Page 27 of Mortdale

“That’s very sweet and all, but I don’t do community work.” A little awkwardly, I pointed at the library. “I’m going to go in now. You two have fun. Snog or hold each other’s willies or something, whatever calms you two down.” I turned again. “Or pinch each other’s nipples and bond some more. There’s work to be done between you two, I can sense it.”

The librarian’s head snapped up in my direction when I stopped by the front desk. He was an elegant man of some age. Shorter than me, wearing a slim suit and a monocle, his thin, long greying moustache curled up.

“Hello, I’m—”

He took the monocle off, sticking it in his jacket pocket. “Lady Duncan. How can I help?”

“You know who I am?”

“You’re married to the most affluent person in Mortdale. After the king, that is. Your face was on the papers.”

A little horrified, I just stared at him. “What?”

He dug through an open shelf and smacked a paper on the table—and yup, there I was. Wearing just my nightgown, holding Logan’s hand as I came down from the carriage. What a mess.

I put a hand over my eyes. “That's an unfortunate-looking sight. I’m sorry you had to see it,” I said, folding the paper and sliding it back to him.

“It comes with the position,” he said, somewhat sympathetically. “Your husband is close in the public’s eye. By default, so are you.”

My fingers pitter-pattered on the desk’s surface. “How far back do you keep the newspapers? I’d really love to go through them to get accustomed to what’s happening in Mortdale. I figured there’s no better way to keep up with whatever latest thing is in.”

There was a long stretch of silence after my words, filled with the stale ticking of the old clock hung on the wall behind him.

“It’s a clever way indeed,” he said, narrowing his eyes on me.

Unperturbed, I gave him my best grin and folded my hands on the table as politely as I could, attempting to look as harmless and clueless as possible. “And any domestic, fashion, or fiction periodicals you might have out there. With as many pictures as possible. I love looking at pictures.” If Ethel had been here she would have laughed until she cried.

“Domestic,” he hummed, raking his clever gaze all over me. “Follow after me, Lady Duncan.”

He took me down a few aisles past the serial department where the smell of damp grew more prominent and the acidic scent of iron gall ink was drowned by the burnt tones of lampblack and linseed. The space was windowless, closed in by tall shelves and a peeling mustard-coloured wall, lit by a few flickering old and dim gas lights.

We stopped in front of a long row of open literature racks.

“They’re bound in books by year,” he said, reaching for one of the hardbound stacks of newspapers at the very end and set it on a thin, wide lectern lit by a small chamber lamp. “They’re archival. Be gentle with them.”

“Thank you,” I offered.

“Mhm,” he hummed, waltzing away and disappearing into the tall shadows of the shelves.

I skimmed through all the obituaries, death notices, and fancy funeral reports of the rich trying to outdo one another nearly four years back. In the fifth year, I was starting to doubt everything. By the seventh and eighth year back, something was starting to feel ominous. There were no reports of any noble witch dead. No Harriet Derby, not a single other name in the list of married red maidens that Agnes had given me to cross-reference.

I paused over a wedding announcement. It was a witch I’d known before, a red maiden who’d married the Earl of Hollowmire. Pulling the bound newspapers from a year later, I searched through the notices all over again. I was pretty certain I’d stumbled on his name a few sections back; and sure enough, there he was—dead.

My finger skimmed through the long paragraph.

Widowed only three weeks prior.

That had been the first mention of a dead witch I’d come across.

The chamber lamp flickered, its shadows growing severe as I wracked my brain to make a connection of any kind.

I screamed, shooting up to my feet when the librarian appeared out of thin air, tapping a finger to his pocket watch. “It’s nearly midnight. Your companions are scaring people away. Best you take them with you and never bring them back.” He shook his head as he took the hardbound books back to their places. “I have a terrible feeling you will be back.”

The way out of the library was the longest path I might had ever taken. Tormented by the impossibility of the entire thing, I fumbled down the steps, nearly crashing against Henry.

“Woah, there, Lady Duncan,” he chuckled, steadying me by my shoulders.

“Took you a while, witch-woman,” Arthur barked, pulling his friend away from me and pinning him with a glare. “He’ll kill you. And I’ll mourn you dearly.”