“We have to do something,” Elsie whispered. The faded ghost peeped around the corner. “She’s in a world of her own, pining away. I think that she’s lost weight, and she wasn’t that stout to start with.”
“You can’t interfere with someone’s love life,” Mr Kennington said with all the authority of a deceased head librarian. “It rarely turns out well.” He hesitated. “Although when it is successful, it is usually in cases such as this, with strong affection between numbskulls.”
Elsie ignored Mr Kennington’s criticism. “She absolutely adores him. Everyone can see how she can’t take her eyes off him. But she can’t seem to grasp that he’s besotted by her.” Elsie sighed. “It’s so romantic.”
“She may not return his affections,” Mr Kennington pointed out. “She seems to have some – ahem – attraction to the lad, but she may not believe it worth pursuing.”
The third member of the library’s ghosts drifted over. “It’s up to him,” Tony said. “It’s the man that has to make the first move. And he hasn’t. Made a move, I mean. He’s bottling it. And maybe she likes him but has a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.” He caught Mr Kennington’s eye and looked away hurriedly.
Mr Kennington glared at Tony before settling his translucent cuffs. “That’s not the only reason she would refuse,” Mr Kennington said. “After all, the young man is not likely to be a good provider.”
“We only know what Rhia told us.” Elsie said. She looked wistfully between Rhia, sorting out the classic fiction, and through the door into the office where Liam was engrossed in his computer. “And as she’s the only one who’s been able to see us since I, you know, died here, it seems only right that we help her out.” Elsie turned to the young ghost. “Tony, go and see what he’s looking at, there’s a love.”
Tony looked at Mr Kennington. “I suppose so,” Mr Kennington grumbled, waving permission. “She has been respectful and listened well to instructions when it came to the classical section. In fact, she’s been respectful of the library as a whole. Perhaps we should be at least supportive.” He nodded at Tony who disappeared through the wall to check on Liam and his laptop.
Elsie and Mr Kennington carefully composed themselves as Rhia picked up a faded book and walked past them to the back room. The ghosts followed and Mr Kennington cleared his throat and wagged a faded finger. “Your cleaner did not attend again this morning. It is completely unacceptable. You need to speak to her. In fact, it was Mr Liam who did that vacuum thing and dusted this morning.”
Rhia managed a smile. “Hello, Mr Kennington,” she sighed. “Liam can’t afford to pay the cleaner anymore. He said he’ll take over that job.”
“It is inappropriate for the owner of the library to dust,” Mr Kennington said firmly. “The first owner, his esteemed ancestor, would never had done such a thing. He had a woman for it.”
“Times have changed,” Rhia said. “And we need new subscribers. People aren’t coming here like they used to, and those that do get a day pass. Liam doesn’t know what to do. He says people don’t like old books anymore.”
“Hi,” Tony said awkwardly as he slid out of the wall behind Rhia. She jumped and turned around.
“Tony, I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Rhia said. “Anyway, I need to get on.” She waved a battered book at them. “I have to keep busy, and the quiet is a good time to catch up on some overdue maintenance. I’m going to see if I can do something about this spine before it goes.”
The ghosts watched her as she walked briskly into the workroom before Elsie and Mr Kennington turned to Tony. Tony had only been dead three years and had managed to keep up with a lot of the technology. He shook his head.
“I think Rhia’s right. He’s looking at stuff like auctions and articles on the best way to sell old books. He looks pretty down as well.”
“See,” Mr Kennington nodded. “He’s not a good provider. Rhia is mostly sensible and would not choose a husband who couldn’t provide for her and a future family.”
“It’s not really like that these days.” Tony avoided Mr Kennington’s eyes. “Anyway, it looks bad. Perhaps he can ask her for a date once he has sold the library.”
“What?” Mr Kennington snapped, before taking a deep breath. “He can’t sell the library.”
“It’s not going to happen,” Elsie said with fake confidence. “It can’t. I mean, we live here, if you know what I mean.”
“We’ll probably be still here, but I think they’ll turn this into a bar or some flats.” Tony looked between the two other ghosts. “They’re not likely to demolish the place, it’s still a good building. It’s just that they’ll get more money for renting out cheap accommodation.”
“Flats?” Mr Kennington said. He didn’t always remember modern terminology.
“Apartments, small sets of rooms where people live,” Tony said helpfully.
“But then how will my Albert ever find me?” Elsie asked, her pale eyes wide. “If the library isn’t here, how will he know how to meet me?”
