Straightening her back, Catherine knew she must not falter in her resolve to suffer her grief in private. She also thought it necessary to keep certain information close to the vest, including her desperate plea to Father Daniel for Anne’s rescue. There was only one other to whom she believed she could divulge these secrets: Trudy MacCunn Leach, her housekeeper and friend for over sixty years.
She took hold of Trudy’s hands. “Promise me that you’ll not breathe a word of this to Richard and Joan or any other member of the family. It is critical they don’t find out about the memorial in the floor of the church, or about Anne... About her...”
Murder. Impossible to voice the dreadful word. Despite her vow to remain strong, Catherine struggled against the ever-present lump in her throat, the rising surge of grief that threatened to overwhelm.
“Aye, I understand.” Eyes glistening, Trudy slowly nodded.
Poor dear. Yet behind the veil of her friend’s sorrow, Catherine saw the fierce, protective gaze she knew so well. The Scotswoman could be steady as a rock when it was truly necessary.
“I willna tell a soul,” Trudy went on. She squeezed Catherine’s hands. “But I won’t sit about and do nothing. How might I be of help?”
“Act as if nothing’s happened. I realize this will be extremely difficult, but it is for the best. Father Daniel left for Rome early this morning. Pray he finds a solution—and soon.”
Trudy withdrew her hands and made the sign of the cross.
Just then, Catherine’s Cairn terrier, Mr. McDuff, sprang from the open French doors and raced past them as he chased a squirrel across the lawn. To her relief, the dog wasn’t swift enough, and the squirrel escaped to the mulberry. Barking furiously, Duffy stared up at his prey, beyond his reach and staring him down.
The breeze died and so did the dog’s barks. In silence, Catherine watched the stand-off. Pure instinct guided both dog and squirrel, with no thoughts beyond the immediate. She closed her eyes, wishing she could go even farther and blot out the world. But she dared not do that. She couldn’t give up.
“Pardon, Mrs. Howard, but I must go inside,” Trudy said.
Catherine opened her eyes.
The housekeeper glanced at her wristwatch, then got to her feet. “The cake... I canna let it burn.”
And I can’t let Anne die.
The world seemed to tilt, everything askew, events having taken the wrong course.
Catherine looked at her own watch. Will time rewind?
Resolute, she nodded to herself. It must.
* * *
Exhausted, Father Daniel ran a hand over his face. The flight from London to Rome had been without delays, and only two and a half hours, yet he felt as if he’d just traversed the entire globe. The stress of learning about Anne Brandon’s death had taken its toll, and he hoped an old friend would provide a stiff drink—and the permission to act on his instincts. With it, he prayed he could change the course of time.
He was shown by a priest-secretary into the office of Monsignor Timothy Flannigan, the titular head of the Vatican’s secret Society of Travelers.
“Very Reverend Monsignor,” Daniel began formally. When the door clicked shut and they were alone, he continued, “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, Tim.”
With a grin, the monsignor rose from behind his desk, walked around, and extended a hand. One of the so-called Black Irish, he was a handsome man with a ruddy complexion, jet-black hair, and the body of a prize fighter.
Daniel shook with his friend.
“Why, Danny boy, you look wrecked! Are you well?”
He’d always enjoyed Tim’s cheerful Irishisms. “I’m tired but not quite wrecked,” he replied with a small smile.
“Ah.” Tim nodded. “Seems you’ll be wantin’ a drink in short order, then.”
Before Daniel could respond, the monsignor strode back to his desk and opened an adjacent cabinet. He removed a bottle of Bushnell’s whiskey and poured two glasses, neat.
Daniel thanked him, took his drink, and followed him to a pair of chairs by the window. Below, the Vatican Gardens looked lush and green, the sky above a brilliant blue.
“Sláinte,” the monsignor toasted.
The men raised their glasses, and Daniel took a sip—bloody wonderful—and then he said, “I sent a package by messenger.”
Tim nodded. “The rose and photo are already in the lab.”
