The Librarian and the Caretaker sauntered arm in arm from the elevator to the front desk of the hotel the next morning to settle their bill before heading back to the Annex. The pair looked somewhat bedraggled this morning, in their rumpled clothes and finger-combed hair, but the happiness they radiated more than made up for the lack of fresh clothes and toiletries. The desk clerk, an elderly, matronly woman, sized the pair up in a glance; she'd been in the hotel business long enough to know lovers when she saw them. She smiled to herself as she tabulated the total and prepared their receipt. As they waited on her, Cassandra suddenly remembered something.
"Excuse me," she asked the clerk. "Is there any way we could speak to the waitress who worked in the dining room last night, or leave a message for her, please?"
"The waitress, miss?" the woman repeated uncertainly, pulling her glasses off as she looked up from her work. "We haven't any waitresses in the dining room, miss, only Kevin. He's my grandson, you know. Such a lovely boy..."
"But it was a woman who cleared away our table after tea last night," Jenkins interrupted gently. "A young Irish girl, black hair, dark eyes, rather pale? She gave me some very good advice last night, and I just wanted to thank her."
The clerk froze for a moment, then slowly laid her glasses and pen on the counter in front of her. "An Irish girl, you say?" she asked quietly.
Jenkins and Cassandra exchanged a quick glance. "Yes," affirmed the young woman apprehensively. "Doesn't she work here?"
The clerk leaned forward, looking at them with serious green eyes. "The two of you are lovers. And you were having a bit of a tiff last night, weren't you? Even thinking of going your separate ways?" The pair exchanged another guilty glance.
A large smile spread over the older woman's wrinkled face. "Ah! I thought so! You've seen The Irish Lady! How wonderful for you!" she exclaimed happily, her eyes filled with delight.
"The Irish Lady?" echoed Cassandra, completely confused. Jenkins remained silent, but his expression communicated the same feeling of confusion.
"Yes, dear! That's what we call her, anyway. She's our resident spirit!" Seeing the looks of utter bewilderment on the faces of the odd pair in front of her, she hurried to explain.
"The Irish Lady is the spirit of a young woman who died in this very building over 150 years ago," she began, clearly enjoying the role of storyteller.
"She was very poor, but very pretty, and she had a heart of gold. She caught the eye of a handsome, wealthy, young gentleman who fell madly in love with her, in spite of the difference in their social standings, and they were married. But another man, a wicked creature he was, had wanted her for himself. He was so jealous and angry at having lost her to someone else that he came here—on Christmas Day, no less!—and shot the poor girl to death, murdered her right in front of her new husband!" She shook her head sadly at the tragic turn of events so many years ago.
"Well," she continued conspiratorially. "The young husband was grief-stricken, of course; who wouldn't be? In a fit of rage he seized that beastly man by the throat and broke his neck, right there on the spot! And who could blame him, the poor boy?"
Cassandra glanced at Jenkins. He was absolutely still, his face white and stony as he listened to the tale.
"What happened, then?" she asked the old woman. The clerk was happy to tell her.
"Well! The poor young gentleman was so heartbroken over losing his true love and so guilt-stricken over having killed the other man, he went directly to Blackfriars Bridge and threw himself into the Thames!" She again shook her gray head sadly.
"Not many people see The Irish Lady," she continued. "It's said that because she lost her own true love, she only appears to couples who are in danger of losing theirs. She wants them to have the same love in their lives that she had stolen from her so cruelly, you see. She helps them get back together again, and it's said that anyone who's been matched by The Irish Lady are especially blessed with happiness! Isn't that a lovely story?" The clerk reached out and patted Cassandra's hand fondly.
"You and your 'young' gentleman, here, miss," she nodded shyly at the still-silent Jenkins. "You're sure to have a happy future together!" She reached over to a rack of brochures sitting on the end of the counter and plucked one out. She handed it to the young Librarian.
"Here, love, take this with you. It has the whole story in it, and some lovely photos. Now, let me just finish tallying this bill up for you, I'm sure you're both anxious to be on your way..."
They paid their bill and left the hotel. Jenkins still hadn't said a word. They crossed to the other side of the street and suddenly the Caretaker stopped. "Cassandra, wait."
He turned and looked at the area all around him, especially at the facade of the hotel building, complete bafflement on his face.
"Everything's different," he said plaintively, his voice quavering. "I never went back to Jane's tenement after that night, and nothing here is as I remember it. Even the streets are different. This can't be the same place. It can't have been Jane!"
Cassandra pulled the brochure from her pocket and quickly flipped through it. "Here," she said, holding out the pamphlet. "Here's an old picture of the hotel building, from the 1800's."
He snatched the brochure from her and looked closely at the photograph. "That's her tenement," he whispered. Feeling his knees beginning to weaken, he dropped and sat heavily on the curb. Cassandra immediately joined him, putting her arm protectively around his broad shoulders.
