The Librarian of Blackthorn Edge - Part 2

Click here to listen to Corvina's Song: "A House Full of Roses" Chapter Four: The Suitor Mr. Percival Ashcombe arrived the next day in a polished carriage with two trunks, one servant, and enough confidence for an army. He spoke loudly, laughed at his own remarks, and referred to Lillian as “the little bride” before she had agreed to become anything. At dinner, he described the alterations he intended to make after their marriage. “You will not need so many books,” he told her. “Married women become too fanciful when encouraged to read.” Lillian looked across the table at Corvina. Corvina continued eating food she did not require. That night, Percival waited in his guest room, having persuaded himself that Lillian would visit him secretly. A knock came shortly before midnight. He opened the door wearing a silk robe and a smile. Corvina stood outside. “Miss Vale.” “You were expecting someone younger.” His smile changed. “I am not inflexible.” “No,” Corvina said. “Merely intolerable.” She entered. Percival did not leave his bed until late the following morning. When he did, he was pale, confused, and overwhelmed by a sudden conviction that his business interests required his immediate return to London. He departed before luncheon. Lillian found Corvina in the library and closed the door. “What did you do?” “Persuaded him to reconsider.” “Did you feed upon him?” “Enough to improve his manners.” Lillian threw her arms around her. “My father will find another.” “Then I shall develop a varied diet.” Chapter Five: The Maid in the Passage Mara Bell was twenty-eight, quick-witted, dark-haired, and employed as an upstairs maid. She had noticed Corvina from the first day but kept her distance, not from dislike, but because Mara had survived long enough in grand houses to distrust beautiful strangers and powerful employers equally. One night, while carrying linens through a service passage, she was cornered by Mr. Hawthorne’s valet. He had been drinking. “You think yourself too fine to speak to me now?” he demanded. “I speak to you every day.” “Not pleasantly.” “You have given me little reason.” He blocked the stairs. When Mara attempted to pass, he caught her by the waist and dragged her backward. She struck him. He raised his hand. Corvina caught his wrist before the blow fell. No one had heard her approach. The valet turned. “This is no concern of yours.” Corvina looked at Mara’s torn sleeve and the red mark forming upon her arm. “It has become my concern.” The man swung at Corvina. She moved with impossible speed. One moment he was standing; the next he was pinned against the wall, Corvina’s hand around his throat, her eyes burning dark red. Mara saw the teeth. Corvina fed without elegance. She took enough to leave him unconscious on the floor, then turned to Mara, expecting fear. Mara was breathing hard, but she did not scream. “You are one of them,” she whispered. Corvina wiped a trace of blood from her lip. “One of what?” “My grandmother told stories. Pale women who travelled at night. Women who punished cruel men and kept widows safe.” “Your grandmother was unusually well informed.” “Will you kill me?” “No.” “Will you send me away?” “No.” Mara looked down at the unconscious valet. “Will he remember?” “Very little.” “Then he may attack someone else.” Corvina’s expression hardened. “He will leave tomorrow. If he does not, he will not receive a second warning.” Mara’s fear transformed into something stronger. Gratitude, certainly. But also devotion. “You saved me.” “I stopped him.” “No one stops men like him. Not in houses like this.” Corvina touched Mara’s injured arm. “I do.” Mara looked into her eyes. “What do you want from me?” “Nothing you do not freely offer.” “And if I offered myself?” Corvina went still. “You are shaken.” “I am alive.” “Mara.” “I know what I saw. I know what you are. I also know you came when no one else would have.” Corvina searched her face. There was no enchantment in Mara’s expression, no supernatural compulsion, only a fierce decision made by a woman accustomed to having choices removed from her. “Not tonight,” Corvina said. “Tonight you sleep safely.” Mara smiled faintly. “Tomorrow, then.” The following night, she came to Corvina willingly. She did not ask for promises. She wanted tenderness, protection, and the knowledge that someone powerful stood between her and the men who believed a maid belonged to them. Corvina gave her all three. Chapter Six: Alice Hawthorne Alice came to the library late one evening and found Corvina cataloging a shelf of poetry. “My husband has dismissed his valet,” she said. “A wise decision.” “He claims the man was found drunk and unconscious.” “So I heard.” Alice watched her. “Strange things have begun happening since you arrived.” “Libraries often improve households.” “I do not think the library is responsible.” Corvina closed the book in her hands. Alice moved toward the window. “When I was Lillian’s age, I believed marriage meant partnership. Edmund was attentive then. He listened. He remembered what I liked.” “What changed?” “He discovered that possession required less effort than love.” Alice’s voice remained controlled, but tears stood in her eyes. “He visits women in town. He pursues maids. He has not touched me with tenderness in years, yet he expects me to smile beside him at dinner as proof that he is a successful husband.” Corvina came closer. “You deserve more.” Alice laughed bitterly. “At forty-five?” “Age does not diminish hunger.” Their first kiss was hesitant. Alice drew back at once. “I cannot believe I did that.” “Do you regret it?” Alice looked at Corvina’s mouth. “No.” She stayed that night. For the first time in many years, Alice was touched as though she were precious rather than available, listened to as though every unfinished sentence mattered, and held afterward without impatience. Two nights later, Corvina told her the truth. Alice’s reaction was quieter than Lillian’s but no less intense. She saw the teeth, recoiled, and crossed the room. “How long?” “Centuries.” “You have fed inside this house.” “Yes.” “Upon whom?” “Men who threatened women, and one suitor who refused to understand the word no.” Alice stared. “Have you fed upon