The Librarian's Spell Patricia Rice (top 100 novels .txt) 📖

Max remembered those days of being looked down upon by these sorts. He’d learned a few things since and grinned wickedly. “And it is my duty to protect Miss Wystan with my life. Would you prefer that I send Zach for pistols? Or should I just behead you here? The wine cellar is quite comfortable, I’m told, better than the dungeon. We have one of those too.”

Well, it could have been a dungeon. There weren’t any cells anymore. Max had no problem stretching the truth.

The dreaded rustling of petticoats approached, but it was his mother’s voice he heard. “Don’t worry, Maxwell, we’ll manage from here. I don’t believe anyone notified me of the testing committee’s arrival, so I’m quite certain they must be impostors. Come along, ladies, let’s lock them up until we have time to question them.”

The two strangers went wide-eyed and cringed backward. At a bunch of women?

Max swung around to face a sea of crinoline, silk, and. . . swords. The ladies had all followed his example and armed themselves from the great hall’s arsenal. Even Richard’s mother held a dagger. Some of them looked almost formidable, as if they knew how to use their rapiers. The broadswords—not so much.

“Father!” Richard shouted from the garden door behind the terrified solicitors. “Father, come quickly. Someone has fallen into the tunnel!”

“Hell and damnation!” Max shoved past his cowering captives, leaving them to the bloodthirsty women.

Lydia pulled on one of her old gowns, quicker to don than frills and trains, and hurried downstairs to greet the testing committee. The great hall was filled with chattering guests—wielding swords. She saw no sign of the strangers sent by the trustees.

Rushing along behind her, her bridesmaids halted to observe the spectacle.

“Why is everyone armed?” Phoebe asked in puzzlement. “Should I have worn my sgian dubh?”

“I don’t like the idea of weaponry near my library,” Lydia said uneasily. “I intended to ask Max about removing some of the collection elsewhere. It’s a trifle. . .”

“Medieval?” Azmin, Lady Dare, suggested with amusement.

Lady Agnes emerged from the grumbling crowd, holding a hand to her ample chest and breathing hard. “There seems to be an emergency,” she announced.

Seeing no sign of solicitors, Lydia immediately went into panic mode. “Max? Max is all right? And the boys?” Had Max’s fear of women fighting over him come true and he’d fled? The ladies certainly seemed to be bristling with hostility, but that could just be the swords scaring her.

“Someone has fallen down a well. Max and half the wedding party are out there playing in dirt.” Gesturing at the door, Lady Agnes appeared more put out than afraid.

“All the male half of the wedding party,” the female steward-to-be said from behind her. “I think the men have a secret means of communicating. I just saw the earl and marquess rushing out through the front entrance a moment ago in dishabille. I hope those aren’t the only shirts they brought with them if there’s to be a fight.” Those were more words than Miss Malcolm had said all last evening.

“Have Lloyd prepare some of Max’s shirts. Ask their valets what they need,” Lydia told her. “What happened to the testing committee? Didn’t a deputation arrive?”

“We’ve taken care of them for you.” Towering over her sister, Lady Gertrude, the other half of the School of Malcolms, spoke with dour authority. “You needn’t concern yourself.”

That sounded ominous, but Max in danger was more important. “I’d best see what is happening outside then.” She lifted her old skirt and started for the garden door.

“You can’t do that, dear!” Lady Agnes cried. “Max shouldn’t see his bride before the wedding.”

Lydia heard the snickers behind her. She didn’t redden. They were married ladies, after all, and her friends. She liked having friends she could trust. “There won’t be any wedding if Max falls down a hole. It’s dangerous under the tower.”

While Lady Agnes practiced fainting, Lydia strode out, followed by half her entourage and a number of guests she didn’t recognize. The new steward hesitated over Lady Agnes, but then hurried to join Lydia, as a good steward should.

Outside, men in both suit coats and shirtsleeves were hauling Max’s stack of lumber through the garden byre doorway. She found Bakari lingering nervously at the back of the crowd. “What is happening?”

He grasped her hand anxiously. “A big hole opened in the bottom of the tunnel yesterday. We blocked it and put up warning signs that even someone who cannot read would understand. But someone must have taken the signs down. Father said he does not know what is down there but it is unstable. Is that the right word?”

Bakari had a large vocabulary for a six-year-old, but he was still a child. Lydia crouched down to hug him. “Unstable means the tunnel is crumbling. Your father knows that. He will be careful. Tunnels aren’t deep. The person may have hurt their leg and simply can’t climb out.”

Richard appeared behind Bakari and shook his head, where Bakari couldn’t see him, indicating her assumption was wrong. Lydia felt her stomach tighten and was grateful she’d eaten little. She pushed Bakari into Olivia’s hands. The lady knew what to do with children.

“Perhaps I had better see what is happening for myself,” Lydia said with what she hoped sounded like confidence. “Perhaps the men might like refreshment? Richard, would you be in charge of that?”

Letting a few of her entourage protectively shuttle off Max’s sons, she made her way through the crowd of male strangers. They glanced at her with curiosity, rightfully so, she supposed. Olivia had fixed Lydia’s fiery hair in elaborate curls and entwined them with ribbons and sparkly pins so she appeared like a queen from the neck up. From the neck down, her frayed black gown wasn’t suitable even for a servant. But it suited for pushing into the dirty dark byre.

She gestured for the other ladies to remain behind. “It’s full of cobwebs. Wait here, please.”

Inside, she let her eyes adjust to the gloom. Stacks of