by Gill Jepson
Abruptly, Steele jolted backwards as if he had been electrocuted. He fell to the ground and lay prone, unable to move. A tall, familiar figure stood behind them. John Stell stood looking more real and solid than he had ever done. He observed Steele sadly, a little like a disappointed parent.
“My son, leave these children to fulfil their quest. The treasure is not thine and can never be. It must not be used for ill. Ye have betrayed me and our kinsmen and put the treasure at risk of being lost to man forever.”
Steele shrank and cringed as he stared at the monk, trembling in fear.
“You are no kin to me old monk! You are long past; you are my imagination playing tricks…”
“You know he is the guardian, Ambrose Steele… your line is the same as his… the same as Thomas Snell… you are the rotten branch of your tree, you cannot win!” interjected Mason, who appeared mysteriously from behind Brother John.
“Go back Ambrose and let the treasure be,” said the familiar voice of Mrs Rogers. She materialised beside her brother and the old monk, “Your power is weakening…”
The man’s eyes darted from one to the other like a hunted animal, his pathway blocked by the triangle of good souls. They moved towards him, closing his means of escape. George slyly moved backwards, away from Steele, but a cawing noise arose from the birds perched on the ruined archway of the gate. Steele used the momentary distraction to seize the package, breaking through the protective wall that John Stell and his friends had cast around the children.
He sped, slipping and sliding across the car park and disappeared into the museum. George reached the door first but his path was blocked by the cashier. She locked the door, smiling malevolently through the glass. George could just see the black tails of Steele’s coat disappearing into the grounds. Danny and Rebecca pushed against the door. The woman sniggered and wagged a finger at them. Slowly the expression on her face altered. Her eyes grew wide and her face grew ashen. Stell had emerged behind them. She dropped her keys and staggered back into the museum. She turned and fled, disappearing from view completely.
“C’mon! Over the fence!” yelled George.
The monk had disappeared; it was left to the children to solve the problem alone.
They scrambled over the fence, falling into the soft snow on the other side. Steele was running across the nave towards the cloisters. They ran for all they were worth, sliding and stumbling as they went.
George raced out in front; he could not bear to think that the treasure would be lost to him again. They followed him down towards the Chapter House. Steele was trapped like a fox in a snare; the Chapter House was one of the few places in the abbey which had retained its walls.
He snarled, grimacing and held the precious package close to his chest.
“You will never take this from me again! I have waited for years, it will give me fame… and riches beyond my wildest dreams… and the power to move through time, taking what I will and finding refuge in other places… I deserve it… its mi…”
“It isn’t yours Mr Steele! I won’t let you have it… neither will George or Danny and Meg… you don’t belong here… your time is over…” Rebecca asserted bravely.
The others stared incredulously at her. What did she think she could do to prevent Steele?
“My time is just beginning… it’s another chance for me!” he snapped.
“No! You don’t belong here… give up the treasure.”
“That boy doesn’t belong here either, or Mason and his sister, or Stell… why shouldn’t I have the prize?” He pleaded pathetically, like a small child who had been denied sweets.
“No but you prevent them from leaving…you have no power here… we are too strong… Cuthbert wills it…” she spoke trance like. Her friends could not believe she had spoken the words; it was as if she was possessed by a greater being, an older soul. What she had said invoked something supernatural.
A luminous white light rose from the package. Steele dropped it as if it had burnt him. The light hovered above the ground, swelling in intensity and size. Steele cowered terrified, shrinking visibly in front of them. Rebecca stood immobile. Her face was as tranquil and peaceful as an alabaster statue. Within the light, shapes flickered and flashed, a series of pictures forming and then vanishing. The light rapidly intensified and from its heart evolved a superlative, silvery swan.
The friends gasped at its beauty and brilliance. The light emanating from it was dazzling. Its long, strong neck arched gracefully and it raised its huge regal wings, flapping them slowly and widely. As it rose to its full height, it towered over the wretched Steele. The air froze and everyone was powerless to move. The swan stretched its wings to their widest span, each delicate feather quivering with silver energy. Steele was swallowed by the light radiating from the swan. Its brilliance was amplified for a fleeting moment, power surging and simultaneously an anguished cry rose from where Steele had been standing. The light faded and flickered like a guttering candle. The swan and Steele were gone.
All that was left was the package, pressed into the newly laid snow.
CHAPTER 20
GOODBYE
The children silently surrounded the package. Although they had hated Steele for trying to steal the treasure, they felt sorry that he had left this world in such terror. Megan wept quietly, Rebecca looked bemused and dazed, even George and Danny were pensive and quiet. Nobody moved and then a fluttering wind disturbed the snow. John Stell was with them.
