Knight of Runes (3 page)

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.

“And here we are back at the Grand Gallery.” George unlatched the cordon so they could enter the room. “These are the family pictures over the last…”

Pictures? Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t thought about pictures, only papers, folios and books. There must be photographs too of the more recent family members.

“And this is the third duke of…” George continued.

The room was silent, her footsteps muffled by the rich Persian carpet. Her eyes darted from picture to picture, searching for signs of any family resemblances. Which one of the portraits held her secrets? She calmed down. If she didn’t pace herself she would be useless. This was a marathon not a sprint. She needed to see Emily’s papers to give her an idea where to start. She didn’t need to recreate the wheel, only corroborate it.

“This is Leticia…” They stopped in front of a picture of a beautiful woman dressed for court.

She scrutinized the portrait, looking for something familiar. She saw none. The woman was beautiful with a peaceful angelic smile.

Something brushed against her mind, something just outside her grasp. A shiver ran across her back. Someone was watching her. She turned and looked. No one was there of course, only art work. A quick glance at the picture behind her startled her. The man in the portrait was handsome and smiling directly at her. His roguish smirk ignited a delightful warmth.
It must be an optical illusion,
she convinced herself. One of those paintings that, no matter where you stood, made you feel the subject was watching you. She brought her attention back to George who was finishing his discourse about Leticia. Curious, she stole a final look over her shoulder.

“…she was very adept with all things horticultural. Many thought her touch was ‘magical.’ The king was particularly taken with her ability and fancied that she could protect the land.” George checked his watch. “Goodness, look at the time. Our guests will be arriving any minute. We’ll have to continue our introductions at another time.” George took her arm and began to lead her out of the room.

When she stepped forward, she had the odd sensation of a light kiss on her neck. She hesitated and instinctively touched the spot. She reveled in the unexpected, but rather pleasant, sensation. She felt a warm flush of heat gradually spread through her to her face.

“Rebeka, are you all right?”

“Yes, I am fine.” She glanced at the painting and felt foolish.

How odd? Maybe there is a resident ghost.
Shaking off the feeling, she laughed to herself and chalked up the incident to an overactive imagination.

George took her down the stairs. “Leticia is…”

“Leticia?”

“I’ve been going on. It is a lot to remember. Forgive me, Rebeka. I’ve grown up with all these people. They’re like family. Let’s sit down in the library and go over Emily’s bequest and complete our business.”

She didn’t miss his reference. Does he actually think of these people as contemporaries? Perhaps it was a solicitor’s affectation.

George opened the library door and brought her into a comfortable wood-paneled room roughly half the size of the Great Hall. The huge bi-pedestal desk sat on the wall to the right of the terrace doors, and the tall leather chair behind it begged to be occupied. Large overstuffed chairs flanked the fireplace. A large library table with upholstered chairs occupied the center of the room and a sideboard, with decanters for wine, across from the terrace doors. The walls were lined, floor to twenty-foot ceiling, with shelves filled to overflowing with books. She expected a stuffy dark room with massive furniture, a man’s room, but not so. She belonged in this room. Light flooded in from the terrace’s large double doors. She walked around the room, enjoying the comfort of the books and browsed the shelves. She opened the document cabinet filled with older texts and, using a white museum glove that she pulled out of her pouch, looked through the treasurers.