you need anything else, will you? I can probably find whatever it is faster than you can, and you should put your energies toward taking care of the Library.”
“I will. And thank you again.” He nodded and left. Alison scrubbed at the streak of ink across her arm. They didn’t know her. And he did. The thought made her angry again. She didn’t need to be reminded of what they’d been to each other.
Out of fifteen boxes of cards, they salvaged two boxes’ worth. Gwendolen was right; all the ink was gone and all the pens were broken. Alison ground her teeth and sent Henry and Declan back to the stationer’s to replace everything. Then she and the remaining apprentices rolled up their sleeves and joined in the scrubbing.
She was so deep in her furious thoughts of what she could do to Arnold Gowan that she was surprised when someone said, “I’m here about the scribe position?”
She stood up and wiped her hands on her trousers, which were now hopelessly filthy and wet. The speaker was an attractive young woman dressed neatly in a scribe’s smock with her long dark hair pulled back from her face. She looked at the room in dismay. She’d clearly come prepared to work; by her expression, she was not prepared for the sudsy, inky mess the scriptorium had become. Alison went to the door and held out her hand. After a moment’s pause, the young woman took it. “Believe it or not, I’m the Royal Librarian,” she said. “I apologize for the mess, but we’ve had a bit of a setback. Why don’t we talk out here?”
In the hallway, Alison said, “Did you bring your credentials?”
The woman flushed. “I don’t have anything. I was hoping to prove my skills directly.”
“You don’t have a reference from a previous job?”
“This is my first job.” The woman looked at the floor. “I was a student at the Scholia for three years. I left because I wouldn’t give my professor what she asked for.” She looked up, and Alison was surprised at the anger in her eyes. “She wanted more from me than just essays, if you take my meaning. And the Scholia Masters took her side.”
Alison nodded slowly. “I imagine you must hate them.”
“I shouldn’t say—”
“What’s your name?”
“Danica Morton.”
“Yes or no, Danica Morton. Do you have warm and loving feelings for the Scholia?”
“No, milady, I absolutely do not.”
“Then you’re hired. I won’t have anything for you to do until we replace our supplies, so you’re welcome to wait or, if you feel like it, join in with the scrubbing. Ah. It appears we have some more candidates.” A group of five men and women were approaching them. “Ladies, gentlemen, may I see your credentials? Excellent. Now, are any of you affiliated with the Scholia? Harbor a great respect for them? Thank you for being honest, sir, you may leave. The rest of you—I’m sorry, did you want to say something?”
“I don’t think you should discriminate against me just because I respect the Scholia,” said the older man she’d dismissed. “I’m a good scribe.”
“Sir, I am a non-Scholia librarian,” Alison said, “and the Scholia Masters want me gone. I consider them an enemy. I will not tolerate the presence of anyone who believes I don’t deserve this position, and I will not hire anyone who might be willing to work with them against me. Now, I’ll pay you something for your trouble, and I wish you luck in finding another job. Which I’m sure will happen quickly if you’re as good as you say.”
“But—”
“Out. Now.” Righteous anger surged through her. She probably shouldn’t have taken it out on the poor man, but it felt good to have a target. Pity it wasn’t Gowan.
More applicants trickled in over the next hour. She repeated her speech seven times but only turned away two other people, which surprised her. It surprised her even more how vehement most of them were about how much they didn’t like the Scholia. Apparently the Scholia was quick to make enemies of more than just untrained Countesses who dared set themselves up as librarians.
It didn’t take the workers long to complete their task. Dark streaks still showed on the desks where the ink had soaked into the wood, but the floors and walls were clean and the broken and damaged things had been cleared away. Henry and Declan returned about twenty minutes after the cleaning crew had left, towing carts filled with self-inking pens and boxes of cards. “It will take time to replace the other things,” Henry said, “but we have enough to be going on with.”
“Thank you, Henry. Ladies and gentlemen, if you’d take your seats, please. Mister Catherton, the assistant Librarian, will give you your instructions. This is a long-term project, so unless you prove incompetent you can plan on job security for a while.” She saw a messenger enter the scriptorium and nodded to Henry to take over.
The messenger handed her a note addressed to her in a familiar graceful scrawl that made her traitorous heart beat faster. “Wait a moment,” she told the boy. She opened the note.
Zara is furious but agrees there’s nothing she can do aside from posting guards nearby. She says to remind you about horses and barn doors and apologizes. Invites you to supper to discuss options.
He hadn’t signed it. Alison told the boy to wait again and snatched up a piece of paper and pen to write an acknowledgement and acceptance of the invitation. After the boy had run off, she remembered her supper with Henry. They’d just have to postpone, that’s all. She leaned against the newly clean wall and listened with half an ear to Henry’s instructions. Zara had to have some idea of what to do next.
Zara was alone when Alison entered the dining room. “Thank you for joining me, Alison,” she said. “Were you able to salvage anything from the mess? Anthony said it looked like someone had shaken a giant bottle of carbonated ink and sprayed it everywhere.”
