Love In The Library (10 page)

“I take it a manuscript like that is worth a great deal of money?”

“There is no book in the English language that is more valuable. Selling it would take care of all my needs for the rest of my life. Even the fifteen percent your brother would get could be a great deal of money.” Her lids lowered as she said a silent prayer for his safe return. She hadn’t the heart to voice her fears to Sir Elvin for he was clearly as worried about his brother as she was.

It was best to change the topic of conversation. "I must beg that you not tell anyone about the stolen manuscript. Your brother gave me his word he wouldn't,"

"My brother's word is as good as money in the bank. And, of course, if you don't want to speak of it, I won't tell a soul."

He looked distracted, then suddenly stood. “I beg your pardon, but I must send for my coach and try to find Melvin.”

"I have to come with you."

He paused, giving her a queer look. "That would hardly be proper, madam."

"I wouldn't be standing here if I were concerned about what was proper."

Their gazes locked and held, and in those few seconds when she peered into his dark eyes, she knew their shared concern for Melvin united them. "I am hardly a maiden, my dear sir, nor am I a girl. I am as old as you. Do you think that young?"

"Of course not."

"As distressing as it is to bring this up . . . what if your brother has fallen ill? I have some skill caring for the infirm. I want to be there in case your brother needs me."

Their eyes locked. It was a moment before he responded. "Very well."

* * *

After traveling all night, Melvin arrived at the posting inn in Cheddar, exhausted, cold, and thoroughly wet. The innkeeper had been most accommodating in leading him straight away to a warm room and sending up a hot meal. By the time Melvin had taken a long nap, his clothes—hung by the fire—had dried.

He dressed and went down to the tavern to initiate a conversation with the innkeeper. Melvin had already planned how he would approach the subject of Mrs. Higgins. “I say, I’ve a friend whose former servant has taken up lodgings at Pleasant View Cottage. Do you know them?”

The older man wiped away a dribble of ale from the counter. “That would be old Mr. Higgins’ place. Poor fellow had seven daughters.”

“How many sons had he?" Melvin asked.

“Not a single one. To make matters even worse, five of his daughters never married. They weren’t a pretty lot, if you know what I mean?”

Melvin nodded.

“Poor man," the innkeeper continued. "Two or three of them went into service, and one of them—can’t remember which—is back now, living with the oldest, who never left home and who is getting way up in years. Mr. Higgins confided in me that in his old age he grew thankful he had no sons.”

“I daresay all parents end up being pleased with the gender of their offspring.”

“It was more than that, actually. He said if he’d had a son he would have had to leave his small farm to the eldest, and there would be no place for his girls to live once they were pensioned off.”

“So now the old maids have a home.” Melvin needed to introduce his topic. “I suppose they live in the lap of luxury, what with one having been in service to the gentry.” He needed to know if Mrs. Higgins had been spending wildly.

The innkeeper shook his head. “I don’t think that’s the case. The one what was in service—the healthiest, she is—has recently begun coming into town to sell eggs. If you ask me, she’s desperate for money. Old Mr. Higgins had nothing to leave them. In his later years he weren't able to farm.”

“Did he lease his land?”

The man nodded. “It's still being leased, but since it wasn’t very large, it can’t bring in much income.”

Mrs. Bexley would be relieved to know her former housekeeper was innocent of the theft. No elderly woman would be making a long trek into town to sell a few paltry eggs if she hadn’t great need of money.

On the other hand, Mrs. Bexley would be sad to know that her Mrs. Higgins was not comfortable in retirement.

If only they could get their hands on the stolen manuscript. Mrs. Bexley would be in a position to help her old servant.

Before he left Cheddar, there were two things he needed to do. First, he would post a letter to Dr. Mather. Those interested in expanding their libraries often consulted Melvin's old mentor. It was looking as if he—and possibly Mr. Christie—were their last hope of tracing the elusive thief.

With that letter dispatched, Melvin went to Pleasant View Cottage to give Mrs. Bexley’s regards to her old employee—and to see for himself if she was living in reduced financial circumstances.

