She tried to protest. ‘You shouldn’t … we can’t … I mean, it isn’t right.’
He took her face between his hands and looked into her eyes. ‘Yes, it is. I love you, Sibell, so nothing could be more right than this. Now do you trust me?’ She nodded. ‘Then just love me back and all will be well.’
Without further thought she twined her arms around his neck. ‘I do,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, I do.’
It was a long time before she emerged from his embrace.
As he rode back to Idenhurst some time later, Roger had to admit he wasn’t as confident as he’d pretended to be. For one thing, he wasn’t getting anywhere with his quest to find out who his father might have been. And for another, he knew Sibell’s father would never tolerate a match between them, even if she hadn’t already been spoken for.
There has to be a way.
‘Hugone, do you think I’ve run mad?’ he asked.
‘What? No!’ The young squire looked startled to be asked such a direct question, but when he saw Roger smile at his response, he added with a cheeky grin, ‘You’re just in love, sir. They say that’s a madness in itself, don’t they?’
Roger sighed. ‘Yes, it surely is.’ He shook his head. ‘Never thought it would happen to me. In fact, I was determined not to allow it, but God decided otherwise.’ He had a vague feeling he might be blaspheming here, since what he felt for Sibell was more earthly than godly. But since his intentions were honourable, he felt sure the Lord would understand.
‘Happens to everyone, so I’m told,’ Hugone commented. ‘And she’s a lovely lady, to be certain.’ He blushed as only an adolescent could, a fiery red that spread to the tips of his ears.
Roger laughed. ‘Well, I’m glad I’m not the only who thinks so.’
‘Oh, no. I’ve heard lots of other men commenting as she passes at Idenhurst, sir.’
‘Have you now?’ Roger didn’t like the small demon of jealousy that rose up at hearing this. He’d never been jealous of anything or anyone in his life before. He forced himself to relax. Sibell was his and no one could change that.
All he had to do was make it legal somehow.
Jake was as good as his word and came over two days after their walk to hand Melissa some old papers he’d found in the attic. She was shocked at how pleased she was to see him again and did her best to suppress a wide smile of welcome. This was business, nothing else, and the fact that he looked like her dream lover was neither here nor there, she told herself firmly.
‘I’ve jotted down as many details of my family as I could recall, like you said.’ He handed her a separate sheet of paper. ‘I called my mother and my aunt and they filled in a few gaps for me. It’s amazing the things some people remember.’
‘Yes, old people are a great source of information, although you can’t always trust them. They often try to hide the skeletons in the cupboard while embellishing the family’s origins. You wouldn’t believe how many people claim to be related to royalty, one way or another. Then they get annoyed with me when I can’t prove it. Thanks anyway, this will help me get started.’ Melissa glanced at the information he had written down. ‘Oh, so your family came from this area?’
‘Yes, I have many happy memories of visiting my grandparents here when I was a child. I think that was part of the reason I jumped at the chance to work in this town.’
Melissa put the papers on the hall table, then made the mistake of looking up into Jake’s eyes. Her breath caught in her throat and the strange feelings of déjà vu returned. She stared at him, unable to move so much as a finger, and he appeared equally captivated. A door opened somewhere at the back of the house, but she hardly noticed. They remained motionless. Nothing existed except this man, this moment. She desperately wanted him to kiss her and her eyelids half-closed in anticipation.
‘Hello, Jake, nice to see you again.’ Dorothy’s cheery voice broke the spell. Melissa came out of her trance and hurriedly looked away. Fortunately Dorothy continued on her way and didn’t stop for a chat. Melissa studied the stone-flagged floor, incapable of speech.
Jake cleared his throat. ‘I, er … I was just about to tell you how nice you look today.’
Her eyes flew to his to see whether he was joking as she wasn’t wearing anything special, but he seemed perfectly serious. Her stomach did a little somersault. ‘Why, thank you. It’s very kind of you to say so.’
