Page 5 of The Journal of a Thousand Years (The Glass Library #6)

CHAPTER 5

W e took the book to the first-floor reading nook, the larger of the two reading areas in the library. Light drenched the desk near the arched window, allowing us to inspect the pages closely. Some of the ink had faded, but most of the text was still legible.

The powerful paper magic seemed to ooze from every page, but it wasn’t my area of expertise that was required to understand the contents. Professor Nash’s knowledge of the ornate script and ancient spelling meant he was the only one who could read the title page.

He bent over it, adjusting his spectacles to get a better look. “It’s in Latin. Liber Familiae . ”

“ Book of the Family ,” Gabe translated. He pointed to the word beneath Liber Familiae . “This looks like Hendreau .”

The professor pushed his glasses up his nose as he squinted at the faint text. “Yes, it is.” He straightened and gave me the same degree of scrutiny he’d given the book. “The French form of Hendry, I suppose.”

I wasn’t altogether surprised. The card attached to the parcel had my name on it, and I’d already heard about the family journal that Melville Hendry had taken. “The Hendry sisters mentioned this. They were looking for it at Melville’s flat yesterday. Apparently, it’s passed down to the strongest male magician in the family. Given there are no male Hendry magicians of my generation, it has come to me.”

Willie had been inspecting the book, but she suddenly straightened. “If Hendry had it, how did he know to bring it here? How does he know about you ?” Her nostrils flared. “You met him, didn’t you?”

“We spoke this morning.”

Professor Nash gasped, “That’s wonderful, Sylvia.”

Willie scowled. “Where is he staying? He should be arrested?—”

“Willie!” Gabe snapped. “Sylvia doesn’t know where to find him.”

She looked like she would protest again, but a glare from Gabe silenced her. Well, almost. She did mutter something under her breath that I didn’t quite hear.

Alex had been carefully turning the pages of the book, but suddenly stopped and flipped back and forth. “All of these early pages are in another language. Latin, I presume. They’re also written with the same handwriting, using the same ink.” He pointed to some of the letters that were indeed identical. “That suggests they were written by the same person. But these are dates, yes? And they’re all different.”

The Latin was beyond me, but Gabe and the professor had been educated in the language and confirmed Alex’s suspicion. They were different dates, spanning hundreds of years.

Professor Nash pointed to a word at the top of a page, then turned to the next one and pointed at another written in the top corner. “And these are places, if I’m not mistaken, both in France and England.”

Alex took over again. “Then after about halfway, the handwriting changes, and the ink, too. It changes every page or two. And from here,” he turned to a page about three-quarters of the way through the book, “I can read it. The words are in English and the formation of the letters more modern.”

Willie shrugged. “What does that mean?”

“It means the first part was transcribed by one person from another document.”

“Or documents,” the professor added. “According to these early dates, the first few were written around the year 900. They would have been written on scrolls back then, and for hundreds of years afterwards. Books came later. Someone at some point decided all the information across several scrolls needed to be kept in the one place.” He indicated the book with a flourish of hands, as a fairground magician would conjure a trick.

Alex continued. “Then midway through the book, in the 1500s, the handwriting changes. A different author added to it. The change in handwriting continues to the end, each page or two written by someone new.”

“A new generation,” I murmured.

Alex turned to the last page with writing on it, before the several blank pages at the very end. “This was written by Melville Hendry.”

I sat in the chair and read. Melville’s small, neat handwriting gave an overview of his magical skill, including which spells he could perform and how long the effects of each spell lasted. Following that was a brief account of the changes in laws affecting magicians and guilds in the early 1890s. Neither his role nor that of Gabe’s parents was mentioned. Then, finally, he’d written the birth date and name of my brother, James. Marianne Folgate was listed as James’ mother, however ‘Folgate’ was written in different ink.

“He probably added it after he learned about her family in Ipswich,” I said, pointing to the surname. “He wrote my name today.” In the same neat scrawl, he’d written ‘Sylvia’ below James’s name, noting the year of my birth, but not the exact date or place since he didn’t know them.

Gabe rested a comforting hand on my shoulder. “He’s leaving it for you to fill in.”

“Does he want the book back when you’ve done that?” Alex asked.

Willie snapped her fingers then pointed at Alex. “We can get Hendry when she returns it to him. We’ll lie in wait while you speak to him, Sylv. Is there an address on the back of that card?”

