The Silent Touch of Shadows (33 page)

‘So what did he say?’ she asked, putting her heavy briefcase down and collapsing onto a chair.

‘He said he had some more information for you. Sounded terribly excited. I almost thought I could hear him jumping up and down.’ Dorothy chuckled. ‘He’s a funny little man.’

‘He may be funny, but he’s been an absolute angel and refuses to let me pay him. Really, I don’t know how to thank him enough.’

‘Well, just invite him over for dinner. I’m sure he’d appreciate the company; he must get lonely living all by himself like that. I know I used to.’

‘Hmm, good idea. I’ll do that.’

As Colin came through the door the following evening, he juggled a stack of papers from one arm to the other in order to shake hands with Melissa, and almost lost his grip on the slippery bundle. She turned away to avoid looking at Dorothy, who disappeared off to the kitchen with a muffled chuckle.

‘Colin, come in. Dinner will be ready soon. Would you like a drink while we wait?’

‘Thanks, that would be great. A small whisky, maybe?’

He sank into the deep sofa in the sitting room. As he stretched out his hand for the glass, he forgot about the papers and they finally slid onto the floor. Melissa hid a smile and helped him to pick them up. He then spread them out on the coffee table and sorted them into the right order again.

‘Look here, Melissa. I have some photocopies I think might interest you.’ There was an air of contained excitement about him and Melissa thought he looked almost like a little boy about to unwrap his Christmas presents.

She perched next to him and picked up the first sheets of paper. They were photocopies of very old documents, or rather photocopies of microfilmed versions of them since, obviously, such ancient parchment couldn’t be exposed to too much light. Melissa looked at court orders and decrees in the name of King Henry VI. The writing was faint with age, which was no wonder, she thought. Moving her lips silently as she read, Melissa gasped.

‘Roland de Presseille
 
… traitor to the crown
 
… proven supporter of the attainted Duke of York
 
… executed by beheading
 
… Ludford Bridge,
Anno Domini 1459
.’ She raised startled eyes to Colin’s. He now wore the pleased look of the cat that got the cream.

‘You see? That must be your man! You misunderstood the name and it was Roland, not Roger. Here’s the reason why Sibell couldn’t marry him – he was dead. Fits perfectly. Even the date is about right. Didn’t you say her will was dated 1461?’ He took a sip of his whisky, smiling smugly. ‘The poor man got caught up in the Wars of the Roses and she was left as a pregnant mistress or fiancée.’

‘Noooo!’
The scream took her by surprise and she dropped the piece of paper to put her hands over her ears. Colin jumped and spilled some of his whisky. His smile faded as he saw the pained expression on her face.

‘What’s the matter? You don’t agree?’ He was so clearly disappointed not to have pleased her that Melissa came to a quick decision. She would have to come clean.

‘Colin,’ she began, ‘I can’t thank you enough for this. It’s really helpful, but I’m afraid your theory is wrong. I can’t prove it, but if you’ll bear with me I’ll try to explain.’

The story came pouring out of her, slightly jumbled, and Colin listened open-mouthed without interrupting her a single time. He stared at her and his eyes were enormous behind the thick lenses of his glasses, giving him the appearance of a startled frog.

However, when she stopped talking at last he exclaimed, ‘How wonderful!’ and beamed at her. ‘Absolutely marvellous! Well, this changes everything.’

Melissa blinked at him. ‘You mean
 
… you believe me?’

‘Of course. I’ve seen a ghost or two myself, but I’ve never been so lucky as to have a conversation with one.’

Melissa remained speechless for a moment, before smiling back at him. She had expected incredulity or even ridicule, but this unconditional acceptance was a complete surprise and very welcome.

‘Why are you so sure Roland’s not your man, though? Did he really say Roger? You’ve heard it only once?’ Logical as always, Colin quickly returned to the problem at hand.

‘He shouted at me.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Just now, when you gave me your theory about Roland, I heard a scream inside my head. That’s why I was holding my ears. He said “no”, emphatically. I don’t know who Roland was, but he wasn’t Sibell’s lover.’

