Olivia met Alison’s concerned eyes with a smile. “Allie, I know that. You’re right. Believe me, I have every intention of applying the minute I get this book done. It was Dad’s lifework. I just can’t let it die. And if I don’t finish it, who will? In some ways, this is as much my project as it was his.”
“I know, but—”
Olivia reached over and patted Alison’s hand. “You’re a good social worker, Allie. But please don’t worry. Just enjoy the tour while I check out the family records. Okay?”
Alison gave her a long look. “Okay.”
Olivia nodded in the direction of the front of the bus. “We’d better listen up. Mistress Mary is about to make a pronouncement.”
Alison rolled her eyes as she turned her attention to the plump, gray-haired woman who stood in the aisle next to the driver, clutching a clipboard in one hand. Alison was making this trip so much fun, thought Olivia, she was beginning to wonder why she hadn’t let her friend talk her into it sooner. She knew why, she thought, suppressing a sigh. Her father’s death last November had abruptly ended nearly six years of intense research into the identity of Shakespeare’s Dark Lady. Although many scholars accepted the view of noted Shakespearean scholar A. L. Rowse that the Dark Lady of Shakespeare’s sonnets was Emilia Bassano, a woman loosely connected to the Elizabethan court, David Owen Lindsley, Olivia’s father, believed that a cache of letters discovered at Oxford in the early 1990s offered a far more likely, albeit more mysterious, possibility.
During Olivia’s final semesters in college, she’d begun to function as her father’s research assistant, and in the last couple of years since her graduation, she’d worked exclusively for him. Her father had urged her to apply to graduate school and begin work on her own Ph.D., but Olivia had hesitated, held back by a dream of her own she scarcely dared voice. Only Alison, her best friend since they were both fourteen, knew her secret ambition.
Physically, the friends couldn’t be more different, but in temperament, they complemented each other perfectly. Alison was tall and athletic, her strawberry-blond curls cut closely around her lightly freckled face, her eyes a dark gray-blue. Olivia, on the other hand, was petite, with dark hair that fell nearly to her waist, and an olive complexion she’d inherited from her Italian mother. They’d discovered each other in high school, when the extroverted Alison had taken the more reserved and quiet Olivia under her wing.
“Under her wing” was a mild way to describe how Alison and her large Irish family had virtually adopted her, Olivia mused, thinking back to all the holidays and weekends she’d spent with the O’Neills. Her own father had insisted she accompany him on his summer sabbaticals, but he was relieved that Olivia had found a more congenial place to spend her Christmas and Easter breaks than the dusty, warm library of the house they inhabited during the school year. Content to stay in a residence provided for him by the university, he had never felt the need for a more permanent home. And in each other, the two girls had found the sister both had always wanted.
Now, at twenty-four, the two women were still the closest of friends, though their lives were clearly taking opposite directions. Alison had just finished her M.S.W. and had started working in the public school system of New York. She was excited about her work helping young teen mothers and fathers. Olivia, on the other hand, had decided to finish her father’s final project before pursuing her own ambition to act. Her father’s death the previous year had left her with enough money to safely support herself for a few years. A successful career on the stage might be one shot in a million, she knew, but she owed it to herself to try, just as she felt she owed it to her father to finish his final legacy.
Besides, in the years of working with her dad, she too had been intrigued by the mystery. It had been the works of William Shakespeare that had made her want to be an actress. No doubt her father, the renowned David Owen Lindsley, would roll in his grave at the thought of his daughter auditioning at theaters in the dregs of New York City’s off-off-Broadway streets. Professor Lindsley, three times a Ph.D., with eight languages to his credit—all dead ones—and a library filled with his own publications, had never encouraged or understood his daughter’s aspirations to act. Although he’d supported Olivia in her study of sixteenth-century playwrights, he’d never for a moment thought that a serious career could be made on the stage.
She glanced up to see Alison slump further in her seat and swiftly cover her face with her open guidebook. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s coming this way,” Alison hissed.
