Yorkshire, England, 1805

The hallways leading to the library were even more of a maze. Mercy followed close behind Norrell as they ventured through the windowless corridors, the only light omitted from a single candle he held aloft. The newly waxed floors gave way to stone, the cold enveloping Mercy. She tucked her shawl closer about her shoulders as they climbed a short set of stairs. She had lost count of the rooms they'd passed or corners they had taken, nor could she recall if they faced the front or rear of the abbey.

"Please, Miss Savage, stay close. I do not wish to lose you."

Mercy skipped up the last couple steps and drew up behind Norrell, her thoughts clouded by the twisting passages.

"This is a very old building?" she asked.

"The very stones were made from the Raven King's castle."

Mercy arched a brow but did not reply. A learned man like Norrell did not seem the type to adhere to vague superstition and myth. However, before she could ask him to clarify, they turned a final corner to a dead end. The double doors creaked as he opened them.

"Oh," Mercy breathed as she took in the room. "My father would have loved to see this place..."

She felt as though she'd stepped into a cathedral, with vaulted ceilings and medieval columns, the place was lit by high windows letting in the chilly white light. Candles lined the spaces between book shelves. And the shelves themselves... filled to the brim from floor to ceiling with books of all sizes with fine leather bindings. Desks with papers and ink scattered the room. Childermass sat at one under one of the windows, light spilling over his back. He did not turn to look as they entered the library.

"Your father did see it once," Norrell replied, his tone dull with memory.

Mercy glanced over at the scholar. "How did you know my father, Mr. Norrell?"

The scratching of Childermass' pen silenced but he stayed seated. Norrell cleared his throat. "We were childhood friends. Along with your mother. She was a distant cousin of mine."

Norrell swiftly moved towards a corner of the cavernous room where a trio of crates sat, their sawdust fillings dusting the stone floor around them. Mercy followed and peeked in to find the remaining books from her father's library.

"These are the last of the crates to be organized." Norrell lifted a volume from one and flipped through it. He clucked his tongue as he examined the spine. "Edward should have known better. The damp tropical air was not good for these. Here, this one will go in that shelf at the far left. It's where I'm putting the ones to be rebound."

Mercy reached out for it but Norrell hesitated, pulling it away. Mercy cleared her throat. "Do you wish me to place it in the shelf?"

He blinked. "Yes...of course. But first..."

Mercy suppressed a grin as he tugged a pair of dusting gloves from his pocket and held them out. She complied without complaint and he managed a quick smile. Finally he handed her the book. It weighed down her hands. She scanned the title.

"How to Put Questions to the Dark and Understand It's Answers," she read aloud with a smirk. "A novel?"

Norrell stared up at her in horror. "Of course not. I would not keep such drivel as a novel on my shelves."

Mercy shrugged and meandered away. As she walked, she flipped open the front cover, her fingers tingling as she ran them over the words. "What is it about then?"

"English magic, of course," Norrell snapped irritably after her.

Mercy halted as Childermass came to stand before her. He snapped the book shut and took it from her hands without a glance. She took a turn about the room, studying the odd titles of the books there. The Excellences of Christo-Judaic Magick. The Tree of Learning. Trailing a finger down the spine of one, she let out a light chuckle.

"These are all books about the history English magic. You are a student of history, Mr. Norrell?" she asked amiably, turning towards the men where they were stacking books out of the crates.

They stopped and stared towards her, silence falling heavily between them. Mr. Norrell cleared his throat. "Of a sort."

"And my father, is that what he was studying all those years?"

Both men looked towards her in confusion. Mercy shifted uncomfortably under their gaze, rubbing her forearm.

"You never knew?" Norrell scoffed, tucking a book under his arm and stepping towards her, his gaze dancing with amusement. "Edward...he kept all this from you?"

Mercy tried not to be insulted by the smug grin on his face. "My father was very private."

"I never married or had children but I should hope I would have kept my offspring more enlightened than Edward did with you," Norrell spoke more to himself than her, Childermass giving an obvious eye roll behind him.

Mercy stiffened. "My father made sure I was well educated, sir. But he also made certain I understood the difference between fact and fantasy. Such figures as the Raven King are better fit in the pantheon next to Poseidon and Thor and not in our advanced age. Tales of magic are for children, it never existed then or now."

Norrell turned a chilly shoulder towards her. "I fear then this work will bore you, Miss Savage. It may be better if Childermass showed you the way back to your room."

Whipping the gloves from her hands, Mercy slapped them on the table near her and lifted her head. "Please don't trouble yourself, Childermass. I can find my own way."

She strode towards the door but was stopped in her path by the manservant blocking the way with his tall personage. He gave her a warning glance and reached for a candle. "It's no trouble, Miss Savage."

As Childermass led her through the creaking halls, Mercy swallowed hard a surge of tears. Her throat constricted and she dabbed at her damp eyes with the edge of her shawl. She kept her gaze on her slippers, her face burning with anger. If she had known this would be her life at Hurtfew Abbey, she never would have let her curiosity lead her here. She would have even preferred engaging the help of the odious Mr. Drawlight than suffer this humiliation.

Childermass halted and she realized they were standing in front of her rooms. She did not look at him directly but tugged the shawl tighter about her shoulders and sniffed. Childermass let out a sigh and dug a handkerchief from his coat. He offered it to her and she took it without a word.

"My master is not accustomed to interacting with others. Even less with female company. You must excuse him," Childermass explained in his throaty growl.

Mercy nodded, patting her cheeks. "I apologize. I do not know what came over me. You both must think me very rude."

"I believe neither of us know what to think of you, Miss Savage."

She looked up to find not his usual glare but his expression calm as he studied her tear stained face. She looked away and held out the kerchief. "Thank you, Childermass."

"Keep it." He opened the door to the room for her.

A wintry breeze rushed out to meet them. The flame of the candle he held between them flared and a tolling bell echoed into the hallway. Childermass's eyes widened and he slammed the door shut before she could enter.

"What-"

Childermass gripped her upper arm. "You best come with me."