“I’ve heard of the Church buying up land, but I haven’t heard of them selling it. Why would the Church sell?”
Paula shrugged and turned away from her computer. “God, Lexi, you’re like a dog with a bone, aren’t you?” she replied with a forced laugh. “How would I know why they sold off the land back in the seventeenth century? They just did. Now, are you coming to lunch or not?”
“Not,” I replied, but gave Paula a grudging smile. “Maybe some other time, but thank you for the info.”
“Anytime,” Paula replied as I made to leave the office. She was still smiling, but I was sure she hadn’t told me the whole truth.
I was still thinking about what Paula said as I made my way up the street toward the book shop, hoping it was open this time. It was one of those little places where shelves and shelves of books were visible through the front window, the storefront reminiscent of something straight out of Dickens. That was one of the things I found so charming about the village. A store that was probably built sometime in the eighteenth century and still looked much as it had then, was displaying The Inferno by Dan Brown, and a certain erotic trilogy that had captured the hearts of housewives around the world. The seamless blending of old and new was something the British really had a talent for, and I hoped to be able to pull it off once I’d opened my doors for business.
The bell above the door jingled as I entered, disturbing the somnolent atmosphere of the place and bringing an elderly gentleman from the back room. He smiled broadly as he approached, the smile freezing on his thin lips as he saw my face. I glanced behind me to see what he was staring at, but there was nothing there except the door.
“Good afternoon,” I said, feeling exposed under the man’s curious gaze.
“Ah, yes, good afternoon,” he mumbled, still staring at me as if he’d seen a ghost. “How may I be of assistance?”
I told him what I wanted, but he didn’t move right away. He just stood there studying me with that odd expression. “So, you found your way back, have you?” he suddenly asked, looking instantly embarrassed. He turned away before I could reply, shuffling to a shelf toward the back, his shoulders tense underneath his cardigan.
“I stopped by yesterday, but you were closed,” I offered as he handed me a few books on the history of Lincolnshire. The man looked momentarily confused by my answer, but then regained his composure and gave me an apologetic smile.
“That’s not really what I meant, but I must have mistaken you for someone else. It’s just that the resemblance is uncanny, you understand. My mistake,” he mumbled, avoiding my eyes.
“Resemblance to whom?”
“Kelly, Kelly Hughes.” He averted his eyes as if he’d said too much and concentrated on giving me my change from an old-fashioned till and placing the books into a plastic bag.
“I bought the Hughes house,” I mumbled, suddenly upset. Yesterday I’d never even heard of Kelly Hughes, and suddenly, she was on everyone’s lips.
“Yes, I’d heard. Well, much luck to you then.” The man bowed his head slightly and walked toward the back without so much as a backward glance. I shrugged and took my purchase, stepping back out into the street.
My next stop was the library. It was a small, low building, boasting a number of scarred bookshelves and a few round tables with chairs for readers. I noticed several teenage girls poring over the latest fashion magazines, and a woman with two small children who were fighting over a picture book as their mother tried to shush them. The librarian threw the woman a look of annoyance before turning her attention to me. Strangely, she had a similar reaction to the owner of the shop, but she didn’t stare as openly.
“How can I help, dear?” she asked, her fingers twisting a ring on her finger, round and round.
“I was wondering if you might have some information on the ruin behind the Hughes house. I’ve just bought it and wanted to learn something about the history of the estate.” The librarian gave me a sad smile, her eyes full of sympathy.
“Of course you do,” she said, patting my hand. “Perfectly understandable. Now, let me see what I can find for you.”
She walked off, leaving me somewhat confused. My initial reaction had been to think that people were wary of strangers, especially American ones, but why did they look at me with pity? Was there something I should know about the house? Did they think it was haunted?