‘Not at all. I always tell the truth. Vets aren’t allowed to lie, it’s against the rules.’ He winked at her. ‘Right, I’d better be going then. Let me know how you get on. Bye.’
Melissa was left staring after him in confusion. Did he really find her attractive? Was she attractive? After Steve’s departure she had seriously begun to doubt it, but having coped on her own for over a year her self-confidence was slowly returning. Anyway, didn’t they say that beauty was ‘in the eye of the beholder’? Well, that brought her back to her first question – whether Jake found her attractive. With a muttered oath she cut off this train of thought and stomped off down the corridor, grabbing the papers from the table as she went. She wasn’t supposed to care what he thought. She didn’t want a man in her life.
‘Except me.’
The whisper caught her off-guard and she swore again. ‘Go away,’ she hissed. ‘This is probably all your fault. Well, I’m not Sibell and Jake isn’t you. So leave us alone.’ The stupid ghost was affecting her thinking and she had to stop him. But how?
Melissa loved her job and when she set out for Maidstone yet again the following day it was with a familiar feeling of excitement. Every genealogical quest was a puzzle to be solved and the exhilaration she experienced whenever she was successful was headier than any wine. It never failed to thrill her. This time it was more personal, which added spice to the search.
The road to becoming a genealogist had been long and hard for her, but it had been her goal ever since she’d understood the meaning of the word. History was her favourite subject at school. While her friends read magazines and romantic novels, she had her nose stuck in what they called ‘stuffy’ books about the past. It wasn’t until she discovered historical romances that she showed any interest in light reading at all.
She was in her second year of studying history at university when she met Steve and Jolie was conceived. Despite her growing bulge, Melissa finished the summer term that year, and as soon as she had recovered from the birth she resumed her studies by correspondence via the Open University. With a small baby to look after, distance learning was her only chance to continue. Her perseverance paid off and she completed her degree despite Steve’s grumblings.
‘You’re wasting your time. Why are you studying history anyway? If you want to do something useful, then take a secretarial course or something so you can earn some money and help with the rent.’ Melissa ignored him most of the time, although she did attend an evening course in typing and computer studies. Steve was pleased, thinking she’d finally seen sense. He never realised that both these subjects were invaluable to a genealogist.
He’d finished his IT studies and landed a fairly good job with a reputable firm in the City. However, his salary, although adequate for their needs, wasn’t large enough to cover a nanny’s wages. And as there was no one else who could take care of Jolie, Melissa stayed at home. Steve later decided to work freelance as a consultant and there was even less money. To pass the time she took another Open University course in genealogy, followed by several more in specialised subjects such as Latin and medieval manuscripts. When Jolie started school, Melissa began to do the odd job from time to time and built up some contacts in the business. It was a slow process, but ultimately rewarding.
Her growing workload proved to be a lifeline through the difficult time of her divorce. Losing herself in old records and family trees kept her sane and she knew that without genealogy she would have been lost.
‘Back again so soon?’ Jenny greeted her cheerfully as soon as she walked through the door of the search room.
>
‘Yep, I’m nowhere near finished. And now I have another client from the same area, so I’m afraid you’ll be seeing quite a lot of me.’
‘Tell me what you’re after and I’ll help you make a start. It’s awfully quiet in here today and I much prefer a quest to dull old cataloguing work.’
Melissa spent hours at the Kent History Centre and, with Jenny’s assistance, found a wealth of information, both about Ashleigh Manor and about Jake’s family tree. To her surprise she had hardly any trouble at all in tracing his line back to the beginning of the baptismal records of the local church at the end of the sixteenth century.
‘God, what a boring lot,’ she commented. ‘These Precy’s don’t seem to have moved around much at all. No spirit of adventure whatsoever.’
‘Guess they loved it here then,’ Jenny said with a smile. ‘Like your vet.’