Daniel gave him some details about them—how Anne maintained she’d time traveled once, briefly, to Hampton Court Palace, where Lord Robert Dudley gifted her a thornless rose, the bloom purported to be extinct in the modern era.
“They plan to do a DNA analysis on the rose to determine its strain and genetic origin, and to see if anything comparable exists today,” Tim said. “However, they will not be able to prove conclusively if it is of the Queen Katherine variety, since there are no known samples of that rose from the Tudor era. As for the purported Dudley snap, I believe they’ll check it against known oil portraits of him, but since such portraits are by a rule inexact, it’s quite probable no one will ever be able to fully authenticate it.”
“I understand.” Daniel took a few minutes to sum up for Tim what he knew of Anne Brandon’s history in Elizabethan England. “Catherine asked that I save her granddaughter, and the only way I can do that is to time travel. I seek the Holy Father’s permission to go back.”
Tim frowned. “You realize, don’t you, that there’s always risk in attempting to change things in the past. Pope Francis may not give you permission.”
“Yes, I realize the Holy Father might consider my quest too dangerous, and perhaps much too personal, but with all due respect, you must consider that my interference regarding Anne might not have an effect on the grand scheme of things, since she wasn’t born in the 1500s.”
“That may be,” Tim said, “but she’s given birth to a daughter back there, and if that girl eventually has babies of her own... Well, you can see how that would complicate things as time goes on and the lineages descending from Anne and her daughter branch out with descendants.”
That was a potentially serious complication, Daniel conceded. But he believed there might be another way of looking at this. He’d pondered it after the discovery of Anne’s fate and always came back to a simple, yet unusual, solution, given the source.
“Actually, Tim, this reminds me of Back to the Future, specifically what happened to Doc Brown and his lady friend.”
The monsignor’s gaze narrowed in thought. “Ah, now that’s going back a ways. Let me recall… Yes, I see where you’re goin’ with this. The doc time travels to the nineteenth century and saves a lady...”
“Clara,” Daniel added.
“Right you are,” Tim said. “So, he saves Clara from a terrible fate.”
Daniel nodded. “She’s supposed to die, but he’s changed the timeline by rescuing her. At that point he’s free to live a life with her in any other era he chooses. And the children born to them can exist in that other era, too.”
Tim pursed his lips and considered. “Hmm. This is interesting.”
“Yes, but it’s merely a jumping off point.” Looking out at the garden and ancient Vatican buildings, Daniel let his thoughts drift to the past. “Anne lives in Elizabethan England, but she’s not an Elizabethan. I believe her death can be averted with little consequence to the timeline.”
“If you extract her from the period along with her husband and child,” Tim said.
Daniel turned and caught a fresh sparkle in his friend’s gaze.
“Well, it’s got potential,” Tim deadpanned. “If Hollywood could make it happen…”
With an answering smile, Daniel went on, “If I do succeed, only those of us touched by time will notice the changes. The rest of the world will be unaware anything ever happened. When Anne and her family return here, to all outsiders it might appear as if they never time traveled at all.”
“Yes, that’s all well and good, but you must take care.”
“True, but take care of yourself just the same.” Tim touched his glass to Daniel’s with a clink. “May you have the hindsight to know where you’ve been, the foresight to know where you’re going, and the insight to know when you’re about to go too far.” After finishing his whiskey, he added, “Danny boy, this idea of yours might just work, but plan carefully. May God be with you and bless you.”
* * *
Daniel waited for Tim to make a few calls, then they walked together through the Belvedere Courtyard toward the massive doors of the Vatican Library. Although simply known as the Vat among its patrons and staff, it was one of the most complex repositories of learning and art in the world. It possessed millions of volumes of books, codices, treaties, papyri, and many masterpieces of painting and sculpture. The realm of church officials and fully vetted scientists and historians, the library’s research, storage, and restoration rooms were off limits to the general public. This lack of access caused a constant stream of rumors as to what was housed there: the True Cross, the Ark of the Covenant, even an alien flying saucer.
