Chapter 40
She found Nigel at the kitchen table drinking a mug of tea. He looked up and gave her an approving nod.
“Good morning, Ms. Hafdóttir. I trust you felt our rumbler this morning?” he asked.
Harper nodded and sat across from him. “I did. I was up early. It’s unusual in this area, this many earthquakes in such a short time.”
Nigel considered her words. “Yes. And like the cats, it’s rather unprecedented. You’re the scientist, any thoughts?”
“Coffee?” a young woman wearing a white apron asked Harper. “What can we make you for breakfast?”
“Coffee, please,” Harper answered. “Whatever is easiest … whatever Nigel had.” She nodded to his empty plate.
“Scrambled eggs with cheese?” the young woman asked.
“Sounds perfect,” Harper answered and smiled. She looked to Nigel. “To your question, it can indicate many things, not all of them bad.”
“Continue,” Nigel said.
“It can indicate a much bigger earthquake is on the way. They call clusters like this foreshocks, meaning they are preceding a big one.” Harper looked up as the young woman placed a plate of eggs with golden melted cheese in front of her.
“Thank you, this looks delicious,” she said sincerely.
The young woman smiled and went back to her tasks in the kitchen.
Harper took a bite. Like everything in Bell Manor, it was perfectly made.
Harper continued. “But that’s not always true.
Clusters can also mean the fault line is letting off pressure, and that can mean avoiding a single big earthquake. ”
“So it’s terrible or not,” Nigel said with a small shake of his head. “Any way to tell which one it is?”
Harper shrugged. “Wrong kind of scientist here. But yes, I imagine that NOAA and USGS are on it. There will be a warning issued if they feel there’s a threat. At least, I hope there’d be a warning.”
“Not terribly comforting,” Nigel said.
“Not particularly,” Harper answered. “Where is Lady Bell?”
“Not a breakfast person,” Nigel answered. “But you will see her later, I’m sure. The day is yours, you should explore more of the manor, relax and enjoy our hospitality.”
Harper smiled. “I’m unaccustomed to all of it.”
“Exactly why you should enjoy it.” Nigel smiled and straightened. “I am off to work, but please don’t hesitate to ask anyone for anything; we are all delighted that you are here.”
Harper smiled back, getting the distinct impression that this was downright effusive for Nigel. The uneasiness in her gut pecked at her. She would have to pin down Lady Bell and find out the real reason that everyone was so glad she was at Bell Manor.
Left alone at the table, Harper finished her breakfast and checked her phone, where a new text from Carli waited:
So good to see your face this morning!
Harper messaged back:
Same—sorry I’m so weird—but I’m not as weird as your new roommate;)
The dots waved back and forth, and a reply appeared:
She’s out of town for a couple weeks doing field research at a body farm in Minnesota. AGH!
I’m mid dissertation overhaul but call anytime—I crave distraction
Harper smiled and quickly typed back:
Aiding and abetting your procrastination? Never. Not on my watch.
Carli tagged the text with a heart. Harper put the phone in her pocket, refilled her coffee, and stared out the window.
It was starting to rain again, but clear enough that she could see sprawling grounds that reached clear to the edge of the cliff.
She could see what looked to be three residences; one must be Anna’s and another Nigel’s.
There were small cottages dotting the tree line, the garden was wild but intentional, covered with beds of flowers and what looked to be vegetables, fruit trees like she’d seen in front.
The grounds were beautiful but also well-used.
She took her plate to the sink and crossed out of the kitchen.
She turned in the direction of the library.
Her dream from last night was hanging on to her consciousness.
The shock of the icy sea, the feeling of release as she sank to the ocean floor.
The library was empty as far as she could see.
Nora Grey’s table sat with its carved wooden chairs and gleaming polished surface as though it were waiting for her.
Harper spent a solid hour wandering the shelves.
The books were curated expertly, and the stories Lady Bell had told of a whole ship of books being sent from Scotland suddenly didn’t seem so outlandish.
She found everything from aging texts in glass-covered cases to a complete collection of Stephen King, which she discovered were all signed and addressed to Lady Bell.
She chuckled to herself. It wasn’t surprising, nor was it a shock to find a shelf of Ruth Ware novels, again signed to Lady Bell.
