Knight of Runes

by Ruth A. Casie

  Pulling the car out onto the Strand, she made her way to the M4. Once she got past the city, she reveled in the energy she felt, the power around her and the English countryside in front of her. The pastures were green and open with sheep grazing and enjoying the day. Much like her, they didn’t seem to be in any hurry.

  Her mind wandered and she thought about her connection to Emily Parsons. She still didn’t have a clear picture of their relationship. All would be resolved in time, she supposed. For now, she was content to listen to jazz and follow the navigation.

  After several short sightseeing stops, she drove into Oxford and parked by the White Horse on Broad Street.

  “Ian, hello.” She walked up to a trim, well-dressed man waiting outside. He hadn’t changed since the last time she saw him. Five, six, no, eight years ago.

  He rushed over to meet her, his smile broadening with each step. His blond hair was brushed straight back, and his deep-set brown eyes brightened as he got closer to her.

  “Ah, Rebeka, you made good time.”

  She gave him a token embrace.

  “You were vague in your email. What brings you to England?”

  “I’m doing some work for the National Trust, researching the Parsons family associated with Fayne Manor.” She didn’t tell him about her family connection. She didn’t know what it was herself. “I’m finishing up Lady Parsons’ research. When the Trust sent me the list of contributing resources I was glad to see your name.”

  “I wasn’t aware the National Trust was still investigating Fayne Manor.” He put his arm around her waist and drew her close. Just like old times. He maneuvered her into the pub.

  She looked at him, drawing her brows together. “Why are you so surprised?”

  “Fayne Manor is a small inconsequential farm. Of what interest could it be? Emily Parsons contacted me for some information several years ago. There’s no history of the Parsons other than their birth, marriage and death records. I did a cursory search but found nothing. I couldn’t even substantiate the title.”

  “Strange,” she said more to herself than to him. She got a much different feeling from George Hughes. Ian led her to a small table by the window and ordered tea. “How did you corroborate your findings?”

  Ian stared at her blankly.

  “Ian, you did corroborate your findings didn’t you?”

  “Yes, Rebeka, of course I did. I made some cursory inquiries and found no mention of the Parsons until after the early 1600s. It appears the records are not complete. Nothing was in the Doomsday Book either. I sent the lady a nice note letting her know I couldn’t find any information. She was ninety-something years old. I certainly didn’t tell the old girl her title was a fabrication.”

  The dismissive wave of his hand and chuckle was irritating. Rebeka didn’t laugh. She remembered him being an eager and thorough researcher, with a drive similar to hers. It’s what had drawn her to him.

  “One of my students looked through Debrett’s Peerage and Baronetage. He found no entry.”

  “And you didn’t review his findings? The first printing of Debrett’s was in the late 1700s. The family could have been overlooked.” She sat back in her chair and stared at him like an angry schoolteacher. He squirmed like a naughty boy.

  “Okay, I should have corroborated but I didn’t see any reason. It made sense to me. I’d never heard of Fayne Manor until we got the old girl’s inquiry.”

  She said nothing, merely stared at him over her cup as she sipped her tea.

  “All right,” he said, holding up his hand. “I give up. I’ll see what I can find but I’m not guaranteeing anything. I’ll ask Scott Rieman. He’s the resident expert on local folklore. Maybe he’ll find something.”

  “Thanks. I’d appreciate it.” She momentarily covered his hand with hers, easing the confrontation. What had she seen in him? They dated for six months. Where was the chemistry? She was at a loss.

  They moved on to other topics, some academic but they spent most of the time catching up on mutual friends. Their visit finished, they said their goodbyes outside the pub.

  “It was good seeing you.”

  She gave him a hug and felt his lingering kiss on her cheek. He snaked his arm around her and drew her close. She pulled away, feeling his hesitancy in letting her go.

  “I’ll send you what I find.”

  “Thanks, Ian, I knew you would help.” She gave him a squeeze.