Falsehoods all, yet there was something remarkable hidden in the library, an invention that gave Daniel a sense of wonder every time he gazed into its depths. There were Internet rumors about it, too, yet as a Traveler, Daniel had taken a vow to God he would always hold this secret close to the vest.
As they entered the Vat’s grand foyer, Daniel admired the marble staircase surrounded by works of art. He had a particular fondness for an ancient Roman statue at the base of the stairs. It was said to depict St. Hippolytus, but no one knew for certain. In reality, it was assembled from old parts and new, an ancient torso set with a sculpted head from more recent times.
A hodge-podge—as am I.
Ah, the strange irony that was his life! Daniel hadn’t given his true age much thought for some time. Hundreds of years ago, he’d been born to a couple named Thorpe in the hamlet of Batcombe in Somersetshire, but they died when he was quite young. When the parish church records were destroyed by fire, the exact year of his birth and christening was lost. He guessed he was in his late teens when he took his vows, on 3 December, 1554, a few days after Queen Mary I restored Roman Catholicism to England. A few years after that, he met Dr. Brandon and his wife, Anne. He hadn’t known them long before he escaped Elizabethan England and time traveled to 1978. Best guess as to his actual physical age? Early sixties.
“Here we are,” Tim said as they reached a bank of lifts.
Daniel followed Tim into the lift. In silence, they rode down two levels and got off at one of the vast collection areas. Despite the library’s modernizations, which included the newest in air filtration and humidity controls, he caught whiffs of ancient parchment, papyrus, and paper. Good smells to his way of thinking, mingling like the varied scents of a fine, aged wine.
They walked past row upon row of shelves housing boxes of artifacts until they finally arrived at a door marked private, which Tim unlocked. Inside stood a foyer with another bank of lifts. They took one down to the deepest level, then entered a room dominated by a large metal door. It looked for all the world like a vault for storing immense wealth.
Which in a way is correct, Daniel conceded.
Goose bumps coursed over his flesh as he waited for Tim to open the door. Despite the many decades since he’d time traveled, he never felt indifferent about this, like it was the same old, same old. The fact that he stood here filled him with awe. Time travel was a miracle from God, coming from the physical laws which He’d created for this universe.
With a firm resolve, Daniel renewed his vow not to take any of this for granted. And as for what lay beyond the door…
“I’ve got but ten minutes or so,”—Tim glanced at his watch—“before I must leave. There’s a meetin’ I cannot miss.”
Daniel nodded as Tim positioned his face before a scanner by the huge door, which identified him via the pattern in his right iris. A soft click greeted their ears, and they entered one of the most secure locations in the world, nicknamed irreverently by those in the know as the Sanctum sanctorum or holy of holies.
This was the great secret, the one Daniel held close. The invention sat in the center of the room. It looked mundane, much like an old movie projector. It was in fact a modern version of that machine, but different, for it not only used nineteenth century, Tesla-based technology, it now gave cutting-edge, high definition—yet soundless—holographic images of what had been by collecting, decoding, and replicating the electromagnetic radiation left behind by past events.
In dim light, they watched the dynamic image of two men working in a blacksmith shop, the figures around one third life-sized and projected onto a large, round panel resting on the floor. To Daniel’s mind, the closest parallel to this set-up was the space-alien chess game from the film Star Wars.
But this was not sci-fi or fantasy. This was real, the one thing the rumor mill had right, a key to the past. A visual time machine.
The chronovisor.
A woman sat on a bench before the floor panel. Virtually immobile, she stared at the holograph, clearly riveted by the smithies’ work. Her face was plain, her expression rather grim, even severe, and she wore a traditional nun’s habit, medieval-looking, as if she also belonged to another age.
But her appearance was deceptive. Sister Marie Claire hailed from Canada and was as modern as they come in her personal preferences, which included a love of peach brandy, Cadbury chocolate, and poker. A polyglot fluent in ten languages, including several ancient tongues, she could also lip read, hence her assistance with ascertaining what was being said on the soundless chronovisor recordings.
