Famished Page 5

  Since he was in no hurry to go back downstairs and face Reginald’s dour criticisms, Clive lingered for a while in the guest bathroom’s shower. He then puttered around his room for a while after that, even rereading the notes he’d taken so far while browsing Elwyn’s astonishing collection of medieval books and manuscripts. It was a wonder the Bodleian or some other prominent library hadn’t made him an offer for the entire collection yet.

  For that matter, some museum of witchcraft and sorcery would probably pay most any price for a few of the alchemical handbooks stored there, which were surely one-of-a-kind historical treasures. If he had been lucky enough to own even one such volume, he mused, he could live off the proceeds of its sale for the rest of his life. And here Elwyn had dozens of them, and seemed barely interested in either their contents or their monetary value. As Reginald had implied, he came from an entirely different sort of world.

  No point in fantasizing about it, though. Scholars like Clive never had the funds to actually purchase priceless memorabilia like that. The best they could hope to do was study it in socially approved settings, under properly antiseptic conditions and by the leave of whatever wealthy or highly placed person cared to bestow it.

  If only….

  No, he reminded himself sharply. He even repeated it out loud, just to emphasize it for the benefit of his subconscious. “No!” He wouldn’t go there. The life he had once lived was gone. He’d made a fresh start now, become a new person.

  Besides, Elwyn had been good to him. More than good. He was handsome, kind, and attentive as well as fabulously wealthy. If things continued the way they had been going so far, he might have access to the abbey library any time he wanted. Actually owning one or more of the books wouldn’t make the slightest difference.

  He turned when he heard a knock at his door. Relief swept over him. Was Elwyn back already? Perhaps the interview with the constable hadn’t taken very long, after all.

  When he opened the door, though, he was disappointed to find Reginald.

  “Yes, Reginald? What is it?”

  “I wish to apologize for my curtness to you downstairs. Master Blaylock left me with instructions that I should tend to your wishes, and I most shamefully neglected to carry out his wishes. I sincerely hope you can forgive me.”

  “Oh—well, sure. No need to mention it, really. Thank you for caring about my feelings, though.” Clive began to close the door between them, preferring to be left alone, but Reginald held up a hand to stop him.

  “If I may speak freely, sir?”

  Clive shrugged. “Sure, I don’t see why not. Go ahead.”

  “I had hoped I might make up for my earlier rudeness by showing you something of great import that I have discovered in the library. The discovery is possibly of such magnitude that I haven’t even told Master Blaylock yet. I wanted to do some further investigation before I sent his hopes aloft.”

  “Oh? What kind of discovery are we talking about here?”

  “I hesitate to say more until you have seen for yourself. I suspect your scholarly expertise may be of use in classifying my discovery.”

  Clive stared at him, too stunned to reply at first. Some new and amazing discovery in the library, made while he was conducting his own research? The potential for a career-making publication—or even something more personally beneficial—made his heart begin to thud in chest.

  “I’d… I’d be happy to take a look,” he said, forcing himself not to stammer in his eagerness. Reginald bowed and held out a hand.

  “After you, then, sir.”

  Chapter 5

  Blaylock purposely parked a few streets over from the constabulary and walked cautiously through the village. He scrutinized everyone who walked past him, on the lookout for anyone giving him the evil eye or even flashing him a disapproving scowl. No one did, leading him to believe that even if Eric had run through town hurling accusations against him, no one had paid him any attention.

  Of course, there was always the possibility that he had gone directly to the constable and laid out his story clearly and concisely. Could Blaylock have been invited to the station in order to facilitate his own arrest?

  The thought made him pause in midstep and shudder, but he quickly recovered and walked on. So what if the police had listened to some vague complaint against him? The master of Blaylock Abbey did not and would not bow to innuendo spread about by the likes of Eric. If the constable understood anything about his position in the village, he would know that Blaylock’s word counted far above anyone else’s, especially a drunken outsider.

  Constable Miller was a bland-looking, bearded man in his thirties, who hastily ushered Blaylock to a seat opposite his desk. In a slightly nervous tone, he apologized for interrupting Blaylock’s morning and offered the usual thanks for his cooperation. Blaylock assumed a casual posture and listened to the ritual pleasantries with a practiced disdain.

  “You know I am always happy to perform my civic duties, Constable. My family’s connection to this town goes back to the Tudor era, as I am sure you know. Please do let me know how I may be of help in this particular instance.”

  Miller cleared his throat. Blaylock saw a bit of pink creeping up from his beard’s edge. “Sir, you know I do appreciate your cooperation. I suppose there’s no way to be delicate about this, so you’ll forgive me if I simply lay it out.” He paused to take a deep breath. “Fact is, sir, there have been some allegations concerning some… ah… funny business up at the abbey last night.”

  It took everything Blaylock had to maintain a calm, disinterested demeanor. “Really?”

  “Yes. l… the thing is, the man was drunk or possibly worse. Never know what you’re apt to find these days, are you? I do therefore realize he may have been delusional or outright lying. Anyhow, he said you picked him up in a sort of… club… you know… and brought him to the abbey for some… ah… adult sorts of entertainments. When he resisted, he claims your servant tried to lock him in a small, dark room and keep him there against his will. He says he barely escaped with his life.”

