Heaven's Bones Read Online Free Page A

all the time in the world, dear sister, do you hear me?
    All the time in the world. And I will prevail
.
    Cornwall, Summer 1867
    â€œHow long has he been in there?” Meadows indicated the library door with a twitch of his head and Simpson pursed his lips at the liberty. But everything was topsy-turvy after the tragedy in London.
    Simpson couldn’t help thinking that if the mistress had been in Cornwall, where she belonged, all might have gone smoothly. And he found it hard to fault Meadows for impropriety after the event that shattered the household.
    â€œAll last night, as far as I know,” he replied in hushed tones. “And all this day as well.”
    â€œÂ â€™Tisn’t a healthy place for him to be,” said Meadows. “Morbid, all those dusty old books. He needs exercise and fresh air.”
    Simpson shook his head at Meadows as he passed on, busy at his duties, but despite the young man’s impertinence he had to agree with him. Dr. Robarts had been drawn to the library since his return to Bryani House, ensconcing himself there like an owl in an attic. Simpson had looked at some of the books before, when he was dusting or seeing to the bi-annual airing of each room of Bryani House, and while they might be considered scholarly enough he thought them grim and, in some cases, bordering on obscene.
    He paused before the heavy oak door and its polished brass knob, considering bringing the master some tea, if only to stir him out of his funk. But it was early yet, and Dr. Robarts would see through all subterfuge.
    Perhaps he had gone to sleep. More than once in the past week Simpson woke to the sound of pacing, and when he investigated, candle in hand, it was always Dr. Robarts walking, back and forth, as if mindless repetitive action could numb him.
    No sound came from within. Let the poor man sleep, then.

    Bryani House was an inheritance from Robarts’ uncle, Yorick Sebastian Robarts, who died unmarried and therefore without legitimate issue—or any issue, as far as Robarts was ever able to determine. As the estate was entailed and Robarts the nearest male heir, after his father, it was a
fait accompli
that he would inherit—but he and the old man always got along exceptionally well regardless of considerations of property.
    Taking nothing for granted, Sebastian Robarts’ parents had taken the precaution of naming him after his uncle.
    â€œYou were almost Yorick,” Robarts’ mother told him once. “But I just couldn’t do it; I begged and pleaded with your father not to do such a dreadful thing to his only child. Eventually he did listen to reason, but it was hard going for a little while there.”
    But mostly the man and the boy found a kinship because little Sebastian, on visits to his bachelor uncle, fell in love with the library. Since Yorick Robarts was in love with his library too, it gave them both one great principle on which they could agree.
    It wasn’t so much the library, of course—although it was a pleasant enough room, with high windows, rich wood paneling, comfortable armchairs, a massive desk on which one could spread out all manner of papers, and a great globe fixed in the center, formed of puzzle-pieces carved of semi-precious stones depicting continents and seas. It was the books.
    Yorick Robarts was a well-respected scholar in his time, his collection of books famous in his particular academic circle. Students and scholars from around the world still petitioned to be allowed to come for a day, or even just an afternoon, to browse among Uncle Yorick’s tomes.
    Uncle Yorick had studied for the church at University, and although he had never entered orders—nor needed a living, as his wealth made him independent—along the way he had developed a taste for anthropology of an increasingly esoteric sort.
    He became, in short, fascinated with angels, and their obverse side, demons. From the not-unusual study of Cherubim