The professor picked up the card with my name on it. “It says, ‘This is yours now. Take care of it and give it to the strongest male magician of the Hendry line. A woman will do if there are no male heirs.’”

Willie pulled a face. “Chauvinistic turd.”

Earlier pages in the journal also listed the names and birth dates of children, so it acted as a sort of family tree, but only following along one line, that of the strongest male magician in each generation. I’d need to read it more thoroughly to find out if I was the first female to inherit the book.

Rosina, Myrtle and Naomi were listed, along with the date of Rosina’s disappearance, which had been crossed out. Melville must have done that this morning, too. Until very recently, only her two sisters knew she was alive.

I stopped at an early page that had a little more wear and tear than the others, and a few dense lines of text. “This is the paper strengthening spell. It must have been created by this fellow.”

“Or he was simply the first to record it in here,” Gabe said.

I carefully turned the old pages until I found another spell. I recognized it as the origami spell Rosina taught me. A third spell was titled the Moving Spell. Melville was the only one who knew that spell. Other pages contained accounts about the times paper magic played an important role in a family member’s life. The professor interpreted some of the Latin and found the pages referring to the years when magicians were forced into hiding by the artless who persecuted them.

We spent an hour poring over the book, at which point Willie declared she needed tea and cake. She left with the professor to prepare it.

I decided to telephone the Hendry sisters. It was time they knew I’d met their brother.

All three arrived thirty minutes later, just after we’d discovered the section in the book that referred to the merging of magics, and how other magicians of various disciplines had discovered they could combine their magics to enhance one or both. Paper magicians decided to experiment, and invisible writing was discovered, but due to the need for secrecy, experimentation was curtailed and nothing more useful was created.

“That’s it!” Naomi cried upon seeing the book.

Rosina picked it up and cradled it against her chest with a satisfied sigh. “Do you sense it, Sylvia? So much history and magic.” She sighed again. “I haven’t felt as fulfilled as this since holding my children after they were born.”

“I’m so glad Melville saw sense and gave it back,” Naomi said.

I felt Myrtle’s sharp glare needling into me. “How did he know to give it to you, Sylvia?”

I cleared my throat. “We met this morning. Apparently, he followed you here, hoping you’d lead him to the woman Evaline Peterson said was his relative and a paper magician. We talked and I informed him I was his daughter. He didn’t dispute the fact.”

I went on to tell them that Melville had actually been searching for my brother, James, and had hoped Evaline had made a mistake about the relative being a young woman.

“What else did he say?” Myrtle asked.

“Not much. He and my mother never married. Their union was forced by Lord Coyle, but he didn’t say how. I assume Coyle blackmailed them.”

Myrtle huffed in disappointment and frustration. “I assume Melville has been in hiding all these years?”

“Mostly at the Peterson factory. He wanted James to be able to find him, so he remained in London and continued to use the name Cooper. He didn’t know that James couldn’t recall anything about our father. He was too young when our mother left. I wasn’t even born yet.”

Rosina hugged the book again before setting it down on the desk and opening it. She slowly turned the pages.

“Do you have a translation of the Latin at home?” Professor Nash asked. “I could translate it myself, but it would take time.”

Rosina shook her head. “If there ever was a translation, I never saw it. I was never allowed near the book. It was always made clear to me that it belonged to Melville. Even though I was a magician, I was weaker than him.”

“And female,” Willie added wryly.

Rosina turned to the last page, written in Melville’s hand, and flipped backwards through the pages. The sisters talked about the names that appeared there, of aunts and uncles, grandparents, and even great-grandparents. They told me family stories that had been passed down through the generations. Even though they weren’t about magic, I enjoyed hearing them. But the further back through the book they went, the more they learned about their ancestors, too.

Gradually, over the course of the afternoon, the others drifted off to do their research, leaving only the three sisters and me to digest as much of the book as we could comprehend. It was Rosina who found a curious Latin word that had us all intrigued.

“ Vaticinium ,” she said, sounding out the syllables. “Is it something to do with the Vatican, do you think?”

The professor stood on the mezzanine level, reshelving books. I asked him to join us and translate the text.

“ Vaticinium means prophecy,” he said as he read.

Naomi lightly clapped her hands. “A prophecy. How exciting! What does the next part say?”

