Lizzie nodded. ‘She wrote well, that woman. And she deserved better than being stuck in that ghastly vicarage with the hideous Miss Wheeler. I wonder what happened to her?’
‘I can answer that,’ Jack said. ‘I went into Oxford this afternoon with Zoe to talk to a few people and to do some background research. One of the things I did was go to the records office and take a look at the original copy of the diary.’ He helped himself to some salad. ‘The woman who wrote the diary was called Rebecca Shaw,’ he said. ‘She was a lady’s companion to Miss Wheeler, the vicar’s daughter, from the late 1690s to 1708, which was when they found the body.’ He glanced at Serena. ‘A few months later she ran off with Mr Anstruther, the land agent. That’s why her diary was with the Wheeler family papers. She left most of her stuff behind when she eloped.’
Lizzie gave a whoop. ‘Wasn’t Anstruther the one Miss Wheeler wanted? Rebecca stole the guy from under her nose! Good for her. He sounded like a catch.’
‘It must have been pretty galling for Miss Wheeler,’ Serena agreed, ‘especially if she read the diary and saw her companion’s less than flattering descriptions of her and her family. I’m surprised they kept the papers at all.’
‘They probably just got overlooked,’ Jack said, ‘bundled up with a load of other stuff and forgotten. Plus in the nineteenth century one of the later members of the family was an antiquarian who collected everything he could find about the history of Minster Lovell. Maybe he read it and thought it cast an interesting light on his ancestors and the history of the village. Anyway, it was fortunate because I was able to read the diary alongside the original church records and the Reverend Wheeler’s notes on the burial. All the reports do bear out that the body of an unknown woman, barely more than a girl, was found at that time and interred in the grave where Caitlin was found.’
‘Inexplicable,’ Serena said. ‘And yet the police agree. It has to have been Caitlin.’ She gave a shudder. ‘There’s so much strange stuff going on that I’m starting to think I’m going mad. I mean, I don’t rule out the paranormal as such, I just don’t normally tangle with it to this degree.’
‘I don’t think you’re mad at all,’ Lizzie said bracingly. ‘You’re as sane as I am.’ She caught Arthur’s look. ‘OK, I realise that’s not a great comparison since I’m totally fey but you’re not, Serena. You’re the most practical person I know. If you’re starting to see ghosts and other stuff, then there has to be something very weird going on.’
‘Ghosts?’ Jack cocked a brow at Serena. ‘You didn’t tell me about that this morning.’
‘It was only one ghost,’ Serena corrected, ‘and just the once. Yesterday when I was in the manor, I thought I saw Caitlin on the stairs. She went out of the door into the walled garden – the one that’s locked.’
Arthur pursed his lips into a soundless whistle. ‘Do you think she was trying to tell you something? Or show you?’
‘Or it could have been a manifestation of your own self,’ Jack suggested. ‘Perhaps it was you that you saw. You’re trying to remember what happened to Caitlin and perhaps your unconscious mind is trying to prompt you.’
‘That’s deep.’ Lizzie put her head on one side. ‘I thought that if you saw a doppelganger that means you’re going to die?’
‘That’s not helpful,’ Arthur said dryly. He pushed some of the mozzarella-and-rocket pizza towards Serena. ‘You’d better eat this whilst you have the chance,’ he said, with a grin.
‘Thanks,’ Serena said. ‘I suppose it could have been my own ghost,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘She was wearing a green coat, now I think about it, and that was mine, although Caitlin would often borrow it. And it’s true that I am kind of beating up my mind about what happened, trying to remember… Perhaps it was a response to that.’ She shrugged, helping herself to the last of the pizza. Jack’s suggestion was an intriguing one. She remembered one of the psychologists talking to her about something similar back when Caitlin had first disappeared. It had been called autoscopy and as well as being a side effect of anaesthesia or drug abuse, she seemed to remember it could also be a product of a malfunctioning nervous system.
‘I’ll give it some more thought,’ she said. She looked at Lizzie. ‘Whilst we’re talking about weird stuff,’ she said, ‘I asked Aunt Polly about Grandpa’s family history, after you did that psychometry on that spoon yesterday.’
