Chapter 15

Legacy

“That’s great!” Rick exclaimed, then he shrugged. “But how does it help?”

“You were there, Rick. You heard what Rachel said. Mallery was painted by an artist who used the initial B in a diamond shaped device. It has to be Benedetto!”

“I agree it sounds very promising and the date matches. But how does it help? How does it link to Margaret de Lacey?”

“Mallery. He is the link.” Conrad stared at them. They looked tired, beyond the act of thinking. He sighed. “Okay. In simple terms. Mallery was painted by this Italian chap. Mallery knew Margaret. Ergo, Mallery is the link.”

Alanda nodded. “Yes, Conrad. We’re not stupid. We figured as far as that on our own. However, how does it link to Margaret? What’s the connection between this Italian painter and Margaret’s death?” She shrugged. “We’re trying our best here to do as we’ve been taught – not to jump to conclusions.”

“Let’s go over it logically, shall we?” Rick suggested.

“Logic sometimes doesn’t apply in the paranormal,” Conrad protested. “How can it? Ghosts are not logical!”

“I have a suggestion,” Charles offered. “Let’s not go over it logically until the morning. My brain is currently unable to process anything, logical or not. It’s drowning in fatigue. It wants timeout.”

Conrad gave a sigh but surrendered to the sense. “All right. I’m pretty much dead on my feet too. Let’s call it a day and get some sleep, but I want a reasonably early start tomorrow. Let’s say – ”

“Let’s say eight thirty,” Alanda cut in.

“And maybe our subconscious will be able to figure out a link while we rest,” Rick added, dragging himself to his feet. “If it doesn’t .. well, at least we’ll be better able to cope with logic.”

“Even if it doesn’t apply,” Conrad persisted as they left the kitchen.

“At the time, Conrad, there was nothing paranormal to interfere with logic,” Rick argued. “It was a straightforward, linear progression, A to B to C. Thus far, we’re missing B.” He caught Conrad’s expression and he laughed. “Oh, don’t look like that! You recruited me to be the .. calm, practical one on the team. I’m just doing my job.”

“Reining back the natural enthusiasm.”

“Promoting sense.”

“Enough already!” Alanda exclaimed. “It’s late, we’re tired, we don’t need to fight. Okay?”

“Yes, of course.”

“G’night,” Rick grinned. “The missing B.”

“Goodnight, Rick,” Conrad responded.

“He’s right you know,” Charles said softly.

“I know,” Conrad sighed.

*****

Philip woke from a doze and blinked hard then forced his eyes open. He was propped against a mound of soft pillows, warm and cozy, and fit for a good night’s sleep but his guilt about potential failure kept nudging him awake. The rain outside was hammering against the windows in a maddeningly hypnotic rhythm which really didn’t help. Apart from the rain and the occasional soft sigh from the trees outside, the gatehouse was silent.

I could use someone to talk to, he thought. No. Someone to listen. Someone .. who can keep me on track but doesn’t care if what I say makes no sense. Right now, I feel like I’m the only person awake in the whole world.

“I don’t suppose you’re around, are you, Aquila?” he asked hopefully. Though why would you be? In my bedroom in the small hours of the night –

“I’m here.”

“You weren’t here .. were you?”

“I was on the roof. I heard you call. I came.” She paused, watching him. “My sense of hearing is acute. So .. how may I assist? Do you wish me to read the journal?”

“And duplicate effort?”

“To provide a fresh perspective. You have read it once, yes? You are duplicating effort by reading it again. Plus, in addition to duplicating earlier data acquisition, you are doing it with a tired mind and fatigued eyes. Therefore, results are likely to be dubious at best. Fatigue is not the best partner when searching for vital clues. You would be better served by getting some sleep. Repeat the exercise when you wake refreshed and better able to cope with the task. In the interim, I will read the journal and add my perspective to the mix.” Aquila saw the hope wrestling with the guilt on his face. “My eye is dispassionate, Father. I read only what is there, not the emotion powering the words.”

Philip sighed. “Maybe that’s what it needs – a dispassionate eye. And God knows I can hardly keep my eyes open. Wake me in a few hours, will you? If only to tell me what I missed.”

“I will wake you at five thirty. You will need at least that long.”

“So be it then. Good luck.” He settled back. “Do you need the light?”

“No. An Enforcer who cannot see as well in the dark as in the light .. isn’t worthy of the name.” She smiled. “Goodnight, Father.”

Philip switched off the lamp and, in only a handful of seconds, had slipped into a profound sleep. Aquila took the journal and sat in the armchair by the window. She opened the volume and began at the start, January 1^st. The page turned. Then the next, and the next. The good thing about reading only words was that it could be done quickly. She never got into the details of people’s lives. She had no interest in the reason behind the recording, only in what was recorded. It meant she couldn’t get diverted, and that meant she didn’t skip anything. She was into February inside fifteen minutes.

*****

Derek woke at a little past three. He heard the rain spattering on his window, and he heard another, totally alien sound. His cell phone was beeping. He sat up and switched on the lamp, blinking in the sudden wash of light, and stretched a hand for his phone on the nightstand. As his fingers closed over it, it stopped.