Professor Nash wrote the translation on a piece of paper then handed it to me. “Most intriguing.”

I read the words out loud. “’A magician from the line of Hendreau will save time.’” I looked up and shrugged. “What do you think it means?”

“Goodness knows,” Naomi said.

“Probably nothing,” Myrtle added. “Saving time could mean catching a train instead of walking. Prophecies are all hokum anyway. They can be twisted to mean anything you want them to mean.”

Rosina reread the English translation of the prophecy. “Melville would have taken it seriously. That’s why he needed to find his son. He wanted this book to be passed to him, his heir, if he turned out to be a paper magician.”

“He wanted his son to know his Hendry ancestry,” Myrtle added, quietly. “He wanted Sylvia’s brother to pass the book on to one of his heirs when the time came. It must have come as a surprise to learn he had a daughter who was a paper magician, not a son. Melville never did like surprises. Order, tidiness and predictability, that’s what our brother liked.”

We spent the remainder of the afternoon looking through the journal, having the more intriguing passages translated by the professor or Gabe. Rosina and I practiced the paper-moving spell. It took several attempts at getting the pronunciation just right, but eventually she could lift a piece of paper off the table. I was able to make it fly, albeit erratically. Fortunately, it was more like the delicate flutter of a butterfly than the streak of a thrown knife, and posed no threat.

When it came time for the sisters to leave, I offered the book to Rosina. “This belongs to you, not me. You have as much right as Melville to keep it.”

Rosina shook her head. “Giving it to you is the one commendable thing our brother did in this entire sorry saga. You’re a stronger magician than me, Sylvia, and younger. My children are artless, as are our cousins’ children. You’re the only Hendry paper magician of your generation.” She smiled gently. “Hold on to it until the time is right to pass it on.”

I clutched the book against my chest. My heart thudded in response to the close proximity of the dense concentration of paper magic. Rosina was right. Possessing the journal fulfilled me in a way nothing else did.

After the sisters left, Gabe sought me ought. The light caress of his fingers on the back of my neck was cool and very welcome. When he stroked my cheek, I leaned into his touch.

“Are you all right?” His silky-smooth voice rumbled deep in his chest.

I looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you for being here.”

He pulled over another chair and sat, bringing us to the same level. He caught my hands in his. “It must be overwhelming.”

“It is, yet I wouldn’t have it any other way. Meeting my father still feels somewhat surreal, but reading this journal is…well, it’s just so wonderful. I’ve gone from having no knowledge of my ancestry to having a thousand years’ worth.” My eyes filled with tears at the enormity of it.

Gabe stroked his thumb over my knuckles as he leaned forward. “If you’re happy, then I’m happy.”

He kissed me, and I kissed him back. It began as a light, tender caress of lips, but quickly deepened. We’d moved past the tentative, uncertain stage of our relationship, and progressed to passionate desire, the sort that made my skin hot and my mind sharply focused on just one thing—Gabe. His hand moved to the back of my head, burying his fingers in my hair. My breath shuddered.

Alex cleared his throat. “Willie’s coming.”

I sat back with a thud.

“So?” Gabe’s voice sounded gravelly. “Let her see.”

I wasn’t ready to face the censure of his cousin, however. My emotions were taut, albeit finely balanced. A confrontation with Willie might make them spill over.

When it came time to close the library at the end of the day, I placed the journal in the bottom drawer of the front desk. Gabe offered to drive me home, but I asked to be taken to The Home Emporium on Bond Street instead. I wanted to meet Daisy after she finished work. She’d started the day before, and I’d been a terrible friend for not checking to see how her first day went.

Petra apparently had the same idea. I spotted her approaching the shop and waved. Gabe felt comfortable leaving me to walk home in the company of both my friends.

“Do you want to see Daisy?” he asked Alex.

“Not today.” Alex slammed the gear lever into place.

“Gentle!” Willie cried from the back seat. “She doesn’t respond to rough treatment.”

Gabe and I exchanged worried glances. I mouthed, “Speak to him,” before the motorcar sped off.

Petra frowned, watching them go. “Is everything all right between Alex and Daisy?”

“Her parents weren’t kind to him, so she’s chosen Alex over them. I think Alex feels conflicted about her choice. He doesn’t want to be the reason for her distancing herself from her family."

Petra looped her arm with mine. “He’s not the reason. They are.”

