Master of the Scrolls

by Benjamin Ford

  ‘Thank you for your kind words, young man. I am here to see Gordon Stewart.’

  ‘Do you have an appointment, Sir?’

  ‘No, but I have business with him and his kin. If he is not too busy, would you tell him please that James Trevayne wishes to speak with him about the legacy of Peter Neville. He will understand.’

  ‘I shall see if he’s busy.’ The young man disappeared, and James remained where he was, holding onto Elizabeth as though his life depended on it.

  The young man returned, accompanied by a much older man with a bushy red beard and neatly swept hair. He extended a hand, which James shook. ‘I am Gordon Stewart. You say you are James Trevayne?’

  ‘I am indeed.’

  ‘Please, follow me to my office.’ He turned to the young man, who James noted looked remarkably like the older man. ‘Thank you, Robert. You may return to your work.’

  ‘Aye, Father.’

  James followed Gordon into his office at the back of the building. ‘My son is learning the business, so that he might one day take over from me. Between you and me though, I do not think he’s really cut out for it! He’s much more comfortable in gardens!’

  ‘I see,’ replied James, sitting down as Gordon offered him a drink. ‘No, thank you. I still have a long journey ahead of me, so I shall get down to business, if I may.’

  ‘By all means,’ said Gordon, pouring himself a large whisky. ‘I take it you are here to lay claim to Raven Cragg!’

  ‘Ah, so you are aware of Peter Neville’s legacy? I had feared I might have a wasted journey.’

  Gordon settled behind his desk and fixed James with a penetrating stare. ‘To be honest with you, I’ve always believed no heirs to the legacy could exist. My family has looked after the house and its lands for generations, each wondering if the mysterious Trevayne descendents would appear.’

  ‘I have only recently come into possession of these items,’ said James, placing a letter and the locket on the desk. ‘They belong to my wife, Victoria. Her maiden name is Neville.’ He paused before adding with a satisfied flourish, ‘One of her ancestors is Peter’s cousin, William.’

  ‘Ah, I see. We did wonder from whose family the heir might be descended, for Peter Neville was not survived by any children. Odd, though, that you should bear the same name as the last occupant of Peter’s ancestral home, don’t you think?’

  ‘I myself am descended from James’s brother, John. It is a curious quirk of fate that we, the direct descendants of the Neville family and the Trevayne family, should find ourselves joined once more through marriage.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Gordon, rising from his desk to rummage on the shelves that adorned the back wall of the office, until he found the file he sought, and then he sat again, untying the ribbon that held the file closed. He pulled out an etching from amongst the papers. ‘I can tell that you are descended from the Trevayne line. You bear a startling resemblance to your namesake.’

  James took the picture from Gordon and was rather surprised to see it was of him, with Gloria and Elizabeth. He did not remember posing for the artist. ‘An astonishing likeness! Where did this come from?’

  ‘Apparently, after the burning of Neville Manor three hundred years ago, Peter Neville was given this etching by a young woman from the village. She, it seems, was one of only a few who had any regret about what happened.’

  Gordon withdrew another picture and passed it to James. He recognised it at once. ‘The Neville crest,’ he said. He picked up the locket and turned it over, revealing the same crest embossed into the gold. ‘This locket once belonged to Isabella, Peter’s cousin and step-sister. It has been passed down through the generations until it reached my wife.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Gordon, taking the locket from James to inspect it more closely. He compared the crest on the back with the one in the picture. There was no doubt it was the same family crest. He held the locket close to his eyes, marvelling at the beautiful symmetry of the heart design. The craftsmanship was exquisite. He could see the tiny hinges, indicating the locket should open to reveal a secret chamber, but it remained steadfastly sealed, and no amount of force on his part could split it open.

  He read the letter, his eyes widening slightly at the description of hidden gold, but his mask of professional indifference returned immediately. ‘It seems that everything is in order,’ he said as he folded the letter and returned it along with the locket to James. He paused thoughtfully, and then with a sigh withdrew the papers from the folder. ‘The Last Will and Testament of Peter Neville,’ he said, handing the first to James with a flourish, ‘and the title deeds to Raven Cragg.’ The second paper he seemed to hand over rather reluctantly. ‘There are still members of my clan living there. We have looked after it well over the centuries, and it will be difficult to leave. But you are the rightful heir, and as such, have every right to live there with your kin.’

