“And she’s the older sister of our lord. Talk about a two-for.” She turned back to the laptop.
“But… that’s marvelous,” Mavis said in shocked surprise. “So much information right there.” She looked around the library. “And I thought we’d have to hunt for days.”
Lacey chuckled. “Well, a website will never replace the priceless books you’ve got here, but it does come in pretty handy. Remember that people all around the world can pool their data here and make it available to everyone else. We’re the lucky beneficiaries of someone else’s hard work. But there’s something I don’t understand. If Andrew was the tenth born, how did he come to inherit the castle?”
Mavis looked at the list of Hugh’s children. “It’s very possible that some of the other children also died during the smallpox outbreak. If Andrew was the first male to reach his majority, he would inherit.”
“Oh, okay. And of course the girls couldn’t inherit.” She stared at the simple entry for Jemma Bridget Fitzpatrick, born 1680, died 1694. A life in one line.
A short, tragic life.
She turned back to Sam. “So we can release Jemma now?”
“Yes,” Sam said, nodding slowly. “Now that we know her name, we can set her free.”
“Great.” Lacey swiveled in her chair toward the Ellsworths. “Okay, now that we have Sir Andrew here, how do we find out who his chamberlain was?”
Mavis and Peter glanced from the name on the screen to each other. Peter frowned.
“I’m, uh, not sure,” he admitted. “Almost all we have here is about the family, not the staff. They, of course, might be recorded in their own family bibles, but…”
“Without knowing his name, there’s no way to find that,” Lacey supplied.
“Exactly.” Peter sighed. He tapped his chin with a blunt finger. “Let me put in a call to our archivist. He might have some ideas about that.”
“Okay.” She faced the laptop again. “So, I guess we’re done here?”
“Not quite.” Harley took the chair next to Lacey. “What about your family? You said you ran into a dead end, even with this marvelous database?”
“Yes.” She returned to the search page and entered a name, Colleen Elizabeth Fitzpatrick. The data came up with birth and death dates, one child, a son Connor, but no husband and no parents. “It’s like she just appeared out of thin air.”
Mavis reached for the Chronicles. “Let me see if there’s anything in here.” She turned carefully to the index in the back, scanned down the page of C entries.
“There is a Colleen Mary, but no Colleen Elizabeth.”
“What about her son, Connor? Or grandson, Reese?”
Mavis looked for those. “No, neither one. They must be on a distant branch of the family.”
Harley leaned in. “Where was she born? Does it say?”
“Yeah.” Lacey pointed to the screen. “Dublin.”
“Dublin? Then she must be connected somehow. Can you print that out? Let me see what I can do with it?”
“Sure. What’s your printer’s address?”
While the family tree printed in a back room, Lacey, with Mavis’ direction, helped return the books to their proper places on the shelves.
“This really is a priceless collection,” she said. “Every family should have a library like this.”
“We do consider it our treasure,” Mavis agreed.
“So,” Peter asked Sam, “when would be a convenient time to, uh, release the girl?”
“Anytime,” Sam said. “We know her name and we know her story. When would you like to do it?”
Peter glanced at his wife. She smiled. “How about this evening? Perhaps six o’clock? And you’ll join us for dinner afterwards?”
“We can do that,” Sam said.
“Lovely.” Peter hesitated. “Would, uh, it be an imposition to allow the staff to be there, as well?”
“Not at all. I’m sure they’d be interested.”
“Marvelous. Very good, then. We will leave you to your own pursuits until then. Is there anything you require?”
Lacey returned to the table to shut down her laptop. “I wonder if you could give us some ideas of things to see in Dublin. We’d love to do some sightseeing.”
“Oh, of course,” Mavis said. “There are brochures at the front desk. We’ll walk you over and see what looks interesting. When you’re ready to go, the clerk can call a cab for you.”
~~~
ELEVEN
Again, Lacey was fervently grateful they did not have to drive. Being a native Angelino, she felt she could hold her own against anyone on a crowded LA freeway, but just the thought of driving on the wrong side of the road from the wrong side of the car gave her cold sweats.
