Master of the Scrolls

by Benjamin Ford

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid I have my own suspicions about all that.’

  ‘Suspicions about George’s behaviour?’

  Gloria sighed. ‘Yes… oh, I’m not sure. I’m probably jumping to conclusions, but I agree, there’s definitely something different about him. Maybe he’s just trying overly hard to impress because he has finally fallen in love! I mean, you are in a different league to him, Lou!’

  ‘Have you considered the possibility that he’s actually been in love with someone else for a long time and has only just realised it, that he thinks getting close to her friends and relatives will get him closer to her, and now perhaps feels he’s about to lose her?’

  Gloria’s eyes opened in shock. ‘You mean me?’ She chortled at the very idea as Louise nodded. ‘Oh please, Lou, get real!’

  ‘Well how else can you explain his sudden interest in me, and his sudden desire to get to know your grandmother, not to mention all the questions about you? And he did seem indecently eager to come and see you when your mother called to say she was worried about you.’

  Gloria shrugged, not wishing to voice her real thoughts concerning George Palmer. ‘Men really are an unknown quantity. I had only ever been in love with Allan, and now I have loved a man from the past who I can never see again. One man I have a child by, and the other whom the child would have known as Daddy, had they lived long enough. A man who is dead, while the other still lives. A man I came to know and trust implicitly, and one who I used to know and trust implicitly. I don’t know how he’ll react when he hears all that’s been going on!’

  Suddenly overwhelmed with pent-up emotion once more, Gloria fought back against the torrent of tears that threatened to spill. She barely held them in check.

  ‘I vowed I’d never trust another man after Glyn,’ muttered Louise, ‘and I just hope I don’t live to regret trusting in George! I hope that he will prove that not all men are liars! Women can be deceitful too!’

  ‘I hope you’re not referring to me?’ said Gloria sharply. ‘I had no choice in what I did.’

  ‘We all have freedom of choice to some degree. I had the choice to continue with Glyn after finding out he was married, but out of respect for his wife, I didn’t, and now I’m pregnant with his child I have to decide whether to keep the baby or not. You could have chosen to make your own future instead of following some preordained course.’

  ‘But it wasn’t my choice to go back in time and fall in love with another man and have a child with him!’

  The tears spilled this time as she thought once more about James and Elizabeth, and in an instant Louise leapt from her chair and came round the table, falling to her knees to hug Gloria comfortingly. ‘I am so sorry, Gloria. You must think me incredibly selfish and insensitive to be talking about my own problems when you are in such pain!’

  Gloria wiped her eyes, shaking her head. ‘No, Lou, don’t ever think that! We have both always been here for each other when we needed comfort. You’re as much in need of a hug now as I am! I feel awful, because on top of everything else I have been through, I am also feeling guilt about betraying Allan! I never thought I’d ever sleep with another man! I thought Allan was the man of my dreams, but now I have these feelings for James as well! Part of me wishes none of this had happened, but I had no choice.’

  ‘That’s precisely my point, Gloria. You have respect for more than just people. You have respect for time, past, present and future. You see the bigger picture far more clearly than most. Everything we do is for a reason, even though the reason may not be clear at the time. Perhaps George will prove to be sterile, in which case this is his chance to be a father, or perhaps he won’t want anything to do with me if I tell him the truth. The fact is, whatever I choose to do will have repercussions, and I shall have to live with those after effects! The same goes with you. You had a choice. You could have ignored the prophecy, but because of historical fact, you didn’t. I’m sure Allan will understand what has happened. I will make him understand if I have to!’

  ‘Thanks Louise, I really appreciate that.’

  ‘The point I’m trying to make, Gloria, is that we can all make choices by free will, and we should make irrational choices as well as the rational ones, just so long as we are prepared to live with the consequences!’

  Louise returned to her seat as the waiter finally brought out their meals.