What did take her back was a perfectly preserved copy of Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House with a scrawled signature in the front.
Harper held the book reverentially. It had either been signed for a very young current Lady Bell or her predecessor.
Harper carefully placed the book back on the shelf and moved to the curved steps that led to the second floor.
She hoped she would have a chance to learn what Lady Bell had meant about the lineage of Lady Bells, and what her cryptic answer to her query at dinner meant—lineage is a sticky web in Bell Manor.
Harper had assumed as much. It was a bit too fortuitous for the lady of the house to always have a daughter to pass her title onto, and that daughter to always have a daughter of her own, but the vagueness of Lady Bell’s answer only added to the mystery instead of clarifying it.
Without realizing it, Harper found herself at the foot of another curving stairwell that led to the third level of the library, where Nigel had said the house archives were held.
As she climbed still higher, she looked down at the view below her.
A sudden wave of vertigo hit her and she held to the railing and steadied herself.
There was a different sort of ocean below her, one of books, polished wood, memories, stories.
The third floor resembled a research wing of a library.
There were filing cabinets, some wooden, some utilitarian metal; a desktop computer sat on a wooden desk with a small lamp.
Other lamps were fitted throughout the space, which stretched in an oval the same shape as the room overall.
Stained-glass windows dotted the space, each a rich tapestry of blues, reds, yellows.
The ceiling was frighteningly close from this angle, and Harper could see the rich molding and care taken in its construction.
A chandelier that illuminated the library as a whole was below her from this height, and she could see the rustic iron work in its design.
It looked like it belonged in a castle. As Bell Manor was a castle of sorts, it was altogether fitting.
Harper didn’t know what she was doing here; she had no agenda, and no intent.
She walked the perimeter of the space, taking in the view from above, no longer overwhelming but instead it felt safe, hidden from the world, from all expectation.
As she circled back to the wooden desk, she saw there was a note pinned to the monitor of the computer that she had noticed before but not stopped to investigate.
Meg MacGruer 1690
Harper felt a chill go through her. It meant nothing, certainly nothing to do with her, but the words passed right through her and left her stunned for a moment.
She shook off the sensation and approached the nearest filing cabinet to examine the labels on each drawer.
It was broken up by ten-year gaps. She opened the nearest drawer and flipped through it curiously.
It held papers encased in plastic sleeves.
There were financial records, statements that looked like inventory lists, a page of notes on the growing of apple trees.
Harper put it back and closed the drawer.
She moved down the way until she found 1690–1700.
Harper paused, looked at the filing cabinet; this was one of the wooden ones.
It looked like it had come from a 1950s-era schoolhouse.
She opened the top drawer and found a dozen file folders full of the same sort of documents as the first cabinet had held.
Fascinated, Harper handled the plastic sleeves like they were finely spun glass.
There was a list of different types of flour to be sorted for the kitchen, a list of names from what looked to be a shipping register.
There was a hand-scrawled bill of sale for a mast and rigging lines with well and done ending the note followed by a signature: Duke of Kinross.
Harper replaced the file carefully. She was looking for something more specific.
She closed the top drawer, opened the next one down.
She audibly gasped upon opening it. It was largely empty save for a clear plastic case containing a small book with a leather cover, embedded with an elaborate pattern of gold-painted flowers.
Harper stared at the items for a long moment, frozen by an impossible realization.
She recognized the book. It was a journal.
She knew without touching it that the edges were gilded gold; she could feel it in her hands, placed there in this library, but not the same one she stood in, this place as it was long ago, not so different, but not the same.
The shelves were not as full. The space was altered slightly in her hazy waking memory of a place and time she’d never seen or experienced.
She could smell the earthy musk of the pages, could feel the expectation that accompanied the gift.
Harper stepped back and closed her eyes, swallowing hard.
She had been here in this place, had been given this book, had held it in her hands, and someone had intentionally guided her back to it.
With shaking hands and an excitement that she didn’t recognize in herself, Harper carefully lifted the box with the book from the drawer and made her way to the desk.
Pushing the computer monitor and keyboard back to clear the space, Harper carefully set the book on the surface.
Anticipation hung in the air. Harper sat down, carefully opened the leather journal, and stared at the painstakingly neat and concise handwriting.