The Tutor by Bonnie Read Free Book Online Page B

of the place. Is there a book or a family history of the place? I was hoping to use your library, if I that’s all right. I was trying to find my way there, but got turned around.”
    Sir Richard’s eyes widened, perhaps in surprise that I continued to jabber after his clear message to get out of his sight. His lips compressed for a moment but then he said, “I suppose that would be all right. I’ll show you the way.”
    He extinguished the candles on the altar, the glow bathing the stark planes of his face as he puffed on each one. Couldn’t help thinking I’d like to have those slightly pursed lips pressed against mine. I knew almost for certain my instinct about his inclinations wasn’t wrong, despite his grieving over a dead wife. I had enough experience to recognize a fellow man lover when I met one. But I filed my attraction under “not to be opened until the twelfth of never” as I followed him and his lamp out of the room and down the hallway.
    Several twists and turns and a stairway or two brought us to our destination. It
    turned out the grand library was only across the hall from Allinson’s study. And it was a grand room lined to the ceiling with books, most of which looked as if they hadn’t been cracked open in years. My fingers itched to get at them, blow the dust off those pages.
    Even if many of the old books were boring as mud, there must be some hidden gems
    among them.
    Sir Richard stood silently off to my left. It took me a moment to pull myself from my examination of the room enough to be aware that he was watching me. “You love books.”
    “Always have loved stories. When I was young, I didn’t have access to many
    books.” I bit the tip of my tongue as I recalled I was supposed to be a gentleman fallen on hard times. It wouldn’t do to reveal my hardscrabble background. I must remember my invented persona at all times, never let the mask slip.
    “In your letter applying for the post, you mentioned your family had been stricken with debt. Who paid for your university education?”
    “An uncle, now dead.”
    In fact, I’d had no formal education but had read a number of books
    recommended by my patron, Sylvester Leighton. Later, a drunken former university
    professor who lived in my building had been overjoyed to pour his fount of knowledge over me. The old man had truly loved teaching before he got the boot. I’d had access to his brain and his books. It was a portion of his legacy upon his death that occupied the trunk in my room.
    Sir Richard’s questioning made me nervous. Did he suspect something was off
    about me? Did he pry to get at the truth? Or was my own guilt making me suspicious of an innocent question? At any rate, I wanted to change the subject from me to anything else.
    “Perhaps you could recommend a favorite book,” I suggested. “I’d value your
    opinion.”
    The question was enough to take Allinson’s relentless gaze off me, which was a
    relief. He led the way to a bookcase near the large fireplace dominating one end of the room. The book spines there appeared newer and shinier. I half expected him to pull out a volume of Dante’s Inferno . It seemed the sort of dark fare he might wallow in. I was pleasantly surprised when he withdrew a slim blue book and placed it in my hands.
    “ The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes .” I read the title aloud, as if proving to the man I had the ability. “A new Conan Doyle book! I didn’t know he’d published another.”
    “Brand-new. I picked it up in London on my last visit. Fodder for the masses, to
    be sure, but I’ll admit to enjoying these detective tales.” Richard’s well-bred drawl reminded me that gentlemen such as he were expected only to admire the classics and not more plebian adventure tales.
    I leafed through the pages, as excited as a boy on Christmas morning. “ The Sign of Four was a thrilling tale. A Study in Scarlet less so, in my opinion.”
    “Agreed,” Allinson said, and for the first time,