Olivia looked up to see a young man in his late twenties coming down the aisle, two cameras hanging around his neck, his pasty complexion matched by his thinning blond hair. “Him?”
“Yes, him,” Alison whispered. “In the pub he acted like I was his new best friend.” She fixed her eyes on the page and determinedly ignored the young man, who tried to make eye contact but was forced, by the press of other tourists, to take a seat farther back.
“People love you, Allie,” Olivia murmured when the man had passed. “That’s why you’re such a great social worker.”
Alison groaned and rolled her eyes as the tour guide, Mary Higgins, gave two short bursts on the whistle she wore around her neck. She had just enough time to mutter, “Let’s hope I can convince all those fourteen-year-old moms to talk to me,” when Mary Higgins held up her hand and began to speak. She had an interminably cheerful voice that seemed as though it would never falter, even when confronted by the most vexing of travel complications.
“Listen carefully, everyone! We’ve got a schedule to keep!” The group began to quiet down, and faces peered ahead from both sides of the aisle. “Now, let’s see,” Mary continued. “We’ll arrive at Talcott Forest in just a few minutes. It’s only”—she gazed back at the driver—“what is it, driver? Fifteen miles? Yes.” She beamed at her charges like a benevolent monarch on progress. “Now. There’s been a slight change in plans. Instead of touring the house first, and then going off to change into our Elizabethan costumes…”
Next to Olivia, Alison squeaked, “What?”
“Shh!” responded Olivia, listening intently.
“…We’ll be changing first and then touring—all in costume! The revel will begin as soon as we get there. So don’t be surprised to see wandering musicians.” She paused and looked around, her wide face ecstatic, “Along with masked dancers, noble lords and ladies, and—” she paused for an even longer moment—”quite possibly Queen Elizabeth herself. It’s well documented that our immortal Gloriana dined more than once at Talcott Forest, and I have it on excellent authority that we’re likely to be graced by the presence of Her Majesty herself.
“Now, and this is most important, so please give me your full attention!” She looked meaningfully at a few people who were carrying on whispered conversations. “The eclipse is scheduled in just two hours and six—no, seven minutes. On each seat, you will find a pair of special sunglasses, like these.” She held up a pair of cardboard sunglasses, which had blue and red ribbons falling from each corner. “As you can see, they’ve been specially designed so that we will all appear as though we’re attending a masked revel! Now, it is very important—extremely important—that during the eclipse you wear these glasses for safe and proper viewing. Also, immediately following the eclipse, we will be touring the maze. Now, the maze at Talcott Forest is one of the premier examples of its type still extant in England today. We are extremely fortunate that the present Lord Talcott has such a keen appreciation for the historical value of his home.”
“Keen appreciation for the tourist dollars, you mean,” muttered the guy Alison was trying to ignore. Olivia glanced backward through the crack between the seats and realized he’d found a seat right behind them.
“So! Are there any questions?” Mary smiled, obviously not having heard the comment, or choosing to ignore it. “Yes?” She nodded in the direction of a woman who was frantically waving her arm.
“What happens if someone
gets lost in the maze?”
“Oh.” Mary smiled indulgently. “It’s not that large a maze. I understand you only need turn consistently to the left—or maybe it’s the right—to find your way out. And of course we’ll all be together. I’m sure it’s not likely that anyone will actually get lost. Anything else? No? Good. Now don’t forget to keep your spectacles with you at all times. I believe we’re all loaded up, so let’s be off!” She practically bounded up the aisle, which, thought Olivia, was no mean feat for a woman who had to be nearing sixty.
Beside Olivia, Alison groaned. “Are you sure we have to change?”
“Oh, come on,” said Olivia. “It’ll be fun.” She winked.
“You don’t want to miss our immortal Gloriana, do you?”
“Not for one hot second. And I sure can’t wait to meet her wearing my funny glasses. We’re going to look like Masterpiece Theater meets Elton John. But it’s easy for you to say. You’re going to be searching through records while I’m out strolling around.”
Mary plumped down into the vacant seat across the aisle from the two friends.