“Damn,” he muttered and looked to see who had been calling at such an early hour. At first, he didn’t recognize the number but then he did and he promptly called back, his heart picking up.

“Derek? Did I wake you? I must have. I’m sorry.”

“Alex, it’s quite all right. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Oh, you didn’t think that was why I was calling, did you? No, we are all fine. Andrew says everything’s fine on the island.”

“I see. Then .. why are you calling me at three in the morning?”

He heard Alex laugh softly and apologetically. “It’s only six in the evening here. Zack was having a nap an’ I have gotten into the habit of taking a nap when he does. If I didn’t, I’d be a candidate for the walking dead. Anyway, this afternoon when I slept, I had a dream. There was this man, very agitated, pacing up and down, and desperate to .. get a message to someone. It means absolutely nothing to me but .. maybe .. it’ll make sense to you. He had a very thick accent an’ not much English. He kept saying he was sorry, it wasn’t his fault, how could it be? He didn’t know. It was just a sketch.”

“A sketch.”

“Yes,” Alex confirmed. “I had to translate half of it.”

“From Italian?” he ventured.

“Yes, that’s right.” She paused. “I guess it does make sense to you.”

“It does. How it fits in .. that I don’t know, not yet. Did he give you his name?”

“No,” Alex said. “But, from his dress, I’d have to say .. late Renaissance. Maybe seventeenth century.”

“Thank you. It’s very helpful.”

“I’m sorry to have woken you. I’ll let you get back to sleep.” She didn’t end the call though. “How’s it all going?”

“Good early progress which has since run into a brick wall. You may have helped dislodge a few bricks.”

“That’s something then. G’night, Derek.”

“My love to Zack. Goodnight, Alex.” He ended the call and made a quick note on the pad on the nightstand. Then he switched off the light again and went back to sleep.

*****

Aquila straightened slightly when she read the events of May. Lord Darnsley had arrived and it had caused great excitement in Caldicott House. His name was noted only once and, after that, he was referred to only as PD. Soon after, the first recording of B occurred and then Blessed. May became June. Blessed in the park. Blessed in the stables. Blessed mess everywhere. Blessed unholy argument. PD is leaving but not taking his rubbish with him. A ball was held to say farewell to PD, very lively, full of music and dancing. It’ll damage the family budget. Blessed not there, not till later. Very taken with GM.

GM … Who is GM? Aquila shook her head and read on. June became July.

Blessed painting. Very good likeness. He’s given it to Charles who has decided to hang it somewhere. Martha is impressed by it but she is easily impressed. Blessed trip to village. Gone all day, good riddance. Eating us out of house and home, giving nothing back.

The best news! PD has sent for him. B is leaving. Now things can go back to normal around here. Two days later, B was gone. It was the third week in July. Aquila carried on reading just for the hell of it, to see if there was any mention of other strangers staying or simply visiting Caldicott House. There weren’t. There was not even a mention of a witch being burned to death.

Aquila checked the time. Philip had over an hour of sleep remaining so she returned to those weeks between May and July to read them again, more slowly this time – not for the emotion behind them but for the words themselves. Two days after PD had arrived, Dorothea noted it down. One sentence. B is Italian and I have not the patience to write it in Italian, therefore he shall be Blessed.

Blessed. Italian. Benedetto.

*****

Dawn broke and Philip was pondering what Aquila had told him. She pointed out the sentence, showed him the section he had to read again to corroborate her research.

“He went into the village for the day. He could’ve seen Margaret. She didn’t hide herself away.” He nodded to himself. “And GM? Who is GM?”

“I do not know. But it is possible that it is Mallery’s assumed name. We will have to ask him.”

“Yes. Well .. thank you. We’re closer to the truth now.”

“You’re welcome.”

Philip glanced round to find she’d gone. Sighing, he re-read the marked section, wondering how he could have missed so much. Easy, his now refreshed mind told him. You got into the details of the servants’ lives. You read the emotion, not the words. Now, if Dorothea had written it in Latin, you wouldn’t have made that mistake. Latin takes the passion out.

He showered and dressed and went to the kitchen to start coffee brewing. Staring out the small kitchen windows at the rain, he saw it showed no signs of diminishing. It seemed summer was over and fall had arrived.

“Good morning,” Derek said, making Philip jump. “I’m sorry. Did I disturb you?”

“No, not really. I was just thinking about the rain. I hope it stops in time for the funeral.” He slowly shook his head. “Funerals are never happy occasions but, when it rains, it feels like there’s no hope left in the world. Everything is gray and bowed down with grief. Sunshine at least spreads a little … ” Philip trailed into silence and shrugged.

“Optimism?” Derek suggested.

“For the future, yes. It gives faith a lift. At the time, though, it makes life seem less gray.” He straightened. “I made some progress, thanks to Aquila. Credit where it’s due. B is Benedetto. He visited Caldicott House during May thru July of the year in question. An artist who traveled with Lord Darnsley. Dorothea noted that he went to the village one day and stayed there all day, no doubt to experience the joys and delights of rustic England. He may have seen Margaret.”

