In other words—he really doesn't want to know that there is anything shabby trailing about in his beautiful home. Poor man! He's probably afraid that I'll disgrace him if anyone should see me! She giggled again. He's probably dreading the censure of that terribly superior secretary of his if he permits a dowd to stalk his exquisite halls.
"Mister Cameron, I am not," she said firmly. "Provided that I may keep these replacements that you have graciously provided for me, you may do with them what you will. Burn them, bury them, use them for cleaning rags; I will not be sorry to see them gone. They are inferior specimens of their type, have nothing of grace or charm to recommend them, and deserve an ignoble end. Frankly, I bought them because I had to, not because I wanted to. My taste, sir, is better than that."
Another sigh of relief. "Miss Cameron, once again you please and surprise me. If you would take up the first volume in the stack and begin at the place marked?"
The leather-bound book was without a title or any other identifying marks; the ribbon bookmark within fell at a new chapter. Somewhat to her surprise, it was hand-printed, in medieval French. Within a few words, she knew what it was, although such books had never been of interest to her. It was a treatise on alchemy, full of maunderings about "Red Lions" and "White Eagles," "male and female principles," and allusions to "Hermetic Mysteries." Despite obvious flaws in grammar and syntax, she read it precisely as it had been written, for these tomes were often encoded, and to correct what was there might render it indecipherable.
Alchemy! I wonder what his "researches" are? Not a search for the Philosopher's Stone, surely; any man as acquainted with science and rational thinking as a man in his position must surely know what nonsense such things are! Besides, he does not need a Philosopher's Stone to render him wealthy; he already has wealth in abundance.
Then again—perhaps he was interested in the occult aspect of such things. He had suffered a terrible accident—would someone in his place not crave some supernatural remedy to his injury, since science could not supply one?
She came to the end of the section and was about to continue when Cameron spoke.
"No more," he said, sounding resigned. "I remembered that passage imperfectly; there is nothing there I can use. Pray, go on with the next volume. You will have to translate for me, if you would be so kind."
The second book confirmed her guess, as it was another treatise on an occult subject, this time printed in Gothic black-letter German, and of a more recent date. She read as she was accustomed to, given an unfamiliar text; when she encountered a phrase she did not immediately understand, she read it aloud in the original, then puzzled it through aurally. Cameron did not correct this habit; evidently he approved of it, for once or twice he suggested an alternative translation that made a great deal more sense in the context of the book—though not a great deal of sense in terms of the real world.
"The next section," she said, when she had finished the portion marked, "is entitled 'An den Seele'—if that is of any interest to you?"
She was beginning to enjoy her new duty, odd though the subject of her reading was. "Not particularly," was the response. "Pray continue with the next volume. May I say you have a particularly pleasant voice? This is proving to be as pleasurable as it is instructive."
"Thank you," she replied, surprising herself with a blush. By this time, the light outside had faded into dusk, although she had not thought it that late when she broke her fast. She must have slept far longer than she had thought. On the other hand, if these were Jason Cameron's preferred hours, she might as well get used to them now.
She was halfway through the stack of books when Cameron himself called a halt. She reckoned that she must have read at least a hundred pages in that time, perhaps more. Her throat was certainly getting dry, and she was conscious of increasing hunger.
"Your voice is a trifle hoarse; I detect that you are in need of a rest. Have you any notion what time it is?"
"Candidly, no," she admitted. "I am afraid I do not possess a watch, and there doesn't seem to be a clock in these rooms." It had not occurred to her before, but that was a rather odd omission.
But apparently it was an accidental one, for he made a sound of chagrin. "I do apologize; I shall remedy both conditions immediately." There was a sound of scraping, as if something heavy had been dragged across the floor. It did not come from overhead, but rather through the speaking-tube only, which told her that wherever Cameron's rooms were, they were not above her own. "It appears to be approximately nine o'clock," he said after a lengthy pause. "Would you prefer to dine in your rooms or in the dining room? There are no other guests, nor, since my accident, are there likely to be, but you may care for a change of scene."
The thought of sitting at a long, empty table was a bit daunting. She shivered just a little; she would feel precisely like a heroine in a haunted romance. "In my rooms, if you please," she told him. "In fact, if it is convenient, I should like to take all my meals here, except for the odd alfresco picnic lunch if the weather is fine. I am in the habit of taking long walks," she added, warningly. "Exercise is valuable for sharpening the mind."
If he was going to try to keep her penned up in here, he would surely object at this point. But he didn't. "Healthy mind, healthy body, hmm?" he said with amusement. "The Greeks would approve, and so do I. It is quite convenient, actually, and I am sure my servants would prefer the arrangement. Simply let my housekeeper know with a note if you intend such excursions, and there will be a luncheon made up and waiting at the front door. I shall also see that you have a rough map of the area. You don't by any chance ride, do you?"
"Actually, no," she admitted. "I was raised in Chicago and never had occasion to learn."
"What, so you are not perfect, after all?" he replied with a hint of mockery. "A pity; my horse could use another to exercise him besides Paul and the stableman. Well, you shall have to content yourself with enjoying my little wilderness afoot. I am afraid I cannot recommend my steed for the inexperienced; he requires a rider who knows what she is about. And for now—I suggest that you might stretch your limbs in exploring the house a bit while I have Paul organize a dinner for both of us, and remedy the shocking lack of timepieces in your rooms."
"Thank you, sir," she replied, getting to her feet a bit stiffly. "I believe I shall do precisely that."
Just at the moment she felt a decided aversion to encountering the so-superior secretary; on the whole, if she met him, she would rather it was on neutral ground rather than in her own rooms. Besides, this was an open invitation to be as inquisitive as she cared to, and devil if she wasn't going to take advantage of it!
For one thing, she rather thought she would like to try and puzzle out just where her employer was speaking from. It wasn't from overhead, and yet the voice coming from the speaking tube was strong and clear, so his own rooms could not be located too far away.
Directly beneath her, perhaps? That would be logical. It would also be reassuring. She really would rather that he were not above or to either side. Secret passages were one thing; peepholes, however, were ridiculously easy to contrive. He might be able to spy on her from any direction but below; even an occultist would have difficulty seeing through a thick Oriental rug laid down over carpet as the ones in her rooms were.