Precious Bones (17 page)

Chapter 48

Richard had left his horse hobbled to a tree a few minutes away from the church, so as not to lose his element of surprise.  He had been astounded when John showed up at home, bleeding from cuts on his face, a gap where he had lost a tooth visible behind his swollen lip.  John collapsed into a chair and handed Richard a scroll of paper.  The note was short and to the point.  Norris had kidnapped Constance, and wished Richard to meet him at St. Basil’s in Southwark.  He made it clear that only one of them would leave the rendezvous alive, and that he had every intention of hurting Constance if Richard did not show up. 

Richard had no doubt that he had every intention of hurting Constance either way.  He had to get to her as quickly as possible, but he needed a plan.  He knew he was walking into a trap
, and would be no good to his wife dead.  Richard weighed all his options as he strapped on his sword, put a pistol in his belt, and slid a dagger into the calf of his boot.  He ran out the door telling Agnes to see to John’s wounds, and not let anyone inside unless it was Richard himself. 

The ride to Southwark seemed to last forever, when in reality
, it was probably only twenty minutes.  Now Richard was concealed behind a bush watching the two men in the porch of the church.  Thankfully, the night was dark, and they didn’t see him climb over the wall behind the church and make his way stealthily to the front.  The only way to get to Norris would be to kill the two thugs first, and the one thing he had working for him was the cover of darkness. 

“Do you reckon he’ll show up soon, Charlie?”  one of them asked sounding bored.

“Nah.  Why risk that pretty face of his for that Catholic strumpet?  He’s had her, now the rest of us can enjoy her charms.  Sir Edward promised us a turn with her, hasn’t he?  All we have to do is wait until he is done.    That lily-livered coward Carlisle is not coming.” 

“He
will come.  You just wait and see.  He is too much of a gentleman to abandon his lady, even if she is a Catholic.  She must have one sweet cunny to lure him into marriage.  He could have had a number of ladies at Court with more money and better connections.  What a fool!”

“That he is.  If he shows up, he is not leaving here alive.  Sir Edward means to dispose of them both.  Did you bring the shovels like he asked?”

“They are behind the box of the carriage.  It will take all night to dig graves for those two.  I hope Norris will at least buy us a pint for our trouble.” 

Richard felt his blood boil, but he had to stay calm.  Connie’s life depended on it. 
He picked up a pebble and dropped it on the stone walkway close to the bush.  The two men stopped talking and strained to hear something in the darkness.

“
Charlie, check behind that bush.  I think I heard something.”

“It’s probably just a cat
, Will.  We would see Carlisle sneaking through the doorway.  There is no other way in and the wall is too high.”

“Sir Edward left me in charge and I am telling you to check, man.”  Richard saw the man reluctantly peel himself away from the wall he was leaning against and walk toward the bush.  The fool did not even have his sword drawn.

You should really pick your men more carefully
, thought Richard as he drove his sword into the man’s belly to the hilt without bothering to pull it out.  Wasting precious moments could cost Connie her life.  He fired the shot into the other man’s chest before he even realized what was happening, and watched him fall to the ground next to his friend.  The shot sounded like a cannon boom in the silence, but it had been nothing more than a pop.  The man named Will looked up at Richard, his eyes full of horror as he realized that he was dying, but Richard had no time to spare for him.  He was dead by the time Richard crept into the porch and put his ear against the door of the church. 

Chapter 49

September 2010

I woke up in the most delicious way possible
, with Adrian kissing my neck and sliding his hand up my thigh with a sense of purpose.  I’d meant to write last night, but one thing led to another and Adrian stayed the night, making me forget all about my sixteenth century counterpart.  I was glad to have him there.  Lately, the visions have become darker and more frightening, and I often found myself alone and afraid in the middle of the night, as my writing took me on a roller coaster of emotions I never expected.  Dr. Platt said that I would be able to analyze the memories with a detachment born from years of separation from reality, but I was finding it difficult to stay aloof.  I felt what Constance was feeling, and I was often surprised by a terrible wave of grief for a sister who died nearly five hundred years before.