“But he didn’t know who she was,” Derek said.

“Why would he?”

“No, he didn’t know who she was. Alex called me earlier. A lot earlier. Around three this morning. She had a dream. Of course, she had no idea who the man was or why he was talking to her in Italian. But she passed on the message.”

“And that was?”

“He was sorry. It was not his fault, how could it be? He didn’t know. It was just a sketch.”

“Ah … ” Philip nodded slowly. “It starts to make sense.”

“He made a sketch of Margaret and, at some point in time after leaving Caldicott House, the sketch was shown to someone who did know who it was, and that information was passed directly or indirectly to the murderers. Yes,” Derek agreed, “it starts to make sense. We are one step closer. But we’re not there yet.”

Merlin strolled in, looking for coffee to go with her breakfast cigarette. “I take it progress has been made?”

“It has. Slow but steady,” Derek replied, pouring coffee into a mug for her.

“Could you ask Aquila to go to Mallery? We need to know who GM is,” Philip asked.

“Sure.”

“And, while she’s there, ask her to ask Margaret if she noticed someone sketching her portrait,” Derek added.

“Okay,” Merlin agreed. “You want her to go now?”

“Unless she has other plans.”

“You know she doesn’t,” Merlin smiled.

*****

The Luna Foundation team was just finishing a leisurely breakfast when Conrad escorted his people in. Rachel and Merlin cleared the dishes and everyone sat around the fire with fresh coffee and earnest expressions.

“Derek, logically, we’re missing B,” Conrad began.

“B is Benedetto, an Italian artist who traveled back with Lord Darnsley and stayed at the big house for several weeks in May, June and July.”

“Yes, I know that – ”

“You do? How?” Derek frowned.

“Tom Jolly. He called me late yesterday evening. He’d been to visit Barbara Cooper, a retired schoolteacher with a passion for local history. He got all the information from her. Lord Darnsley’s visit is a village claim to fame, memorable because it occurred in the same year as another claim to fame – the burning of the witch,” Conrad said, rattling off the facts in a brisk voice. “However, as Rick has so pointedly reinforced, logic says that, at the time, there was no paranormal activity taking place so it is a simple linear progression of events. A to B to C. We are missing B. Perhaps, if we all put our heads together, we may be able to figure it out.”

“I think we can supply the missing B,” Derek responded.

“Oh .. this is too irritating for words!” Conrad exclaimed, flushing scarlet.

“What is?” Rachel inquired, intrigued by his reaction.

“You said you wouldn’t go behind our backs again. No more working on your own. And now this!”

“We haven’t. At the time,” Derek explained, “there was no paranormal activity involved, that is true. However, since then, there has been a lot. Not just Margaret or Mallery, but a whole host of others are not resting peacefully. The ripples are still spreading. Alex called me, Conrad, at three o’clock this morning to tell me of a dream she’d had. An Italian man, anxious, agitated. Distressed, even. She does not know his name, he didn’t give it, but he spoke to her in a garbled mix of Italian and English. Alex described him as late Renaissance or seventeenth century. The message he gave her translates as I am sorry, it was not my fault, I didn’t know, how could I know? It was just a sketch.” He shrugged tautly. “We have done nothing behind your back, Conrad, but the ripples touch whoever is receptive. In this case, it was Alex. It made no sense to her so she called me.”

“Way to go, Alex,” Nick grinned.

“As you know,” Philip continued, “I’ve been reading Dorothea’s journal. She names Lord Darnsley, thereafter referred to as PD. She also made several mentions of B and Blessed, stating that he was Italian and she didn’t have the patience to write his name in Italian so she would called him Blessed. Going thru the entries again, I learned that Benedetto spent one whole day in the village. We know from Margaret herself that she didn’t hide away during the months she lived there so it is entirely possible that Benedetto saw her and made a sketch. He didn’t know who she was.”

“But he showed the sketch in all innocence to someone who did,” Rick said. “The missing B.”

“Which makes C the next problem,” Alanda added. “If A is Benedetto and the sketch of Margaret de Lacey, B is the showing of the sketch to someone else, C has to be who told the de Laceys where they could find their daughter, and D is the murder. We have to answer C.”

“Then it’s down to research on Lord Phillip Darnsley. Benedetto was apart from him for only a few weeks,” Conrad declared. “Darnsley lived in a house called Marchbank in Herefordshire. Benedetto would have traveled a more or less direct route between here and Marchbank. Let’s see if we can put names to places. Darnsley wouldn’t have let his prized artist just wander the countryside, he would have made arrangements for Benedetto to stay either in houses or in .. inns along the way. Alanda, you look into Darnsley, see if you can find out what arrangements were made. Rick, you work the other angle. See if you can follow Benedetto’s path. The rest of us will go over historical maps. Find where the families were living and if Benedetto’s route coincides. Derek, may we borrow your laptops?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll set ’em up,” Nick offered. “Charles, wanna help?”