  James took the papers, scrutinizing them as though to confirm for himself their validity. ‘Thank you, Master Stewart. I shall take my leave of you now, as I have further business elsewhere. Rest assured, I shall be in touch when I have decided what to do with the house. I shall have to fetch my wife to see it, to decide whether we wish to live there or not.’

  ‘As you wish, Mr Trevayne,’ replied Gordon, rising to his feet. ‘If you wish, we can continue to hold the deeds to Raven Cragg here for you, where they will be safe.’

  ‘Thank you, but I shall take them with me for the moment. I wish to read through all this paperwork thoroughly afore making any decision.’ James collected everything from the desk, and shifting Elizabeth in his arms, placed it into the satchel slung around his shoulder. He stood, extending a hand, which Gordon shook. ‘I shall be in touch within the week. Good day to you.’

  Gordon followed him from the office and stood in the lobby as he watched James disappear down the road. Robert Stewart appeared at his father’s side. ‘Was that really the heir to Peter Neville’s legacy, Father?’

  Gordon nodded grimly. ‘Aye, it would appear so, Robert. I fear we are about to lose our clan’s home!’

  ‘Surely he won’t evict the others out onto the streets like beggars?’

  ‘I do not know, laddie. I know nothing of this man’s character. We can only pray that he and his wife are not heartless people!’

  A week later, James returned to the Glasgow office of Stewart, Duncan & Brown, having travelled up to Fort William, and then on to Raven Cragg itself. He met with the Stewarts who occupied the house and promised them he would not merely throw them out on the streets and that he would give them money to buy a house for themselves.

  Following Peter’s instructions, James found the secret passageway that led from the woods up to the house, and then uncovered the gold, hidden behind some of the blocks of stone at the base of the stairs that led up from the passage into the house itself. He gave some to the Stewarts, telling them he and his wife would eventually be living in the house themselves, and gave the family two months in which to vacate the property, which he felt was adequate time.

  Gordon Stewart was relieved that James had not arbitrarily thrown the family out right away and promised that he would personally see to it that the clan vacated the house within the allotted time. He was less enthused when James told him he would not be bringing any further business to the firm, and that he had lodged the deeds to the house and lands with a bank in Fort William, along with the remainder of the gold.

  After concluding his business in Glasgow, James returned once more to Fort William, where he had rented a private room in a boarding house, and set about putting the rest of his plans into action. He knew he had to be patient, for it would be many long months before he would see his wife again.

  July 1987

  With a groan, Gloria cautiously opened her eyes and slowly sat up. She clutched her throbbing head, searching her surroundings for anything that looked familiar. She recognised her bedroom at once, and she knew who she was, but something was missing from
her mind. She knew she should remember something, but there was nothing; no thoughts to remind her, no images to rekindle the memories.

  ‘What have I forgotten?’ she said aloud.

  She was alone in her room, so nobody answered.

  Slipping her feet into her slippers and putting on her dressing gown, she left the bedroom and made her way down the stairs. She could hear voices coming from the kitchen. Familiar voices, though for the moment, through her haze of pain, she could not place them.

  A young woman swam into view, slightly out of focus, speaking to her, face filled with concern, but Gloria did not hear what she was saying.

  An older woman appeared next to her, also familiar, yet still Gloria could not put a name to the face. This woman helped her into the living room and gently pushed her onto the sofa.

  Then a man with red hair smiled down at her, and for some inexplicable reason she suddenly felt very afraid. The man might look kind and gentle, yet she somehow knew he was thoroughly evil. She screamed and pushed him away.

  The older woman said something to the obviously distraught man, and he backed away. ‘Gloria, can you hear me, darling?’

  She closed her eyes, willing the dizziness to stop. She put a hand to her temple, and realised her head was bandaged. She had obviously been involved in some kind of accident.

  The younger woman reappeared, placing a mug of hot tea in her hands, assisting her to drink it. ‘Sip it slowly, Gloria,’ she said.