Over a lunch of fish and chips and dark beer, they discussed their options.
“Dublin Castle?” Lacey asked.
“How about we concentrate on one castle at a time?” Sam said.
“Okay. Kilmainham Gaol?”
Sam scanned the brochure. “I think I’d rather avoid anyplace that’s going to be chockful of ghosts.”
“Oh, yeah,” Lacey laughed. “I keep forgetting about that.” She waved toward the stack of brochures. “But I think, with all the history here, there’s not too many places without ghosts.” She picked up one for Trinity College. “I’d love to see the library there. It’s supposed to be absolutely beautiful.”
“That sounds okay,” he said. “What else?”
“How about this?” she held up a brochure. “Phoenix Park. Looks gorgeous, is one of the largest parks in any European capital. There’s even a herd of deer that live there. Oh—” Her eye caught something in the description. “It used to be a Viking cemetery. Maybe not such a good idea?”
Sam took the brochure. “Cemeteries are actually okay. Most ‘residents’ are at peace. Sure, we can do that.”
“Lovely,” Lacey said in her best British accent.
She quickly realized that Trinity College was not the sort of tourist attraction that could be taken in quickly. The huge, historic buildings dominated the forty-seven acres of College Green, an island of ancient history and academia in the urban sea of Dublin. While the bulk of the buildings were, in fact, classrooms and learning centers, there were still plenty of places where tourists congregated. Lacey wondered what it would be like to be a student in such a grand historic setting. Humbling and awe-inspiring, she felt sure.
The Old Library itself was huge, a three-story edifice that daunted even as it beckoned.
“There are more than five million books here,” she read from the brochure.
Sam arched an eyebrow at her. “I guess we can be thankful for the smaller Fitzpatrick library for our research.”
“Boy, that’s the truth,” she agreed.
They entered through the gift shop and wound through a series of displays that explained the history of illuminated manuscripts. Lacey knew this was carefully planned to whet the tourists’ appetite for the crown jewel of the library. It was working.
“I want to see the Book of Kells,” she said, impatient to experience the real thing. They passed into a room that was decidedly darker than the gift shop, and headed unerringly toward the light of a large glass display. They, along with many others, waited their turn to see the displayed pages of the twelve-hundred-year-old books. Only two of the four books were on exhibit, one showing a lavishly illuminated page from the Gospel of John, another showing a page from the Gospel of Matthew. Both were covered with delicate flowing designs and deep, saturated colors that belied the pages’ age.
Lacey touched the glass front of the display with reverence. “How wonderful that something this amazing has survived,” she said. “This amazing and this delicate. Paper, for crying out loud.” She turned to Sam, her eyes bright. “It seems impossible.”
“Yes, it does,” he agreed. “And only made possible by some very wise and farsighted people.”
Nodding silently, Lacey traced the illuminated
design with one finger on the glass, the whorls, the flourishes, the lines. She tried to imagine the men who did this, their artistry, their care, their devotion and love. It was all there. Still strong, still apparent after twelve hundred years.
“Come on,” Sam said quietly. He took her elbow. “Let’s let others see, too.”
“Oh, yeah.” Lacey had forgotten about the people amassed behind them. Sadly, she stepped away, feeling as if her heart were tugged out of her chest by the beauty it had witnessed.
They climbed a flight of stairs up to the second floor and quietly entered the Long Room of the Old Library. Faced with the beautiful yet cavernous room, Lacey pulled Sam aside so she could take it all in without being an obstacle to anyone else.
“Holy cow,” she breathed quietly.
The central aisle appeared to go on into infinity, the lacquered wooden floor and the arched ceiling seeming to meet somewhere in the hallowed distance. Huge bookshelves radiated out perpendicularly from the main aisle in massive freestanding walls, the end cap of each adorned with a marble bust of a noted philosopher, writer or educator. Just looking at all the books, at the collection of reason, thought and wisdom, made Lacey’s knees weak.