"This area was hit pretty hard during World War II; the government tore a lot of the old neighborhoods down and rebuilt them after the war. That's probably what happened here; most of these buildings don't look very old to me, now that I look at them. What I wonder is why the story she told us so different from yours?"
"Stories always change if they're told enough times. Details get changed, embroidered, left out, added..." Jenkins's voice was miserable.
"Why didn't I recognize her?" he asked pitifully. "She looked nothing like I remember; why couldn't I recognize her?"
Cassandra took his hand in hers. "I know why," she whispered, fixing her gaze on his face. "It wasn't Jane."
He returned her gaze, puzzled. "But who else could it have been, Cassandra?" he said dismissively.
"Your daughter."
He stared at the young Librarian as though she had just sprouted a second head. "My...what...?"
She turned to face him and took both his hands in hers. "Your daughter. Listen! The baby Jane was carrying—it was a girl. You never got to see her, that's why you didn't recognize her. It makes perfect sense!"
The stunned immortal sat on the curb motionless as he tried to process Cassandra's words. His daughter? Could it really have been his child? The infant that had brought such joy to his jaded old heart, who'd been snatched away before he'd even had a chance to hold her in his arms? It would explain why he hadn't recognized her. He searched the image of her that was burned into his memory from the night before, and then he could see it: The girl favored Jane in appearance, especially in the eyes, but he could see himself in her, too. Cassandra was right. His face took on an expression of grief as he buried it in his hands.
"Jenkins, why are you sad?" asked the redhead in alarm. "I'd think you would be happy to have seen her, even for just a few minutes!"
"How can I be happy when her spirit isn't at peace?" he demanded, on the verge of tears. "All these years I thought her soul had crossed into the next world with Jane, and now I find out that's not the case at all! She's trapped here, haunting the place where she was murdered!" He looked up helplessly into the pale blue morning sky and closed his eyes.
"I'm so sorry, my little one!" he said, grief-stricken. "I'm so sorry to have done this to you!"
"Jenkins, no! You didn't do this!" she tried to console him. She ran a hand up and down his back, trying to soothe him. A thought suddenly came to her.
"Jenkins, wait!" she said. "The waitress—Was she upset?"
He looked back at the Librarian. "Upset?"
"Was she crying, or really, really sad, or anything like that?
The Caretaker shook his head slowly, confused. "No," he said faintly. "Nothing like that. She was concerned that I hadn't gone after you right away when you left, but..." His expression changed, became lighter as he remembered the meeting the night before.
"In fact, she even scolded me in a teasing way, like Jane used to do," he said. He looked at Cassandra. "Why? What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking that she's here because she wants to be here, not because she has to be here," the woman said, smiling. "She's spending her afterlife helping people!"
Jenkins stared at the Librarian blankly. "What?"
"Think about it. Remember what the clerk said? The Irish Lady helps people to be with their true loves. She wants them to have the kind of love that you had with her mother. And you said yourself, Jane always found the best in every situation, why would death be any different for her? Maybe Jane passed that trait on to your daughter?" She squeezed the old knight's hand tightly.
"And it sounds like it made her happy to help you find true love again," she added gently, wrapping her arms around him and leaning her head against his shoulder.
Jenkins was quiet for several minutes as he digested all of this. Eventually he turned his head to look at Cassandra.
"Do you really think that's true?" he asked. The hope in his voice almost brought tears to Cassandra's eyes.
"I do, absolutely," she said truthfully, bringing his hand up to kiss the back of it. "There's lots of examples of spirits who help people. I'm sure you've heard lots of those stories, too.. I don't think she's suffering or unhappy at all."
The immortal's eyes filled with tears, but he manfully blinked them back. He wrapped his arms around the young woman and hugged her tightly. "Thank you, Cassandra," he murmured, his voice full of emotion. "I needed that, very much."
The Librarian leaned over and kissed him softly. He returned her kiss and leaned his forehead against hers tenderly.
"Let's go home," he said.
#####
After the pair entered the cemetery gates on their way to the back door, Jenkins asked Cassandra for a few minutes alone at Jane's grave. She waited patiently for him on the main driveway while the Caretaker stood before the white stone marker, his head bowed. Cassandra wasn't able to hear anything he said, but it had clearly been heartfelt, judging from the redness of his eyes when he rejoined her. He smiled wanly as she took his arm and led him to the back door.
They crossed the threshold together and entered the Annex workroom halfway around the world from London. It was currently four o'clock in the morning in Portland, and Jenkins was privately glad that none of the others were in the Annex yet; it had been a long couple of weeks, and an especially emotional 24 hours, and he just wasn't in the mood right now to deal with the rowdy group of youngsters.