“We’re on our way!” She blew two short bursts from her whistle. The bus doors unfolded, closed, and slowly the bus pulled away. She craned her head over the back of the seat in front of her, anxious as a mother hen with wayward chicks. “Everyone settled? Good!” She favored Alison and Olivia with a broad smile. “Did you two girls have a nice bit of lunch?”
“Well, to tell you the truth,” answered Alison, before Olivia could speak, “I was so full from breakfast I couldn’t even think about food. But there was a very interesting portrait back there by the ladies’ room—did you see it?”
“Hmm.” Mary frowned. “No, I can’t say that I did.”
“It looked just like Olivia.”
“Olivia!” Mary beamed at them both. “You don’t say!”
“Oh, the resemblance was remarkable,” Alison was saying as Mary turned the full force of her focus on Olivia.
“Fancy that! We must be sure to ask when we get there if they have any idea who it could be. They may know at the house. They’ve done tremendous research into the whole family history. And you girls do understand how important it will be to wear your glasses?” Mary looked as earnest as a kindergarten teacher. “After all, we don’t want any injuries!”
“You do remember, don’t you, Mrs. Higgins, that I won’t be part of the regular tour?” Olivia peered around Alison. “I’ll join you for the revel after I’ve had a chance to look into the Talcott records.”
“Ah, yes, that’s right. I remember. You’re the one who’s doing the research into the Dark Lady, aren’t you?” Mary leaned across the aisle and patted Olivia’s arm. She favored both of them with another radiant smile, pulled her clipboard onto her lap, and adjusted her glasses on the end of her nose. “Thank you for reminding me. I’ll just make a little note of that right here so I won’t worry if you aren’t anywhere to be seen until dinner. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some items to check off.”
Olivia winked at Alison, who rolled her eyes toward the ceiling once more, settled back into her seat, and closed her eyes. What a good idea, thought Olivia. A nap was just what Alison needed.
The bus rolled along the winding country lane, where the hedgerows grew so high that the fields on either side were nearly totally obscured. Here and there, the roof of a house was visible behind the high green rows, and several times Olivia glimpsed wide meadows where cattle and sheep grazed contentedly. This was the England she remembered best, the England of winding lanes and drooping Queen Anne’s lace, of yellow cowslips that peeked out from unexpected places, and bridges of ancient stone arching over slow-moving rivers that flowed as steadily as the ages. She and her father had visited what felt like nearly every country churchyard, dovecote, and ruined abbey in all of Britain.
She thought of her father with an unexpected pang. Although their relationship had often been complicated by his unyielding interests and his inability to understand his daughter’s own passions, she knew he’d loved her in his own detached way. This trip had shown her just how much of his knowledge she’d absorbed. Ever since they landed, Alison had been saying over and over again how lucky Olivia had been. And when Olivia had responded that as a teenager, she’d also been lonely and bored in New Jersey, Olivia smiled to herself. The fact that they were both only children was one thing that had brought her and Alison so close.
Even though Alison herself had been an only child, the O’Neills were a loud and boisterous clan who’d welcomed the stray chick with open arms. When Olivia was younger, she’d thought her father had only allowed her to stay with Alison’s family to keep her out of his way. Now she was beginning to realize that perhaps he had not only been bewildered by her very presence in his life, but wholly incapable of understanding that his only child had not shared the passion that consumed his life.
Consumed it literally, she thought, her face turned to the glass. He’d died suddenly right after Thanksgiving, slipping and falling on a patch of ice as he’d hurried into the university library, eager to retrieve a book that had come in for him. His death had come just when he had nearly finished his research. With a little sigh, she laid her head against the high back of the seat and shut her eyes. The stuffy air and rhythmic jouncing of the bus were making her sleepy. Beside her, she knew Alison drowsed as well. This trip had been a good idea, she thought as she drifted closer toward sleep. Alison, in her own wise way, had somehow known just what Olivia needed to do in order to lay the last of her ghosts to rest.