* * *

She thought she would go mad throughout the journey in Sir Elvin's coach. Relentless rain, graphite skies, and a sullen travelling companion were distressing enough, but her added worry over Melvin Steffington made her lower than an adder's belly. When the rain ceased midway through the afternoon, the sun stayed hidden behind heavy, dark clouds. Under these conditions, it would be days before the muddy roads would dry enough for travelers to speed along.

All of her life, Catherine had been terrified of riding in a coach at night. Even the insensitive Mr. Bexley would always have his coachman find an inn as soon as night fell in order to keep from subjecting Catherine to the dark roads where highwaymen lurked. Strangely, on this night, she ignored her own fears—except those fears for Mr. Steffington's well-being.

After ten hours they finally approached the Mendip Hills. Their inquiries at the coaching inn in Radstock had netted them the information that a man fitting Melvin's description had indeed changed horses there two days earlier. They remembered him well because no other lone travelers had braved such treacherous weather that day.

Which made her feel wretched. It was all her fault poor, noble Mr. Steffington was putting his person in jeopardy. She did not want to think about the misfortune that had fallen upon his poor sister many years ago.

Skies darkened after they left the inn. "Are you sure you want to continue on?" Sir Elvin asked. "You understand if our carriage should become stuck in the mud it could be many, many hours before another traveler happens along our road."

Worse than being stranded was the fear of the cold in the wee hours of the morning. But that same cold is exactly what pushed her into an affirmative answer. She couldn’t bear to think of Aristotle alone and cold. Because of his perceived responsibility to her. "I'm sure."

Throughout the journey, the normally congenial Sir Elvin was much too disturbed to make pretty conversation with her. She knew, too, he resented her for endangering the person he was closest to on earth.

What a transformation had come over him. Two nights earlier he had been unable to remove his gaze from Catherine, hovering around her the duration of her time at the Upper Assembly Rooms. Then the following day, he'd rushed to call on her home.

She was relieved that she wasn't going to have to repel the baronet's advances. She had not the least desire to spend the rest of her life subservient to any man. Especially a man who shared many traits with the late Mr. Bexley.

Now Sir Elvin acted as if she were invisible. Was his silence because he hated her? She wouldn't blame him if he did.

The interior of their coach was in nearly total darkness when she finally lifted the velvet curtain. Under the faint moonlight she could see ahead about twenty feet. Thank God the rain had stopped.

Sir Elvin had insisted the driver stay off the rutted roads where they were certain to get stuck. Instead, he asked that the coachman drive on turf. He had more than once expressed his hopes that they were on the same path taken by Mr. Steffington.

By peering from the window she hoped she might be able to see if Mr. Steffington was . . . coming home or if he was in need of assistance. She prayed it wasn't the latter, though she kept finding her gaze fanning along the hillside, dreading to see a lifeless figure.

"I suppose you and I are both being very foolish in our worry over Melvin," he said.

Her brows lifted.

"If we look at it rationally," Sir Elvin said, "Considering the wretched weather, we should not have expected Melvin to be home so soon. Under such conditions, he would be lucky to make it from Bath to Cheddar in two days, certainly not to go to and from Cheddar in a single day. I cannot believe my brother so foolish as to think it a single-day trip."

"There is the fact that he'd never before been to Cheddar."

"I daresay he forgot about the Mendip Hills."

"Your brilliant brother?"

"Don't call him that to his face. He hates it."

"I know."

"He's not always brilliant. Just most of the time."

 "I know." Her gaze continued to scan the landscape, searching for the missing twin.

"I truly hope he's not fool enough to ride over these hills on a cold night like this."

She gave a false laugh. "Is that not what we're doing?" As she spoke, she saw something dark moving toward their coach. Her heartbeat accelerated. The dark outline which she couldn’t make out came closer. She had no idea what color of horse Melvin Steffington would be on or what he would be wearing, but as the dark silhouette of man on horse against the horizon drew nearer, she nearly lost her breath in anticipation. "I see something! Please, have the coachman stop!"

