The Silent Touch of Shadows

by Christina Courtenay

  ‘You’re just afraid we’ll beat you,’ the blonder brother said and spat on the ground. ‘And with Henry to back us up, we will. Won’t be no training bout, neither.’

  ‘Yes, don’t go wandering around after dark.’ The red-head chuckled, as if he found his threat hilarious. ‘Wouldn’t want you to be caught unawares, now would we?’

  ‘Simon, what are you about? Father is calling for us.’

  Roger looked to his left, where a fourth brother came towards them. This one never spoke much either, but Roger had gathered it wasn’t because of a lack of wits, as was the case with Henry. He watched with interest as the other three scowled at their brother, but still sauntered away. They sent Roger menacing glares over their shoulders, which didn’t scare him.

  ‘Ignore them, Sir Roger, they’re young and foolish, or in the case of Henry, just foolish.’ To Roger’s surprise, the fourth brother had stayed behind and was staring after his siblings with narrowed eyes. ‘But have a care. I wouldn’t put it past them to try something underhand.’

  With that comment, he too left, and Roger watched him go. The warning had been unnecessary, but he was pleased to find that Sibell had at least one relative with some brains and manners. A shame there weren’t more of them.

  ‘I can’t believe this, Jenny, we’ve got confirmation of a connection to Jake’s line.’ Melissa grinned at her friend, who was equally delighted.

  ‘Yes, incredible piece of luck. I can’t see any mention of that Gilbert fellow, though.’

  ‘Well, we’ve only gone back to 1495, perhaps he was dead by then. Let’s see, does it go any further?’

  This was when their luck ran out, however. To their immense frustration, they discovered the innermost part of the roll appeared to be stuck together. Jenny tried to gently prise it open, but it wouldn’t budge.

  ‘Damn,’ she muttered. ‘I don’t dare force it.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s no good, I’m going to have to ask the conservation guys to take a look at it and see if there’s any way of opening it without ruining the writing. Aargh, this is so annoying! Just when it was getting interesting, too.’

  Melissa giggled. ‘Any normal person would think us insane, getting so excited about an old document.’

  ‘Yes, but they have no idea how addictive this is. Better than any drug, if you ask me. Leave it with me and I’ll see what we can do. I’ll give you a call, all right?’

  The minute she was outside the Record Office, Melissa called Jake on her mobile phone to report on her progress.

  ‘Jake? Hi, it’s Melissa Grantham. Do you have a minute? Good, listen, I have great news. I’m getting on really well with your family tree and I found a manor court roll today which is all about your ancestors. We can trace them back to the fifteenth century now. It’s an incredible piece of luck.’

  ‘You found a what?’ Jake said, sounding baffled.

  ‘Sorry, let me explain. Normally, it’s almost impossible to go back further than the beginning of the seventeenth century when putting together a family tree. That’s when baptisms began to be recorded in most churches, so before that it’s very hit and miss. Unless you’re of noble birth or your family has owned land for much longer, that is. What we found today was a record of a manorial court, which was held at some place called Idenhurst, apparently a large manor somewhere near Ashleigh. And it was owned by your ancestors.’

  ‘Really? That’s fascinating. So I should really be a lord, then?’ Melissa could hear the smile in Jake’s voice.

  ‘No, no. If there ever was a title, it passed along a different line to yours. You are descended from the lords of the manor, but I’m afraid you’re still plain mister. The manor itself seems to have been inherited by a daughter and her husband. But listen, the manorial roll mentions lots of names in the daily transactions recorded and that means I can go a lot further back. It’s very unusual and exciting.’

  ‘I see. Well, I’m very grateful for your hard work. Can we get together one evening so you can show me what you’ve found so far?’

  Melissa shivered. Just hearing his voice was enough to make her feel strange again. She wasn’t at all sure she should meet him alone anywhere. Fiddling with her car keys, she hesitated, then told herself sternly not to be so stupid. She was meeting him in a professional capacity after all, nothing more.

  ‘Sure,’ she managed finally. ‘Give me a few days to put the information together into a proper family tree, then I’ll show you.’

