The Fatal Folio, cont.
My first thought after the monk’s extraordinary revelation was that I would never read The Ramblings of a Monk. Although I tried to do what was right, I was uncomfortably aware of my imperfections. The last thing I needed was to see them on full display, in black and white, as it were.
I also understood why Estella had read the book without harm. She was an innocent soul, inclined to think the best of people.
“What did my father do?” she asked now, her expression troubled. She began to tremble. “It must have been horrific if facing his sins brought death.”
“That is not for us to know or judge,” the monk said, wisely I thought. Pursuing this line of inquiry would only cause Estella grief. Her father was gone and there was nothing to be done now. “Your father is in God’s hands.”
Estella put a hand to her mouth. “I hope so. Rather than the … alternative.”
The monk put a hand on his shoulder. “Pray for his soul, dear one. That is all we can do.”
The obstinate part of my nature reared its contrary head. “Surely this is all a fable. How can a mere book wield such power?”
His response was to stare into me with a burning gaze. “Dare you put it to the test? Why have so many perished after coming into possession of this cursed tome?”
“Perhaps they died of fright, knowing the book’s reputation,” I argued. “They brought it upon themselves with their expectation.”
He shook his head sadly. “One poor soul lived long enough to pen a letter detailing the experience. He had been entranced by the book’s beauty until he looked further. He said he saw his misdeeds plainly written, with details only he would know. He died soon after, begging his family for forgiveness.”
To me that spoke of delusions brought about by a fevered state of mind. Rather than argue, I decided to leave the monk to his solitary discomfort and return to the villa.
“We will bid you good night,” I said, picking up my lamp. “I hope you slumber well.”
He watched us as we moved toward the door. “Your skepticism is understandable. In this case, I urge you not to try to prove me wrong. If I could, I would prevent that book from taking more lives. While man’s greed is ascendant, that will never happen, I am afraid.”
At first I almost shot back a retort, stating that greed had nothing to do with my interest in the book. Then I was forced to revise that hasty conclusion. Hadn’t I traveled all this distance in company with Mr. Coates because of the commission promised? Although I was fascinated by this rare and storied tome, I would not have journeyed so far without compensation.
If not for the promised fee, I would be safely at home in Cambridge right now, tucked in my own bed and fast asleep. How I wished it were so.
Except … Estella reached for my arm as we traversed the dark corridor. “Are you worried about Mr. Coates?” she asked. “I am.”
To my shame, I had not considered him at all during this last adventure. Once I found that he wasn’t in his room, I had blithely made my way here, to the ruins, without giving him further thought.
“Why do you say that, signorina?”
“Estella.” Her grip tightened. “After what we have been through together, I consider you my friend.”
“Matthew,” I said, my throat thick. I was honored by her acceptance and hoped that I might prove worthy of it. Already I was falling short, I realized with chagrin. Witness my lack of concern for the well-being of Mr. Coates.
I helped her out of the building, using fallen blocks for steps. Then we set off across the overgrown field, which held many traps for the unwary. Although the wind was fresh and cold, it was exhilarating, as were the stars spanning the heavens above.
We paused to rest about halfway to the villa garden. “I don’t go outside often enough at night,” I said, tipping my head back. “Although it is a different matter in the city, the lights and smoke often veil the sky. The cold there is damp and bone-chilling, creeping up from the river with its fogs.”
Estella shivered. “I think I would stay inside. It sounds horrid.”
“Oh, England has its beauties. And so does Cambridge.” I described the halls of learning, the quaint streets, and markets full of the best goods. I found myself wanting to impress her with the desirability of my city.
“That doesn’t sound so terrible,” she said, pulling the shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “Shall we continue on? It is getting chilly.”
As we approached the villa, I noticed that the lights were on in the library. That is where we would find Mr. Coates, I was sure. The shelves of rare and fine books certainly exerted a siren call to those susceptible. I had found it difficult to tear myself away earlier, sure that there were more treasures waiting to be discovered.
When we entered the house, I said, “I’m going by the library before retiring to my chamber. I believe Mr. Coates is there.”
“I’m coming with you,” she said. “Perhaps he is in need of sustenance.” She glanced at me. “I can prepare a hot drink or something to eat if you would like.”
Although I was deeply chilled and a hot toddy would not have gone amiss, I declined, not wanting to burden Estella. The breakfast hour would come soon enough.
Other lamps had been left burning so mine was no longer required to find our way to the library. I left it by the staircase for my return.