  Gloria sighed. ‘I guess you’re right. I must make the decision about what to tell Allan, just as you must make the decision about what to tell George, and we must all live with the consequences.’

  ‘Exactly! Time is a funny thing. Sometimes we do things that cause regret, and we wish we could go back and change things, but we never do because we don’t have the power to do so. However, if we did have the ability, would we do it? Would we have enough courage to try to change something that has happened? Could we live with all of the consequences?’

  The conversation drifted into silence as they picked at their meals, but Louise kept glancing up at her friend. ‘You miss them, don’t you?’ she said as they waited for dessert.

  ‘Who, James and Elizabeth?’ Gloria sighed, sadness in her voice. ‘Yes, of course I do. When I think of them, I feel like my heart has been shattered beyond repair. I feel like I can’t go on without them, like I’d do anything to get them back!’

  Louise leaned forward. ‘So do something about it!

  *

  Gloria did not question it at the time, but all the things Louise had said were a confused jumble of thoughts that mirrored her own, none of which really made sense. What had her friend meant when she had told her to do something about it? How could she do anything to extricate herself from this impossible situation?

  She readied herself for bed, removing the wedding ring James had presented to her at their wedding, feeling it a rather inappropriate piece of jewellery to be wearing when Allan was due back any day. She cleaned her teeth and brushed her hair, admiring the way the locket still suited her slimmer figure and paler skin, and then settled into bed.

  She sighed as she picked up the copy of The Master of the Scrolls from the bedside table.

  Opening the manuscript to the back cover, she fingered the sewn up rip near the spine, knowing what it concealed. James had said he had taken the other locket to a safe place, and that the manuscript – her manuscript – must soon join it. Only James knew the location of the locket, for it was one secret he had never shared with her.

  The manuscript in her hands had somehow survived the burning down of Neville Manor, and somehow it had made its way into the safe custody of her great-great-grandmother. She flicked idly through the manuscript, and found herself once again looking at the stitched up slit. She did not know why, but some inner voice told her to open it.

  Carefully unpicking the stitching, she probed inside and withdrew the contents. She recognised the parchment, and replaced it with a shiver. She had also drawn out a sealed envelope, addressed to her, in writing very much like her own. With feverish haste, she tore open the envelope and un-folded the letters she found therein.

  The first appeared written by Peter Neville. Dated 1538, the letter referred to his last will and testament, in which he bequeathed the Neville lands in Ashfield to the villagers. His house in Scotland was to be kept safe by the Stuart clan of Raven Cragg, until the return of the rightful heirs bearing the name Trevayne. These heirs would be recognised upon production of the heart shaped locket cast in gold, its seal unbroken, and bearing the Neville crest on the reverse, and by this letter from Peter himself, which would prove their legitimacy. The letter also gave instructions on how to locate a secret cache of gold within the house itself.

  The second letter was from Gloria’s great-great-grand-mother, Victoria Trevayne, revealing that the deeds to Raven Cragg and Peter’s Will were lodged with Stewart, Duncan & Brown, a firm of solicitors in Glasgow. Gloria noted that the handwriting was the same as the writing of Ria Neville, who had rewritten Isabella’s manuscript.

&nb
sp; She focused her thoughts then on Victoria, her husband James, and their daughter – Elizabeth!

  And in an instant, everything that had before made no sense to her slid into place, and with all the pieces of the jigsaw now in situ, each fragment of her life came sharply into focus, every memory returned, and all the decisions she knew she had to make were made in an single moment of pure clarity.

  She now knew her true destiny.

  Early Spring 1538…

  Peter Neville raced through the village as fast as his legs could manage, aware that he was too late as he saw the pall of black smoke rising up above the trees ahead. Only Neville Manor lay beyond the trees, so there was little doubt in his mind of what had happened.

  Up the hill he ran, slowing his pace as he fought for breath, and his blood froze as he came into view of his old family home. He became rooted to the spot with fear.