“This is… amazing,” she said in a reverent tone. “The work involved here, the thought, the writing. It’s hard to even imagine this much knowledge in one place.” She shook her head. “I wonder if this was what the library of Alexandria was like.”
Sam, similarly struck by the gravity of the place, had no answer for her.
Back in the gift shop, she bought several postcards of pages of the book, and a couple different views of the Long Room. As a researcher, so often delving into the past, she had a reverent appreciation for the library and all it protected and preserved.
“What’s next?” Sam asked as they walked out into the sunshine.
Lacey blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the bright light, allowing her brain to let go of the ninth century and re-embrace the twenty-first.
“Phoenix Park,” she said. As much as she could have happily spent hours—days, weeks—in the hallowed halls of the Old Library, she was looking forward to the green open spaces of the park.
“How come it’s called Phoenix Park?” Sam asked.
“Looks like it’s an English corruption of an Irish word for ‘clear water,’” Lacey read. “And it’s over seventeen hundred acres. Wow. That’s twice the size of Central Park.”
It was a joy to wander the open parklands; the natural setting invited a relaxed pace, an unhurried enjoyment of trees, grass, sun. The herd of fallow deer lay peacefully in a large meadow, oblivious to the tourists who snapped multiple pictures on their cell phones. Sam and Lacey strolled the gardens and visited the impressive monuments that studded the grounds.
“What a wonderful park,” she sighed. “And how nice to have a place like this in the middle of a big city.” They sat on a bench and people-watched for a few minutes. “You notice how no one seems to be in a hurry?” she said.
“It’s easy to relax in a place like this,” Sam agreed. “However…”
“I know.” She glanced at her watch. “We should get back. First the releasement, then dinner. I can handle that.”
It had been a nice break, but they couldn’t play tourist for too long. Back at the castle, Lacey checked the time again. It was only a few minutes after five.
“I’m going to take a quick shower,” she told Sam. She went into the bedroom, pulling off her sweater and kicking off her shoes. A shower would feel good—
She felt Sam’s hand on her shoulder, and turned.
“What? Whoop!” She jumped sideways.
Instead of Sam behind her, she saw the chamberlain, the dapper man in the black suit. His gray eyes looked deep into hers, then slowly faded away to nothingness.
“Lacey?” Sam stuck his head in the door. “Did you—what’s wrong?”
She was still standing in the middle of the room, her sweater clutched to her chest, her eyes wide. Sam strode to her.
“What happened?” He put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her attention to his face instead of the empty air.
“He was here,” she said softly. “The chamberlain.”
“Here?” Sam looked around. “Where?”
“He put his hand on my shoulder. I thought it was you, until I turned and saw him. Then he just… disappeared.”
Sam turned and surveyed the room. “I don’t see him, or feel him. He must have left.” He returned to Lacey. “Did he say anything? Do anything?”
“No. He just looked at me. Sadly, I thought.”
Sam nodded. “He’s definitely carrying a lot of sadness. But I wonder why he’s showing up here instead of at the west residence?”
“I don’t know,” Lacey said, “but I could do without him sneaking up on me like that.” She shuddered. “Scared the crap out of me.”
Sam smiled grimly. “Still want to take a shower? I can stand guard.”
She blew out a breath. “Yeah, I do. But you don’t need to stay. I’ll be quick. Anyway, you need to get ready for the releasement. Do you want my notes?”
“No. I’ve got it all in my head. You go ahead. I’ll keep an eye out.”
Luckily there were no more surprises as Lacey showered and dressed. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, but Sam didn’t notice anything, so she was sure it was her imagination.
She sure hoped so.
~~~
TWELVE
Harley arrived just before six to lead them back to the tower room. Good thing, Lacey thought. Without his help, they might have wandered the unused parts of the castle for a while.
The Ellsworths and their staff were already there, waiting outside the lower door.
“Did you have a nice afternoon?” Mavis greeted them.