‘He’s not my vet in the least.’ Melissa frowned at her friend. ‘But you’re right, Jake really did return to his roots when he relocated from London. His ancestors have lived in the area for generations.’
Some had owned or rented properties, which made the task of tracing them much easier. Melissa always found leases and other property transactions very informative, as they often mentioned several members of a family and were witnessed by others.
‘Looks like they couldn’t make up their mind how to spell their name though,’ Melissa commented. The spelling of the name Precy varied a lot through the ages. There was Pressy, Preecy and Presay and quite a few others besides, which made Melissa smile. Some of the curates keeping the records had recorded the name phonetically and some had probably misheard their informant. Others were simply incapable of spelling correctly. She noticed one poor chap in particular who even spelled the word “burials” with two r’s and two l’s.
It wasn’t until she got back to the beginning of the seventeenth century, however, that the spelling Presseille appeared, startling Melissa no end when she recalled where she had last seen it.
‘Good God,’ she mumbled. ‘I should have seen that one coming.’
‘What’s that?’ Jenny came bustling over, having caught sight of Melissa’s expression.
‘Look here. This must mean the man who was executor of Sibell’s will could be related to Jake. Intriguing, don’t you think?’
Jenny considered the matter. ‘Yes, I suppose he could be, but you’ll have a hard time proving it. From 1460 to 1600 is quite a gap.’
‘I wonder why she appointed this Gilbert Presseille her executor?’ Melissa chewed her bottom lip, lost in thought. Could he have something to do with Roger?
‘Don’t read too much into it. I’m sure it was just a formality. You said the lady supposedly had no other relatives, and this man may have been an important neighbour or kinsman, so who else would she have asked?’
‘Yes, I guess you’re right.’ Swallowing her disappointment, Melissa was nevertheless extremely pleased with the information regarding Jake’s family. ‘Could we try to trace this Sir Gilbert, though? Let me see, I’m pretty sure the will mentioned where he was from.’ She riffled through her notes and found what she was looking for. ‘Yes, here it is – Sir Gilbert Presseille of Idenhurst. Any idea where that is?’
‘Nope, but I’ll check the computer database of all the really old manuscripts we have here. Some of them go back as far as the eighth century, isn’t that amazing? There may be some references to that place among the documents that aren’t on public display. Come on, in here.’ Jenny led the way into the back room where normally only archivists were allowed.
They found that Idenhurst had been a large property and it was mentioned in quite a few documents. Painstakingly they sifted through the material, discarding most of it as it was of a later date. It wasn’t until late in the afternoon they finally had a real breakthrough when Jenny unearthed an old manor court roll from Idenhurst.
‘Oh, brilliant, Jenny, just what we need.’
‘Yes, this should be interesting, as long as it’s not too damaged.’
Manor court rolls were records of the proceedings of manorial courts, which provided justice at a local level in medieval times. For a genealogist, they could be an absolute goldmine so Melissa was thrilled they’d found one. Among other things, they might give information about such issues as ownership and occupation of land, inheritance and enforcement of law and order. Held at regular intervals, usually with the lord of the manor in charge, these rolls were full of richly detailed accounts of the life of the local people.
‘I do hope they had a diligent clerk at Idenhurst, who didn’t miss anything out,’ Jenny muttered.
A manorial clerk was employed to write down everything the court decided, usually in a cursive court hand that was hard to decipher. Melissa and Jenny had both been trained to read this, however, so it wasn’t an obstacle. Neither was the fact that the records were written in abbreviated Latin, using many archaic terms. It was something they were used to.
‘Okay, careful now.’
Melissa didn’t need to be told. The old parchment roll was exceedingly fragile and she knew they had to take great care when unrolling it. Both of them wore soft gloves, so as not to harm the document further, but Melissa still held her breath a lot of the time, certain that it was going to crumble in her hands.
Thankfully most of it was legible and they worked on deciphering it together, delighted with all the details it contained. When they reached the late fifteenth century, Melissa couldn’t contain a gasp of delight.