‘Hmm, I guess it’s back to the drawing board then.’

‘Yes, I’m sorry to have disappointed you when you’d worked so hard on my behalf. And the information is useful anyway. You know even negative evidence is good to have. Besides, I’m not sure the dates do fit actually. If this Roland was beheaded in 1459 and Sibell didn’t die until 1461, presumably in childbirth since she was expecting when she wrote her will, then that can’t be right. She’d have had to be pregnant for two years.’

‘Hmm, yes. Well, don’t worry.’ Colin patted her arm awkwardly. ‘One way or another we’ll solve this, I’m sure.’

Melissa wasn’t sure she shared his optimism any longer, but thought it best to keep
schtum
for now.

‘Tell me more about the Wars of the Roses.’ Jake and Melissa were sharing another take-away in the kitchen at Ashleigh Cottage and she’d just told him someone who was a possible ancestor of his had been beheaded. It sounded like a harsh punishment for someone who had merely backed the wrong side in a conflict.

‘Well, obviously it was a turbulent time in English history,’ Melissa began. ‘I’ve been mugging up on it myself to see if I could come up with any clues as to what to do next, and it’s fascinating stuff.’

‘Go on.’

‘1459 was right at the end of the reign of King Henry
 
VI. He was a ruler who wasn’t much liked by his people, poor guy. A simple-minded man, controlled by courtiers and priests, his reign was dominated by feuds between the leading magnates. The most important of them was the King’s former “heir presumptive” as he was called, Richard, Duke of York.’

‘Yes, I remember all this from school history lessons.’ Jake nodded. He’d quite enjoyed history, but had to drop it after O-levels in order to do more science-oriented subjects. ‘And I know that even though the King had a son at last, York didn’t want to give up his claim.’

‘Exactly. It didn’t help that when the pressures of state became too much for Henry, his feeble mind couldn’t handle it. At least twice York was appointed Protector of the Realm, which must have fuelled his ambitions even more. And he was a great warrior, while Henry was just pious and gentle.’

‘So the people were torn, like my ancestor, if that’s what he was,’ Jake said, ‘trying to decide which one should rule them.’

‘Yes, can’t have been easy for them to choose.’ Melissa looked pensive. ‘The gentle Henry, a totally ineffective king, and his young son after him, whose birthright it was, after all. Or the stronger Richard, whose veins contained an equal amount of royal blood. York’s allies grew steadily in number and this Roland de Presseille must have been one of them.’ She blinked hard. ‘It’s one thing to be killed in battle for a cause, but to be beheaded
 
…’ She shuddered.

But Jake had stopped listening and stared at her. ‘Did you say Roland?’

Melissa nodded. ‘Yes, why?’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Jake put down his knife and fork, his hands shaking.

‘What’s the matter? Are you ill?’ Melissa glanced at his half-eaten dinner. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you off your food.’

‘No, no, it wasn’t you, it was
 
…’ He swallowed hard. ‘Okay, this is really weird, but I think, no, I
know
I saw it happen.’

‘Saw what?’

‘The beheading.’ Taking a deep breath, Jake explained. ‘I didn’t want to tell you before, but ever since I moved into this cottage I’ve had strange dreams occasionally. Like being a knight on a horse and riding through the forest and stuff, even though I don’t know how to ride. One day, when I’d been dozing on the sofa, I had a really horrible nightmare. It was too vivid for comfort, let me tell you, and, well, I witnessed an execution. I’m sure they read out the name Roland beforehand, but I didn’t hear the rest of his name. Bloody hell! It can’t be a coincidence.’

Melissa stared at him, her cheeks pale. ‘Riding? So it’s not just me then,’ she finally said. ‘I had dreams like that, too.’

Jake sighed. ‘I guess that means we’re in this together, although we kind of knew that already.’ He gave a shaky laugh and pushed his plate away. ‘Were you riding on your own?’

‘No, with Roger.’

‘So if I was him in the dreams, that means he was there when my ancestor met his death. Why else would I see it from a distance?’

