The Dark Library Read online

  The Dark Library

  By JJ Argus

  Copyright 2011

  Smashwords edition

  JJ Argus has written more than 250 novels, and been published in hardcover, softcover, and innumerable magazines and digests. This work is the result of the long, hard effort and creativity of the author. Please do not post or resell it without permission.

  This story is a work of fiction. All characters are over eighteen.

  Chapter One

  Hannah shook her head as the car approached her new place of employment. Growing up in small, cramped, council houses, it amazed her that one man would live in a place, which, had it been in a city, would easily have occupied an entire city block, or perhaps two. Dozens of chimneys sprouted along its roof, and small towers rose at the corners. One section in front was covered in ivy from ground to peaked roof, trimmed back along windows and around a stone balcony, and the bell tower which sprouted from the center.

  Though no student of architecture, it was quite obvious to Hannah that the building had had numerous additions over the years. . It seemed untidily symmetrical, if that was possible, with that long, peaked roof at right angles to the peaked roofs of several additions both at the ends and along the middle..

  “Thank God I don’t have to clean the bloody place,” she whispered to herself as she climbed out of the car.

  She said it softly, however, for the drier was an intimidating, and unfriendly individual who worked for Lord Carling, the owner, and her new, temporary employer.

  It should be an … interesting assignment,, at any rate. And it wasn’t as though she had a lot of choices at the moment. Government cutbacks had closed several libraries just as she got out of school with her masters degree in library sciences. And it would have been too much of an indignity to take a job as a file clerk somewhere, or worse a waitress.

  Oh, how they’d love that, she thought sourly, thinking of all the girls she’d known back in high school who’d called her a stuck up geek. She was stuck up, but only in that she knew she was smarter than they were, and had more dignity, pride and drive to learn and succeed. The lazy sluts had spent their years partying and getting laid while she was studying to better herself. She’d gone on to university while they’d gone on to the dole, or jobs as waitresses and shop clerks.

  So they’d laugh themselves silly if they heard that after “miss stuck up” had spent seven years in university she was forced to take a job as a waitress just like they were. She didn’t think her pride could take that kind of blow. She had always been a very self-contained person with a keen sense of who and what she was. Much of her self image was bound up in herself as an intelligent, educated, dignified young woman who had escaped the poverty of her birth.

  Perhaps she was a little prideful, but so what? She could have given up and gotten pregnant at seventeen like so many of those cheap, lower class girls she’d grown up with. But she’d worked hard, persevered, and intended to make something of herself. She didn’t talk like someone who’d come from council houses, didn’t act like one, and didn’t look like one.

  So now what she needed was some experience on her resume so she could have a hope of getting into a proper library. This one month assignment to catalog and organize Lord Carling’s library would not only help her finances but a satisfactory recommendation would look good for future work.

  The driver, a large, shaven headed black man, climbed out and opened the boot of the car, sourly lifting out the four large suitcases she’d brought for her month’s stay. She’d tried to keep things to a minimum, but who knew what weather she’d encounter, or how hot or cold the place was? And it was a month., after all.

  “I can take two of those, if you like,” she said diffidently.

  He snorted, and slipped enormous fingers through two handles at a time, carrying them easily towards the house, his long legs striding quickly across the driveway. Hannah hurriedly followed, eying the sculpted dragons above the doorway as she crossed under.

  The entry hall was enormous. Two curving stone staircases climbed the opposite walls before her, meeting twenty feet up where a stone railing circled the entry hall. The floor gleamed of polished marble tiles, and an enormous chandelier hung overhead. A broad shouldered, middle aged man in a perfectly tailored dark suit stood in the beneath it, next to a round oak table.

  “Miss Quinn?” he asked in a manner which was not a question.

  “Lord Carling?”

  She thrust out her hand, and he took it lightly, a slight amusement on his face.

  “No, Miss Quinn. I am Patrick, Mr. Carling’s butler.

  “Ah,” she said.

  “Jason will take your bags up to your room for you, and after you get settled I’ll show you to the library and pass on Lord Carling’s instructions.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  Of course Lord Carling wouldn’t meet her at the door, she berated herself. Such men would only meet the most important of visitors. And that certainly wasn’t her!

  Hannah followed Jason up the staircase, around the balcony to the right, then along a broad, tall corridor to the far end. Her head swiveled back and forth constantly, examining the art work and sculptures along the walls. They reached the end of the corridor and climbed a winding wooden staircase, emerging in another, much narrower, less grand corridor. Right next to them was a heavy, ancient wooden door set into a stone frame. Jason set down her bags calmly, took an enormous key from his pocket, and unlocked the door, then picked up the cases and went in.

  There was another, even narrower staircase inside the door, which ended abruptly in a small, cozy, rounded room with windows looking out to the north, east and west. A small toilet, and a small closet occupied the wall to the south. There was an enormous four poster canopy bed set between two large windows, with night tables bracketing it. A pair of antique dressers curved around the wall on the right, with a desk between them.