Estella gasped as we entered the library. My gaze followed hers and I saw Mr. Coates sprawled back in a chair, a book open upon his lap.
A terrible certainty gripped me. Mr. Coates had found the fatal folio and had made the mistake of reading it.
We rushed to his side. “Take the book, Estella.” I averted my gaze, afraid that even a glance might injure me. Or rather, bring the justice that I so richly deserved. She lifted the book and slapped the covers shut while I bent over my employer.
His chin was lowered to his chest, eyes closed, so I was able to check his neck for a pulse. I found one, faint and thready. “He’s alive.” I put my hand on his shoulder and shook it gently. “Mr. Coates. Mr. Coates? Can you hear me?” To Estella, I said, “Fetch the doctor.”
“It means sending to the village, but I will do it.” She rushed from the room, no doubt to rouse one of the servants.
His head lolled back and his eyes opened a crack. “Mr. Marlboro? I can barely see you. Everything is dark … so dark.”
“Calm yourself, man. Rest. The doctor will soon be here.”
Eyes closed again, he licked his lips. “A doctor cannot save me. This is an illness of the soul.” His brief smile was crooked and wry. “I am caught in the trap I hoped to set.”
I immediately caught his meaning. “You wanted to kill your uncle with the book, so you would inherit.”
It all made sense now. Mr. Coates had searched out a gift that would flatter the old goat with its rarity and price, while knowing that a mere glimpse would send the rapacious earl to his reward. I’d heard the stories, even isolated in my book-lined lair. The Earl was the worse of what England had to offer, a stain on the term “of noble birth.” There was nothing noble or honorable about him.
Now Mr. Coates had been hoist by his own petard. The temptation to look inside the book had been too much for him. Perhaps he thought, after Estella’s experience, that the rumors had been greatly exaggerated and the deaths were merely coincidences.
His hand reached out and gripped my sleeve. “Mr. Marlboro. I urge you.” A pause as he labored for breath. “Do not give that book to my uncle. Or to anyone else. I have made a grave mistake and it will cost me my life.”
“Surely not,” I said, hoping that somehow he would pull through. I didn’t like the man very much but still, I did not wish for an untimely death to befall him.
He didn’t speak again. He sat with chin resting on his chest, his breathing becoming ever more labored. The clock ticked on the mantel, marking the minutes while we waited for help.
His breathing slowed. I paced the carpet, urgency gripping me. When would the doctor arrive? The journey down to the village and back was sure to be difficult in the dark. And after a storm? There might be rocks and other debris strewn upon the path.
I have never felt so helpless as I did while waiting in that illustrious library for help to come. Beyond the tall windows, the sky lightened toward dawn, paling into gray and then tinged with rose along the horizon.
Mr. Coates still sat in his chair, unmoving, his breaths irregular. Horribly, he reminded me of a clock winding down, the movement of the hands slower and slower until they finally halt at the final time.
So too do our years and hours slow and stop, when we do not know yet it is inevitable. Standing vigil with Mr. Coates, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own life, on how satisfied I would be if I died right now. My fear of opening the fatal folio told me all I needed to know.
During whatever time I had left, I must strive to do what was right, to make amends where I could and seek forgiveness where I could not. Perhaps, I thought fancifully, exhausted and swaying on my feet, the book could be used as a cautionary tale. If you are afraid to read it, take heed. Search your heart and repent.
The sun was gilding the horizon when I heard footsteps in the hall. The doors burst open and a man carrying a medical bag bustled in, followed by Estella and the manservant.
While the doctor attended to his patient, Estella came to my side. “I am sorry to desert you. I had to travel to the village myself, in company with the manservant. I was afraid that the proper urgency would not be conveyed.”
It was more likely that the doctor could have easily refused a request from a servant. From the lady of the villa? No, he would not want to lose her patronage.
“Help me move him,” the doctor ordered, indicating a couch nearby.
Between the manservant and myself, we were able to shift Mr. Coates to a supine position. Estella hovered, asking what she could do.
“I’m afraid there is nothing that can be done,” the doctor said. “I only seek to make him comfortable in his last moments. His heart has suffered a great shock and he will not see noon.”
Estella gave a little gasp. “I am so sorry to hear that. Please, do whatever you can to make him comfortable.”
The doctor’s brow lifted. “Perhaps call a priest. To give him the last rites.”
The fatal folio had claimed another victim. I resolved that it would be the last.