Melissa gave a helpless shrug. ‘God, this is all insane.’

‘I know.’ They were both silent for a while, then Jake said, ‘I wonder why Roland didn’t die in the fighting? There were battles, right?’

‘Yes, York finally challenged the King openly, but the battle at Ludford Bridge ended in victory for the King, and the Duke was forced to flee to Ireland for a while. His poor followers seem to have been left behind and were persecuted. I bet Roland wished he’d died on a battlefield instead of a scaffold.’

Jake frowned. ‘So what about Roger, then? Whose side do you think he was on?’

Melissa sighed. ‘I’ve absolutely no idea. The bloody man just doesn’t exist! I’ve had help from both Jenny and Colin to check through all the known sources for this period, but we’ve found nothing. I mean, yes, there were of course men named Roger, but we can’t connect any of them to this particular area of Kent, and without a surname there’s nothing more we can do. It’s so frustrating.’

‘Actually, I think I can at least tell you Roger was a Yorkist. The last thing I remember from that dream was someone telling me we should leave, that it was dangerous to be seen there. That must mean he was on the same side, don’t you think?’

‘I suppose so. Not that it helps much with finding him.’

Jake got up from his chair and went over to put his arms round Melissa. ‘Don’t give up yet. If this ghost really is as persistent as you say he is, he’ll find a way to tell you more. Or me. We just have to be patient.’

She leaned her head on his shoulder and hugged him close. Jake felt her relax against him and nod slightly. ‘Yes, you’re probably right. Thanks.’ She looked up at him suddenly with a smile that lit up her entire face and made him feel as though he’d just been punched in the gut. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be such a bore. I’m sure you didn’t ask me over here to give you a history lesson so let’s try to forget it for now and concentrate on the present.’

He answered her with a kiss. ‘Well, now that you mention it, I did have one or two ideas as to how we could spend our time together,’ he murmured, trailing his hands down her back.

She shivered. ‘Hmm, I bet you did. How about you give me a tour of the rest of the house? I don’t think I’ve seen the bedrooms yet.’

Jake heard the laughter in her voice and grinned back. ‘Exactly what I had in mind. Come on.’

As he took her hand to lead her up the stairs he forgot all about ghosts and ancestors. The only thing that mattered was Melissa.

He never wanted to let her go.

Chapter Twenty-Six

‘It is all decided at last, you’ll be wed in September from here and then Sir Fulke will take you back to Thornby after a day of feasting.’

Her father rubbed his hands together in glee, which was understandable, since Sibell had overheard him say that negotiating the marriage contract had been a tiresome business. He must be pleased it was over with as he’d been forced to haggle for hours with the man over Sibell’s dowry. Sir Fulke had apparently been merciless and her father had barely managed to hold onto his precarious temper. Presumably, only the thought of such an illustrious connection had made him keep a still tongue in his head, she thought sourly.

‘Yes, Father.’ Sibell looked out of the window and answered in a wooden monotone. He glared at her, then his gaze turned suspicious. He must have been expecting further histrionics or, at the very least, a quiet refusal to comply with his wishes. Instead, Sibell stood motionless and waited patiently for him to finish. Suddenly restless in the face of her unexpected acquiescence, he began to pace the room, slapping his leg with his riding crop as he went.

‘Is that all you have to say on the matter? Dare I hope you have at last seen the error of your ways?’ he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

‘Yes, Father.’ She glanced at him briefly, before resuming her study of the scene outside the window.

He stopped his perambulations and grabbed her chin. ‘Look at me when I’m speaking to you.’ She did as she was told, but for once did nothing to hide the hatred she felt for him. His brows drew together and he fixed her with an angry stare. ‘What are you up to now, hmm?’

‘Nothing, Father.’

‘Now see here, girl, if you’re planning to make good your escape before September, you can think again. You’ll be confined to this house from now on, and I will make sure you don’t go anywhere unaccompanied. If necessary I will beat you senseless or break your legs. Is that understood?’ he barked, emphasising his words with a slap of the riding crop for each syllable.