  Blaylock watched Miller’s face contort with embarrassment, and his earlier trepidation faded at once. He held up a hand and shook his head with theatrical sadness. “Please, Constable, go no further. I am aware of the man, and the situation, you are describing, though I hasten to assure you that the details have been grossly misrepresented.”

  Miller seemed to relax a bit. “Well, now, I figured something like that was the case.” He opened a small notebook in front of him and picked up a stubby pencil. “Perhaps you would care to give me your side of the story, just for the record.”

  “I would be delighted.” Curling his lips into his most charming smile, Blaylock proceeded to relate an immaculately detailed account of finding an apparently ill or injured man outside what he later learned was a club with a scandalous reputation. He had attempted to give the man a ride home, but his directions were so slurred and nonsensical that Blaylock had ended up driving him to the abbey instead. Once there, the man began to hallucinate and even attacked Reginald when he tried to help. It was true that Reginald had tried to subdue him, but only so that they could detain him until an ambulance could be summoned, since the man was obviously delirious. Eventually he had overpowered both of them and fled into the night.

  While he spoke, Miller nodded and jotted a few things down in his notebook. Nothing in his face suggested even a hint of disbelief.

  “Sounds about right to me,” he said when Blaylock finished his tale. “I rather suspected it was something like that all along, but you understand that I had to get your side of things too.”

  “Of course. I would expect nothing less of a man with your professional dedication. May I inquire what became of the unfortunate man? He isn’t still wandering about town broadcasting this slander, I would hope.”

  “No, I put him on a bus back to the city this morning, once he’d sobered up a bit. I took down his information and told him I would be in touch if I needed anyt
hing more from him. Looks like that won’t be necessary, though. Just another poor sod who can’t handle his ale.”

  “Quite. I hope he exhibited the proper gratitude for your compassion.”

  Miller snorted with amusement. “Not likely. Went so far as to say the entire town was colluding to let you lot carry on murdering people up that big house of yours. Mind you, sir, I quickly set him straight on that count.”

  Blaylock rose and extended a hand. “Thank you, Constable. I do feel fortunate to have so skilled and discerning an officer investigate the case. If you don’t mind, I must be on my way now.”

  “Not at all, sir, not at all. If the… er… gentleman in question gives you any more trouble, you know where to find me. This time I won’t go so easy on him. Troublemakers need to know they aren’t welcome in this village.”

  After a few more pleasantries, Blaylock took his leave and walked back to his car. On the way, he passed a teenaged couple holding hands. They didn’t seem to notice him, having eyes only for one another. Briefly, Blaylock flashed back to the long, silent look he and Clive had exchanged across the breakfast table and felt a sharp, sudden longing to return to the abbey at once.

  He and Clive had much to discuss.

  “It’s right over here,” Reginald said, leading Clive through the library and heading for the shelves at the back. “I noticed it while I was checking last night to see if the intruder had moved or vandalized anything.”

  He reached behind the shelf and moved his hand in a way Clive couldn’t see. Instantly the shelf itself began to move, revealing a narrow, stone-lined passage tucked behind the wall. Reginald stepped aside and gestured toward the opening with pride.

  “There, you see? Untouched for hundreds of years, I expect. Please, feel free to examine the contents for yourself. Here, let me get a candle for you.”

  Clive started forward, but instinct told him to keep back as Reginald lit a wall sconce and held it up to the newly revealed space. By tilting his head, Clive could make out a few dingy tables with large antique books on them. The room smelled odd—of smoke and musty books, which was to be expected, but it also emitted an even less appealing odor. It smelled metallic, almost like blood. But how could that be, if no one had opened it for centuries?

  “Well?” Reginald prompted, waving the torch a little. “Come and look. I would greatly value your opinion.”

  Hesitantly, being careful not to turn his back on Reginald, Clive eased closer and craned his neck to take a quick peek inside. “I would say it’s a sort of storage room,” he guessed. “The monks may have used it to hide controversial texts they had copied in defiance of the church or the king’s wishes. It appears a few such books are still inside. We had better not touch them with our bare hands, though. They’re likely to be brittle. Doing so, never mind moving them, might damage the bindings irreparably.”

  Reginald’s face grew pinched, as though he were suppressing an angry outburst. He waited a few moments, perhaps to see if Clive would let his curiosity get the better of him after all and steer him into the room. When that didn’t happen, he grumbled to himself and raised the torch a little higher.

  “Mr. Whitley, may I speak frankly? It must come as no surprise to you that I disapprove of this… relationship… you appear to be developing with my employer. I am prepared, therefore, to offer you a bargain.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Simply this. Agree to leave this place today, break off all contact with Master Blaylock, and I am prepared to give you the contents of this room to take away with you. Whatever money or reputation you can derive from possessing them shall be yours to enjoy—I will never mention what I discovered here to any living soul. You will have to hurry, though. Master Blaylock could return from town at any moment. I will assist you in lifting the books so that we will cause them minimal, if any, damage.”

