A Scholar of Magics by Caroline Stevermer Page B

harm could I do?”

    â€œNo harm. Not that.” Inspiration struck Lambert. “But this way, we can be witnesses for each other’s good behavior.”
    â€œDo you think me capable of anything less?” Jane’s words held a distinct edge. “What are you implying?”
    â€œI’m not trying to imply anything.” Lambert settled for absolute honesty. “If I leave you here alone, I think you might snoop.”
    Jane bristled. “Oh, do you?”
    â€œForgive my bluntness, Miss Brailsford, but I try never to underestimate a woman. Particularly not an Englishwoman.”
    Lambert was perplexed by Jane’s sweet smile in response. “Very well, Mr. Lambert. In that case, I concede that I am quite capable of snooping. Let us go and find the proper authority together.”
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    I t took Lambert some time to track down the right person to inform of the disturbance in Fell’s study. The young man responsible for the reading room sent to someone with more authority, who sent for someone else. Finally Russell, one of the senior Fellows, arrived and took a look at the place.
    â€œTo be honest, it doesn’t look much worse than usual.” Russell poked at a stack of papers. “Fell can make a formal complaint if he notices anything is missing. Leave it alone until then.”
    â€œWhat about the man in the bowler hat?” Lambert asked.
    â€œIf you see him again, ask him to come in and answer a few questions. Not much we can do unless he returns.” Russell ushered them back out to the corridor. “It was very conscientious of you to report this.” To Lambert, his tone made
it plain he thought Lambert and Jane were a pair of officious fussbudgets intent on making a mountain out of a molehill.
    Lambert noted with interest that Jane seemed to interpret Russell’s tone just the way he had, for she looked peeved as Russell escorted them out of the archive and left them on the front steps.
    â€œThat’s that, then.” Jane surveyed the prospect before her with no sign of enthusiasm. “Vigilant Glasscastle at its finest.”
    â€œThat’s a sour look, Jane.” Robert Brailsford hailed his sister cheerfully as he and Adam Voysey joined them on the steps. “Lemons for lunch, was it?”
    â€œI haven’t had anything for lunch.” Jane brightened considerably at the mere thought. “Is it already time for lunch?”
    Robert greeted Lambert, and said to Jane, “I see you’ve found a more congenial guide to squire you through the place. I might have guessed you would.”
    Lambert hadn’t noticed the resemblance between Jane and her brother until he saw them side by side. Their coloring was not dissimilar, but the set of the head and the line of the jaw clearly marked them as kin. Beside Vice Chancellor Voysey’s lean height, Robert Brailsford seemed stocky, compact yet not unathletic. In Jane, economy of build turned to grace.
    Jane’s attention was all on her brother, and most of it was reproachful. “You forgot me, didn’t you?”
    Robert did not hesitate. “I did. Completely and utterly. Jane, may I present the new Vice Chancellor of Glasscastle and Provost of Holythorn, Adam Voysey? Adam, allow me to present my sister Jane Brailsford, a scholar of Greenlaw.”

    Voysey’s dignity came to the fore. Jane might have been a duchess, such was Voysey’s courtesy. Lambert watched with reluctant admiration. As Vice Chancellor, Voysey spoke for all of Glasscastle. He was a busy man. Yet Jane might have been the only person in the world, the way Voysey treated her. Bearing like that could never be learned. It was innate courtesy improved by years of polish.
    Under Voysey’s admiring eye, Jane’s mood seemed to improve. She returned compliment for compliment, saying nothing in particular, yet saying it with elegance and poise.
    â€œAnd you, Samuel,” Voysey said at