“Sure.”

*****

Aquila asked Margaret and William to meet with her outside the church. “It isn’t that I don’t like churches; I do. I find them .. inspiring and a reminder of my calling. It’s just … ” She shrugged.

“The light blinds us.”

“Exactly. There has been a development. I need you to think back to the summer you were both in King’s Barton. William, do the initials GM mean anything to you?”

He smiled. “Yes, of course. George Mason. It was the name I used in polite society.”

“And did you pose for a portrait?”

“I did! Some Italian painter did it. He was very keen. Me, slightly less so, but I thought why not?”

“Margaret, do you recall a man in the village sketching? It would have been on one day only.”

“The same man as painted me?” Mallery frowned.

“We believe so. His name was Benedetto.”

Mallery looked away. “I recall him now. Little man. Slight. Black hair and eyes. A scar on his chin.”

“Oh! Yes!” Margaret exclaimed. “Yes, I saw him. He sat on the green, drawing everything around him. No one would talk with him. I thought it sad.”

“Did you talk with him?” Aquila asked.

“No. But I watched him working. He seemed to be in his own little world.”

“Nothing mattered to him when he was working,” Mallery agreed. “I spoke to him but he ignored me.” He smiled quickly. “I wove such a fiction, it would have made you laugh to hear it. The more he ignored me, the greater the lies.”

Aquila raised an eyebrow. “Would one of them be of a treasure horde?”

“It may have been.”

“Hmm. So is the legend truth or fiction?”

He said nothing, merely smiled at her.

Aquila thought for a moment. “It is recorded that he didn’t speak much English. However, he may have understood much more English than he could speak. At a subliminal level, possibly. An emotional level. Italians are emotional.” It was a factual admission, spoken flatly but without judgment. “This fiction you devised .. did it include Margaret? Even in a veiled way?”

Mallery swallowed. “It … Yes.”

Margaret swiveled to stare at him.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Ah, don’t look at me like that. I can’t bear the disappointment in your eyes. I’m only human. I make mistakes.”

“But … I said nothing of you to anyone. You swore me to secrecy, William. I kept that vow to my death.”

“I didn’t say your name, I swear it! I spoke of a woman, that’s all. A woman I loved. Beautiful and gentle, above me in so many ways. I didn’t deserve her but she was good for me. Made me a better man. Gave me hope. I know it was you but he didn’t. How could he have?”

“I didn’t know, how could I have ..?” Aquila breathed.

“What?”
“Nothing,” she muttered.

Mallery grabbed her arm. “Tell me. The truth now! Am I responsible for Margaret’s death? Have I been waiting all these years just to accuse myself?”

Aquila twitched her arm away. “The truth? No. Margaret died by fire. You did not throw the torch onto the thatch. But you must bear some of the fault. Your fiction, name or no name, sparked .. some kind of fantasy in the painter’s mind.”

“You don’t know that,” Margaret defended, loyal to the last.

“You’re right, I don’t. But .. I can maybe put myself in Benedetto’s head. An Italian, passionate by nature towards women and men. An artist, creative by nature. Alone in a strange and exciting new land. Indulging in his work, listening to some grand love story, what wouldn’t spark a vision? Possibly, he began to imagine a masterpiece. A Venus in rural England. All he needed was a model. And then he found one. Totally by chance in the last place he might have thought. And he sketched her as she stood watching him. When he left, he took the story, the .. fuel for his masterpiece, and the sketch. But he didn’t know you, how could he have? He showed the sketch to others after he left the village. He would have expounded on the love story, embellished it, building on the vision so he could more perfectly picture the masterpiece he would paint. And someone, in amongst all those who admired the sketch and heard the story, recognized Margaret de Lacey, the runaway bride, who chose a life of scandal instead of an honorable if loveless marriage. Thus was set in motion the chain of events which ended in death.”

Mallery shook his head. “I never could keep quiet.”

“Then make amends,” Aquila replied.

“And how would I be doing that? After so many years?”

“I am not a native of this land. My home is thousands of miles away and I am rooted in the present time. My world is one of trains, planes and automobiles. Yours, however, is not. You rode the countryside. You are familiar with a world alien to me. Use your knowledge. Tell me of the rich and famous between here and Herefordshire.”

“Why?” he frowned. “What part would they play?”

“They would have allowed an Italian artist to stay with them. In one of those places, somebody decided to betray Margaret. You could help by identifying them.”

*****

Rachel rose promptly. “I have an appointment in the village.”

“Oh?” Conrad queried.

“The bones?” she reminded him. “I think Tom’s preparing a funeral.”

“Oh! Right. Well .. we should all attend. Change of clothes, I think. Can’t have Margaret placed in her eternal rest with me in jeans. Come along, everyone. Timeout for a couple of hours. Back at it this afternoon.”