He and Cassandra headed to his suite of rooms for a hot shower and a change of clothes. He held the heavy door to the bedroom open for Cassandra, then he entered behind her and turned on the lights. Almost immediately Cassandra jumped backward and shrieked.
"JENKINS!"
He rushed to her side at once. "Cassandra, what's wrong? What is it?"
The Librarian pointed to one end of the room. "Where did that come from?" she whispered.
He turned and looked to where she was pointing. In the far wall of the bedroom, directly opposite the door leading to his sitting room, there was now a large door where there had never been a door before. Jenkins knit his brows together and approached the strange door, cautiously trying the knob. It was unlocked, so he opened the door and pushed it carefully open. He gasped at the sight within.
Jenkins entered the room slowly, Cassandra right behind him. She looked around in amazement: It was a whole new suite of rooms, a sitting room and a dressing room, exact twins to Jenkins's own suite on the other side of the bedroom. Except that where Jenkins's rooms were dark, brooding and very masculine, these rooms were light and airy, beautifully decorated in a feminine fashion, with soft colors, floral prints, fresh flowers and candles. There was even an indoor water feature.
"Jenkins, what does this mean? Where did they come from?" she whispered, afraid to speak any louder. He didn't answer right away, and when she looked over at him, she was alarmed to see him standing stock still, his hand over his mouth, tears filling his eyes.
"Jenkins?!" she said, frightened. "What's wrong? What does this mean?"
He turned to face her, extended his arm to indicate the room, his voice low and soft. "This is yours."
She looked at him, confused. "Mine? I don't understand..."
"The Library, it's added these rooms, just for you. These rooms are yours," he said faintly.
"But why would the Library do that?" she asked. It took Jenkins several moments to get his emotions under control before he could answer her.
"It's inviting you to move into the Annex. With me. As a couple." He began to tremble, and Cassandra, alarmed, ran to him. He looked down into her eyes.
"Don't you see, Cassandra?" he said, his voice so choked with emotion that he could barely get the words out. "The Library...it's giving us its blessing!" He suddenly threw his arms around the young Librarian and nearly crushed her as he hugged her tightly to himself. He fought back sobs as they stood together in the middle of the new room.
"I don't have to be afraid anymore," he gasped, almost as if he was talking to himself. "I don't have to be afraid of losing you! I don't have to be afraid anymore! I don't have to be afraid..." Jenkins broke down and began sobbing uncontrollably, feeling as if a crushing, ponderous weight had at last been lifted from his soul.
Cassandra, finally understanding his reaction, held him as he wept, tears of happiness for her lover coming to her own eyes. His outburst was over quickly, and he soon released her. He dug his handkerchief out of his trousers and wiped his face with it, then began straightening and fussing with his clothes as he sought to regain his dignity.
"Well," he huffed at last, offering his young love an embarrassed smile. "My apologies, my dear. That was a rather mawkish display, wasn't it?"
"I think you're entitled," she laughed. "First your daughter plays matchmaker for us, and now the Library moves us in together—everything seems to be coming up Jenkins today!"
"No, everything's coming up Jenkins and Cassandra," he corrected her, slipping his arms around her. He was suddenly giddy with relief and happiness, and without warning he picked her up and swung her around as he did on the street in London, making the Librarian squeal again.
'I think this calls for a celebration!" he said excitedly. "What would like to do, my love? Anything you want, just name it!"
Cassandra was amazed at the transformation that had come over the immortal. It was the first time she had ever seen him like this...truly happy. It made her so happy for him that she wanted to cry. She forced herself to keep it together though; there had been enough tears already today. She focused instead on answering his question.
"Well," she said thoughtfully. "I've always wanted to see Barcelona—would that be okay with you?"
"Ahhhh! Barcelona!" he sighed, dramatically laying his hand on his heart. "The most beautiful, romantic city in all the world! And they have that wonderful crema catalana, one my most favorite desserts, too! An excellent choice, my love!" Cassandra giggled; she had the feeling that if she said she wanted to go to downtown Detroit, Jenkins would've had the same reaction.
The tall Caretaker took her hands in his and began to waltz her slowly around the room.
"Let's get ourselves tidied up first," he began happily. "Then we'll pack some things and be off. We'll be strolling down the Ramblas and snacking on tapas and vino tinto within two hours!" He stopped dancing with the laughing Librarian and placed a finger beneath her chin, bent down to nuzzle her silky cheek.
"Be sure to pack something sinful to wear at dinner tonight, my dear," he purred seductively. "And make sure it's something that can be removed quickly," he whispered into her ear before kissing her, leisurely and deeply as the Librarian's arms slipped around his waist.
"On second thought," he said rumbled quietly, smiling as he slid his strong hands underneath Cassandra's blouse and then her bra. "Let's make it three or four hours before we find ourselves strolling down the Ramblas..."