  She’d intended to start as soon as she got home, but just as she walked through the door, she was distracted by a phone call from the local historian, Colin Parsons. She had tried to call him weeks ago, when she was given his number by the lady at the local library, but he’d apparently been away until now, and she’d almost forgotten all about him.

  ‘Oh, thank you for ringing back, Mr Parsons. Yes, I have some questions about the history of this area and I was wondering if you would have time to meet me? It might take a while to discuss everything, so I would rather not do it over the phone.’

  ‘Sure, I’m always happy to help. I live at number two Vicarage Close, not far from the old church. Why don’t you come round, say, tomorrow evening?’

  ‘Perfect. Would seven o’clock be okay?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Colin Parsons was shorter than Melissa and fairly rotund, with intelligent, smiling eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses. She guessed his age to be somewhere around fifty, but couldn’t tell for certain. Although he had greying hair with a bald patch, his face was almost entirely free of wrinkles, almost boyish in fact. He was dressed haphazardly, as if he’d pulled out the first thing he could find in his wardrobe without bothering to check whether it matched anything else he was wearing. Melissa found this rather endearing. She noticed that one of his socks was brown and the other blue, but he seemed sublimely unaware of his appearance.

  ‘Come in, come in.’ She was ushered into a large, but extremely cluttered, sitting room, where Colin cleared some papers off a worn leather chair so she could sit down. He then picked up several other items from the coffee table – a newspaper, a calculator and several pens – and looked around for somewhere to dump them. Since every available surface was already occupied, however, he became slightly flustered and finally pushed everything under the sofa while muttering under his breath. Melissa watched him in amusement.

  ‘Sorry, I haven’t had time to do any cleaning lately,’ he said. ‘As I said, I’ve been away. Now would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes, please, if it’s not too much trouble?’ Melissa noticed the lack of a woman’s touch and wondered if he was a widower or a bachelor. Probably the latter, she concluded. The house didn’t look as if a woman had ever had any say in its decor or furnishing. It was very much a man’s domain – dark colours, no flowery patterns and no knick-knacks. Books and papers were everywhere, overflowing the bookcases that lined one wall and lying in untidy piles on the floor.

  Soon after he had gone off to the kitchen, a small, sleek tabby cat sauntered into the room and came up to assess the newcomer. Melissa gathered she must have passed the inspection, since the cat proceeded to rub herself against Melissa’s legs. ‘Come on, then.’ She patted her knees in invitation, but the little feline turned her back on Melissa and wandered round inspecting her territory instead.

  Colin returned surprisingly quickly, balancing a tray containing two mugs of tea and a packet of Rich Tea biscuits. He shrugged apologetically. ‘I’m afraid I live alone, so this is as good as it … oh, hell!’

  Melissa gasped as he tripped over the cat and almost dumped the contents of the tray onto her lap. With a dexterity she hadn’t thought him capable of he managed to right himself and somehow the mugs of tea survived intact. Only the packet of biscuits went flying, and she caught it in mid-air and placed it on the table.

  ‘Damned cat, always in the way,’ he muttered. ‘I see you’ve met Duchess.’ The cat meowed loudly and gave her mas
ter an affronted glare. ‘Yes, yes, I know it’s not your fault that I can’t see beyond the end of my nose, but you should know better than to walk in front of my feet by now. Honestly, you are a stupid animal.’ He shook his head. ‘But I love you dearly, you know that.’

  ‘Duchess has been keeping me company. And I love Rich Tea biscuits, Mr Parsons. I didn’t expect to be entertained with a formal tea, I just need some information. Preferably lots of it.’ Melissa smiled at him to show there was no need for him to be flustered.

  ‘Right, well I hope I can help you, but please, call me Colin. “Mr Parsons” makes me feel ancient.’

  ‘All right then, if you’ll call me Melissa.’

  They chatted about the local town and the surrounding villages in general while they sipped their tea and Melissa found that his enthusiasm for history was equalled by his knowledge of the subject. In the space of ten minutes she learned more than she had during the whole of the previous month, things that none of the weighty tomes in the library had mentioned. Colin had delved deeper and had managed to unearth additional information in various private archives around the area. He was delighted to discover a fellow devotee.