Everyone hurried either out or to their various rooms to hastily get changed. Nick hadn’t packed a suit but Merlin provided one for him. Philip wore his collar. Derek was always prepared and the women wore somber colors. Inside twenty five minutes, the small wooden chest was safely placed in one of the Range Rovers and the three vehicles set off for the church. Once there, Merlin provided Derek with a brief update.

“It makes sense,” he agreed, after hearing Aquila’s theory. “I can almost see it happening. In total innocence, he condemned her. It is no wonder Benedetto is restless.”

“If we crack this, he has to tell us about the treasure,” she murmured.

“That could be fiction too. It would have empowered his ego, hearing the rumor spread and by some Italian artist .. who probably embellished that as well. Conrad will be disappointed.”

“Well, as we’ve said from the get go, we were never here to go on a treasure hunt. Our task is to discover the truth, and, if the truth is that the treasure is purely a legend with no basis in fact, so be it. We can put it to bed. Case closed.”

“Conrad will still be disappointed.”

“No one ever said the truth was always happy, bright an’ cheerful.”

“True enough,” Derek agreed, turning as Tom Jolly approached.

“Are we ready?”

“I believe so.”

“And .. is everyone here?”

Merlin glanced round. Conrad, Alanda, Rick and Charles. Derek, Rachel, Philip and Nick. And, yes, over there by the trees, William, Aquila and Margaret.

“Everyone is here who needs to be here,” she confirmed.

“I’ve picked a pleasant spot,” Tom said. “Shaded so it won’t get too hot in the summer, and the worst of the rain will miss it. Is that the chest?”

Nick carefully lifted it and carried it to where Tom indicated; a small but deep hole in the lee of an oak.

“Friends,” Tom began, “we are gathered here today to say farewell to the earthly remains of Margaret de Lacey, a lady taken cruelly from this world before her time. We also bid farewell to the remains of her unborn child. God is our merciful heavenly Father, but we cannot know the full extent of His plans for us. Often, when we lose someone, we wail and cry unto Him, demanding to know why He has done this. Yet we can gain comfort in knowing there is always a reason, even if that reason is forever hidden. Margaret’s life was short but lived well. She loved and was loved. She was misjudged but God will know and punishment of the wrongdoers is assured, if not in this life then in the next.” He nodded to Rick and Charles who carefully lowered the chest into the ground. “And so we commit the bones of Margaret to the ground, within sight of God’s house and in God’s love, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life. Amen.”

Mallery kept a protective arm around his new bride even as tears burned his eyes. Margaret, however, was radiant.

Conrad stepped forward and crumbled some soil onto the chest. “I hope you can rest in peace now.”

“Soon, at any rate,” Rick added, tossing some earth into the hole.

“I am so sorry,” Alanda whispered. “People can be cruel.”

“We’ll find out who did it, I swear,” Charles promised.

“Pax vobiscum,” Philip said, “in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen.”

Nick murmured something, as did Rachel and Derek.

“We’ll find them an’ make ’em pay,” Merlin softly concluded. “Then you can rest.”

“Mountjoy,” Mallery said abruptly.

“Excuse me?” Aquila queried.

“Mountjoy. An old, big, stuffed shirt of an idiot. More money than sense. He had the biggest place between here and Herefordshire. Sir Vernon Mountjoy. Make a start with him.”

*****

Aquila passed it on to Merlin who couldn’t pass it on to anyone else because Tom had laid on a small wake at the vicarage. People stood around in awkward groups, talking in whispers.

“I have to say,” Tom began, raising his voice so it would carry, “it has to be the oddest funeral I’ve ever conducted. I mean .. she was there to watch. I hope I didn’t let her down.”

“No, you didn’t,” Merlin told him.

“I’ll never be able to .. view funerals the same way ever again. I’ll always wonder .. are they watching? It certainly keeps me on my toes. And, of course, while her bones are now where they should be, I know she isn’t at rest and that makes it a bit of a sham, really. I mean, funerals are supposed to provide some sort of closure. But this one hasn’t.” Tom sighed as he fiddled with a sausage roll. “Have you made any more progress?”

“A little,” Conrad replied. “You were a big help, Tom, with your information about the painter. That’s how word got out that Margaret was here.”

“Does anyone recognize the name Sir Vernon Mountjoy?” Merlin asked.

Silence and bemused stares greeted this. “Actually .. yes,” Alanda said. “He was a baron back in the day. He was distantly related to Egraine Somerford.” She blushed and shrugged. “My degree is in English history.”

“So .. who was this Egraine Somerford?” Rick asked.

“She married .. oh, William Beauchamp and her middle daughter was Eleanor who married Roger de Lacey. Margaret’s parents.”

“So .. this Mountjoy was Margaret’s .. cousin or something,” Conrad reasoned.

“Several times removed but, yes, something like that,” Alanda agreed.

Derek glanced at Conrad and they both blinked. “We’ve been looking at this the wrong way,” Conrad announced.

“We thought it would be the father.”

“It’s the mother!” Conrad exclaimed.

“Alanda, when we get back, can you look into … Did they do squires still during that period in history?”