  At noon, she stopped at Autumn Chase, the estate adjacent to Fayne Manor. It was a well-known five-star inn. Mr. Hughes marked it as a good place to stop for lunch. Decorated with the strong English and Scottish influences of the Jacobean and Caroline eras, the inn was warm and cordial.

  She read the notes George Hughes provided about the inn as she enjoyed a light salad, chilled wine and fresh fruit. His notes mentioned the family’s close ties to Fayne Manor through marriage.

  She left Autumn Chase in plenty of time to get to Fayne Manor and look through the library before her appointment with Mr. Hughes.

  The last leg of the trip took her off the main road meandering through a forest. She slowed down to enjoy the scenery. The play of light through the trees along with the rich smell of the forest soothed and relaxed her.

  The road followed the long gentle roll of the hill and rounded a bend. Expecting to see more trees, Rebeka was surprised to find an elevated meadow with a regal oak on the horizon. It was breathtaking. As she drove up the rise, the rest of the meadow came into sight behind the huge tree. She stopped the car. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as bits and pieces of her nightmare swam past her.

  She checked Hughes’ notes. Oak Meadow, Private Property and Part of the Fayne Manor National Trust was clearly marked. She took her foot off the brake and slowly moved on looking for a more convenient place to stop. She pulled onto a wide shoulder and turned the car off. Not moving her hands, she rested her head on the steering wheel, waiting for the butterflies in her stomach to quiet down.

  A cold chill ran up her back. She got out of the car and, with guarded steps, walked to the edge of the meadow. Her body was rigid as she fought to stay calm. Now was not the time to lose control.

  She shook herself, sending the tension scattering. This was not a nightmare. There was nothing to fear. Annoyed with herself, she turned and stared at the signpost. Her hands fisted so tightly that her nails bit into her palms. Had she been here before? Was that why she had dreamed about it? It would explain a great deal if that was the case. She stomped down the foot path to the signpost and ran her hands over the rough surface, relieved to feel the solidness of the stone. Vines obscured the badly worn engraving. To get a better look at it, she carefully pulled away the vegetation. She took out her camera and snapped pictures of the signpost and, as an afterthought, the meadow, the oak and a beautiful weeping willow to the east. Always the researcher, she hurried back to the car and got her supplies. She wanted to make a stone rubbing.

  Using almost all the water from the bottle in her pouch, she cleaned the debris off the stone, taking special care with the engraving. When the stone was ready, she taped the tracing paper in place and, starting at the bottom, worked her way up. As she rubbed the crayon over the stone and paper, the engraving began to materialize, “Fayne Manor.”

  She finished and checked her watch. She couldn’t believe the time. It was three o’clock.

  She hurried back to the car, opening the trunk remotely with the key fob. She quickly stowed the rubbing and tools. Her back toward the meadow, she straightened at the sensation of being watched. She turned cautiously, for a brief moment afraid of what she would see. Finding nothing out of place, she laughed and shook her head at the ridiculousness of her imagination. She got in the car and sped off toward her appointment. As she turned the bend her eyes caught a glimpse of a shadow in the rearview mirror. A lone figure, emerging from under the oak’s branches. When she looked again, it was gone.

  Chapter Three

  She drove across the Stone
River Bridge, uncertainty clouding her mind. Perhaps this isn’t such a good idea. She stopped the car in the middle of the road and grasped the wheel tightly, her knuckles turning white. Looking at them as if they were alien, she peeled her sweaty hands off the wheel and ran them down her skirt. Why didn’t I question my father more about Mother, about the family? We spoke about everything else, school, boys and sex, everything, just not family.

  She grabbed the wheel and pressed her foot on the accelerator. The wheels spun, kicking up a spray of loose stones before biting into the roadway and sending the car leaping forward.

  Massive gnarled oak trees lined the wide, mile-long drive that led to the Manor. The lush canopy overhead reminded her of something ancient and mystical. The earthy aroma and the warm breeze added to her delight and set her adrenaline pumping and her heart racing with anticipation.