“Wise words. Now we just have to convince him.”

Daisy joined us on the pavement a few minutes later, an embroidered bag in hand. The navy blue and white stitching matched the compact sailor-style hat on her head. While most ladies still wore hats that required other pedestrians to give them a wide berth or risk being struck by the brim, Daisy followed the modern styles of her French fashion magazines and wore small ones. She looked very fresh and modish today in her navy dress with the white silk collar, hem and belt.

She beamed at us, only for it to slip when she peered past me. “Did I just see Gabe’s motorcar? Was Alex with him?”

“They had to hurry off,” I said quickly.

Her smile slipped even more. “Oh.”

Petra took her hand and led her away from the shop door. “Well? How have your first two days been?”

Her face lightened again. “Marvelous! I’ve enjoyed it immensely. The owner is kind, the customers are a little snooty at first until I happen to mention I’m the daughter of Lord Carmichael, and the things we sell are the bee’s knees. But that’s not the best part.”

“Oh?” I asked. “What is?”

“The wages I’ll receive at the end of the month.”

We all laughed.

“Let’s celebrate,” Petra said. “Shall we find a teashop then go on to a restaurant for dinner?”

“I prefer cocktails to tea,” Daisy said. “We’ll go to my place where no one will look at us like we have loose morals for enjoying predinner drinks.”

It was a good idea, until Daisy’s third martini, after which her conversation continually turned to Alex. Thinking of the way her parents had treated him, and his avoidance of her since, erased her good mood altogether. No one felt like going out to dinner after that, so we ate whatever we could find in Daisy’s cupboard. The canned ham and canned peas followed by canned pears were hardly a celebratory feast, but they soaked up the martinis.

By the time Petra and I left, Daisy was feeling a little better. She promised to try to speak to Alex again as soon as possible. Just in case she decided to continue with the martinis after we left, and risk oversleeping and being late for her third day at her new job, I squirreled her bottle of gin out of the flat beneath my jacket. Petra had the same idea. She showed me the bottle of vermouth she’d tucked into her bag as we walked back to my place.

I waved her off from the front door and joined the other lodgers sitting in the front reception room where one of them played the piano. Some of the other girls danced to the merry tune, while Mrs. Parry looked up from her needlework and smiled. She invited me to sit, but before I could, one of the lodgers took my hands and whisked me toward the dancers. Her laughter triggered my own. I suddenly couldn’t stop smiling.

Despite Daisy’s troubles, and despite discovering my father was not a good man, I felt lighter than I had in a long time. Years. A weight that I didn’t know I’d been supporting had lifted off my shoulders. I could now move forward with more ease. The future was looking brighter than ever.

I awoke with a start to the sound of someone knocking lightly on my door. I threw a shawl around my shoulders and padded across the floor in bare feet to answer it.

Mrs. Parry stood there dressed in nightcap and dressing gown. “There’s a young lady downstairs asking for you. She seems upset.”

It must be Daisy, the poor thing. I hastily dressed and headed to the sitting room where I’d danced the evening away earlier with the other lodgers. Perched on the edge of the sofa was a teary Ivy Hobson clutching a lace-edged handkerchief. She shot to her feet and rushed toward me. She clasped my forearm, hard.

“Sylvia, thank goodness! You have to come quickly. It’s Gabe.”

Perhaps I was still sleepy because her words didn’t immediately sink in. It took her shaking my arm vigorously to trigger my response. “What happened?”

“He’s been kidnapped!”

The words punched me in the gut. I covered my mouth, thinking I was going to be sick, but it was just the agonizing pain of panic gripping my insides. “Oh God, no.”

“Come quickly. You can help.”

Her words didn’t make sense. “Me? How?”

“Alex said to fetch you so I came here directly.”

“Alex? Ivy, I don’t understand. Alex knows about the abduction?”

She nodded quickly. “Willie, too. They’re out looking for Gabe now.” She bit her lower lip. “This is all my fault, but I had to do it, you see. I had to, or Bertie…” She pressed her lips together and turned her face away.

I grasped her shoulders and shook her. “Tell me what happened. Who kidnapped Gabe? Why is it your fault?”

“There’s a man… My mother and I became entangled in his business enterprises. But he wasn’t what we thought. He turned out to be a brute, and I think his businesses are involved in criminal activity.”