“Worry not about Ambrose; he is but returned to his own time and must serve penance for his greed, but as with all men, he will find forgiveness when his time ends. Ye have saved a precious and powerful treasure for all men. These good folk are released from their troubles and will return to their own time,” he indicated Mason and Mrs Rogers who had also re-appeared.
Together, they unwrapped the fragile leather bindings carefully, the treasure was at last revealed.
“It’s a book…” whispered Rebecca.
The book was bound in leather, worked and fashioned by a craftsman long dead. The pages were beautifully illuminated, the colours looking as fresh as they had when they were first created. A Latin inscription stood bold on the first page, its capital letter entwined with a beautiful swan.
“I think it says Cuthbert… something…”
“It must be dead old then!” said Danny.
“It’s a Bible, there are pictures… Adam and Eve, Noah and… wow!” gasped Rebecca.
“It must be priceless! No wonder Steele wanted it! He would have made a fortune… hey, we’re rich!” Danny piped up.
George shook his head.
“No Danny, it’s not to make us rich. It is for everyone to share isn’t that right, Mr Mason?”
“Yes, but we will be richer, knowing this is safe and its power can’t be used to change time or used for evil.”
Events after Christmas became a whirl. Questions had been asked which were very difficult to answer and it hadn’t helped that George had vanished again.
Cuthbert’s Bible had been placed in the British Library, a new treasure for the nation. It had been such a significant find that everyone heard of it world wide. The rare Bible was as important as the Stonyhurst Gospel, which had been buried with him. It had accompanied the saint on his seven year journey, when his monks carried his coffin to safety away from Lindisfarne. Of course, few people knew of the book’s hidden supernatural power.
Their photos had been in the newspapers, they had appeared on Northwest Tonight and they enjoyed their brief time of celebrity. Like everything, this soon passed and became a memory. The children slipped easily back into their old lives. Mason promised he would see them again, but was now free to return to his real life. The book would be cared for by others who knew of its magnitude.
They walked to the abbey for a last look before school started again in January. The snow had begun to melt and everything looked weather beaten and bedraggled. At the bottom of the lane a familiar figure appe
ared on Bow Bridge. It was George, grinning widely.
The winter mist swirled in from the Irish Sea and rolled across the valley bottom. The cold and damp struck the children through their shoes and they shivered. It was a relief that the day had been won, but it was strange realising that the adventure was over. Danny spoke first, “Well, George, we thought you’d gone for good. D’ya wanna come back with us?”
George smiled slowly, shaking his head.
“No ta! I’ve got to go, I only came to say bye… I’ve finished what I started and it’s time I went…”
Rebecca looked straight at him. The back of her eyes prickled with tears, not yet cried. He looked back at her with a solemnity far older than his years.
“We’re not going to see you again are we?” she whispered, the words catching in her throat.
“Well… you never know… one day…” his voice trailed off, his bright blue eyes glistening with moistness.
“But where are you going? Why can’t we see you again?” she demanded, already knowing the answer.
“I’m going “home”. We’ve been lucky, we had more time than we should, everything has to end sometime, and every day was a bonus…” That was just what Granddad used to say when he wasn’t feeling too good.
He held open his arms and Rebecca ran to hug him. For a few seconds she glowed with warmth and security. His arms were strong and protective around her. She was safe and calm for the first time in many weeks. He squeezed her hard and then broke away gently. He looked straight into her eyes and smiled a little sadly.
He turned to the boys and slapped them on the back and gently hugged Megan. Sighing, he pushed his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. He slowly turned and looked back at them smiling, pulling his cap from his pocket and tugging it down over his head. He tapped the peak of the cap and grinned again, saying, “So long, then! I’m glad we saved the treasure… I’ve waited a long time to do it…” he turned away again and began walking down the path. Mist billowed and enveloped his slight form.
Rebecca caught her breath and ran towards him. She called out, anxiously. She felt a pain inside, a pain she had experienced before.
“But George… I don’t want you to go yet!”
He stopped, almost obscured by the grey mist now. As he turned around, he shouted back, “I know. You’ll see me again… one day…” and waved again.
The boy disappeared into the mist, his silhouette fading. The children stared at the space he had occupied and Rebecca put her hand to her mouth in anticipation.
