Treasure Trail (mxm)

5. relatives

The prospect of returning to the cellars was less thrilling than using the newly granted pass to search the house for documents. This meant that I ended up in the library, regardless of its proximity to busier quarters and people I would rather not meet unprepared. Luckily, the sturdy door hid me from immediate view, but I still heard footfalls outside whenever someone had reason to cross the corridor.

Much like the office, the library had an air of being very much alive. I'd been in old houses where the rooms could have passed for mausoleums, and while those had a certain charm as well, this was different—imbued with energy. In a way, it helped me to see this place more like a home and less like a museum worth preserving at status quo.

New additions consisted of a table lamp from the 70's, a swivel chair from the 60's and a perfectly modern sound system. I couldn't think of a reason to place a sound system in a library, but perhaps someone was keen on audiobooks.

I walked along the countless shelves, grazing worn spines with my fingertips. Most of the tomes had no titles on display, so it would take a while to find the documents I needed. If they were bound at all, that is.

I'd always loved books, old and new alike. These days, plenty of information was available at the swipe of a finger, but there was something comforting about seeking for clues that had been printed on real paper. I owned a stack of books filled with different maker's marks, sigils and hallmarks, preserved through the ages for us to remember individual contributions to our common history. Mom had given me the first one when I'd turned twelve, and since then, my interest had only grown.

I picked a thin leather bound work from the shelf, careful not to do unnecessary harm. Motes of old dust rose from the pages, and I inhaled the familiar scent with satisfaction. This was how a book should smell. Old, papery and full of memories.

Smiling at the title, I closed the cover and put it back. Saucy romances had their allure, regardless of age, but I doubted the content would help me find what I was looking for.

It took me an hour to find the first book that contained something of value. The text was barely legible, faded in parts and swirly to a fault, but it held promise. Once seated at the late 19th century desk, I turned on the table lamp and began to interpret the scribbles.

19th of January, the year of 1742

Marchionesse Demalier's acute need to redecorate the second floor is proving more important than the need for new gowns. Our daughters will surely complain, but I shall happily steer them in my dear wife's direction.

It was easy enough to sense both his frustration and the love for his wife.

I read the first sentence again. Marchionesse. So, a title then. Ash was a Marquesse. If I remembered correctly, that ranked below a Duke and above an Earl. Only, Ash didn't seem to value titles to any extent. I smiled to myself and continued to read.

It is now ten days since Walpole left his office. I shall be sorry to see him go. Although the blood of royalists runs thick in our veins, we have thrived under Walpole. Perchance the lady and our daughters shall have their new gowns as well.

Walpole. An ancestor to Ash had written on these pages mere days after one of our greatest politicians had resigned, even hinting at his personal views of the man. This was wonderful. My heartbeat thrummed beneath my ribs.

I snatched up the book, left the library and almost slipped on the stairs in haste to reach Ash's office.

The door was still ajar.

"I found something."

Ash blinked while I rushed forward. "By all means, tell me." He waved for the chair.