Serena saw Arthur swing around sharply. ‘Lizzie,’ he said. He sounded exasperated. ‘I thought we agreed you wouldn’t do psychometry any more?’
‘It was an accident,’ Lizzie said. ‘You know how that can happen,’ She held out a hand to him and Arthur took it, his expression smoothing into resignation. Lizzie smiled at him and for a moment they exchanged a very private glance. Serena looked at Jack, saw he was watching her, not Lizzie, and looked quickly away, aware that the colour was rising in her face.
Lizzie cleared her throat. ‘Are you cool with this, Jack?’ She asked. ‘Ghosts, time travel, psychometry?’
‘I’m good.’ Jack grinned as he finished his beer. ‘I’m a journalist, remember? I’ve heard stranger things than this.’
‘Time travel?’ Serena said sharply.
‘I meant Caitlin,’ Lizzie said. ‘Lost in one century, found in another.’ Her face fell and she patted Serena’s arm awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry, Serena,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to sound flippant.’
‘Let’s talk about the psychometry,’ Serena said. She wasn’t sure she could get her head around time travel even though Lizzie was right; Caitlin’s burial did appear to have been three centuries before her death.
‘Serena and I were catching up over a cup of tea yesterday morning in the café at the manor,’ Lizzie said to Arthur and Jack, ‘and I touched a teaspoon that had a little crest on it. You know the sort of thing – they make them as souvenirs everywhere from Paris to Bognor Regis.’
‘This one was from Shrewsbury,’ Serena said. ‘I recognised it as soon as I saw it. I went for a day trip there from school and bought the spoon for my grandparents. They used to collect them. I always thought it was an odd hobby but they loved them. There was a whole rack of them in the kitchen. I’m guessing my grandfather donated them along with some other bits and pieces when the charity bought the hall.’
‘There was no family connection to Shrewsbury then,’ Jack said.
‘I don’t think so,’ Serena said. ‘I just picked it up for them because I liked it and because I knew they collected them.’
‘So what did you see when you touched it?’ Arthur asked Lizzie.
‘It was horrible,’ Serena said quickly, remembering how upset it had made Lizzie the previous day and noticing how pale she was now. ‘Don’t make her repeat it. Basically she saw a child, a boy, who was dying, and experienced the grief and loneliness of whoever was with him at the time, probably my grandfather. I’m sorry—’ She turned to Lizzie. ‘It was insensitive of me to drag it up again. I only wanted to let you know that I asked Aunt Polly if my grandfather had ever had a brother and she said he had, and that he had died young. She said he’d only mentioned it the once and that he never talked about family history. So that was probably it, and I’m really sorry I mentioned it now.’
‘That’s OK.’ Lizzie’s green eyes were troubled. ‘I suppose that fits, except that the scene I saw really was a long time ago. Centuries, I mean, and it was in London…’
‘In the Tower,’ Serena said. ‘Yes, you said that.’ She shook her head. ‘Well, I can’t explain that—’ She stopped.
‘What is it?’ Jack said.
‘I don’t know exactly…’ Serena spoke slowly. ‘But you remember yesterday, Jack, when we were with my grandfather, he said something about secrets he wasn’t supposed to tell and mentioned “what happened at the tower”. I think those were his words.’ She looked at him, troubled. ‘I wonder if it was the Tower rather than a tower he was referring to? The Tower of London?’
Jack nodded, ‘Your grandfather also mentioned lions an
d lilies,’ he said, ‘and those are part of the royal arms of England.’
‘Which I saw in the vision,’ Lizzie put in. ‘Oh, boy.’
There was silence for a moment, then Jack reached for his phone. ‘I’m just looking something up,’ he said.
‘Do you remember what happened when you gave the spoon to your grandfather in the first place, Serena?’ Arthur was holding Lizzie’s hand. ‘I mean, did it seem significant to him in any way?’
Serena cast her mind back. ‘I do remember, actually,’ she said. ‘I remember it really vividly because although I was only a child, his reaction was… a bit odd, and that left an impression on me.’ She knitted her fingers together. ‘I’d been meaning to wait until Grandma got back to give the spoon to both of them, but she was out at work and Mum was hassling me that we needed to go home, so I just gave it to Grandpa instead.’ She let out a long breath. ‘Well, he unwrapped it and sort of stared at it for what seemed like a long time and then he said, “How very appropriate,” and laughed, and hugged me really tightly. I was surprised – it was only a little thing but it seemed to mean something big to him. But then Mum was nagging me to go, so I just hugged him back and we went home.’