I put my thoughts aside
, as Adrian’s hand reached its destination, and closed my eyes floating on waves of pleasure.  His hand was soon replaced by his hungry mouth, leaving me moaning as I ran my hands through his shaggy hair. 

“Come up here,” I whispered
, as he moved up to cover my body with his own.  He kissed me soundly, his lips still tasting of me, and I wrapped my legs around him in silent invitation. 

Some time later, Adrian finally rose from
the bed and headed for the shower.  He had a meeting in an hour and I had plans of my own.  I would go to the church I had seen in my visions to seek some answers.  I threw on a silk kimono and headed downstairs to make some coffee and prepare breakfast.  Everything was better on a full stomach.

**

It was past 10:00am when I finally left the house and headed toward Cannon Street.  I
’d always loved autumn, and took a deep breath of the fresh September air as I set off down the street toward St. Swithin's Church.  The still green leaves were rustling overhead, the sound of birdsong filling the air.  Autumn would truly be upon us in a couple of weeks, and I was enjoying the last warm days of Indian summer.  Based on what I had seen in my visions, the church was no more than a ten-minute walk from my house, and I should see it as soon as I turned the corner.  I suddenly felt seeds of doubt take root in my mind.  Why was I really doing this?  What was I hoping to discover? 

There were only two possible options.  If I found some evidence that the people I was seeing had been real
, then I would confirm Dr. Platt’s theory that I was experiencing memories of a past life.  If, however, I found no trace of them, then I would be confirming my own theory that I was most likely losing my mind.  At this point, I wasn’t sure which outcome I preferred.  One would leave me doubting everything I had been taught to believe since I was a child, and the other would leave me doubting my sanity. 
Nothing like being between a rock and a hard place
, I thought to myself as I made the turn. 

Despite living in the area since April, I
’d never actually come this way before.  I am not sure if I was subconsciously avoiding it or not, but I always chose other other ways to walk.  I stopped and looked around me.  This seemed to be the right place, but there was no sign of a church.  I saw several shops, a bank and an office building, but no church.  The church would have been where the office building now stood, and I got closer to make certain.  As I looked around me, I saw another church a few blocks away and decided to ask there.  I doubted that I would learn anything, but I wasn’t ready to give up just yet. 

             
I hesitated for a moment before pushing open the heavy wooden door and walking into the cool interior of the church.   I stopped in the middle of the nave and looked around me.  Sun was streaming through the lovely stained glass windows, illuminating scenes from the life of some saint I wasn’t familiar with, but who obviously did not die a peaceful death at a very old age.  Pieces of crimson glass depicted blood flowing freely from his body, and I turned away in revulsion.  Thick, white candles burned in their brass candlesticks, and several solitary people sat in the polished wooden pews lost in thought or prayer.  I looked around for the vicar, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen.  Suddenly, sounds of Bach filled the small space as the organist began her practice, so I sat down for a few moments, enjoying the solemn melody.  

Eventually, a low, wooden door opened up behind the pulpit
, and a young man dressed as a clergyman emerged carrying a sheaf of papers.  He must have been preparing his sermon, which he now placed on the pulpit.  I stood up and walked toward the altar, my sandals clicking loudly on the stone floor of the church.  The organist had exhausted her repertoire, and retreated into the shadows of the gallery, leaving the church silent and peaceful.  The vicar looked up from his sermon as I approached, his face lighting up in recognition.

“Good God, if it isn’t Cassandra Blake,” he exclaimed, beaming.  “What brings you here?”

“Have we met?”  I asked carefully.

“Not exactly.  I
’m a devoted fan of yours and I particularly loved your book “Heaven’s Wrath.”  I came by when you had your book signing in Oxford Street, but the queue was so long that I never actually got my copy signed.  Had a service to perform and couldn’t wait any longer.  Would you mind, actually?  I have it right there in my office.”  He pointed toward the door he came from and I followed him inside, smiling to myself. 

The vicar pulled a well-read copy of my book off a shelf and handed it to me shyly.  I picked up a pen and opened the cover.  “Who would you like me to make it out to?”