  Clive frowned. Oddly, it seemed as though Reginald had read his thoughts up in the guestroom. But then, it wasn’t too farfetched to believe that most scholars, accustomed to handling rare and precious antiquities for other people, longed to own some themselves.

  For the briefest of moments, or perhaps only for a fraction of a moment, he found himself tempted. Then he remembered how it had felt when Elwyn Blaylock’s lips had crashed down on his, and how his heart had raced when their bodies had pressed together in the warmth and darkness of the night. A stack of medieval books, no matter how authentic and valuable, couldn’t compare.

  “No,” he said, stepping back. “I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s a generous offer, all things considered, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. If it’s any consolation, I won’t mention what you just said to Mr. Blaylock. I’m sure you only had his best interests in mind.”

  Clive found himself surprised by the expression of shock that crossed Reginald’s face. Apparently, he had been convinced that Clive would give in without the slightest hesitation. It only proved how little Reginald seemed to know of human nature, but then, as Clive had already determined, Reginald was at least partially mad anyhow.

  “Perhaps my offer is not sweet enough? I can add some cash as well. I haven’t much on hand, but I would be willing to give you all I have to get you away from Master Blaylock. I feel that strongly about it.”

  “I’m sorry, Reginald, but my answer is no. I’m afraid that’s final. Let’s not discuss it anymore. Like I said, your secret is safe with me.”

  While he was speaking, Clive gradually became aware of a distant scratching noise coming from somewhere inside the chamber. Instinctively his gaze sought the shadows within, though he saw no sign of movement.

  Rats, he thought. Only rats. Just because the human residents of the abbey hadn’t known about the passage didn’t mean the rodents were equally clueless.

  When he looked up again, he was startled to see that Reginald had moved a step closer to him. His watery grey eyes blazed with what Clive could only perceive as sinister intent.

  “You had to make it difficult, didn’t you?” Reginald bit out the words. “You had to pretend, up until the very last moment, that you genuinely cared for Master Blaylock. You haven’t fooled me in the slightest, of course. I simply misjudged your price.”

  “You’re wrong!” Clive felt himself growing hot. The sounds inside the passageway increased in volume, too. This time he thought he heard the pages in those antique books rustling. Were the rats running over them? Or was there a strong draft blowing through the secret chamber? “I do care about Elwyn. I have no intention of stealing from him.”

  “You’ve already stolen from him, though you may not care to admit it. You have stolen his willpower, his sense of duty to this abbey—his dignity. I should make you pay for that, Mr. Whitley.”

  Clive was about to respond when Reginald lunged at him and wrapped both arms around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. Before Clive even had time to fling his hands up in front of himself, he found himself being strong-armed into the secret room. The chattering and rustling sounds he’d heard earlier grew louder and more intense as he felt himself being dragged through the narrow doorway between the shelves. Desperately he writhed, twisted, and jammed his heels against the ground. Nothing did any good at all. For an older man, Reginald was surprisingly agile. Clive wondered if his madness gave him extra strength.

  “You couldn’t really have believed I would give the likes of you any of the treasures that belong to this house,” Reginald snarled, forcing Clive into the center of the hidden room. “Still, there is something you can do for the abbey—and for Master Blaylock, as it happens.” Roughly he shoved Clive onto the floor and promptly planted one foot on his right wrist to prevent him from rising. Clive bit back a howl, not wanting to give Reginald the satisfaction of acknowledging the pain he was causing.

  With the sconce now blazing in the wall hook, for the first time Clive could look around at the entire space. It appeared to be a fairly typical medieval storage room, no doubt used for bookmaking supplies and manuscripts not
meant for general distribution. A few such books sat on hand-hewn tables that probably dated from the abbey’s earliest days—the furniture alone, Clive surmised, was worth a fortune. The books—he counted twelve—were oddly oversized and appeared to glow, though he figured that was an optical illusion caused by the reflection of the sconce.

  “I—I told you,” Clive managed to gasp, as Reginald ground his foot down harder on his arm. “I—don’t want anything of Elwyn’s.”

  “And a good thing, too. As a matter of fact, I am about to give you a much greater gift. In just a few minutes, you will become a part of the abbey for all time—feeding the spirits that have kept this house alive and thriving through centuries past and for centuries to come.”

  “The spirits? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Never mind. I’ve grown tired of talking to you—your limited intellect both bores and offends me. So now I will leave you to your fate. Don’t worry about Master Blaylock—I will relay your farewells to him. I can be far more eloquent than you ever could, anyway.”

  With that, Reginald finally lifted his foot away and scurried toward the panel while Clive clutched at his pain-numbed arm and attempted to roll to his feet. He was almost to the panel when Reginald began to close it. Clive could hardly believe it—Reginald was sealing him inside!

  In a burst of panic, he hurled himself at the small gap remaining, managing to wedge his shoulder between two hunks of unforgiving stone. He howled as the two panels continued to squeeze down on him, jamming his arm in the space. But at least he hadn’t been trapped inside.

  Bracing his feet against the floor, he began to shove with every ounce of strength he had, attempting to force the panel open again. His efforts were complicated by Reginald, who was applying equal pressure to the other side. Clive was making progress, his fear making him powerful, when a scuffling sound behind him made him lift his head and scan the room again.