  ‘It’s so nice to speak to someone who understands what I’m talking about.’ He beamed at her and pushed his glasses onto the top of his head before picking up his mug.

  ‘Likewise.’

  ‘So tell me, what was it you wanted help with in particular?’

  ‘Well, I’m researching the history of Ashleigh Manor, which has apparently been in my family for generations. My great-aunt owns it now and she’s told me some old stories about it that made me want to find out more. I’m also interested in another property called Idenhurst, which is supposed to have been somewhere in the neighbourhood, but I can’t find it on any maps of the area.’ She showed him the documents she had come across at the Record Office. ‘The earliest map of the village I have found so far is dated 1694 and although Ashleigh is on there, it doesn’t show Idenhurst.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen this one before. Hmm, the name Idenhurst rings a bell, but I’ll have to look into it.’ Colin expressed great interest in the information she had gathered. He was able to add a few things about Ashleigh’s more recent history, but Melissa was impatient to learn more of earlier times.

  ‘One of the stories my great-aunt told me was about one of the owners, a woman by the name of Sibell, who apparently had a lover called Roger. I would very much like to find out more about them. As far as I can make out she must have been born around 1430-1440, or thereabouts. I have a copy of her will, which is dated 1461, although I don’t know if that was when she died or if it was merely a precaution. She seems to have been pregnant at the time and I think she subsequently gave birth to a daughter called Meriel.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Mistress Sibell. I know her well.’ Colin nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘Sorry?’

  To Melissa’s amazement, Colin set his mug down with a thump and stood up. ‘Come, I’ll introduce you to her immediately.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Introduce me?’ For a wild moment, she wondered if the entire village was seeing ghosts, or indeed going mad, but then rational thought returned and she told herself she must have misunderstood.

  ‘Yes, I’ll take you to meet her now. Let me just fetch a torch.’ He scurried off and returned to his startled guest a few minutes later carrying a huge flashlight and a bunch of very large keys. ‘These are the keys to the church. I act as warden from time to time. Come on, follow me, it won’t take long.’ He ushered her into the hall and Melissa was caught up in his excitement, pulling on her sweater as they went. As they reached the front door, however, he stopped short and began to feel in his pockets, as if he was searching for something. ‘Hold on a minute,’ he muttered and rushed back into the sitting room. When he came back he was frowning.

  ‘What’s the matter, have you lost something?’ Melissa asked.

  ‘Yes, can’t find my glasses. I’m sure I had them a minute ago.’

  Melissa stared at him, speechless, and then burst out laughing.

  His frown deepened. ‘This is no laughing matter. Without my glasses I’m almost blind.’

  ‘I’m s-sorry.’ Melissa tried to compose herself. ‘It-it’s just that … they’re on your head.’ She managed to turn another fit of laughter into a cough, so as not to offend him, but he grinned at her broadly, his relief at finding the glasses palpable.

  ‘Of course, I should’ve known. Sorry, I do that a lot.’

  His house was only a few doors away from the village church and within a short space of time he was turning the largest key in the old lock of the door. It swung open with an unearthly squeak from the old hinges and they entered the dim interior. Colin switched on the ceiling lights, but they were old and gloomy and cast insufficient light, making the torch a welcome addition. Their footsteps echoed eerily on the stone floor and Melissa shuddered and stayed close to her guide.

  He shone the light in a wide arc, giving her a glimpse of a low, vaulted ceiling, tiny stained-glass windows and carved pillars, before proceeding down the aisle. Shortly before the altar he came to a halt and turned left, then right again. He headed for a dark corner where there was a small opening into a private chapel protected by an ancient wrought-iron gate.

  ‘Now which key is it again?’ Colin muttered, rattling the bunch until he came to a small, twisted one with an ornate top. It took a lot of force and several tries before he managed to push the gate open. It screeched loudly and Melissa gritted her teeth against the sound.