The librarian returned to her desk, carrying a yellowed scroll. “I’m afraid I don’t have much, just an old map showing the village as it had been during the seventeenth century when the house was built. The map dates back to the late 1600s.” She unrolled the scroll, showing me the crude drawing. “Here’s the house, the stream, and some outbuildings. I’m not sure if this is what you were hoping to find.” I gazed at the map, disappointed by the lack of information. This didn’t tell me anything about who lived in the house or what happened to them.
“Do you know anything about the ruin or who lived there?” I persisted.
The woman shrugged. “It has no historical significance, if that’s what you mean. Just an old house that fell into disrepair. I suppose once the big house was built, no one wanted to live in that hovel.”
I thanked her and left, leaving the scroll behind. It wouldn’t do me any good to study the location of the outbuildings. I had to admit that I was perplexed by her reaction. I didn’t know much of the ways of these people, but I knew that families tended to stay on the same land for generations. Even if the family had died, there would have been some relations in or around town, someone who might have ties to those long-ago people who inhabited the house. If I could at least get a name. I stepped back into the street, feeling discouraged and aimless.
Chapter 22
It was close to 5 p.m. by the time I arrived back at the house. The men were packing up and loading their tools into the back of the truck, their good-natured banter washing over me as I walked up the stone path. Aidan called out a greeting, but I gave a wave and kept walking, my mind swirling with questions and doubts. I walked into the kitchen, set down my bag of books and sat down at the table, the only place in the house besides my room that still had something to sit on. I propped up my head on my hands and stared into space as Aidan came in.
“Lexi, are you all right?” he asked, cocking his head to the side and giving me a searching look. “You look distinctly down in the mouth.”
The funny expression made me smile a little, which is what he no doubt intended, but hot tears sprang into my eyes and I rummaged in my bag for a tissue, wiping away the moisture angrily with my hand when I failed to find one.
“Go on without me,” Aidan called out to George, who came in to tell Aidan they were ready to go. “I’ll see you at the pub later.”
George was about to make some comment about the two of us being left on our own, but noticed my tear-stained face and just retreated silently, while Aidan popped some bread into the toaster and began to open and close cabinets as if searching for something. I was grateful that his back was turned to me so I could have my little cry.
A short time later, Aidan presented me with a mug of milky tea and something on a plate that was brown and oozing.
“What in the world is that?” I asked, blowing my nose and giving Aidan a watery smile.
“That, my dear, is the meal of champions – beans on toast. Now, eat up.”
“You seriously expect me to eat this?” I asked as I gently moved the plate away from me. I’d never been a huge fan of beans, but to have them presented this way, on what was now soggy toast accompanied by tea was just revolting. And since I hadn’t actually bought any canned beans, the logical conclusion would be that they’d been sitting in the cabinet since poor Mrs. Hughes was alive.
“Some Englishmen consider this to be a rare delicacy,” Aidan informed me as he took a seat across from me and took a sip of his own tea.
“Then you can have it.” I moved the plate toward him and took a sip of tea. I’d never really taken it with milk, bu
t this was strangely comforting.
“So, what happened?” Aidan asked. It made me feel a little better to see that he was genuinely interested, and not just being polite and discreetly looking at his watch to see how soon he could decently leave and join his mates at the pub. He had a look of single-minded concentration, which made me feel as if at that moment I was the most important person in the world, but still I hesitated. I wasn’t sure that I should be dumping my problems on my contractor, but at the moment he was the only one willing to listen, and the closest thing I had to a friend in this new life I had chosen for myself. I took a deep breath and plunged in. He might not be able to do anything about my predicament, but it was nice just to be able to share with someone. Sometimes just saying things out loud made them appear different than when kept inside, where they always managed to fester and take on a greater significance than they deserved.
“One: A murder took place in this very house and no one thought to tell me about it.” I folded down one finger and continued. “Two: people keep staring at me and implying that I look like the woman who was killed.” I folded down a second finger. “And three: I keep seeing a man in those ruins, but the physical evidence suggests that he’s not there.” I was about to start crying again when Aidan gave me a brilliant smile.