“Maybe not in the medieval sense but boys might be sent to other houses to learn how to be barons, yes,” Alanda agreed. “Are you thinking maybe that Margaret’s brothers were sent to Mountjoy’s house as .. pages or squires?”

“They would recognize their sister. They would tell their mother. She might have been a more ferocious guardian of the family’s honor,” Derek responded.

“I’ll see what I can find,” she nodded briskly.

“Can I just sound a note of caution?” Rachel said. “We don’t know the mother was involved. Derek saw three men. Margaret had only two brothers. The third may be her father. We shouldn’t paint the woman black until we know more.”

“Could be the brothers acted on their own with a friend,” Nick suggested. “Then went home to tell what they’d done.”

“And one of them ended up a bishop,” Philip recalled darkly. “If he was involved, I hope his conscience kept him awake long nights for many, many years.”

“One of the men I saw was arguing against the murder,” Derek remarked. “It might have been him.”

“Well, Tom, thank you for the service and for this spread. Truly wonderful,” Conrad nodded, “but, as you can see, we do have a lot to be getting on with.”

“Can I help?” Tom asked wistfully. “My afternoon’s free.”

“Of course. Everyone back in the vehicles. Back to work!”

*****

“Could a mother do that?” Rick asked Rachel as they watched the others work.

“My gut instinct is to say no. I’m a mother, so’s Peri. Our instincts are to protect our children at all costs, even if it might mean turning on our partners. It is so natural that we don’t think twice. We don’t even think once, we just react. But, having said that … ” She slowly shook her head. “It was a different age with vastly different practices. Girls were married off to cement alliances, to gain land and manors. Girls barely outta puberty were .. sold to old men for privileges. In those days, it could have been possible for mothers not to care so deeply. I mean, noble ladies rarely nursed their own babies. Rarely even saw them. Where was the love, the nurturing bond between mother an’ child?”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “They were, basically, brood mares. Daughters, as you say, for giving away – which still is heard even today in the marriage service. The vicar asks ‘who gives this woman?’ Sons to continue the name. They were kept in a constant state of pregnancy. Is it any wonder so many died young and in childbirth?”

“You’d think they’d hate their husbands for doing it, an’ take more care of their children,” Rachel agreed. “After all, the mothers had been sold into marriage in just the same way. They didn’t marry for love, they were married for convenience. Yet .. the family name was paramount; they rallied round it like soldiers round the flag.”

“There might have been an element of envy,” Rick commented. “Even jealousy.”

Rachel glanced at him.

“Well .. if Eleanor had been pushed into a marriage she didn’t want an’ been forced to bear children, when Margaret ran away to avoid marriage and to be with a man she loved, her mother might have felt envious. Murder,” he continued, “is the result of a lot of dark passions. Rage, anger, envy, jealousy, hatred. Even love if it isn’t returned or if it’s sour.”

“Violent murder, yes, I agree,” she said.

“Is there any other kind?”

“Oh sure. If two people really love each other an’ maybe one is in terrible pain with a terminal illness, sometimes the one will murder the other to save their suffering. A pillow over the face, an overdose of pills, an injection. It’s still murder but not violent. But murder like Margaret’s, yes. Dark passion was the basis. And, yes, her mother might have been enraged, envious, jealous. All her chances, her dreams, had been stifled yet here was her daughter living the life Eleanor had been denied. Factor into that the hot burning sense of shame she must’ve felt, imagining her daughter living in sin. The family dishonor Margaret had caused by being wayward and not being dutiful. I doubt it ever occurred to Eleanor that Margaret was terrified of the idea of marriage. That does suggest a degree of distance between them. If they’d been close, Margaret could’ve discussed her feelings of trepidation an’ her mother might have been able to allay those fears. After all, it was a common practice in those days.”

“In some sections of society, it still is,” Rick remarked. “Arranged marriages.”

“Yes.”

“Tea, anyone?” Tom asked, moving around with mugs on a tray. He’d been given the refreshments duty, as his way of helping.

“Thanks, Tom,” Rick accepted. “Hey, you’ve been a big help in this investigation. I thought, at the start, you’d dig in your heels and make it a nightmare for us but you’re really come around. Thanks.”

Tom Jolly blushed. “Well, I won’t deny that, at the start, I fully intended to dig in my heels. I didn’t believe. Now I do. And I’ve seen how important it is to have the truth come out. The gray lady was just a story. I know now it’s a lot more. It’s justice.”

Rick sipped his tea. “You should have a word with Conrad. About joining us. Part time. Rachel has Philip. He’s a priest. Why can’t we have a vicar on board?”

“Oh .. do you think I could join?”

“No harm in asking, is there?” Rick winked. “I’ll back you.”

Tom, flushed and full of hope, moved on. “Tea, anyone?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Merlin accepted. “I’ll take mine outside. I’m just making up numbers here.”

He finished his round and went outside to join her. “Um … ”

“Whatever it is, just say,” she grinned.

“Derek told me I should discuss religion with you. I haven’t really had the opportunity until now. Like you, I’m just making up numbers.”