All too soon the bus jerked to a stop. Olivia took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and looked around. Alison’s head drooped against the back of her seat, and she was breathing deeply and slowly. Uh-oh, thought Olivia. Waking Alison from a nap was always next to impossible. She looked around to see Mary Higgins hauling herself to her feet, clipboard in hand, whistle poised between her lips, as the babble of the passengers increased steadily in volume. The bus doors pulled open with a sound like a loud belch. Olivia peered past Alison’s head and saw a sprawling mansion of peach-colored brick, which appeared to incorporate the architectural styles of nearly half a dozen centuries. She saw a Georgian bay window cut into a wall of blackened oak half-timbering beneath a gabled Tudor roof with twisted chimney pots, and what could only be a Victorian Gothic addition, with a glass garden room and long doors of stained glass opening out onto a pseudo-Renaissance terrace. The leaded diamond-paned windows that overlooked the courtyard were framed with ancient ivy. For all its incongruity, however, the house seemed to nestle into a dip in a low hill.
Mary raised her free hand and gave two short bursts from her whistle. “Ladies! Ladies and gentlemen!” Olivia glanced at Alison, who was totally oblivious.
“Now, do not—and I must repeat—do not forget your special spectacles!” She waved hers in the air. “The eclipse is now just eighty-two minutes away. Once we’ve exited from the bus, we’ll proceed into the dressing areas, which are part of the original stables. Gentlemen, your area is on the right. Ladies, you may follow me to the left.” She eased her considerable bulk from between the narrow seats, and Olivia tapped her arm.
“Excuse me, Mary?”
“Yes, dear?”
“My friend—she’s awfully tired, and, well, it’s sometimes difficult to wake her when she falls asleep like this. Can we catch up?”
Mary peered at Alison. “Oh, my.” She looked so blank, Olivia nearly laughed. This must be the one contingency she was totally unprepared for. “But of course, my dear. Do try to hurry. Our tour begins—,” she peered over her bifocals at her wristwatch, “in just fifteen minutes. You see that doesn’t really give us very much time at all.”
“We’ll be as quick as we can.”
“All right then, everyone!” Mary gave another short chirp from her whistle and marched down the aisle toward the doors. “Follow me!”
Olivia waited until the bus was empty. Gently she nudged Alison. “Allie?” Predictab
ly there was no response. “Allie?” She shook her friend a little harder and, this time, was rewarded by a slight smile.
“Mmmm,” sighed Alison.
“Hey, come on, Sleeping Beauty. You have to wake up. We’re here.”
“Okay,” Alison breathed, nestling even closer into the seat cushion.
“Allie. Wake up now!” Olivia tugged at Alison’s arm, and she bolted upright, knocking her head against the back rim of the seat.
“Ow!” Alison rubbed the back of her head. “What’s up, Liv?”
“You are, finally. We both fell asleep on our way over here. But we’re here now—and you have to hurry. You’ve got to change into your costume and catch up to everyone else. The tour starts in less than fifteen minutes.”
“Oh…”Alison yawned and ran one hand through her short curls. She stretched her long arms over her head. “Okay, I’m up.”
Olivia got to her feet and struggled into the narrow aisle. “Come on. This will be fun.”
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Alison unfolded her tall frame from the cramped seat.
Olivia grabbed both of their purses and started down the aisle. She smiled at the bus driver, who was lounging by the side of the bus, smoking. “Which way?”
“That way, miss.” He took a long drag from the cigarette and pointed in the direction of two low stone buildings. Olivia paused, looking around, as she waited for Alison to catch up.
The curious blend of styles, ancient and new, was not unpleasing, she thought. Talcott Forest rose, stately and formidable, over the high stone walls that bounded the converted stables. The roofs of other outbuildings were just visible above the ivy-covered walls. There was a sense of peace here, as well as a sense of sterility, and inexplicably, Olivia felt sad. It was all so clean, so stripped of any evidence that lives had actually been lived here for centuries. Something had been lost here, she realized, something cannibalized and exploited, something that her father had appreciated in a way that had always escaped her, and that he had spent his life searching for.
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