‘Maybe he had some sort of connection to the place then,’ Lizzie said.
‘Maybe… Oh!’ Serena pressed a hand to her mouth. ‘I’ve just remembered. Polly said that it was his stage name before he married. Yes – Richard Shrewsbury. Of course! That’s what he meant by it being appropriate, though I didn’t know it at the time.’
‘That sounds as though it fits,’ Lizzie said, nodding. ‘A stage name! Fancy. I didn’t realise he’d been an actor.’
‘He did stunts in films and all sort of other exciting things, apparently,’ Serena said. ‘I’ve no idea why he didn’t tell us, though.’
Jack slid his phone towards Serena. ‘I searched on “Shrewsbury” and the “Tower of London”,’ he said. He spun the phone around so the screen faced her.
‘Richard of Shrewsbury, Duke of York,’ Serena read, ‘born in Shrewsbury on 17 August 1473. Younger son of King Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville. One of the Princes in the Tower, assumed to have died in 1483.’ She looked up. ‘I can’t see what that has to do with Grandpa.’
‘He’s called Richard,’ Lizzie pointed out. ‘Richard Warren, né Shrewsbury. Perhaps you’re descended from the Plantagenets in some way?’
‘OK, but that’s more than a stretch,’ Serena said. ‘It’s more likely to be a coincidence. Grandpa was fostered, anyway. He didn’t know his family history.’
‘He didn’t tell anyone about his family history,’ Lizzie corrected. ‘He must have known it to tell Polly he had a brother. Maybe he just didn’t want to talk about it if it was too traumatic.’
‘There’s more,’ Jack said. There was an odd note in his voice. ‘I don’t know if this is relevant, but look…’ He pointed to the screen, where there was a list of Richard Plantagenet’s titles.
Serena scanned it: Created Duke of York May 1474, Knight of the Garter the following year… Earl of Nottingham 1476, Duke of Norfolk… Then she saw it.
‘Created Earl of Warenne in 1477.’
‘Warren, Warenne,’ she said slowly. ‘Surely it has to be a coincidence?’ She shook her head. ‘Besides, if Richard of Shrewsbury was one of the Princes who disappeared in the Tower of London, no one is going to be descended from him, are they? Wasn’t he about ten years old? And didn’t they find the skeletons of him and his brother buried beneath some stairs, or something?’
‘Those skeletons have never been DNA tested.’ Arthur stretched his long legs out and sat back in his chair. ‘Perhaps it was someone else. Perhaps Richard survived.’
‘The whole story of the Princes in the Tower has always fascinated me,’ Serena admitted, ‘but I still can’t see a connection. I mean, if we had such an illustrious family tree, why wouldn’t Grandpa tell us?’
Jack had been scanning through some more articles on his phone and looked up, a dark lock of hair falling over his brow.
‘There were some very persistent rumours at the time that Richard Plantagenet had survived and was spirited away after the Battle of Bosworth,’ he said. ‘There was a lot of complex political manoeuvrings going on which you’d need to read about for yourself but essentially no one knows for sure what happened to him. So, there could have been a family story that your grandfather was descended from Richard. It would explain why he chose Shrewsbury as a stage name and maybe where the Warren name comes from as well.’ He looked dubious. ‘It’s a pretty outside chance, though. Most family stories like that are just hearsay, distorted over the centuries.’
Serena got up and walked over to the window, looking out over the dark garden and the twinkling lights of Burford on the hill below. Suddenly she needed space. What had Dick said to her only the previous afternoon when they had been talking about Caitlin?
‘I should have warned you. I should have told you both where we came from. I should have explained…’
He had implied that whatever had happened to Caitlin was in some way connected with the past and with their family history. But how much did Dick remember now, how much did he understand? Serena looked out over the dark valley of the Windrush where the little river wound its way downstream, through Minster Lovell and beyond to join the great flow of the Thames. That same river swept past the Tower of London and a room where, in Lizzie’s vision, a boy had died and another had witnessed it in grief and loneliness. She wrapped her arms about herself. There were so many mysteries here. Was she letting her unhappiness at Caitlin’s death and her determination to discover the truth behind it run away with her? The edges of reality were blurring. Nothing seemed simple or explicable any longer, and suddenly she felt exhausted.