“Thurlow?” It wasn’t a great leap to make, considering we’d seen Ivy and Mrs. Hobson speaking to the bookmaker at the racetrack.

She nodded. “He came to me tonight and said he was holding Bertie captive.” She pressed the hand that grasped the handkerchief to her chest. She seemed to be having trouble catching her breath. It came in short, sharp gasps as she tried to hold back her tears. “Thurlow told me he wouldn’t release Bertie until I gave him Gabe.”

My own breathing turned ragged. “Ivy, what did you do?” When she began to cry, I shook her again, harder. “ What did you do? ”

“I went to Park Street and lured Gabe out of his house, alone. Then Thurlow’s men bundled him into their motorcar.”

My fingers sprang apart, releasing her. I could have slapped her. I wanted to slap her. But I wanted answers more. “Go on.” My voice was ominously low.

Ivy swallowed heavily. “I regretted it instantly. I raced into the house and alerted Alex and Willie. I think they know some of Thurlow’s haunts so they were going to look there first. Before he left, Alex told me to fetch you and take you to the house. He said you’d want to know, and you’d be a help in keeping the servants calm.”

I pressed my fingers into my scalp. It felt like a blacksmith had set up a workshop in my head. “Why didn’t Gabe use—” I cut myself short. Even now, I wouldn’t divulge his secret.

“Why didn’t he use what?” Ivy asked.

I shook my head, dismissing her question. Gabe’s magic only engaged when his life was threatened anyway. It didn’t react to kidnap. I tried to think of something I could do, something more productive than sitting with the servants. But it was no use. I was consumed with fear. Thurlow was cruel, and he’d seen what Gabe’s magic was capable of at Epsom Downs Racecourse when Gabe had slowed time to save me from being hit by a bullet. Thurlow must think he could harness the magic for himself somehow.

“Sylvia, please. Come with me now. The elderly butler looked dreadfully pale when I left.”

I stopped pacing. When had I started? “Did you drive here?”

“Our driver brought me. He’s waiting outside with the motor running.”

“There’s just one thing I have to do first.”

“What?”

“This.” I slapped the side of her face. It could have been harder, but it was enough to sting, and get my point across.

She clutched her cheek with a shaking hand and stared at me, mouth open.

I strode out of the sitting room, passing Mrs. Parry listening in at the door.

“Should I telephone the police?” she asked.

“No,” Ivy said from behind me. “Please, don’t. If Thurlow finds out, he might do something awful to Gabe.”

I tried to reassure Mrs. Parry, but I doubt I succeeded. My own fears were on full display as my eyes filled with tears.

I drew in a deep breath to steady my nerves. Crying wouldn’t get Gabe back. Only action would. I’d go to Park Street and discuss what to do with the footman, Murray, the former police constable who’d been forced to change occupations after getting injured in the war. I rushed out of the house and raced toward the idling vehicle. I jerked the back door open and slid onto the back seat.

I should have looked first.

Strong hands grabbed me, pulling me against a thickset body that reeked of sweat. I opened my mouth to shout a warning to Ivy, but a hand clasped over it. I bit into the man’s palm. He grunted in pain and his grip slackened. I managed to free myself and dove for the door handle.

The door wouldn’t budge. It wasn’t locked; it was blocked from the other side. Ivy stood there, pressing against the door. She glared down at me through the window aperture above it.

My stomach plunged, and my heart with it. She’d tricked me.

I opened my mouth to scream for Mrs. Parry, but the man beside me grabbed me again, and this time he shoved a cloth in my mouth. I choked on my cries for help.

I recognized the man as one of Thurlow’s thugs.

“Get in,” he ordered Ivy as he tied my hands together in front of me.

“I will,” she said. “But first, there’s something I need to do.”

“What?”

She reached into the vehicle and slapped my face. Unlike me, she didn’t hold back. My cheek and jaw stung; my head felt woolly. For a moment, I thought I’d pass out, but I managed to keep my eyes open.

I only had time to see that we were driving quickly along my street before the burly thug next to me covered my eyes with a blindfold. I tried to fight him, but with my hands tied, it was useless. There was no escape, and now no way of knowing where I was heading.

Ivy told me she’d lured Gabe out of his house so Thurlow could kidnap him. But he was probably still tucked up in bed. She hadn’t tricked Gabe , she’d tricked me .