  A large, stone fireplace sat against the wall to the east wall, with a pair of stuffed chairs facing it, and a large, low wooden chest sat a the foot of the bed. All in all, it was quite a cozy room for a months' stay, certainly better than any hotel room she was likely to have found, presuming there'd been one available in the distant village.

  “Uhm, is there a radio or ...”

  He handed her a small square box, a remote control of sorts, then turned and left without another word. Hannah looked after him, mouth raised, but didn't speak as she dropped her eyes to the remote instead. It was a rather technologically advanced piece of equipment for the old manor, and she wondered at the incongruity.

  Along side, where it said lights she pressed a button, and the lights sconces along the wall turned off. A rocker button turned out to be a dimmer switch of sorts, turning them up and down. Another button turned on just the sconces above the bed.

  “How very modern,” she murmured.

  There were numerous buttons under the ”TV” section. She pressed the main one and gasped in surprise as the chest at the foot of the bed suddenly opened and a large flat-screen TV rose up out of it. She moved around and sat on the edge of the bed, nonplussed at this high technology, and spent some time with it, discovering a radio – somewhere – with speakers in the wall she could turn up or down. There were also buttons to control the temperature.

  Lord Carling was obviously a modern man!

  She began to unpack, which was a simple task with so much space. She did not change, for she had not met Lord Carling yet, and wanted to be dressed properly should the occasion arise. She had on brown dress slacks, a beige blouse, and brown pumps. It was not the most comfortable of outfits, but it would do for almost any occasion insofar as dressing up went.

  She lay back on the bed, putting some of the pill
ows behind her, and played with the TV for a time then went back down the stairs, searching out where a bathtub or shower might be found.

  The corridor below was obviously not one of the showy ones. The floor was polished wood, but without decoration, and there were no paintings on the walls, nor sculptures or tables along them. Some of the doors were open, and they gave onto small, tidy bedrooms with Danish modern furniture, those appropriate for a servant, she guessed. Though they did not appear to be occupied at present unless the servants were awfully tidy and had no personal possessions.

  And then she found a bathroom. Again, her expectations failed her, for she'd expected some sort of old fashioned room with a claw foot tub, and ancient, rickety water faucets. What she found was an ultra modern communal bathroom with sleek white and black ceramic tiles on the floor and walls. Four white walled toilet stalls faced were nearest the door. Past them, a long, sharp edged counter of polished granite with four very modern sinks was on the right wall, and across from it, a completely open shower area with five separate shower heads spaced along the wall.

  The question which occurred to her, however, was whether this was a male or female washroom, for it certainly couldn't accommodate both at once, not with that open area. She wasn't about to shower until finding out, especially as there was no lock on the door.

  She continued down the hall and round the corner, and here all was in chaos, or at perhaps , orderly chaos. It was evident that workmen were redoing the floor and walls on this section, with much clutter of tools, wood, drywall and junk strewn about. A number of walls were open, and fresh boards were being laid in several rooms.

  She went back the way she'd came, took the long, curving staircase down, and was about to walk back up the broad corridor, but when she emerged she turned down a side hall and saw the library ahead of her, so continued.

  It was a beautiful room, extravagantly large and decorated with bas relief carvings along the roof line. Rows of mahogany shelves filled three walls. On the right was a narrow staircase which led up behind a length of six foot high shelves, and emerged in a sort of gallery which overlooked the library. In that small gallery were more bookcases at angles to the ones in the main room.

  The fourth wall had a huge glass french doors, and an immense wooden antique desk sat before them. She pushed open the doors and walked out onto a stone balcony overlooking the rear of the house, which had formal gardens and a modern looking swimming pool. She didn't stay to stare, but went back inside, walking slowly along the bookcases, examining books at random. Some were modern, while others were ancient.

  She was on one knee, several books on the other, examining the topmost one, when a shadow came over her and she gasped in alarm, twisting around to see Patrick there, looking down at her.

  “Oh uhm, how do you do,” she said, putting the books aside and rising.

  “Miss Quinn,” he said.

  “Mister ahm... mister...”

  “Butler.”

  She blinked. “Really?”

  “Coincidental, I assure you.”

  “Uhm, yes, well, Mr. Butler, before I can start in on anything I need to discuss with Lord Carling what sort of system he'd like in place, whether by time period, for example, or subject, or a mixture of both with alphabetical as a sub-category and wh – .”

  He held his hand up before him and she stopped speaking uncertainly.

  “Lord Carling will contact you in your room later this afternoon,” he said. “He was giving you time to settle in and refresh.”

  “Oh, well, I'm fine,” she said.

  He nodded his head slightly and then turned to go.

  'Oh, a question: uhm, bathing facilities... ?”

  “There is a washroom on the floor upstairs by your door.”

  “Yes uhm, was that, I mean, is it for males or females? It seems rather an open concept sort of room, you see...”

