Page 31 of One Last Whisper

The library has hundreds of texts, and I shouldn’t draw too many conclusions about this one. After all, he also has a case dedicated to scientific tomes, so it’s not as though this case is evidence that lord Edmund is a spiritualist himself.

Still, I can’t pull my eyes away. One shelf—the one at eye level to me—contains such titles asCapturing the Soul, The Essence of Control,andMystical Techniques for Dominating the Female Will.

I pull that one from the shelf and glance through it. It is as horrible a book as it sounds and essentially consists of advice by which men may guarantee that their women are willing to do whatever their men want them to do in bed.

Still, horrible as it is, there’s nothing in that first glance that I find helpful. In fact, I’m not really sure why I’m looking at these books to begin with. I won’t anything here that will help me in my investigation. I already suspect lord Edmund of being abusive. I won’t learn what happened to Sarah, or to the other two women, and I won’t learn anything that will help me prove lord Edmund’s guilt or perhaps point toward another possible killer.

Still, I browse through the titles. The collection is extensive, as are all of lord Edmund’s collections. The books range in age from Renaissance-era manuscripts to modern-day marvels still shiny with the print on their dust jackets.

I fixate on one book, an old, leather-bound tome with no title. The book is thin, perhaps seventy pages. Little more than a magazine. I pull it from the case and open it. It is written in a brownish-red ink and the characters are of no language Irecognize. The paper is yellow and faded, and in some places, the ink is washed away.

But the pictures. Those are clear enough, and they are enough to chill me to my soul. Images of women bound to shackles, tortured by demons, torn asunder by chains, boiled in oil, tied and beaten. Some of the images are too horrible for me to describe. I don’t know if this is a grimoire, a spell book, or just a collection of images of torture for people to amuse themselves with. Whatever it is, it convinces me more of lord Edmund's guilt.

I push the title back into the shelf. It slides further back than it should. I hear a soft click, and the bookshelf shifts, causing a low rumble that echoes throughout the room.

The cry comes again, this one a long, drawn-out moan rather than a shriek. I am familiar with this noise by now, but I still shiver. The cry comes from directly behind this bookcase.

Heart pounding, I push further.

“Hey! What the devil are you doing?”

I scream and spin around, pressing myself to the bookcase in my fright. Lord Edmund stands in front of me, frowning darkly, lightning shooting from his eyes. I am so shocked that I can’t speak. In that moment, I am certain that he will kill me.

“This is my private library!” he thunders again. “Why are you here?”

My senses kick in, and I point to the mop. “The window was open, my lord. I was cleaning the mess.”

“I have maidservants to do that job. You are Oliver’s governess. What were you doing snooping through my books, anyway?” He looks over my shoulder, sees the particular books I was reading, and makes a face. “There is a perfectly good library in Clifton. You can browse… whatever… to your heart’s content on the weekends.”

“Forgive me, my lord,” I say, my voice shaky. “I was only curious.” And that curiosity overcomes my fear. “Um… sir… when I replaced this book, the case moved.”

“Because you shoved it back there like an ox,” he scolds.

He brushes me aside and pulls out several titles to reveal the book pressed against the very normal back of a very normal bookshelf. His frown deepens when he sees this. He gives me a look a parent might give a child snooping on inappropriate websites. “Don’t read this. This is garbage. I keep it for posterity’s sake, but there’s nothing in here except…”

He sighs and rubs his forehead, then replaces the book, careful not to push them too far back. When he’s finished, he pushes hard on the shelves, satisfying himself that I haven’t tipped the case off balance. It remains stock still, and he sighs again, this time with satisfaction.

When he speaks again, he’s no longer angry, simply tired and annoyed. “Go to bed, Miss Mary. And please don’t come into my library again.”

“Of course not, my lord. I’m so sorry.”

I rush from the room. I don’t stop running until I’m in my own room with the door locked. Lord Edmund doesn’t act like he suspects me at all. In fact, he doesn’t act like a murderer at all so much as a prissy and self-centered noble.

But I heard those cries. They came from within this castle. I can’t blame them on the storm anymore because I closed the window myself.

And that shelf moved. I am certain of it. There is something back there.

But how can I find it?

I don’t have an answer to that question yet, but I know one thing for certain. Iwillvisit that library again.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It doesn’t occur to me until the next morning to wonder why Lord Edmund is here. He only left for London two days ago. Has he returned already?

Well, clearly he has. But why? Surely, he has business with parliament.

I ask Theresa the next morning. She shrugs and informs me, “His Lordship is often back and forth. He has a private aircraft he takes when he must visit London. He keeps his professional and private lives separate. I’ve never seen him conduct business here, and if he must entertain, he entertains at his house in London.”

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