Merlin lit a cigarette and regarded him. “When did he tell you this?”

“It was when we were walking the bounds, looking for Margaret’s grave. We were talking about my vocation. Derek said I was passionate about it, and I am. He said I was a Christian minister, I asked him what other kind was there. He said .. I should talk more with you as .. you believe in God but you’re not a Christian. He also said that you weren’t Jewish and that you follow no faith except your own.”

“I see.”

“He said too that .. well, I don’t profess to understand it, but he said you were not prone to loving your enemy or turning the other cheek. The opposite, in fact. But you are an exceptionally good person, one he is happy to call a friend.”

“Did he? That’s nice,” Merlin smiled. “Did he say anything else?”

“Oh, lots! I wondered if you weren’t a forgiving woman and he said you have a lot of patience, willing to give time to educating those who truly want to know and that you forgive simple human error. But, in regard to enemies, you have no patience nor time to waste in education. And then I said I found it incredible that you’d have any enemies .. and he said you don’t. He said you always win.”

“Well .. there’s a first time but, so far, he’s right. I do believe in God, Tom. That belief is as much a part of me as my blood, my bone, the air I breathe. It can’t be separated. I can’t not believe. But my belief is of the God who gave Moses the commandments and the laws. The God who rained down destruction on Sodom an’ Gomorrah, who flooded the world an’ killed everyone except Noah an’ his family. The God who said not to turn the other cheek but to take an eye for an eye an’ a tooth for a tooth. I believe in God who is righteous. God’s angels don’t wear white shirts, have fluffy wings an’ haloes. I believe that they’re warriors first an’ foremost. Evil exists in the world, Tom. Someone has to stand up an’ say no.”

His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open. “And .. you do that?”

“I do. Yeah. Each an’ every day. I watch for evil an’, if I find it, I do something about it.”

“But .. isn’t that illegal?”

“I don’t get caught.”

“You .. murder people?”

“No! I do not murder people. Jeez, people aren’t evil. Well, some are but most are just .. misguided. Deluded. Lost, even.”

“Oh, so you mean situations. You do something about situations.”

“Right. Turning the other cheek won’t help. People will just laugh at you an’ roll right over you. You have to hit back an’ hit back harder. It works for me.”

Tom frowned. “It doesn’t exactly .. fit with my view of religion.”

“I don’t believe in organized religion. I accept it but it isn’t part of my life. I don’t ridicule those who do take part. Philip is my friend an’ his church is a huge part of his life. I like visiting churches. I find them very spiritual places. I got married in a church. But I don’t follow any particular religion, Tom. I have faith. I believe in God. And I don’t feel I need someone to talk to God on my behalf. I can do it just fine by myself.”

“But – ”

“There are no buts,” she said kindly. “Faith is taking a leap over darkness an’ knowing God will catch you. That’s good enough for me.” Merlin pitched the cigarette end onto the gravel drive. “I’m sorry if my views upset you. We’re all individuals, all unique. Religion causes more wars an’ deaths than faith. Every church is guilty at some point in its past of inflicting horror on innocent people. I guess .. so long as you learn from old mistakes, history won’t repeat. You wanna go back inside? See if they’ve found anything?”

“Sure,” he said quietly. “Really ..? You have no living enemies?”

“I’m sure that isn’t true. Has been in the past but that’s the thing with taking a stand against evil – it never gives up trying. I’m sure I have enemies. I just haven’t found ’em yet.”

Tom suddenly looked round at the sound of raised voices. “What in God’s name is going on?”

“Shall we go an’ find out?” Merlin asked.

“It sounds like all out war!”

“It sure does,” she agreed, leading the way inside.

It had spilled out from the dining room into the hall. Two women, one screaming into the other’s face. Six men wanting to fight, some being held back by others but all yelling. Into the midst of this stepped the Reverend Thomas Jolly.

“What is going on here!” he shouted.

Merlin stood back and folded her arms.

Eight pairs of eyes turned to the vicar. The faces he knew well but the eyes were those of .. mostly strangers. Tom blinked, feeling the ground shift a little beneath his feet.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“You know me. I’m Margaret,” Alanda replied.

“Faithless whore bitch that she is!” Rachel raged.

“I will not have you speak of my wife in those terms,” Philip defended, going to Alanda’s side.

“William?” Tom ventured.

“Aye, t’is so,” Philip confirmed. “And these others are her family. Those who would have given my Margaret to a rutting old pig. Those who killed her!”

Rachel drew herself up. “And you are?”

“I’m the vicar. Reverend Tom Jolly. Is it true? Are you her family?”

Derek closed his eyes. “I am Margaret’s father, and I swear to you, before God, I did not know of this. Is it true, wife? Was our daughter murdered?”

“Yes!” Rachel spat. “And I ordered it done.”

“For the love of God, why?”

“For our family’s honor. Our name. Our reputation. You were always weak,” she sneered. “I was the strong one! So, when Geoffrey told me where she was, I told our sons to go there and put an end to her.”

