The Magician's Sons

Chapter 13

Jemma brushed her feather duster across the rows of beautiful books in the library, and her lips turned up with a smile. Many of those knowledgeful volumes had been clad in new covers because of her, and that made her very glad. But as she looked at the gilded titles and decorative bindings, she wished that those books were more to her than just covers. She yearned to be able to read them.

"Still here, Jemimah?" Norman asked casually, walking into the room.

The girl smiled, looking shy and slightly concerned. "I 'ave tried to 'urry, sir," she excused herself worriedly. "But there's so many books t' dust, and...oh, there's nothin' for it! I'll be honest!" she confessed in agony. "I keep gettin' distracted."

"And what distracts you?" Norman laughed with a smile. "Come now, don't look like that. I am not upset with you, nor is my father. The books won't suffer for wearing their dust a few minutes longer."

Jemimah looked relieved. "Well then, sir, I suppose I was bein' distracted by the books themselves. There's so many really pretty ones! And I can't 'elp stoppin' t' look sometimes."

With that explanation over, neither one could think of another thing to say. They stood for an awkward second, the maid expecting her master's son to speak, the young man wishing he could but forcing himself to stay quiet. At last, he pulled his attention away from her, found the novel he had come in search of, and excused himself from the library. But he doubted that the book would give him much pleasure.

He was feeling bored that day, not because life was so cruelly dull, but because today wasn't as eventful as yesterday had been. Yesterday, he had gone with his father to a lovely dinner party in the house of a respectable and sweet-natured family. The company had been pleasant, the food had been delightful, and afterward, they had gone to the theater to see a play. Shakespearian poetry had drifted through his mind for the rest of the day, keeping him entertained and quite happy. But today, all of that excitement was over. He didn't know how to settle his discontentment or fill the chasm in his heart.

Norman was just seeking a quiet place to read his book when he heard voices down the hall. He wouldn't have paid them much attention since he rarely found his father's discussions very interesting, especially when he was talking to Crumley. But this time, it was Mrs. Pearson, the housekeeper, whom Jasper was speaking to. The woman's voice sounded astonished.

"Mr. Sterling, this is very sudden. And the weather has been beastly! Are you sure you wish to go now?"

"Dear Mrs. Pearson, if you would please to quiet your voice, I would greatly appreciate it," Jasper said in a subdued tone.

Intrigue lured Norman closer to his father's open door. He heard the housekeeper clear her throat and speak again.

"I beg your pardon, sir. I did not realize it was to be kept a secret. And I know that I am no one to interfere with your plans. But...but for the sake of the long years I have worked for you—taken care of you—will you not heed my advice?"

There were busy noises coming from inside the room: footsteps, closet doors opening and shutting, fabric rustling.

What on earth can he be thinking? Norman wondered. It sounds as if he has planned some sudden trip and is packing to leave. But why? How? He hasn't uttered a word of it to me! That fact pricked Norman's heart with disappointment. His father usually shared everything with him. Ever since Norman had been a very little boy, he had been made to understand that secrets weren't to be kept in their household. Sadly, that was a rule which neither of them had kept perfectly.