“What are you smiling at?” I asked petulantly.
“You. And there I thought you had some serious problem,” he replied, still smiling in a way that suddenly made me feel silly.
“Did you know about Kelly?” I asked, my feelings ruffled.
“Of course I did. A violent death of a young woman might not be news for long in New York, but in a place like this, the story will live on in infamy for generations. There’s not a person in this village who hasn’t heard of Kelly Gregson.”
“Well, why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, my tone full of accusation. Why the conspiracy of silence?
Aidan gave a non-committal shrug as he held my gaze. “To what purpose? This occurred nearly a quarter of a century ago, and as it happens, you’d be hard-pressed to find any place in Europe where someone wasn’t killed at some point in history. If people refused to live where others had died, we’d have had to colonize the moon by now.”
I couldn’t help smiling at his logic. He did have a point. Aidan took my hand in his large one, making me feel strangely comforted as he went on, “As far as the other things go, you are simply feeling a little out of your element and your nerves are on edge. There’s no man in the ruins, and people often notice resemblances that aren’t necessarily there. You bought a house in a small English village, and they want to believe that something special brought you here, like family history. They like to find meaning in what people do and find connections to the past. Get used to it, Yank!” he said with a grin.
“Well, since you put it that way, I feel kind of silly now,” I grudgingly admitted. I was reading too much into things and seeing things that weren’t there. I’d always had an overly romantic imagination, so it stood to reason that I was allowing my fantasies to cloud my judgment. I still had my doubts about the man in the ruins, but there had to be a logical explanation for what I’d seen. The most likely explanation was that I’d seen an actual person who just happened to come upon the ruins and stopped to explore. He was long gone, so I had nothing to worry about.
“Good, now eat your beans.”
“That, I refuse to do.” I was laughing now, my misery of a few moments ago forgotten. It was nice having someone to talk things over with.
“I think the last thing you need is to spend an evening alone in this empty house. Why don’t you come back to mine? We’ll watch a movie and get a pizza, since you refuse to taste my culinary masterpiece.”
“Thank you, Aidan, but I think I’ll just have a bath and read a little. I’m actually kind of tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night,” I added sheepishly.
“Like that, is it?” He got to his feet and put his mug in the sink. “Well, ring me if you change your mind. I can come and collect you, so you don’t have to walk.”
“I won’t change my mind,” I said, “but thank you all the same.”
Chapter 23
“Drinks in the garden?” Alastair Dees called out as his wife slammed the door shut behind her and kicked off her expensive pumps. Paula didn’t bother to reply as she let herself out the back door and into the garden, which at the moment was a riot of blooms, lovingly tended by Alastair in his every spare moment. Normally, Paula loved to sit out there in the evening, enjoying the blissful tranquility that was her sweet little cottage, but tonight she was positively livid.
A promising deal had fallen through, and then she had the encounter with Lexi Maxwell – all before noon. The rest of the day wasn’t any better, with Paula staring resentfully at the telephone which rang only once in the afternoon – an inquiry that amounted to nothing. Business usually picked up a little at the end of the school year, with parents opting to move while the children were off for the summer holidays, but there weren’t many properties for sale anywhere in the village or thereabouts, and the third quarter promised to be much slower than the second, which at least yielded the sale of the Hughes place.
Paula gratefully accepted a glass of Merlot from Alastair and gave him a wan smile. It wasn’t his fault she had a bloody awful day. The sight of Alastair always lifted her spirits though. Not every woman was lucky enough to have such a wonderful husband, a fact on which she congratulated herself daily. Alastair carelessly brushed a stray lock from his forehead and settled across from Paula, his expression one of concern. Paula was so rarely in a bad mood that when she was, Alastair feared something catastrophic had occurred.
“What is it, love?” he asked gently. “You look positively draconian.” It always made her laugh when he used words like that, being a linguistics professor, but today it failed to amuse.