  Gloria looked up at the concerned yet ultimately happy faces as they encircled her. ‘What… what happened?’ she managed to croak as the tea lubricated her throat. Through the throbbing in her head, names began to appear. ‘Mother? Lou? Oh God, what happened? My head hurts!’

  ‘You have been unconscious a couple of days,’ said Rachel, her heart palpitating madly with relief as she realised her daughter was going to be all right. ‘And you were missing several days prior to that!’

  ‘What?’ gasped Gloria, struggling to comprehend what was going on. ‘I’ve been missing?’

  Louise sat next to her on the sofa. ‘Yes. Don’t you remember; we had dinner on Sunday evening? You were supposed to meet your mother the next day, but you never showed up. Nobody could get hold of you, and no one knew where you were. Then on Thursday, Allan returned from his trip to find you unconscious in your bed!’

  ‘You weren’t there the previous day, and nobody appears to know how you got there, or where you were before that, darling,’ said Rachel. ‘I don’t suppose you’d care to tell us? Did it happen again?’

  ‘No, I don’t know where I’ve been. The last thing I remember is having dinner with Lou… vaguely. And what do you mean? Did what happen again?’

  Louise and Rachel glanced at one another in consternation. ‘You don’t remember? About your destiny? About the Sixteenth Century? About Isabella and Peter?’

  Gloria held up her hand. ‘Slow down Lou. I’m sorry; I don’t know what you are talking about, I really don’t.’

  Rachel patted her daughter’s hand reassuringly. ‘It seems as though you took a blow to the head. Don’t worry; I’m sure everything will be fine.’ She motioned to Louise, and leaving Gloria on the sofa, the pair joined Allan Barncroft in the kitchen.

  ‘Okay you two, I think it’s time you levelled with me. What’s been going on while I’ve been away? Why did Gloria scream at me like that?’

  ‘Gloria’s suffering from amnesia, Allan,’ said Louise. ‘She received a blow to her head, and the concussion has obviously left her with no memory of what happened.’

  ‘Yeah, Sis, I know what amnesia is!’ snapped Allan sarcastically. ‘But how did she hit her head? How did she wind up in her bed, with her head bandaged, and why does nobody seem to know what happened to her?’

  Louise laid a hand on her brother’s arm. ‘I’ll tell you everything I know, Allan, but you must promise to keep an open mind. It’s pretty unbelievable!’

  ‘I’ll try. I don’t think I’m going to like what you’re going to tell me, am I?’

  Louise shook her head. ‘Most likely not. Come on, let’s go for a walk.’

  As they left the house, Rachel returned to her daughter in the living room. ‘How are you feeling, darling?’

  ‘Confused, tired, my head feels like it’s been split in two, and I have a feeling I’ve lost something important – and I don’t mean just my memory!’

  ‘Come on darling; let’s get you back up to bed. I think you should rest for a while. I’ll make you some nice soup.’

  ‘Fresh chicken and vegetable broth would be nice.’

  Rachel chuckled. ‘I’ll have to see what you’ve got it your larder!’

  *

  As they walked down the lane away from Gloria’s house, heading towards the woods that bordered the edge of the village, Allan listened to his sister’s tale incredulously, and not once did he interrupt her with questions – though he had plenty. He ran a hand through his unruly red hair, pushing it from his eyes as the gentle summer breeze wafted it in a wayward manner.

  ‘So,’ he said as Louise finished, ‘let me see if I’ve got this straight. Basically, Gloria was possessed by this Isabella Neville, who was continuing her affair with her cousin, Peter, who had taken over the body of Phil, the caretaker from Ravenscreag Hall. Then this other guy, Samuel Wylams, also from the past, turned up and apparently whisked Gloria back into the past. There she helped Isabella’s widower, James Trevayne, defeat Samuel, who was some kind of Wizard type person, and she stayed there for some months, marrying him and bearing his child, before the villagers branded her a witch and tried to kill all three of them. Only Gloria managed to escape and returned here.’ He looked his sister in the eye. ‘Is that what you’re telling me?’

