were not among those invited to the opera. Why was she even considering that this man, her employer, would spend one minute of time with her if he did not need her skills? Just because she was coming to like him, that did not mean that the opposite was true. With his money, he must have dozens of girls flinging themselves at him, and more whose parents are doing the flinging, I shouldn't wonder. All with proper womanly interests, who grow property faint at the merest hint of the excesses of the ancient Romans. And no matter how disfigured he might be now, there are plenty of women who would be happy to become Mrs. Jason Cameron. Once he decides that his quest for healing is in vain, he will dismiss me and get on with his life. And even if that life does not include a bride, it will hardly include me. I am an employee, not a friend, and I must always keep that fact in mind.
She should be planning on what to do with herself after he dismissed her-and on how to keep that moment at bay until after she had amassed enough money to make the future she envisioned possible.
Well, let me see what literary face Jason Cameron shows his visitors. Perhaps that can help me decide how to proceed.
There was a section of popular literature and poetry, light novels and romances in the bookcase nearest the door, all bound in matching leather with hand-tooled titles on the spine and the cover. The Bronte Sisters, Jane Austen, Walter Scott, Kipling, Doyle ... oh, Lord Byron-now there's something a bit racier! Cooper, Defoe, Melville, Emerson, Hawthorne, that was to be expected. How could an American tycoon not have the American literary lions in his library? Longfellow, of course. Verne, now there's a surprise! Dumas and Stevenson. Oh dear, what are Corelli, Alexander, Hodgson, and Braeme doing in such exalted company? Probably for those whose tastes are a bit more plebian. After a cursory examination she moved on to more fruitful territory.
Fruitful territory began with the very next case, which held general history books, arranged in time-sequence by author. Many of them were, as she well knew from her undergraduate courses, as dry as the Sahara, and guaranteed to encourage a 'proper' young lady to return to the first case! Following the general histories were general geographies, then natural history and the sciences. The farther she went, the more pleased she became. All in all, a person could acquire quite a complete post-graduate education just by reading the books on the first floor.
So what was on the second floor?
She picked up her skirts in both hands and ascended the spiral, wrought-iron stair with anticipation.
Her anticipation was rewarded. Now this is a great deal more like it! Excellent translations of the Greek and Roman classics met her eye first-multiple translations, in fact-housed snugly next to the same books in the original. Other ancient works followed in the same pattern; translations, more often than not, multiple translations, followed by copies of the originals. Oh my-there is dear old Wallis Budge, all of his Egyptian translations! If ever I suffer from insomnia, I shall know where to find the cure for it!
Then a surprise; English versions of virtually every book ever considered 'holy' by any culture, East or West, again with copies in the original tongues. They were all here-from the Mahabharata to the Koran, from the Talmud to the works of the Zen Masters. She raised an eyebrow at that; Cameron had not struck her as being anything like interested in religion. Perhaps, once he came to the inevitable conclusion that his search for 'magical' help was in vain, she might send him here for consolation. Perhaps ... Buddhism? Somehow I can't imagine Jason Cameron becoming a proper Christian lamb. But I can't imagine him seeking enlightenment with serenity either.
She was halfway around the room when she came to the next subject-change; pure mythology, with interpretations and volumes of scholarly speculation. Then a surprise, in the form of medieval romances, ballads, and minstrel-tales.
Interesting. That certainly doesn't fit. Is this the remains of a younger, more romantic Jason Cameron? Or is this fodder for something quite the opposite? At any rate-there was more than enough material here for her to write several dissertations. I wonder if the world could tolerate another analysis of the cult of the Virgin Mary and the reflection of that cult in troubadour-ballads ... no, wait! What about something allied but different? What about reflections of Mary Magdalene in the 'fallen heroines' like Kundrie, Guinevere and Yseult.
That would be new-She happily pursued this notion for some time, making mental notes on a rich lode of source-material Cameron had available here. Why, she might even be able to fashion a doctoral dissertation just from what was here!
And how 'proper' it would be for a lady, too-pious reflection on sin and redemption-One of the problems with her previous research had been resistance by her professors to the 'appropriateness' of the subjects she found interesting. They could hardly argue with this! Not like the last one, where I was trying to prove that the 'allegorical' nature of the courtly love-poem was anything but allegorical!
That brought her all the way to the end, which proved to be all huge, unwieldy, handwritten volumes. Some were old atlases, some she couldn't make head or tail of, and some were rather laughable 'natural history' works of the previous century, showing all manner of imaginary beasts and claiming improbable things about them. There was certainly nothing of any use there, and the volumes themselves were so musty they made her sneeze. She dusted her hands off on her skirts and descended.
The weight of the book in her pocket reminded her that she had intended to read it this afternoon. While there was still plenty of light, it would be a good time to look the conservatory over and see if there were any surprises growing in the linked hothouses.
