Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
“You’re not running around like a hooligan.”
“Of course not. I don’t want to hurt the books.”
“They’re books, Grace. You can’t hurt them.”
I pressed my finger to his lips, glaring. “Shh. They’ll hear you.”
He playfully nipped my fingertip before I pulled it away, then spun me around by the shoulders. “The history books are this way.” He proceeded to march me to the other end of the library, proving that my assumption was correct, and it was, in fact, the never-ending room.
“Wow,” I whispered.
“If I can’t find you when it’s time to leave, at least I’ll know where to look,” he teased, stopping me in front of a glass-fronted bookshelf.
“This one is different,” I said.
“Yep.” He dropped his hands from my shoulders and reached into his pocket, retrieving a key. “You can’t touch them all—a couple of them are old diaries that Grandpa only allows us to touch wearing gloves, but some of the newer ones are fine.” He put the small, gold key into the lock and turned it. The tiny click was satisfying, and William slowly opened one of the glass doors.
“They’re really that old?”
“Yes and no. Over the past two hundred or so years, our ancestors have kept personal diaries. They detail both the mundane and the interesting. I don’t think it’s so much that they’re old, but more he doesn’t want to damage them if he doesn’t have to.”
“Are they the diaries?” I pointed at the shelf that held a myriad of books, all in different shapes and sizes.
“Yep.”
“One looks like it was dropped in coffee.”
“That’s why he won’t let anyone touch them without gloves,” he replied dryly. “To stop such a thing happening again.”
“Is there a diary from the crazy uncle?”
With a small laugh, he handed me one of the books. “No, but my great-whatsit-Grandma did keep a log of all his antics, which is how we know what happened.”
“Great-whatsit-Grandma,” I mused, taking the book he was offering. “Interesting.”
“I can’t be arsed to count the greats. I’ll just mess it up.”
I laughed. “What’s this book?”
“It’s a rundown of the history of the dukedom in the last two hundred years. My great-grandfather started making copies of the original diaries when one of them was loaned to The National History Museum for a display,” he explained. “He didn’t want it to let it go, but my great-grandmother convinced him to. He decided then to start having the copies professionally done to ensure they’d always be around.”
“So why can’t I read those?”
“Because we don’t have them.” He chuckled. “Well, not here. There’s a copy at our house in Oxleigh, and a few in some university libraries. I’m surprised you haven’t come across them in yours, especially with your field of study.”
I pursed my lips. “I’ll have to make a note to check and see if they’re available.”
“You can, or I can just ask Grandpa to show you the real versions before you go.”
“Do you think he would?”
“I don’t see—” His words were cut off as the room plunged into darkness.
The only light was the orangey glow of the fireplaces, but we were tucked into a back corner where it couldn’t really reach us. It was nothing but a peripheral haze, and certainly nothing to see by when you were standing right next to a shelf of priceless diaries.
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, no, indeed,” William agreed, producing his phone. He turned on the flashlight and swapped it for the book he’d just given me. “I was hoping it would hold on a little longer.”
“Speak for yourself. I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” I reluctantly let him have the book back and flashed the light around quickly, choosing to rest against an empty side table against the wall. “Can you see if I sit here?”
“Yes, don’t worry.” He replaced the book and locked the cabinet, then turned to face me. “Come on. Let’s go back upstairs.”
I looked at his phone. “Didn’t you say this was charged?”
“Yes, it’s been plugged in this afternoon. Why?”
“Because it has three percent battery.”
He took it from me with a frown. “Oh, fuck. It can’t have been plugged in at the wall.”
“Why wouldn’t it be plugged in?”
“The house staff cleaned our rooms today. This place seriously lacks plugs, so I’m guessing one of them unplugged my charger for the vacuum and didn’t plug it back in, and I just didn’t notice.” He grimaced at his phone. “What about yours?”
I put my hand into my dressing gown pocket and froze. “Um.”
“I know I gave it to you, and I remember yours saying one hundred percent.”
“Well, then it’s happily on one hundred percent on the coffee table in our room,” I said slowly. “You gave it to me at the same time as my dressing gown, and I put it on the table while I put this on, and…”
He sighed. “And didn’t pick up your phone.”