Sir Elvin drove his walking stick into the roof of the coach. "Stop!"

Even before the carriage came to a complete stop, she swung open her door. "Mr. Steffington!"

* * *

When he first heard the voice calling out in the night, he feared he'd gone delusional. It sounded like Mrs. Bexley. Had he been thinking of her? Is that why he thought he'd heard her voice? God knows he'd been through enough physical discomfort these past few days—and still was bloody, bloody cold. Such misery could drive a sane man mad.

Surely, though, his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, too. He was certain a pair of horses were leading a coach in his direction. Why would anyone be trying to cross these hills at night when the dirt roads that had been there were now rivers of mud?

He drew up his mount in order to listen more attentively. He heard his name again.

And this time he was sure it was Mrs. Bexley's sweet voice. What the devil?

The coach came a bit closer, then halted, and a door swung open. "Is that you, Mr. Steffington?"

Those were the sweetest words he'd ever heard. "Yes! Is that you, Mrs. Bexley?"

A second door flew open, and a man leaped from the coach. "Thank God, Melvin!"

It took Melvin a few seconds to piece together what was going on. From the tone of his twin's voice, he could tell he was upset. Which meant these two were out on this frightful night looking for him.

Elvin was prone to worry, and he had obviously worried about him. Melvin suddenly felt remorseful he'd left town without telling his brother where he was going. "Forgive me for not telling you about my journey," he said to Elvin.

By then Elvin had rushed up to him. "How are you? I was beastly worried about you."

Melvin was so happy to see his brother—and to hear Mrs. Bexley's voice—he forgot all about being cold. A warmth burned deep inside him. "I've had a pretty wretched couple of days, but I am fine now. The inside of your coach is most alluring. Where'd you get it?"

"I hired it."

Mrs. Bexley approached the brothers. "I have been worried to death about you—so much so I went to your brother and told him everything."

"Everything?"

"Yes. Even about that horrid letter from Coutts."

Elvin slung his arm around his brother, and they moved toward the coach. "Three heads are better than two. I will help you and Mrs. Bexley. Pray, what did you learn in Cheddar?"

He hated to own up to his futility, to slam another door on their search. "Mrs. Higgins is not the one."

"I am happy to have that confirmed," Mrs. Bexley said. "Though it is so very discouraging that we can't see any opening in this dark tunnel."

The coachman took Melvin's mount and tethered it behind the coach before the three of them piled inside. His brother sat next to Mrs. Bexley, who handed off the rug to Melvin. "Here, Mr. Steffington, you take this. You must be chilled to the very bone."

He was too blasted cold to deny what she offered. "I feel as if I shall never thaw."

"I should never have let you go off like that. I knew Mrs. Higgins was incapable of dishonesty."

"By the way, she sends you her regards." He proceeded to tell them what he had learned about the former housekeeper's dire financial situation. "I daresay when we do find the Chaucer manuscript, you'll have to increase the poor lady's pension."

"That's a very good suggestion."

Though he could not see them well, Melvin was swamped with the feeling that his brother and Mrs. Bexley had grown very close during their journey.

It should come as no surprise to him. She had been struck by the similarities between his brother and her
dear Mr. Bexley
.

They rode on in silence. Melvin was with the two people whose companionship he enjoyed the most. Then why was he growing melancholy? Just a few minutes previously, he'd bubbled with a deep sense of well-being.

For some odd reason, seeing his brother and Mrs. Bexley so comfortable together saddened him. He did not like to think of Elvin tiring of Mrs. Bexley as he always tired of his ladybirds. She was too fine a woman to be taken lightly.

There was also a little niggling disappointment strumming through him. She
had
told him he was her most favored man. Now it seemed she obviously preferred his brother.

Chapter 8

The last person she wished to see upon returning to Bath was Mr. Longford, but there he sat in his fancy coach just as the Steffingtons' rented chaise was bringing her home. As quickly as she scurried from the chaise, he was faster, reaching the top step just before her.

Owing to his lack of height, she stopped on the step just below him so as not to call attention to his short stature.