  ‘Over here,’ Colin said, and directed the beam of light onto the floor to her left, where a large brass plaque glittered dully. ‘Hardly anyone comes in here except me. Now, say hello to your ancestor, Mistress Sibell of Ashleigh.’

  Melissa knelt down and stared at the image of a young woman. ‘So this is where you’re buried,’ she whispered. A deep sadness welled up inside her, followed immediately by a hollow sensation of loneliness. Sibell was unhappy; Melissa could feel it with every fibre of her being. The sound of anguished crying suddenly bounced round the small, enclosed area and she winced.

  ‘Did you hear that, Colin?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That noise. Sort of like wailing.’

  ‘Oh, you mean the wind outside. Yes, it’s really picking up, isn’t it? Always seems to whistle round the church, it’s so draughty in here.’

  Melissa dropped the subject. It was obvious that Colin hadn’t heard anything out of the ordinary. Instead she bent to study Sibell’s grave. The plaque was beautifully executed, obviously the work of a true craftsman, and Melissa marvelled at the detail. Sibell’s dainty hands were clasped together over her chest in pious prayer. Her gown had been depicted falling in graceful folds to her feet, which peeped out from underneath the hem. Long tresses of wavy hair cascaded down to the narrow waist.

  Finally, her eyes came to rest on Sibell’s features and she frowned. ‘Can you shine the light on her face please, Colin?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Melissa reached out and traced the portrait of Sibell with reverent fingers – a small, straight nose with a slight tilt at the end, high cheekbones, finely sculpted brow, a generous mouth and a chin with a small indentation in the middle and … With a gasp, Melissa put up a finger to the dimple in her own chin.

  ‘I say, she looks an awful lot like you, don’t you think?’ Colin cleared his throat when he caught sight of Melissa’s expression. ‘Well, in this light anyway, but that’s not to say …’ He stopped again and coughed.

  There was no denying it, however. Looking at Sibell was like staring into a dull mirror, one that needed polishing badly, but which still showed your features clearly. Melissa stood up and took a step backwards. She tried to gather her thoughts, to stop herself from panicking. Averting her gaze from the brass itself, she concentrated on the surrounding area instead.

  Carved into the stone floor around the edge of the grave was a Latin inscription, and Melissa be
gan to read aloud. ‘Hic iacet Sibella …’

  ‘Here rests Sibell, much mourned by those who loved her,’ Colin put the words into English. ‘Yes, I’ve read it many times, but it says nothing about her being a wife. It’s puzzled me that, I must admit. I thought perhaps her husband didn’t like her.’

  ‘I don’t think she was married.’ The sadness returned in full force, almost knocking Melissa off her feet. When she closed her eyes to the dull ache which had begun to throb inside her head, she heard chanting and the sounds of grief. Her eyes flew immediately to Colin’s, but he didn’t appear to have noticed anything this time, either.

  She looked at the end of the inscription, where a date had been added. ‘MCDLXI,’ she murmured. ‘So you did die in 1461, how sad.’

  Colin put a hand on her arm. ‘Come, there’s something else I want to show you.’ Impatient once more, he pulled her up and dragged her over towards the other side of the church, slamming the little gate shut behind them. The torch illuminated a carved inscription on the wall. ‘Have a look at this,’ he commanded.

  ‘Meriel, beloved wife of Guy de Manton,’ Melissa read. ‘Oh, Colin, do you think …?’

  ‘Yes, exactly. This must be her daughter. You said her name was Meriel, not precisely a common name, and the dates fit. I haven’t come across anyone else called that so far. But she’s over here, next to the Presseille graves and not with her mother. Why should that be? Was that Roger bloke a member of that family?’

  ‘Presseille? How odd, I’ve just been researching that name for a, umm, client. It seems to be cropping up all over the place. A Gilbert Presseille was executor of Sibell’s will, too. Hmm, Roger Presseille.’ She tried the name out and as it echoed round the walls of the little church, a sudden tremor shot through her. ‘Yeees, it’s possible. Perhaps he was already married when he and Sibell were lovers. Then when his wife died he could have acknowledged Meriel as his?’

  ‘Yup. That would explain it, especially if Sibell was already dead by then as well.’