Lillian?” “Never.” That answer was true. Corvina did not mention anything else. “Will you harm her?” “No. I would protect her with my life.” Alice studied her. “And me?” “The same.” “You could live forever.” “Perhaps.” “And I will grow old.” “Yes.” Alice swallowed. “Then why begin something you know you will lose?” Corvina’s expression changed, and for the first time Alice glimpsed the loneliness beneath her composure. “Because refusing love does not prevent loss. It only prevents love.” Alice came back to her. “Promise me you will never feed upon me.” “I promise.” “Promise that no man in this house will ever treat me as Edmund has again.” Corvina touched her cheek. “That promise may require unpleasant consequences.” Alice leaned into her hand. “I find that comforting.” She kissed Corvina with far less hesitation than before. Alice did not know that Lillian had already learned Corvina’s nature. Lillian did not know that Alice had been told. Corvina kept their nights separate, their confidences private, and their affections divided into different rooms. Lillian came with passion, wonder, and dreams of escape. Alice came with mature longing, wounded dignity, and a need to feel desired again. Mara came through the servants’ corridor, direct and grateful, asking for no illusion beyond safety and affection. Each believed herself to possess a private side of Corvina. In a way, each did. Chapter Seven: The Master’s Tribute Mr. Hawthorne’s fascination with Corvina had steadily become entitlement. One night he entered her room without knocking. “You have been treated generously,” he said, locking the door. Corvina sat before the mirror, brushing her hair. “I have performed the work for which I was hired.” “I doubled your salary. I placed you in a family room.” “And therefore?” “A woman should understand when a man expects gratitude.” Corvina placed the brush upon the table. “Does Alice know you are here?” “My wife knows better than to question me.” “Your daughter?” “She will marry whom I choose.” “And your servants?” “They are paid to obey.” Corvina rose. Mr. Hawthorne smiled, believing he had won. “You are very beautiful,” he said. “You are very predictable.” He reached for her. Corvina caught his hand. For one confused second he tried to pull free. Then he saw her eyes. His scream never left the room. She fed slowly enough to teach him terror and carefully enough to leave him alive. When he collapsed across her bed, Corvina opened the door and found Mara waiting in the corridor. “I heard him enter,” Mara whispered. “Help me move him.” “Where?” Corvina considered. “His own room would invite questions.” Mara’s mouth curved. “Miss Lillian’s room is empty. She is in the south sitting room.” Corvina looked at her. “That would create chaos.” “Yes.” Together they carried Mr. Hawthorne into Lillian’s bed and left him there fully clothed, unconscious, and smelling of brandy Mara poured over his waistcoat. At dawn, Alice found him. The house erupted. Lillian demanded to know why her father had entered her room. Alice demanded to know what he had intended. Servants gathered in the corridor. Mr. Hawthorne woke weak, confused, and unable to explain himself. He tried to command silence. No one obeyed. Alice stood before him in a dark emerald gown, her back straight and her voice steady. “You have humiliated me for years,” she said. “You have bullied our daughter, preyed upon women in your employment, and mistaken fear for loyalty.” “This is my house.” “No,” Alice replied. “It is the house I have managed while you spent its money and disgraced its name.” Lillian stepped beside her mother. “I will not marry any man you choose.” Mr. Hawthorne looked toward the servants. No one moved to support him. Mara stood at the back of the group, her expression calm. Corvina watched from the doorway. Mr. Hawthorne’s gaze found hers, and something buried beneath his missing memories made him tremble. Within a week, he departed for London under the explanation of nervous exhaustion. Alice took control of the estate. The valet was dismissed without reference. The gardener resigned after waking from repeated nightmares involving dark eyes and thorns. Male staff who mistreated women discovered that Blackthorn Edge had become a remarkably unhealthy place for arrogance. The library flourished. So did the women. Lillian continued visiting Corvina on certain nights, slipping through the adjoining passage with books she never intended to read. Alice came on others, entering through the main corridor with the dignity of the house’s true mistress. Mara used the servants’ staircase and never bothered inventing excuses. Corvina kept careful account of every door. One winter evening, Lillian lay beside her and asked, “Will you remain here forever?” “No house lasts forever.” “Then remain as long as this one does.” Corvina kissed her forehead. On another evening, Alice rested in Corvina’s arms and whispered, “You have given me my life back.” “No,” Corvina said. “You took it back. I merely reminded you where it was.” Later that week, Mara entered with a tray of wine and found Corvina standing at the window. “You look troubled,” Mara said. “I am managing several complications.” “Are they blonde, chestnut-haired, and employed belowstairs?” Corvina turned slowly. Mara smiled. “You forget that servants know everything.” “How much do you know?” “Enough not to ask questions that would spoil a comfortable arrangement.” “Are you jealous?” “Should I be?” Corvina approached her. “Mara, you may always ask more of me.” “I know. That is why I do not need to.” She set down the tray and kissed her. Outside, snow fell across Blackthorn Edge, covering the gardens, the carriage road, and the place behind the yew hedge where Corvina had first fed. Inside, Alice governed the estate, Lillian planned a life no man would dictate, and Mara walked the halls without fear. Corvina remained the librarian. She organized the books, guarded the women, and fed upon men who deserved unfortunate dreams. She had arrived seeking shelter, nourishment, and perhaps a little temporary pleasure. Instead she had acquired a household, three lovers, and more secrets than even the library could contain. For an immortal woman, it was dangerously close to happiness.