“He isn’t coming back.” Mr Kennington said with as much patience as he could manage. “You have been dead over 100 years. If Albert was going to come back, he would have already got here. The more pressing question is what will happen to the books.”
“I waited for him.” Elsie said. “I promised him. I said I would wait and always be in the library whenever I could so no matter what happened while he was away, he could find me.”
“I have overseen this library for nearly two centuries.” Mr Kennington pulled himself to his full height, such as it was, and drifted slightly upwards. He shook his head sadly. “It is all my fault. I have spent far too much time coaching Tony and now that Mr Pierce and Miss Ellis have found peace and moved on, well, we are spread thinly.” Mr Kennington looked at the other ghosts. “Not that I blame either of you,” he said quickly. “It’s been a pleasure to see you come on, young Tony, and I certainly don’t want any more deaths in the library.” His translucent finger tapped at his pale chin. “We need to take action. I shall instruct Rhia about attracting more subscribers to our library, exhibit our treasures to the world as we should. There are some treasures in these shelves, you know, true treasures that would be lost in one of the big public libraries.” He started pacing. “I should have taken action sooner, but that can’t be changed. And I can hardly blame Rhia for the state of affairs, after all, the fairer sex rarely understand business.” He paced faster. “If only I could reach Liam! His grandfather could see us, you know, and was a wonderful man. He knew his own mind, of course, and perhaps didn’t always treat my advice with the weight it should have carried but…” Mr Kennington paused, staring at Liam’s small office. “But the young owner is so, well, young, and untried in the cutthroat world of libraries. And with his father not setting the best example…” He whirled around and faced the stunned ghosts. “We shall have to have an advertising campaign in all the appropriate newspapers. Perhaps even a picture!”
Tony shrugged. “People don’t bother much with papers these days,” he said. “Besides, adverts cost money. If Liam can’t afford a cleaner, then he can’t afford hundreds of pounds and a marketing manager.”
Mr Kennington drew the ghostly equivalent of a deep breath. “This is a crisis, and there’s nothing else to do. He shall have to sell a book.” Mr Kennington started pacing again. “It’s a dreadful thing for a library to do, and it should be resisted until there is truly no other way. But if the entire library is at stake, we have no choice.” He glared at the other ghosts. “This is absolutely the last resort, but I’ve always been aware of the possibility of unknown disasters. With that in mind, I have been holding one or two things in reserve.” He drifted towards the classics section. “It was before your time, Elsie, but Charles Dickens visited Leeds.” Mr Kennington sniffed. “He was not complimentary about our good city, but he did sign some copies of that Oliver Twist book.” Mr Kennington’s mouth twisted. He was not a fan of serialised fiction. “I know he signed quite a few, because the rascal came in and tried to force Mr Horace, the owner at the time, to purchase them.” Mr Kennington shook his head. “There was a dreadful scene and several of the dozen books he brought in fell down the crack at the back of the bookcase. No-one noticed as the rogue got quite vocal and had to be escorted out. Mr Horace threw his books at him afterwards. I couldn’t get out to see what was happening, of course, but the constabulary were called and there was quite a scuffle, Mr Dickens being popular.”
The ghosts drifted over to the classics section. Sure enough, behind the collected works of George Bernard Shaw, was a crack where the thin pine of the original shelves had split. Elsie slid in to check.
“They’re dusty, of course, but they seem okay and you can still see their autographs. But we can’t tell Liam. He can’t see us,” she said, dusting down her pale dress. “How are we going to get the books out?”
Mr Kennington looked over to where Liam was slouched at his desk, his head in his hands and a blank look on his face. “We tell Rhia. I’m sure that she can create a convincing ruse to find them, and they are bound to be worth something.” He drifted over to Liam and tried to put a paternal hand on his shoulder. “He was always such a serious little boy, you know. I remember how he came in at every opportunity he had. He has always cherished this place, but he has never had the guidance that his forebears had.” Mr Kennington sighed deeply. “The best we can do is to talk to Rhia and hope that she can persuade Mr Liam to invest the small sum raised by the books into an advert in the Yorkshire Post. That has to be a start in attracting new readers. And then,” he said, shaking his head, “We need to work out how to get them respectably married – once Mr Liam can provide properly of course.” He frowned. “Do you think that they will raise enough funds with those novels?” He shook his head. “I shall start working on contingency plans, just in case.” He cast his eye over the two ghosts. “The library must go on!”
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