Slowly, a slight breeze fluttered, disturbing fallen leaves along the pathway. The flurry of cold, damp air played with the hanging mist and momentarily pushed it out of the way, revealing the boy, still waving. The fingers of fog playfully flicked around his form, obscuring him again. Rebecca took a deep breath, transfixed by his image. She almost stopped breathing altogether as she saw George start to walk away, very slowly and ponderously. As he moved away, he leaned heavily on his stick. Rebecca’s mouth fell open.
The boy was no longer there. Instead, a familiar and much loved figure walked away. She couldn’t help herself. She ran forward a few steps, but then stopped almost immediately. He stopped and turned back to look at her. He shook his head, sadly and smiled. The old man pulled up the collar of his beige jacket and tugged down the peak of his old battered, trilby hat. He walked slowly, leaning on his stick, into the mist. As he reached the trees, he turned once again and waved. Rebecca couldn’t speak, a large lump rose in her throat, as the truth dawned on her. George stopped again. Granddad… and their co-crusader… one and the same.
As she looked, a familiar robed figure appeared behind him, beckoning. He appeared to be illuminated by a brilliant white light behind him, just like the one that had emanated from the swan. George waved again and walked towards the light, diminishing and changing as he did so. The boy appeared for a second, turning and running, then, the old man was there in his stead… silhouetted against the ever increasing light. The light narrowed to a tiny sliver and then vanished in an instant. A small ethereal white butterfly fluttered and danced and then was gone.
Rebecca’s face was damp with silent tears. But sadness was now tinged with hope. Her parting from George was painful just like the first time, but now she knew that she would see him again… one day. She understood why the boy had seemed so familiar now. Why had she not realised sooner? There were so many things she could have, would have asked him? She hadn’t even noticed the name – Granddad’s “Sunday” name, “George”! She had always known that Sam was his nickname, called after an old football player… how had she not realised?
Megan came up behind her and put her arm round her. She hugged her.
“Don’t get upset… George will be fine, he’s got to go back to his time… we might see him again…”
“Yeah… but… no! Didn’t you see what happened…?”
“Yes, he ran off up the path and then we couldn’t see him because of the mist…”
“But… he changed…”
“What are you on about?”
Suddenly, Rebecca realised they had not seen what she had seen. That would be her memory and nobody else’s. She knew now what Mason had meant when their adventure had started, when he said that you can be real, but not necessarily alive. She had so wanted to see Granddad again. She had hoped it would make her feel better. Even though she was crying, she didn’t feel as desolate as she had when he had first died… because she knew that he was still there. He was still around, not visible, but there just the same.
He would be there always, waiting. One day they would meet again, and be reunited in the special place where he now was. She knew that he would always be with her, hidden in her heart even though he couldn’t be seen. It made her feel better, like he was away on holiday and he would come back sometime soon. She decided to keep this to herself; it would be her own secret. Her own secret treasure, her own precious treasure.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Out of Time is a story woven around a very beautiful area called the Furness peninsula, tucked away in the north west of England. Many of the places mentioned are real and can be visited. Furness Abbey is a spectacular Cistercian abbey, built in 1127 on land gifted by King Stephen to monks from Savigny. It was one of the richest abbeys in England and its lands covered the Furness area reaching as far as Cumberland. It was the first abbey to be dissolved by Henry VIII probably because of its vast wealth. The ruins we see today are magnificent, but the fabric of the church is in danger because the oak rafts it was built upon are degenerating and tilting. It would be tragic if the abbey were to finally fall completely, after surviving Henry’s plundering, years of local people “robbing” out the stones to build new structures and acid rain damaging the stone during the recent century. English Heritage is the custodian and they are working to repair the damage.
Many legends surround St Cuthbert and I have tried to reflect these in this story. He is linked to numerous stories and miracles and has a number of emblems; the swan is one of these.
The story is set against three historical timelines. I have tried to be accurate with real events and have included the names of real people. I have however, used my imagination, entwining the legends I heard as a child, to create the quest.
The characters all have some basis in truth; the present day characters are disguised, but those in the past are real. John Stell truly existed and lived and worked as a scribe at the abbey, Thomas Holcroft was an officer of Henry VIII, who dissolved the abbey, stripping it of its assets. The Abbots’ names and details are taken from evidence from the Furness Coucher Books. I owe some of the facts I use to the diligent scholarship of Alice Leach an eminent local historian, who loves the abbey as much as I do.
The tale of the ghost and the delivery boy was told to me by my Dad, who takes most credit for my characterisation of George. It was he who first introduced me to the abbey and inspired me to love history, so it is to him I dedicate this book.<
br />