  “The east side of the house is meant to be for female servants,” he said. “The west side will ultimately be fore male servants. There is still a considerable amount of construction going on, and so as yet we have very few servants here, just the bare minimum. There are two maids, at present who live on that floor. Aside from Jason and myself, Edwin the cook, and Bertrand the gardener, there are no other residents at the moment.”

  “What about the construction workers?”

  “They have left for the weekend and will return on Monday. They're unionized,” he said with evident disapproval.

  “And uhm, food, snacks...?”

  “The kitchen is down the corridor between the staircases in the lobby towards the rear of the house. I'm sure Edwin will be able to help you with whatever you need.”

  He nodded in evident dismissal, then turned and left. Hannah looked after him for a long moment, then put the books back and left. She found her way to the kitchen, an enormous place quite a bit bigger than any flat she'd ever been in, opposite a grand dining room which could have seated scores. As with the modern washroom, the kitchen had clearly been remade in a crisp, shiny new image, with rows of stainless steel appliances along the wall and acres of clean new wooden counters.

  Edwin proved to be a short, fussy little man who showed her where food could be had in off hours, and explained when he made lunch and dinner. Patrick the butler prepared breakfast, it seemed.

  A butler named Butler, she mused, wondering if Edwin's last name was Cook.

  All in all she was quite content. It was a lovely old building, with a grand looking library, and very few people to get in her way or trouble her. She had a very comfortable room with all the amenities, and the only down side was that big public washroom, which made her slightly nervous to contemplate.

  Especially as she did need a shower, really. It had been a long trip getting out here by train, then finding a cab at the village.

  And so, that was her first challenge, one she thought she might as well get through so she'd be prepared when she met Lord Carling.

  She stripped off in her room, feeling a trifle nervous given she was in a strange place, put on her robe, carried her soap and towels down the stairs and then out into the corridor. She was even more nervous there, for though Patrick had told her there were almost no residents it still felt rather like a public place, and she had nothing on her but the thin robe.

  She went into the washroom, examined the door again in hopes of finding a lock, then made a face and let it close behind her as she walked past the stalls and then set her things down on the counter. She spied a hook between the shower-heads, and put her towel on it, then, feeling a prickling of anxiety, she opened her robe and stripped it off, putting it on the hook.

  Naked, she reached up, pointing the shower-head aside before turning on the water. At five foot seven she was a tall girl, but still had to stand on her toes to reach the thing and put it aside. She stood on the balls of her feet as she adjusted the water on the lever, letting it spray off to the side, then, when it was hot enough, she drew it back and down and stepped under it.

  There was already fresh soap on a little holder attached to the wall. She reached for it as the water poured down, then stepped out from the stream to begin soaping herself up. As her soapy hands slid across her wet flesh she was aware of a rising sense of arousal within her. Hannah had always been aroused by the thought of exhibitionism. As modestly as she dressed at all times, she had always harbored a secret thrill of excitement at the thought, the fantasy, of exposing herself to people in public, one that, of course, she had no intention of ever experiencing.

  For despite that exhibitionism she was a shy and private young woman loath to get the sort of reputation so many girls her age had. The idea of getting drunk in public and dancing half naked on a bar top or something was exquisitely exciting, but would have, in reality, been humiliating. Despite the modesty of her outfits she occasionally caught male eyes looking intently at her chest, and that never failed to make her blush deeply.

  It was not that she was all that big down there, s
he thought, as her hands slid across the wet, slippery, rounded curves of her firm young breasts. No, she was not large there, but neither was she small and almost no matter what she wore, the existence of her breasts could not be denied, especially in conjunction with her smooth, flat tummy and slim hips.

  The opposite wall, the one over the long sink counter, was one large mirror, and so, when she turned her back to the water, she caught sight of herself and felt a breathless sense of excitement in her chest as her hands caressed her breasts. Her nipples were already hard and tingly, and as she stared at herself, she felt the hot rush of excitement surging up from between her legs.

  With her hair slicked back, she looked very... erotic, she thought, as sexual tension rose. She allowed her back to arch, and slid her hands up and back behind her head, sliding her tongue seductively across her lower lip.

  Her pussy was completely nude, smoothly waxed, her one indulgence, her one acknowledgment of her sexual longings and fantasies. Nothing hid her smooth, tight sex from her eyes, or the eyes of anyone else. She drew her arms in together squeezing her full breasts between them, mashing them together so that the nipples tingled, and slid her hands down between her legs, fingers sliding across the her soap covered sex, then easing in between her labia to slide up and down.

  Her heart pounded furiously, and she was filled with tension and wariness as she looked at herself. Her ears and eyes were alert to the sight or sound of anyone coming near, of perhaps those two maids Patrick had mentioned coming in. Even girls seeing her naked would have made her blush red, for she was not used to exposing herself to anyone, and dreaded the thought of exposing herself to them. She would have to find out their hours and ensure she took her showers at other times than they did.

  Breathless, she stopped, and turned, letting the water pour down on her and wash away the soap, rinsing herself off, turning in place until the soap was all gone, then shutting off the water.