  Across the village green, Neville Manor burned fiercely. Flames enveloped every window, twisting upwards to reach another part of the building that was not yet enflamed. The thick black smoke choked the sky as it poured from the roof, which burst into crackling flames as he watched. Parts of the house were already beginning to crumble from the pressure placed upon its weakened support.

  What most chilled Peter’s heart was the sight of the gathered group on the village green, staring at the flaming building, watching as it burned, laughing and cheering as the roof caved in, sending sparks and embers pirouetting into the sky to join the smoke. Men, women and children alike watched as Neville Manor slowly disintegrated before their eyes. It seemed to Peter that everyone from the village had come to watch his ancestral home inexorably razed to the ground.

  He wanted to confront them, to challenge them, but did not know how they would react to his presence. They had clearly just exacted their style of execution upon James, Ria and baby Elizabeth. Would they do the same to him? He decided not to take the chance, so hastily retreated to the edge of Dead Man’s Wood where he waited. He did not need to seek counsel from the Seer again. She had warned him of what would happen, and of what he must do. She had reassured him that those within the house would be safe, though she would not explain how it could be so. She told him of the locket, how it played an important part in the future of James and Ria Trevayne’s descendants.

  He realised that if they were to survive then their descendants would most likely suffer the same ‘fate’ should they remain in this area, so he had to help them. He decided to show forgiveness to the villagers, as that might possibly make them feel guilty about their actions – perhaps.

  He decided to head back to Scotland at the earliest opportunity. Like his cousin, William, he had a home there that was welcoming, and in his neighbours, the Stuart clan, had found kinship that he had not known down here. They were like family to him, and he felt a sense of loyalty to them. He had already decided that his small dwelling of Raven Cragg, built on an outcrop of rock which allowed views over the beautiful Loch Laggan, would be left in the care of the Stuarts for as long as necessary, until such time as any descendants of James and Ria were found.

  When he had visited James and Ria weeks earlier, he had tried to understand meaning in what Thaumaturgia Anathemas had said when she described Ria as the woman from future’s past, an odd description that meant nothing to him at the time, and meant little even now. All he knew was that Ria had to be James and Elizabeth’s salvation. She was the key to everything.

  He had persuaded James to let him see Isabella’s un-finished manuscript. Whilst looking at it, he had slipped into its pages a letter addressed to James, which revealed how to locate a secret hoard of gold he had hidden beneath his dwelling place at Raven Cragg. It went on to state how this letter, accompanied by the locket which belonged to Ria, would prove them to be the legitimate heirs to the house and its lands. He would lodge his sealed Will with the Stuarts upon his return to Scotland, and at whatever point in time, upon viewing the letter and the locket, the Will would be handed to the rightful heirs.

  He had not told James of the letter, nor of what he was planning to do, and the manuscript had been hidden away once more.

  Now, as he watched the smoke rising into the sky, he hoped the Seer’s vision would prove correct and that Ria would indeed somehow save James and Elizabeth, and that she would rescue the manuscript and find the letter.

  He could do nothing more than pray.

  *

  Gloria collapsed on the bed, clutching her head in pain as she arrived once more in the place that had become a second home to her. The process of time travel did not get any less unpleasant or painful with familiarity.

  She could hear voices from below and held her breath, forcing herself not to move lest she make the floorboards creak.

  She could hear men from the village moving about, laughing as they no doubt bound James to his chair.

  She could hear James’s voice, protesting vehemently – she could not hear his words clearly, but she understood his tone.

  She heard Elizabeth crying, and wanted to rush from the bedchamber to rescue her daughter from the would-be executioners, but she knew she must be patient.

  She could hear the crowd of shouting women as they came up the hill towards the house. She knew they were chasing her, and struggled to remain where she was, even though she had an impossibly strong desire to look down at herself through the window.

  She heard the struggle outside, and sounds of what must be her being dragged into the house, and still she waited, impatience growing with every passing second.

  She heard the front door slam, and then heard James’s voice again, calling her name, begging her to wake up.