“That’s an accurate description. Yes, it’s clean now, and I reordered supplies and we even had time to get the scribes started on the catalog. I’m actually grateful Gowan tried this now instead of a few days from now, when some of the books will be catalogued. That would have meant real damage. With a new, better lock and guards on that outside door, I don’t think it will happen again.”
“You believe Gowan is behind it, then?”
“Don’t you? He didn’t damage any of the things he’d need as Royal Librarian. And there was a nastiness to the vandalism that struck me as fitting his character.”
“But you have no proof.”
“No, damn it, and I have no recourse except to go on as if nothing has happened.”
“That’s the best policy.” They ate in silence for a while, then Alison said, “I wish I could predict what they’ll do next.”
“So do I. I’m considering placing a guard on you.”
Alison, surprised, said, “Me? Do you think I’m in physical danger from Gowan?”
“Possibly not. I don’t know the man well enough to judge that. But it might be better to plan for the worst.”
“I would really prefer not to be trailed by a bodyguard. It would interfere with my work.”
“As I said, I’m considering it. I haven’t decided yet. If you feel safe, then I’ll table the idea for now.”
“Thank you. And I appreciate your consideration.”
“At the risk of bringing up a forbidden subject, I believe I told you before I would have enjoyed having you for a sister. I would be very upset to see anything happen to you.”
Alison went blotchy all over. She turned her attention to her food. Suppose you’d
married him. Oh, yes, and then you would have found out what a weak, cowardly man you were oathbound to. “Thank you,” she said for lack of anything else to say. She reminded herself of the devastating conversation she’d overheard between Anthony and Bishop, always good for stopping memories she couldn’t bear to think of. That reminded her of something else.
“Zara,” she said, “what exactly were the rumors about what happened between Anthony and me? People have told me they were vicious, but they won’t say what they were.”
Zara laid down her fork and leveled her blue-eyed gaze on Alison. “There were many,” she said, “but for a while it was common knowledge that Anthony had taken sexual advantage of you.”
Alison’s heart thumped once, hard. “They said he raped me?” Zara nodded. “How have I not heard this?”
“It was buried in a host of conflicting rumors I started to head that one off,” Zara said. “We both, Anthony and I, judged it better that it not go farther than Aurilien, to protect your reputation to the extent that was possible. I am nothing if not thorough.”
“No wonder he always looks like a statue,” Alison breathed. “Why didn’t you stop it?”
“And make it look like there was something to hide? Rumors pass. Someone does something stupid and becomes the next topic of conversation. Your scandal is all but forgotten, now.”
“But I would have come back—I would have told people the truth.”
“Alison, the surest way to spread a rumor is to deny it. All that would have accomplished would have been to make you a figure of pity or, to those with low minds, a woman of no virtue. This was the best course.”
“Damn Alexander Bishop.” All Alison’s anger was swept away for the moment by compassion. Anthony shouldn’t have had to endure that, no matter what he’d done to her. No wonder he’d gone running to the theater to hide. No wonder his eyes didn’t have their old gleam. “I don’t suppose you did anything about him?”
Zara’s mouth curled up in its calculating smile. “Let us just say that no one will ever see Alexander Bishop in Aurilien again, and leave it at that.”
Alison shivered. “I won’t ask.”
“It’s nothing so sinister. He just decided to take a permanent trip to Veribold.” Zara sipped her wine. “He may or may not have had encouragement.”
“I’m glad he’s gone.”
“So is Anthony. So am I. I don’t think he’ll be missed much, to be honest, except by his creditors.”
The door opened and Anthony came in. “You started without me,” he said plaintively.
“And we are about to finish without you, too,” said Zara. “What kept you so long?”
“You did, actually,” said Anthony, laying his napkin on his lap. “That inventor you wanted me to meet with? He was late. But I was too interested in his invention to send him away.”
“What invention?” Alison said.
He glanced at her before applying himself to his food. “Damn, this is cold. I know, it’s my own fault. He has an invention that lets you instantly communicate with anyone, anywhere, provided you both have the same Device. He calls it a telecoder.”
“Does it work?”
“It does, or at least his prototype does. It’s quite impressive. I told him we’d give him the materials and space to put together a full-scale demonstration.”
“Excellent,” Zara said. She stood. “Send me word when it’s ready. I’d like to see it myself. Good night.”
Alison finished her meal in silence, painfully conscious of Anthony’s presence. Anthony ate quickly and neatly and paid no attention to her until she pushed her plate away and stood, when he said, “Did Zara tell you she wants to give you a bodyguard?”
“She did. I turned it down.”
“I think you should reconsider. Gowan acts like the kind of man who sees the world in terms of who will accommodate him and who will get in his way. I think he’s ruthless enough to try to attack you directly if indirect means won’t work.”
“I don’t think it’s come to that.”
“No, but it might.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I think Gowan is going to stick to indirect threats for a while yet.”
He shrugged. “I thought you’d say that, but I had to try.”