  The drive meandered through the trees and she was beginning to wonder if she’d taken a wrong turn when she came to an open area on the crest of a hill. She slammed on the brakes, skidding to a stop, and scanned the secluded valley with its sweeping manicured park. The gatehouse and the Manor with its single high tower and surrounding wall sat magnificently atop the rise at the far end of the valley. The rosy sand-toned buildings were a welcome beacon amidst the verdant backdrop. Fingers of excitement worked up her spine as she took in the view. “To hearth and home,” slipped out of her lips in a whisper. She continued down the road.

  She drove through the stone gateway, to the back of the Manor and pulled into a parking spot where a sign read Reserved for R. H. Tyler. If this is English efficiency, I love it. There were several buildings inside the Manor wall but the house dominated the area. It was much more than she expected.

  From where she parked she could see the back of the Manor with its deep sweeping marble patio that ran the width of the house. It ended at a short set of wide terraced steps leading into two gardens. A gentle breeze swept over the smaller informal garden behind the kitchen. The hint of lavender, sage and sweet marjoram filled the air. The Manor herb garden, she guessed. There was a small house—the gardener’s?—and then the second, much larger formal garden with hedges, trees and various flower beds. She passed the outbuildings, a stable, garage and cottage and went around to the front.

  It was large and impressive. Her academic eye glanced quickly over the building, taking in the original square that was the south wing, with two large arched windows on the lower level and four square windows on the second. This side of the house included a single tower overlooking the Manor and grounds. She imagined the view from the tower window must be wonderful. As was common with manor houses, an addition, in this case mirror image, created the north wing. There was a large raised porch in front of the entryway set between the two wings. The two large doors were thrown open, welcoming visitors. She took another look at the façade and basked in the knowledge that she was connected to this family and this place. Every nerve tingled with excitement. The drive through the forest, even the stop at Oak Meadow, made her feel alive and eager for answers about her people.

  With her notes in hand she entered as the hallway clock struck three-thirty. A middle-aged man with sandy hair and gray eyes greeted her. “Good day, miss. May I help you?”

  “Hi. I am here to see George Hughes. Do you know where I can find him?”

  “You must be Dr. Tyler. This way please. Mr. Hughes is waiting for you in the estate office in the private area of the Manor.”

  As they moved down the wide hall, she took note of the overall simplicity and elegance of the house. She took a deep breath and got a waft of the delicate fragrance of lavender and oil as a young woman finished polishing the hall furniture. “Dr. Tyler, I understand this is your first visit to Fayne Manor.”

  “Yes, it is. I have to admit I was not expecting such…well I thought I would find a simple farmhouse. I suppose the National Trust has moved things here from other homes to dress it up.”

  “Well, yes, it is a farmhouse of sorts and no, everything in the Manor belongs to the family. Ah, here we are.” Charles rapped softly and opened the door to the estate office.

  “Dr. Tyler, sir.”

  “Thank you, Charles.”

  “Hello, Mr. Hughes.” She was on her turf here, meeting an attorney. Her confidence level was high. She walked into the office, her arm extended, and beamed with enthusiasm.

  George Hughes sat behind the large accounting desk looking much as she anticipated. Her friends, the Alexanders, had given her some clues. She agreed with Grace’s assessment of his welcoming smile.

  “Hello, Dr. Tyler.” George came around the desk to shake her hand. “I hope you enjoyed your drive in from London.”

  “Yes, I did.” He had a strong handshake and a sincere look in his eyes that put her at ease. She liked him immediately. “It was most enjoyable, thank you. And thank you for noting the family places. It was a great idea and wonderful way to see the sites.”

  “I am glad you enjoyed it. Why don’t I show you around the Manor before the late-afternoon tour coaches begin to arrive. Besides I suspect it would be good to walk about after such a long journey.”

  Was it so obvious she wanted to look around? “Perfect. I’m glad you asked.”