  She forced herself to remain calm, even as she smelled smoke rising from the lower level. She opened the bed-chamber door, moving swiftly down the hall, and descended the stairs quietly. She almost stopped in her tracks as she saw her own body, slumped in the chair opposite James, his back to the stairs as he repeatedly shouted at her to wake up.

  Using the noise he made as cover, his attention fixed on her other inert body and the flames that were eating away at the wood panelling inside the Great Hall, Gloria dashed into the parlour, struggling in her haste to open the secret compartment, from which she withdrew the manuscript. A letter fell out as she grabbed it, so she retrieved it, thrust it along with the manuscript into the anachronistic backpack she had brought with her, went to the desk and collected her own writings, and as many of Isabella’s as she could fit into the backpack, and then moved back to the door.

  She waited, watching silently as her other self slowly regained consciousness. She watched as events played out exactly as she remembered them, and then in awe she witnessed her departure amid a whirl of colour and sparks.

  The instant the other Gloria had disappeared, she ran through the increasing smoke and flames to the table, secure in the knowledge that with its outer shell burning well, no prying eyes could see inside the house.

  As she coughed and spluttered, James looked up, fixing her with tearful eyes, eyes suddenly filled with confusion, eyes filled with joy. ‘Ria, my love!’ he cried as she fought her own tears brought on by the smoke. ‘Hurry!’

  Gloria grabbed a knife from the table and in haste began hacking as carefully as she could at the stout ropes that securely bound him. The air in the Great Hall was getting unbearably hot, and she glanced up at the ceiling, aflame like the walls, radiating heat and buckling beneath the weight from above. The choking smoke threatened to overcome her, the heat threatened to stifle her, the flames threatened to burn her and James’s bonds threatened to overwhelm her, but Gloria was not about to let her fear overwhelm her.

  Suddenly, James’s hands were free. He took the knife from her and used it to attack the ropes that bound his legs, while Gloria grabbed Elizabeth from the chair next to him, trying desperately to soothe her screaming.

  James was free. He rose to his feet as Gloria grabbed his hand tightly, told him to hold onto Elizabeth.

  Then the c
eiling caved in on the room.

  …And Beyond

  The large stagecoach of red and blue livery thundered north along the Turnpike road, heading for Glasgow. Sweating from their exertions, six magnificent black stallions pulled the overcrowded carriage.

  The journey was nearing its completion, at least as far as most of the passengers were concerned. For the red haired man with worried, tired looking eyes that betrayed a lot of the anxiety he felt, the journey had barely begun. He clutched hold of the flame haired child on his lap as the carriage pitched remorselessly about on the uneven surface of the road.

  From Glasgow, he had a further long journey onwards to Fort William, from where he had still further to go. However, he had business to attend to in Glasgow first.

  Alighting from the stagecoach, the man carried his daughter across to the edge of the road, aware that while everyone else had luggage, he did not. They had whispered about him much at the start of the journey, but lapsed into silence as he steadfastly ignored them all. He could see them all staring and whispering again, pointing at him.

  He wanted to chastise them for their rudeness, but similarly wished for no confrontation, so he turned his back on them and set off into the bustling heart of Glasgow, seeking his destination.

  The building housing the firm of solicitors, Stewart, Duncan & Brown, was a good five minutes walk from where the stagecoach deposited him, but he found it with little difficulty and stepped over the threshold, aware that any business conducted here would be treated with utmost respect and discretion. He did not fully understand the nature of this business, but one of several letters that he had found amongst his wife’s belongings assured him they would be trustworthy, and held the required answers.

  ‘May I help you, Sir?’ asked a young man, wearing a slightly crumpled and threadbare black frock coat. He smiled at the girl in the man’s arms, ruffling her hair. ‘Your daughter? She is very pretty. She has lovely hair.’ He brushed his own equally red hair abstractedly. ‘But then, I am biased!’