library was identical in size to the yellow salon, but here the morning light shone in through a series of long windows that filled one wall. The other three walls were lined with open bookcases in rich mahogany, their ranks broken only by the doors and the ornate chimney breast. A large desk and chair stood at one end of the room and a wing chair had been placed near the hearth, but the remaining floor space was taken up with a multitude of crates and boxes.
‘Goodness,’ murmured Zelah, her eyes widening. She felt a little tremor of excitement as she thought of all the books packed in the boxes. Who knew what treasures lay in store!
‘It is indeed a sorry mess,’ said Mrs Graddon, misinterpreting her reaction. ‘I’m sure you’ll soon begin to set it all in order. The master has left you new ledgers in the desk drawer and there’s pens, paper and ink, too. Graddon will send someone to help you with the boxes.’
She went away and Zelah stood for a few moments, wondering just where to start.
She began by exploring the room, running her fingers along the smooth polished wood of the empty shelves and then over the cold marble of the fireplace. She moved across the room. The long windows with their low sills looked out on to a wide terrace where little tufts of grass sprouted between the paving. Beyond the stone balustrade the grounds sloped down to the river before the land rose again, the park giving way to woodland that stretched away as far as the distant hills.
An idyllic setting, she thought, drinking in the peaceful tranquillity of the scene. Then setting her shoulders, she turned again to face the task ahead of her.
When the clock on the mantelpiece chimed four o’clock Zelah looked up, surprised. She had no idea where the day had gone. Books were piled haphazardly on the shelves and several opened crates littered the floor. The volumes had been packed in no particular order, novels and religious tracts jostling with books on wild flowers and a furniture directory. She would have to go through them all before she could begin to catalogue them. The room looked even more chaotic now than when she had started, but it could not be helped.
She tidied her desk and glanced around the room, mentally deciding just where she would begin tomorrow. Her eyes fell upon the small door in the far corner. The housekeeper had told her it led to the tower. Zelah stood for a moment, indecisive. Perhaps, while no one was about, she would take a quick peep at the tower.
The door opened on to a small lobby where a steep, wooden stairway wound its way upwards. There was an air of neglect about the plain painted walls and worn treads, but the banister was firm enough and Zelah began to climb the stairs. A door on the first landing opened on to a storage room which was filled with old furniture. Zelah gave it only a cursory glance before moving on to the second floor. She found herself at last on a small landing. The wooden stairs gave way to a narrow stone spiral staircase at the side of which was a single door. Grasping the door handle, Zelah turned it, half-expecting it to be locked. It opened easily and she stepped into a room filled with sunlight. At first glance it seemed there were no walls, only windows from breast-height to ceiling, the leaded lights divided by thin stone mullions and giving an extensive view of the country in all directions.
The only solid wall was behind her, surrounding the door through which she had entered and housing a small fireplace. There were just three pieces of furniture in the room: a mahogany pedestal desk and chair and a much older court cupboard pushed under one window, its well-worn top level with the sill. Zelah knew that such pieces had been designed to display the owner’s plate, a visible indication of wealth and status, but this cupboard was as empty as the desktop. There was nothing in the room to detract from the magnificent views. Zelah moved to the windows. From the first she could see right over the forest and vales towards Devon, from the next the road curled off towards Lesserton and the densely packed trees of Prickett Wood, while from a third she looked out across the park and woods of Rooks Tower to the uplands of Exmoor. She put her hands on the window ledge, drinking in the views.
‘There are no books up here, Miss Pentewan.’
Zelah jumped. Major Coale was standing in the doorway, his hat and riding crop in one hand.
‘Oh, I did not hear you come upstairs.’ She noted idly that his broad shoulders almost brushed the door frame on each side and was glad when he moved into the room and his size did not appear so daunting. She waved towards the window. ‘I was entranced by the view.’
‘Obviously.’
‘I hope you do not mind,’ she hurried on, her eyes searching his face for some softening of his expression. ‘I have done all I can in the library today and wanted to look at the tower and did not wish to disturb the servants …’
He placed his hat and crop on the cupboard.
‘And is this what you expected?’ he asked, drawing off his gloves.
Her smile was spontaneous, any nervousness forgotten.
‘Not at all. I had not imagined the views would be so extensive. You can see all the way into the next county! It is such a lovely room. Imagine how wonderful to sit at this desk—why, in the summer you could work all day and never need to light a candle.’ She looked up at him. ‘Is this your desk, sir? Do you use this room?’
He shook his head.
‘This room is as it was when I bought Rooks Tower and so far this year I have been too busy putting the estate in order to worry overmuch about the interior.’
‘I would like to use it.’ Zelah clasped her hands together, hoping her eagerness did not sound foolish. ‘I could bring the books up here to catalogue them. That way, once the library is tidy, you would be able to use it for your guests—’
‘There are no guests,’ he said shortly.
‘But one day—’
‘It is not my intention to invite anyone here. Ever.’
She felt the last word was added for her benefit. It was uttered with such finality that it gave her pause, but not for long.
‘Is … Would that be because of …?’ She touched her own cheek and saw him flinch. He turned slightly, presenting his undamaged side to her, his profile reminding her of how dangerously attractive he must once have been.
‘I did not move to Rooks Tower to be sociable,’ he said curtly. ‘My years as a soldier have left me impatient of society. Its values and petty tyrannies disgust me.’
‘But you have family and friends, sir. Surely you will not cut yourself off from them so completely?’
‘Damn you, madam, we are not here to discuss how I choose to run my life!’
Zelah recoiled from his angry retort. She bit her lip against further argument, but was not daunted enough to forget her original idea.
‘I beg your pardon, Major. Of course it is no business of mine. But I would like to make use of this room, if you will allow me.’ She waited for a moment, then added coaxingly, ‘I promise I will not let the view distract me from my work.’
His brow cleared.
‘The view is even better from the roof, especially on a fine day like this.’
She waited expectantly. His hard eyes glinted and she knew he had read her mind.
‘Would you like to see it?’
*