Tim cleared his throat, and Sister Marie started and turned to fully face the men. Her mouth made an O of surprise.
“Monsignor... Father Dan! You scared the living daylights out of me! I didn’t expect to see you until after my shift ended. They told me we’d meet at the pub and then start the real work tomorrow.”
Tim chuckled. “Sorry about the fright.”
“Yes, well...” Her voice trailed off, her gaze uncertain as she turned to Daniel. “You look all done in.”
He did feel rung out. “Yes, something happened to a friend of mine. Horrible. I need your help.”
“Yes, I heard your friend passed away. I’m so sorry. Perhaps you came to the right place. We may be able to help.” She indicated the chronovisor. “Let me put this on pause.”
Daniel glanced at Tim. “I don’t wish to interfere. Perhaps we could meet later as planned?”
“No, no,” Marie insisted. “It’s quite all right. Rather boring work today, but you know how it goes. I was about to do a brew-up and then I can show you what I’ve found.”
“Thank you, Sister,” Tim said, “but I’ve no time for tea, as I’ve got some business to attend to.” He turned to Daniel. “We’ll talk later.”
“Yes, I look forward to it,” Daniel said.
Tim made the sign of the cross before Daniel and Sister Marie. “May Christ be with you.”
“And also with you,” Marie said.
After Tim left, Daniel waited as she went to the tea cart tucked into a corner of the room, where the staff kept an electric kettle and other sundries. He glanced at the label on the tea box: St. Dalfour Classic Breakfast. Unfamiliar with the brand, he hoped it was strong.
Marie gave him a steaming mug. The aroma was rich, and he blew across the surface to chase away the heat. He took a sip. A hearty brew. Just what he needed.
With a gentle smile, Marie tasted her tea. “It’s good to see you, Dan, even if the circumstances aren’t the best.”
“Again, forgive my barging in.”
She waved a dismissive hand at the chronovisor. “Boring work is boring work. This footage might interest a metallurgical expert, but not me. However, it was on my watch, so I had to give it my all. I rarely see anything of interest to me personally, but last month we did have a good show
. Did the monsignor tell you? We got some footage of a man resembling sculptural portraits of Octavian.”
“Interesting,” Daniel said, knowing her fascination for all things Roman.
Marie nodded. “Yep. A real thrill for me. He was decked out in his battle armor and standing with another man perusing a scroll. Analysis indicated the other fellow might have been Quintus Dellius, Marc Antony’s turncoat general. I was able to lip read a bit of what was being said, and I believe we captured the moment he told Octavian of Antony’s battle plans, and, for all intents and purposes, gave Octavian the means of defeating Antony and Cleopatra at the battle of Actium.” She studied Daniel’s face. “But you’re not here to talk of ancient Rome, eh? Tudor, isn’t it? Perhaps you’ve come at the right time.”
Daniel hoped so. Had something significant shown up on the chronovisor, something that might help him in his quest to save Anne Brandon? He knew most things witnessed here were everyday events, important in their own right to historians and archeologists, but not famous occurrences. He also realized there was no real way to influence what appeared. Contrary to rumor, the Watchers like Sister Marie studied mostly ordinary things, like the blacksmiths. No one had yet seen the crucifixion of Jesus Christ or recorded moving images of famous persons like Napoleon Bonaparte or Charlemagne. For all he knew, Octavian was the most historically important person ever witnessed.
“I’d like to show you the new Greenwich footage,” Marie said.
Greenwich? Daniel felt a spark of hope. He knew the odds against something like this happening. It wasn’t often they got footage from central England, especially when someone needed to time travel there. Maybe things were beginning to turn in his favor.
“You might be able to help us establish what’s going on and the year, even the decade of the footage, since you were alive back then, give or take fifty years, eh?” Marie gave him a grin, her excitement contagious.
Ever Crave the Rose (The Elizabethan Time Travel Series Book 3) Page 12