They had hit the jackpot.
Chapter Sixteen
As always, Sibell attended Sunday mass with her father and brothers. The little church was full to overflowing and the lack of air made breathing difficult. Sibell brought her rose-scented handkerchief up to her nose surreptitiously, trying not to gag at the rank smell of too many people crammed into too small a space without ventilation.
There was a scuffle at the back of the church where the poorer members of the community had to stand throughout the service. For obvious reasons, a place near the wall was coveted and more often than not there were those who gained their places by the judicious use of sharp elbows. There was a continuous hum of noise as people coughed or sneezed and children were hushed by their elders. Babies wailed, regardless of the efforts made to quieten them. Sibell felt for the mothers as the priest turned a baleful eye in their direction.
The tiny stained-glass windows didn’t throw much light onto the congregation. Father Jacob had lit numerous tallow candles, which only added to the fug already created by wet clothes drying slowly in the warmth. Sibell glanced at the stone carvings that were the church’s only decorations and tried not to think about Roger. Unfortunately, she had thought of nothing else during the last week.
Since their first meeting in the walled garden he had come as often as he could without giving rise to suspicion. The garden had become their refuge and they found time to talk as well as share the magical kisses that made her dizzy with desire. He told her of his life as a knight and she confided her fears and tribulations, gaining strength and confidence from their conversations. He gave her hope for the future and when he was near she wasn’t afraid of anything.
She still found it hard to believe he could possibly love her, rather than all the beautiful ladies he had met on his travels, but he assured her it was so.
‘You are different, sweeting,’ he told her. ‘You don’t make sheep’s eyes at me and there is no artifice in your manner. You are everything I have ever wanted.’ His every caress made her feel special and whenever he wasn’t near she craved his touch.
Sibell sighed quietly. The images which came before her eyes every time she closed them refused to be repressed. Even in this holy place she couldn’t keep them at bay. The feel of his lips on hers, his hands caressing her and words of love whispered softly, lingered in her memory. A frisson meandered up her backbone, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. She shifted uncomfortably on the rock-like wood of the bench. If
ever there was a penance for having inappropriate thoughts in church, then sitting like this was definitely it.
Roger was standing on the left hand side of the church, not far from where Lady Maude and Sir Gilbert were seated, and Sibell knew he was as aware of her presence as she was of his. She dared not look. As she risked a peek at her father, who was on her right, a shard of fear pierced her. If he should ever find out … No, she wouldn’t think of such things. They would be careful.
The priest had chosen to preach of the Temptation of Jesus in the Wilderness from the gospel of Saint Matthew. Sibell almost broke into hysterical laughter at the aptness of his choice. Temptation. The word had taken on a whole new meaning for her lately. With great effort she controlled herself.
‘Practise in the light of Christ’s message,’ the priest urged them in a voice which promised retribution to all who didn’t follow his orders. ‘Overcome temptation. Battle it with all your might!’ Sibell felt the guilt stain her cheeks and she bowed her head. Even the Lord’s Prayer reproached her. ‘Lead us not into temptation, oh Lord …’
But how could she possibly resist when she didn’t want to?
‘I reckon it was just pure luck. You’d never beat us a second time, knight. Fancy trying again?’
Roger was one of the last people to come out of church and the Ashleigh brothers must have been lying in wait for him. Three of them emerged from the shadows of the porch now and blocked his way. He drew in a calming breath, determined not to rise to their bait. There were still people about and they couldn’t do him any actual harm here.
‘Nothing to say for yourself today?’ The red-headed one sneered. Roger could never remember which brother was which, but he did know the biggest one, an ugly brute who hardly ever spoke, was Henry, the heir.
‘We can train together again any time you wish, gentlemen,’ he replied evenly. ‘But not, I think, on a Sunday.’
The Silent Touch of Shadows Page 15