  “We may not get to see everything but we can make a start of it.” He led her down the hall back to the front foyer. “The staff are excited you will be staying with them. They’re eager to meet you. There are several docents, National Trust people, as well as two full-time personal staff, Helen the cook and housekeeper and her husband Charles, the butler and driver. You met him at the door. Both were with Lady Emily for a long time. She made provisions for them in her will. They are to stay on as long as they want, Dr. Tyler. I hope you will be comfortable with the arrangement.”

  “Of course, and please, call me Rebeka.”

  He gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. “Then you must call me George. Let’s start at the beginning, Dr. Ty—Rebeka. As I mentioned in our correspondence, the house is open to the public. The National Trust decided to provide visitors with the experience of the evolution of the Manor from its beginnings as a modest farm in the 9th century up to the turn of the last one. Visitors see Fayne Manor functioning as it did through each period as they walk through the rooms, grounds and other buildings. Our docents are also dressed in the corresponding period.”

  “If the house and family go back eleven hundred years why are there no records anywhere, not the Doomsday Book or any of the peerage resources?”

  “I see you’ve already started your research.” He gave her a satisfied smile. “Actually, it was the lack of information that started Lady Emily on her quest. She decided to gift the Manor and lands to the National Trust. We had a devil of a time locating the old documents. In her search, Emily found several old estate books and journals dating back four hundred to four hundred twenty-five years which gave a portion of the explanation. She played the sleuth and began to hunt down each lead.”

  “And that’s how you found me?”

  “More or less. The information was in the books. She put most of the pieces together but passed on before finishing the puzzle. We finished it for her. The books and her notes have been under lock and key at our London vault since Lady Emily’s passing. I took the liberty of making arrangements for them to be delivered to you tomorrow.”

  They stopped and were standing in the main foyer. As they spoke, her eyes moved over the solid oak woodwork and carefully recreated wallpaper. She ran her hand over the fine carvings, appreciating the intricate work.

  “Rebeka.” He gently covered her roaming hand with his and got her undivided attention. His tone was quiet, almost conspiratorial. “The books are very special. They are filled with…” He searched for the right word. “They are filled with secrets.”

  “Secrets? And do we have ghosts too?” She thought him mysterious and charming. But the look in his eyes told her he wasn’t joking. Perhaps that was the marketing spin for the tourists. She made
a mental note to look at the tour brochure.

  “Well, more tomorrow.” He removed his hand. The moment gone, he took a more relaxed stance. “Here we are in the main foyer where all guests are greeted. There are two areas to the house, the original house, the south wing, dating back to the 13th century when the house was first built and the new addition, the north wing, completed about 1845.” He held up his hand to stall her question. “Yes, the staff still refers to it as the new wing. The first floor houses the ballroom, dining room, billiard room and sitting room. The south wing contains the Great Hall, estate office and library. The kitchen, laundry and other functional rooms are behind the south wing. Let me show you the Great Hall. The south wing is appointed as it would have been in the 1600s.” They entered the Great Hall through the wide double doors which stood open. The two large arched windows at the front of the room faced west. Streams of bright sunshine filtered through the small prism panes and created a variety of soft colors on the oak plank floor.

  Elegant tapestries covered the walls. Some showed hunting scenes but the garden tapestries with their rich colors and petit point detail caught Rebeka’s eye. She took a sweeping look at the room. It was large with benches and trestle tables around the outside perimeter. The dais at the far end stood proudly on a platform next to the hearth and chimney. There were four beautiful nine-foot arch-topped windows on the southern wall. An impressive sideboard stood on the remaining wall. George went on to talk about the architecture. She would have found it all fascinating but she was getting eager to see the documents.

  They went up the grand staircase to the second floor and stood on the landing.

  “In front of us is the Grand Gallery, repositioned with renovations over time. Basically, the gallery connects the upper south and north wings. The south wing has the original lord’s living suite, two bedrooms with a solar between…” George spoke as he led Rebeka down the hall of the south wing past private rooms and the tower stairs then back up the hall.