  Louise nodded. ‘I know it sounds totally ridiculous, but it’s all true – I swear! We didn’t tell you all this before because we wanted Gloria to wake up first. We thought she should tell you, but she can’t as she’s lost her memory.’

  ‘Don’t worry Sis, I believe you, though if anyone else told me all that I’d have said they were bonkers. But I know you’re sane!’ He sighed as he tried to digest it all. ‘Poor Gloria. Doesn’t explain what happened to her afterwards, though.’

  ‘I think she might have returned to the past to try and save James and Elizabeth.’ Louise tried to hide her sheepish look, knowing that she herself had planted the seed of that idea in Gloria’s mind.

  Allan nodded. ‘That wouldn’t surprise me. It’s typical of Gloria really, putting others before herself.’

  ‘I must admit, Allan, you are taking all this rather more calmly than I thought you would!’

  ‘That’s probably because I have seen some strange things in my field of work; things I’ve never revealed to anyone because they’re so fantastic! Plus–’ He paused, unsure whether to continue. ‘Plus there are my own dreams!’

  ‘God, I’d forgotten all about those! Surely you haven’t had any of them since you were a boy, though?’

  Allan faced his sister. ‘I hadn’t, till recently. But now they have returned!’

  *

  Gloria sat up on her bed as she spooned the last of the tinned chicken soup from the bowl, and then set the tray aside as her mother fussed around her, plumping the pillow behind her, straightening the bedding. ‘Do stop fussing, Mother!’

  Rachel smiled. ‘I can’t help it. You have been through an ordeal. It’s my job to fuss!’

  ‘Do you know what happened to me, Mother?’ From Rachel’s silence, Gloria sensed her mother knew more than she was willing to let on. ‘At least remind me about Phil?’

  ‘You remember Phil?’

  ‘Vaguely. I know he is the caretaker at Ravenscreag Hall, and I can remember his sister tried to kill us, though I don’t know why. And I can remember him being down here!’

  ‘Oh, and do you remember what he was doing down here?’

  Gloria shook her head. ‘I need some answers to try and jog my memory.’

  ‘I’m
not sure I’m the right person to ask for answers, dear. I think you need to speak to your grandmother.’

  ‘Maybe you can bring her tomorrow?’

  ‘That might prove difficult. She returned to Ravenscreag Hall with Phil on Monday. She said something about needing to prepare the house for guests.’

  ‘Is she having a party?’

  Rachel shrugged. ‘Mother tells me nothing! Maybe you could ring her later.’

  ‘I might just do that.’

  A knock at the door interrupted their discussion, and Allan poked his head into the room. ‘Hi girls, is it okay to come in?’

  Rachel stood, taking the tray from the edge of the bed as she walked towards the door, which Allan pushed open. ‘Of course you can come in, Allan, I’m going to leave now anyway. I’ll give you a ring when I get home. I think you have a lot to catch up on.’ She kissed Allan as she passed him. ‘Look after her, dear!’

  ‘I will!’ Allan closed the door after her, and stood looking uncertainly at Gloria. He smiled weakly. ‘I hope you’re not going to scream at me again!’ Gloria shook her head silently. ‘That’s good. How are you feeling?’

  ‘I don’t know, Allan.’ She touched the bandages on her head. ‘Do you think you could take these off for me? Be honest, tell me how bad it is.’

  Allan came over and sat beside her, slowly unravelling the bandages. She obviously had no memory of recent events, and considering what Louise had told him, he was not sure it was a good idea to reawaken those memories. He winced as he saw the congealed blood and large graze on her forehead, but it was not as bad as he had feared. ‘You’ll live!’ he said with a gentle chuckle. He kissed her cheek tenderly. ‘I’ve missed you so much, darling.’

  Gloria frowned. She had a vague recollection of someone else kissing her recently, but could not remember who it was. It had certainly not been Allan. ‘I’ve missed you too Allan, I think.’

  ‘I was so afraid for you when I found you all alone with your head bandaged. I called your mother right away, but she didn’t know anything. In fact, nobody seems to know anything about how you hurt yourself. And then there’s the fact that you apparently disappeared for some time.’