“Geoffrey ..?” Tom floundered.

“My father,” Rachel informed him, with a waving gesture at Conrad.

“She had dishonored my sister, her mother,” Conrad added. “She deserved punishment.”

Philip growled but Alanda restrained him.

“And you did this?” Derek demanded, turning on Nick, Charles and Rick.

“We couldn’t refuse,” Charles replied. “Family honor.”

“I told him it was wrong,” Nick argued. “We should leave her in peace. Tell mother a lie, that we couldn’t find her. But they insisted. I couldn’t stop them.”

“And you, Jacob, you helped them?” Derek gasped.

“I’m their cousin,” Rick said stiffly. “I would not be tainted by Margaret’s shame.”

Derek stepped back. “Margaret, I am sorry. I did not know. I admit .. your acts did shame us but killing .. no, that I do not, cannot condone. I ask your forgiveness.”

“Willingly, father,” Alanda smiled. “I am happy.”

“And what do you ask of us?” Rachel demanded scornfully.

“Nothing but what you deserve,” Derek related harshly. “May God judge you according to your deeds.” His eyes raked over the group. “All of you.”

Tom felt a stiff wind start to blow thru the lodge. It caught up papers and tossed them about, brought pictures crashing from the walls. It howled, shrieking, almost but not quite masking the shriek of abrupt fear which tore from Rachel’s throat.

Tom glanced back, feeling a wave of panic. “What should I do?” he asked Merlin.

“Condemn and bless as you see fit. This is it, Tom. Your big chance to make a difference. Pray for ’em.”

“Heavenly Father, in whose mighty hand we are all held, take these souls now and judge them for their earthly deeds. Read the truth in their hearts, weigh them in Your scales and find them guilty or innocent, and give unto them what they deserve. Amen.”

The wind actually picked up for several seconds then, just as quickly as it had come, it left. Paper fluttered to the floor in the abrupt, ringing silence. People slumped, bending over with hands on knees, drawing in deep breaths.

“What happened?” Rachel croaked, her throat dry and aching.

“I think someone said a séance would be a good idea,” Merlin replied. “And you all took part. No one outside the circle. No backup. Big mistake.”

“What happened to the lodge?” Conrad wondered, gazing at the mess.

“I think that was Derek. He seemed to start it,” Tom answered.

“Did I? I don’t recall.”

“But Tom ended it,” Merlin said. “Cool as you like. You should ask him to join your team, Conrad. He’s a useful guy to have around.”

“Is it over?” Alanda frowned, as Conrad regarded the vicar with narrowed, assessing eyes.

“Oh yeah. Some went up, others went down. Everyone’s where they should be.”

“But the treasure ..?” Conrad pleaded.

“And some things are best left undiscovered,” Merlin replied. “Chalk it up to experience.”

*****

While Rachel, Nick and Philip continued the teaching duty and instructed Rick, Alanda and Charles on the best way to write up all their findings and catalog the evidence, Derek drove back to London to meet with Paul Emery. He stayed overnight at the London Legacy house and returned the next day to take over from Philip who, in the comfort of the gatehouse, wrote up the detailed report on the de Lacey family tree which he then delivered to Tom Jolly.

Conrad read Andrew’s manuscript and wrote a letter to the author with some suggestions but mostly praise. He requested further chapters as they were completed. He then returned the folder to Derek and joined in the education on putting a case to bed.

Rachel went riding again at least twice during the remainder of their stay. Philip returned all the books to the big house. Clarence thanked him; Philip felt he wouldn’t pull the financial plug just yet.

Fall had definitely arrived in England. It was nice but they began to feel the urge to go home. They started Conrad and his team researching the next potential case. Of the treasure, no word was spoken.

Two weeks later, when they were home again and journals had been written up detailing their part in the conclusion, Derek asked Merlin to track down Mallery and ask about the treasure. Derek had received a couple of calls from Conrad who was still gnawing it over and clearly was reluctant to let it rest. Derek wanted to make it right, if it could be.

Merlin returned in time to join the others at dinner.

“You find him?” Nick asked.

“I did. I can’t say they’re in a particularly nice spot but it could be a lot worse. They’re happy enough together.”

“And the treasure?” Derek inquired. “Did he tell you?”

“He did. There is no treasure. There was but Tom Smith was given every item and it was melted down at the forge and refashioned. Remade. Mallery’s treasure is now in the church of King’s Barton in the form of bowls an’ chalices an’ a particularly splendid crucifix. William said it was his way of atoning for his sins. I think it’s why he isn’t in the badlands. God acknowledged his act of redemption. Plus, of course, Margaret’s love played a big part.”

“So .. it really is over,” Philip said.

“It really is,” Merlin confirmed. “What will you tell Conrad?”

“That the treasure is closer than he realizes but forever beyond his reach,” Derek smiled. He nodded with satisfaction. “Case closed.”

Poltergeist: The Legacy

The Legend of Mallery’s Gold

© Jay Brown, 2008

Chapter 1 photograph : Chatsworth House, Derbyshire, England

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