“It’s that bloody Maxwell woman,” Paula hissed, taking a healthy sip of her wine. As much as Paula was upset about the business side of things, it was the confrontation with Lexi that had thrown her off balance. That was personal.
“The one who bought the Hughes pile? I thought you were happy about that. You were positively giddy last week.” The amount of the commission check did make Paula giddy, especially since linguistics experts didn’t rate much these days, at least not in any financial sense. If only Alastair could secure a position at Oxford or Cambridge – something that would not only boost their finances considerably, but also give them the kind of social standing that Paula always craved. Being married to an Oxford don was almost as prestigious as having a minor title, in her opinion, but Alastair was perfectly happy puttering in his garden and working on his book. He’d chosen some obscure theory which delved into the origins of “ye olde English,” as Paula called it, that likely no one would ever care to read, much less actually publish.
“She came in this morning accusing me of withholding information about Kelly Hughes,” Paula mumbled, pouting like a small child who’d been told off by her mum.
“I suppose she has a right to know,” Alastair offered in his most conciliatory tone. He was never afraid to tell Paula the truth, but presentation made all the difference to how she took it.
“I took a calculated risk. I knew she’d find out soon enough, but by then I’d have the money for that lovely holiday in Ibiza, and no one would be the wiser. That’s not what really upset me though.” Paula gave Alastair a sad puppy look that made him get up, walk over to her side of the table and plant a kiss on top of her head.
“Out with it, love,” he said as he settled back into his seat and raised the glass of wine to his lips.
“She keeps asking questions about the ruin.”
Alastair shrugged, failing to see the cataclysmic implications of Paula’s statement. “So what? There’s absolutely nothing to find. Nothing. All that happened nearly four hundred years ago, and there’s not a soul in this village who even knows about it.”
“I know, and so did
old Mrs. Hughes. She might have told Kelly and Myra. I won’t have this stain on my family name exposed.” Paula’s normally pale face was stained red with indignation and worry.
“Sweetheart, countless men from this village died in the last hundred years alone. Between the two world wars, this village was left nearly without men. What difference does some four-hundred-year-old murder make in the face of that?” Alastair tried to sound reasonable, but Paula’s color rose and her eyes flashed daggers at him.
“You just don’t understand. There’s a difference between dying on a battlefield, and being betrayed and murdered in cold blood. There’s divine retribution.” With that, Paula drained her glass and marched off in the direction of the bedroom, where she slammed the door with enough force to make the windows rattle in their panes.
Alastair leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath of the sweet June air. It was fragrant with the smell of flowers blooming all around him, freshly cut grass, and a whiff of resin from the lawn chairs. Life was wonderful, and Alastair was damned if he would allow himself to worry about something that happened centuries ago. His wife really was too dramatic sometimes, but that’s what made her so fun. Her theatrics extended to the bedroom, so were well worth putting up with. Alastair smiled happily and took another sip of wine. When Paula’s passion was aroused, he was the beneficiary, so he had better not drink too much. He’d need his strength tonight.
September 1650
England
Chapter 24
The house was quiet as a chapel when Brendan woke up on Sunday morning. A gentle rain fell outside, the leaden sky making the gloom in the loft nearly impenetrable as Brendan gritted his teeth and forced himself to get up. He took a few tentative steps around the loft before sitting back down again, his muscles shaking with tension from disuse and his head light from the loss of blood he suffered. Pain was his constant companion these days, dulled only by cups of mead before bedtime. Brendan reached for the glass of milk and slice of bread so thoughtfully provided by Rowan before she left last night. The milk was pleasantly cool, but the bread, which Rowan had wrapped in a piece of muslin to keep from getting stale, was a bit hard, so Brendan dipped it in the milk to make chewing easier. A tooth on the right side had been bothering him for months, the pain shooting into his jaw as he thoughtlessly bit on something hard. At this point, the only part of his body that felt intact was his feet, but he was too weak to use them.
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