“Thank you.” She waited to see if he had anything more to say, but he just went back to his food, his attention fully on his plate, so she said “Good night” and heard his murmured reply.
She went to her chambers, which were so much nicer now that all traces of Charles Bancroft had been eradicated from them. She’d requisitioned—such a nice word; it was her new favorite word—new furniture, new bedding, even new curtains, and had most of her wardrobe packed and sent to Aurilien, trying not to think about what that said about the semi-permanent nature of her residence here. Now her chambers smelled of good things like bath soaps and new leather and her personal scent. She used the bookshelf to hold the Library books she borrowed and covered her bed with the red and gold quilt that had belonged to her mother. It made any place seem like home.
She sat on the sofa and thought about what Zara had told her. How had he endured the calumny? For someone who had been at the center of society, to be tarred with that vile accusation must have been devastating. If you’d said yes, none of this would have happened, her inner voice taunted her. I was never going to say yes to him, she told it. Stop trying to make me feel guilty. He might not have deserved to be crucified like that, but he deserved everything else he got.
But she had the dream again that night, and for a few blissful moments on waking wondered why Anthony wasn’t beside her. Then she buried her face in her pillow and sobbed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“You promise, no more changes of plans, yes?” Henry said.
“No changes. The two of us, supper, no excuses.” Alison hefted another stack of books. “Unless you change your plans.”
“I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do than spend the evening with you.” He sounded teasing, but his eyes were serious, and Alison had to look away, uncomfortable. Was he, or wasn’t he, flirting with her? He’d never looked at her that way before, but what if she was imagining things? She decided to treat this as it appeared on the surface, just supper between old friends, nothing romantic about it. But…suppose he wanted it to be romantic? What then? It was strange, thinking of Henry in that light; he’d always just been her friend, and Tessa’s husband, but Tessa was gone and Henry wasn’t more than ten years her senior. Not a big difference at all. Mature men were attractive in a way younger men were not. Alison brushed those thoughts aside. Henry’s attention probably meant nothing. But if it meant something, how would she feel about that? Not bad at all, she decided. Maybe Father’s advice wouldn’t be so difficult to follow.
Supper was enjoyable. They talked of old friends; they talked of Tessa, and found the subject not so painful as it once would have been. Henry talked about how much he missed teaching, and Alison told him how she regretted giving up her editing work. Afterward they walked back to the palace and her chambers slowly, enjoying the cool spring evening and continuing to talk of inconsequentialities. At her door, Henry turned to face her, took both her hands in his, and said, “Thank you for looking for me. And for the job. And…for your company.” He kissed her hands, one at a time, his eyes intent on her. Once again, she felt a mix of emotions, discomfort and excitement and confusion, and she was afraid he might try to kiss her, because she really didn’t know what she’d do then.
But he only released her, and said, “Good night, Alison, I’ll see you in the morning,” just as if nothing had happened. She stood watching him go for a moment before entering her chambers and shutting the door.
So. Henry was interested in her. The man certainly does like younger women. She ignored her snarky inner voice. The question was, was she interested in him? She liked the way he looked at her. She’d known him long enough to trust he didn’t have any ulterior motives. And it was so…
comfortable, really, to be admired by someone she was sure wanted her for herself. But she wasn’t sure if she liked him, or just liked feeling desirable. It would be unfair to him if she pursued the relationship only to discover she didn’t actually care about him. She banged the back of her head against the door three times, gently. Well, she certainly wasn’t going to be able to sleep right away, not after all that.
Alison opened the first box and said, “Please stop breathing down my neck, everyone.” The scribes and the apprentices took a few steps back. Alison reached into the box and drew out a brass magnifying Device with buttons and knobs all along its rim. She set it on the librarians’ desk and adjusted the screws to keep it balanced, then pressed a button. The brass rim glowed softly, drawing a murmur out of the audience.
“They’re self-focusing, milady?” Danica said.
“They are. And everyone gets one. Trevers, Gwendolen, help pass them out, please.” Alison ran a finger along its smooth frame, then turned off the light. She remembered how the first batch had been destroyed, those beautiful Devices turned into twisted brass and glittering shards, and took a deep, calming breath. Days had passed with no word as to what the Magistrix and her party were doing or how Zara was handling her Council. Gowan hadn’t tried anything else. Yet. The Library was purring along so smoothly it had almost become boring, but there was no sense in becoming complacent.
“These must have cost a fortune,” Henry murmured in her ear.
“It’s worth it to me,” Alison said, feeling a little uncomfortable at how close he was. Nothing else had come of dinner with Henry. He treated her with the same friendly respect he always had, and she found herself disappointed by that. The trouble was she wasn’t sure if she was disappointed because she wanted a closer relationship with Henry, or if she was disappointed because she liked the feeling of being courted and wanted more of it. Henry was attractive, and kind, and they cared about the same things, and they had a shared history, but did they have a…a spark? Like what you had with Anthony, her traitorous inner voice said, and she slapped it down, hard.
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