“Right.  Sorry.  Colin Burns.”  He blushed, and I thought he looked awfully young to be a vicar.  The man was tall and thin, his dark eyes sparkling with humor behind his rimless glasses, and his hair a trifle too long for a man of God.  I thought he would look more comfortable at some trendy coffee house listening to poetry or jazz rather than this dusty clerical abode.  I handed him the book and he read the inscription with pleasure, before replacing it on the shelf and offering me a seat.

“How can I help you, Ms. Blake? Is there a dashing vicar in the plot of your new book?”
he asked with a smile. 

“I just might have to add one now.  Actually, I
’m working on a new book that’s set during the reign of Elizabeth I.  I’m researching the churches of the area and trying to trace any records that might’ve survived from the period.”  I knew I was being vague, but I wanted to see what he would say. 

“I
’m not an authority on the Tudor period, but I can tell you with certainty that our little church had not been built until the beginning of the seventeenth century.  St. Swithin’s used to be located a few blocks away in Cannon Street, but it had been bombed severely during the war, and was eventually demolished and replaced with that rather ugly office building.  You must have passed it on the way here.”

“Yes, I have and it is rather ugly.  Thank you, Mr. Burns.”  I began to rise from my chair when the vicar waved me back down.

“Wait, I have an idea.  I have only been at this church for about a year.  The vicar who was here before me had been at this church for over forty years.  He’s a lovely old man, and he fancied himself an amateur historian.  He was full of obscure facts about this area and the churches hereabouts.  He retired and moved in with his daughter.  I believe she lives in a village close to Brighton.  If you hold on a moment, I’ll get you the address.  If you don’t mind making the journey out there, he would be very pleased to see you.” 

“I wouldn’t mind at all. 
As a matter of face, my sister lives near Brighton, so two birds with one stone and all that.” 

“Splendid.  Let me get you that address.”  He looked on his cluttered desk until he found an old-fashioned address book
, and wrote out the name and address for me on a scrap of paper.  I thanked him and walked back out in the sunny morning.  I would most certainly pay a call on Mr. Markham.  What did I have to lose?

Chapter 50

The reverend resided in the village of East Chiltington, about eight miles northeast of Brighton, so I decided that I would pay a visit to Camille, then borrow her car and drive out to see him.  I didn’t think it would be polite to just show up, so I looked up his number and telephoned for an appointment.  The old man was thrilled that someone wanted to come over and talk about his passion, and we fixed a time to meet on Friday afternoon.  I called Camille to give her a heads up and felt very pleased with myself. 

“Would you like to come
with me, Adrian?  You can finally meet my sister and maybe we can make a weekend of it.”

Adrian leaned back in his chair, pushing away his plate of pasta.  “I
’d love to come, but my mother is flying in from Miami on Friday morning.  She’s staying at my flat and wants me to take her to the country to visit my grandparents.  She hasn’t seen them since last Christmas, and I’m in for a heartwarming family weekend.  I was hoping you might want to come with me.  You know my grandfather, or course, but I would like for you to meet my gran and my mum.  She is quite a character.”

“Will her husband be joining her?”

“No, they seem to be in a middle of a tiff, so she decided to teach him a lesson, and pop up to London for some family fun and shopping.”  He rolled his eyes and I laughed. 

“How old is your
mum anyway?  She doesn’t sound very matronly.”

“My mum
’s only forty-seven.  She had me at eighteen, after getting knocked up by my dad in the back of a car after a rock concert.  Sometimes she still thinks she’s eighteen and favors anything short, tight, and leopard printed.  After an undisclosed number of plastic surgeries in Brazil, she’s starting to look more like my sister than my mother.  You’ll love her!!!!”  Adrian put his plate in the sink and wrapped his arms around me.  “Promise me you’ll never wear leopard print, at least not where people can see it.”

I put my hand over my heart.  “I swear that I will never wear anything in leopard, tiger, cheetah
, or even zebra print.  I’ll be the model of decorum, and wear nothing but my tweeds and pearls over my hot pink thongs and leather bras.”

“That’s what I like to hear.  Now about that thong…..”  I ran
squealing from the kitchen as he chased me up the stairs to the bedroom and threw me on the bed.  There’d would be no writing tonight.