‘I think I’ll go back now,’ she said, turning to the others. ‘I’m a bit tired. Sorry I haven’t been great company tonight. Thanks for supper’ – she gave Lizzie a hug – ‘and for making me feel as normal as I can under the circumstances.’
‘You’ll be OK driving back?’ Lizzie looked at her anxiously. ‘You know you can always stay here if you want to.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Serena said, with far more conviction than she felt. ‘Thanks for offering,’ She gave Lizzie’s hand a squeeze. ‘I’ll be all right. Really I will.’
‘OK,’ Lizzie said, sounding far from sure. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’
Jack walked her out to her car.
‘A lot to think about, huh?’ he said, when she was silent.
‘It would help if something at least made sense,’ Serena said. ‘Between sealed burials and ghosts and the Princes in the Tower, I think I’m losing my grip completely. Which reminds me. I meant to ask earlier; when you mentioned the diary you said there was an antiquarian in the Wheeler family who had collected all sorts of stuff relating to the local history of Minster Lovell. There wasn’t a copy of a book called The Lovell Lodestar, was there? I think it’s out of print and it was probably self-published in the nineteenth century so it might be hard to get hold of.’
Jack looked intrigued. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t notice. But it would be easy enough to check. Do you want to come with me to the records office tomorrow and see what we can find? If there’s nothing there, there should be a copy in the Bodleian Library.’
‘It’s probably another wild goose chase,’ Serena said, ‘but I’d like to find a copy. I think it was an old book of my grandfather’s. He mentioned the title to me yesterday and it could be significant.’
‘OK,’ Jack said. He put out a hand and brushed the hair away from her cheek. ‘Hang in there,’ he said and then he was holding her just as she had wanted him to do since that morning, and it felt natural and right, and so much easier than she had imagined. For a long moment she stayed there, her cheek resting against his chest, their arms about each other, inhaling the scent of his body and feeling his warmth. When she drew back a little, she was smiling.
‘What is it?’ Jac
k asked.
‘I remember hugging you that day in the ruins,’ Serena said. ‘You smelled of river weed and damp wool. Your choice of cologne has improved.’
Jack laughed. ‘Hopefully I’ve improved all round since then.’
‘I want to go back,’ Serena said suddenly, pressing her cheek against his chest once more, listening to the beat of his heart. ‘I want it to be like it was when we spent that afternoon together. I know it can’t be, but it all felt so simple then.’
Jack’s arms tightened about her. ‘It’s understandable to feel that way,’ he said, ‘when things in the present are so tough to deal with.’
Serena was belatedly overcome with embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘This is really stupid and needy of me. I’m sure I’m just suffering a nostalgia crush. Ignore me and I’ll get over it soon.’
‘A nostalgia crush, huh?’ There was a gleam of amusement in Jack’s eyes. ‘Well, if that’s what it is, it’s obviously catching because I feel it too.’
Serena stared at him, at the curve of his mouth and the way the tousled dark hair fell across his forehead. Her stomach tumbled.
‘I don’t think my judgement’s too sound at the moment,’ she said, answering the question that was in her own mind, ‘but’ – she rested a hand on his chest – ‘perhaps I should just trust instinct instead.’
Jack’s fingertips traced the line of her cheek, making her nerves flutter with anticipation. ‘You have good instincts,’ he said. ‘Believe in them.’ He threaded his hand through her hair, cradling the back of her neck and his mouth came down on hers.
It felt perfect. It felt so perfect that for a moment Serena was overwhelmed by the rightness of it. It felt as though something she had not even been aware of losing had been rediscovered.
‘Wow,’ she said shakily. ‘Damn my faulty memory. How could I have forgotten?’
She felt Jack smile against her mouth. He kissed her again, a brief, hungry kiss, then let her go. ‘When all of this is sorted out,’ he said, ‘perhaps we should give it another go.’
The Last Daughter Page 23