Page 61 of Mesmerized

“I never realized how many arcane and useless books we had in this library,” Stephen commented as they sat down at the library table for a rest and a revivifying cup of tea.

“Mmm. The Moreland library is like that, especially the one in the country seat.” She grinned. “I think even Great-uncle Bellard hasn’t read all the books there.” She paused, resting her chin on her hand, elbow propped on the table. “You know, I have been thinking about that dream I had. I keep feeling that Lady Alys was trying to tell me something.”

Stephen sent her a quizzical look, and she blushed. “Yes, I know. I sound nonsensical, thinking that some long-dead person—if, of course, she even existed—is communicating with me. But I cannot help feeling somehow connected to her. Why did I dream about that gold casket? And why did she say that to me about holding on to things that are precious?”

Stephen shrugged. “All right, I’ll go along. Why?”

“I don’t know!” Olivia said in frustration. “That is the problem. But, you know, I have been thinking and thinking about the dream, and I think—I know this will sound odd, but I think some of the things were missing.”

“What?”

“They were not in the box you showed me yesterday. That girdle I saw her put in, for instance. And there was a rather pretty chain with a smaller cross hanging on it, as well as a large bracelet-a wide golden band—that were not in your box. Yet there was an elegant little dagger in it that was not in there in my dream.”

He frowned. “I don’t know that any of that is significant. If the Martyrs’ treasure does come from the era of Sir Raymond, then by the time it reached the Lord Scorhill, who was beheaded, any number of things could have been added to or taken from the casket—lost or stolen or sold, even melted down to make some other piece of jewelry. There is no reason to think that all the jewelry would have survived.”

“No, I suppose not. And yet, it seemed as if she was trying to tell me something.” Olivia groaned, putting her hands to her face. “Oh, dear, I sound idiotic even to myself, thinking that a woman who doesn’t even exist is trying to tell me things in my dream.”

“At this point, I am not discounting anything,” Stephen told her. “You know, it is your mind working in your dreams. I have heard of people who have lost something and in a dream saw where they lost it. They had just forgotten what they knew. Perhaps this is something like that.”

“Perhaps.”

“What was it she said to you?”

“I wish I could remember exactly.” Olivia pressed her hand to her forehead. “You know how dreams are. At the time it seems so clear, and then you begin to forget the exact details. But it was something about keeping the things that are precious to you safe. Or maybe it was storing the things that are precious.” She started to speak, then stopped.

“What? What were you going to say?”

“Well, this is nothing, really, but I just had a thought. Maybe some of your really old books are stored. Is that possible? That they’ve been boxed up and put away somewhere? I mean, it seems likely to me that a book that concerns this time period could be quite old.”

“Or very dull,” Stephen added. “Which would make it a likely candidate for being stored away. All right. I’m willing to try it. We are nearly through with the books here, and we’ve found nothing useful. Where else shall we look? The unused wing of the house?”

“I don’t know. Do you think there are books there?”

He shrugged. “It’s possible. Or there could be boxes of books in the attic, I suppose.”

They decided to explore the attic first. After a consultation with the housekeeper as to where such things as books might have been salted away, they climbed to the highest floor, where they went up a narrow staircase into the large attic. It was a vast gloomy room under the roof, lit only by windows at either end. Stephen had come prepared with a lantern, but its circle of light illuminated only the small portion around them, leaving most of the rest of the huge room in shadows.

They started toward the east end of the attic, the bobbing lantern in Stephen’s hand casting ever-changing light and shadow over the hodgepodge of objects they passed. There were cabinets and other odd bits of furniture, as well as trunks and hall trees and assorted oddments, including canes, a dressmaker’s form that looked heart-poundingly human at first glance, and even a grotesque umbrella stand made out of the foot of an elephant.

When they reached the far end, where the housekeeper had directed them, Stephen put down his lantern on a nearby trunk, and he and Olivia set to work opening the various trunks and boxes around them. They found an assortment of things inside the trunks, usually clothes and shoes and toys, mementos of days past. They came at last to a cache of books, and they went through two trunks, taking out each book and looking at it, then going on to the next. They worked side by side in companionable accord.

Olivia’s hands and skirts were soon streaked with dust, and she suspected that her hair and face had gathered quite a bit of dust, too, but, frankly, she didn’t care. She felt sure that someone like Pamela would scorn what she was doing, but she was enjoying it. She and Stephen talked about this book or that as they pulled it from the pile, joking and exclaiming over some of his ancestors’ reading choices. He looked equally grubby as she, she saw with amused affection, one cheek streaked with dirt and his hair decorated with a cobweb of dust.

They did not find anything helpful in the first two trunks of books, but they continued back the way they had come, opening and exploring more boxes and trunks. They came upon another trunk full of books, and it was there that Stephen at last held up a volume in triumph.

“‘A Compleat Historie of Black Hope Manor,’” he read aloud, and grinned at Olivia.

She let out a squeal and said, “What does it say?”

He opened the front cover and held it closer to the light. “It seems to be a piece of pompous puffery, as best as I can tell, written by one of my illustrious ancestors.” He sighed. “He writes about the house, but he begins with the St. Leger acquisition of the place.”

“Hardly what I would call ‘compleat,’” Olivia complained.

“Yes, well, it looks to me as though his chief objective is illustrating how grand the St. Leger family is. He focuses more on the additions than anything else.” He flipped carefully through the aged leaves of the book. “Wait. Look. There is a piece of paper folded and stuck in the back cover. No. It’s glued in there, I believe.”

Gently he unfolded the fragile paper until it was four times as big as the back cover to which it was attached.

“It looks like a family tree,” he said.