“Oh, yeah,” Lacey said. “It was great. We went to Trinity College and Phoenix Park. Beautiful places.”
“Wonderful. So glad you’re enjoying your time here.”
Sam surveyed the group. “Ready to do this?”
He was answered with nods and shy smiles. He explained briefly. “I’ll be smudging the room,” he said, “and walking most of it, so I’ll need you all to stay near the door. I just need you to remain quiet, but you’re welcome to send out positive energy if you like.”
Harley unlocked the lower door and led the way up the spiral stairs to the upper landing. He unlocked that door, as well, then stood back to allow Sam and Lacey entrance into the room.
Sam moved into the center of the room, while Lacey hung back. She readied her phone to video the release, and trained it on Sam as he pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit a smudge stick.
A few stray fibers flamed and shriveled before the full bundle caught and held the fire. Wisps of blue smoke curled upward lazily in the dead air. Lacey thought about the incongruity of a Native American smudging an ancient Irish castle.
Once the smoke thickened, Sam began cleansing the room. Since the room was without corners, his usual method of walking the four directions wasn’t so definitive, but he obviously had a good sense of the room’s directional layout and walked a square within the circle. He stopped at each point and raised the smudge stick over his head. The smoke rose up into the dim heights of the tower and disappeared. Finally he approached the area where the bed had once been.
“Jemma Fitzpatrick,” he said in a gentle tone. “We know who you are. We know your pain. The disease that ravaged your body was a horrible one, and people were right to be fearful of it, but fear often drives people to do brutal things. In their fear, they locked you away, to survive the disease or not as it ran its course. We know you did not survive. We know your death was painful, harsh and undignified.”
Very slowly Sam turned in place, pulling the smudge stick and the smoke around him in a gentle circle.
“We are here to acknowledge your death as we acknowledge your life. We know who you are, Jemma Fitzpatrick. We know you lived; we know you died. You
r life here was short, and now it is time to move on to something better. There is more for you, for your soul. There are more lives to live, more dreams to dream. Let go of your pain, release your sorrow. Let go of this place and move on, move forward. Remember, only, to not let fear drive you. Do what you will, but do not act out of fear. Act out of love only.” He paused. “Move into the future, Jemma, and go with God.”
His last words echoed away into the still musty air. The smoke rose and dipped, rose and floated outward, bathing the room in its fragrant cedar aroma. Clearing out the mustiness, clearing out the cobwebs, clearing out the pain and sorrow.
Sam turned toward the others near the door. “It’s done.”
Lacey turned off her video. The tiny chime sounded loud in the room, the only sound. She glanced at the people behind her. It looked as if every one of them were holding their breath.
She might have chuckled at the stunned look on their faces, but knew how powerful a releasement could feel to people who had never witnessed such a thing before.
She cleared her throat and addressed Mavis and Peter. “You shouldn’t have any more incidents in here now,” she said softly.
Mavis blinked. Mercy, behind the others, crossed herself. The others shifted nervously.
“Aye, very good,” Peter said. “Is there, uh, anything we need to…?”
“We’re done here,” Lacey said. “Why don’t we go on back to the residence? We can get comfortable and answer any questions you might have.”
Silently they trooped down the stairs, Harris, Aileen and Mercy hurrying on ahead. The other five walked more slowly, thoughtfully. Sam still held the glowing smudge stick, trailing blue smoke behind them.
At the residence, Peter brought him an ashtray. Sam tamped out the fire and set the bundle aside to cool down.
“That was… lovely,” Mavis said as they took seats in the sitting room. “I had no idea. Is that… a Navajo ceremony?”
Sam smiled. “Actually, no. The Navajo typically don’t interact with the dead at all, believing to do so might distract or anger the soul, or otherwise interfere with its journey. No, this is something I’ve developed on my own. I’ve found that most tethered souls need some sort of resolution to their anguish, although very often it’s simply a matter of recognizing them or their pain. It’s validating their experience.”
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