The Silent Touch of Shadows (19 page)

‘Melissa, I didn’t see you there. How are you?’ She hurried round the counter to embrace her friend.

‘Fine thanks, and very happy not to have to deal with that kind of aggravation every day.’ She glanced towards the old lady and they both giggled.

‘Now, now, it’s part of my job and I enjoy it most of the time. It’s wonderful to be able to help people. But what brings you here? Another Kent family to research?’

‘No, as a matter of fact, I’m here for myself today and I was hoping you could help me out.’ Melissa told Jenny about the move to Ashleigh and that she was curious to find out more about the history of the house and its occupants. ‘My great-aunt thinks it was built sometime in the late fourteenth or early fifteenth century. Could you have a look for any old documents which might mention Ashleigh, please?’

‘Of course. It sounds like fun. I’ll go and see what I can find right away. You make a start on the parish registers and wills. The indexes are out here on the shelves and you know where to find the relevant microfilms, right? I’ll take a look in the archives room.’

‘Thanks, Jenny, I appreciate it.’

Melissa was soon seated by a microfilm reader. Most of the parish registers for the villages in the area surrounding Ashleigh began around 1590, but although she found Ashleigh mentioned, there was no one called either Sybil or Roger. She put together a list of people connected with the house before moving on to the wills index.

This time she was in luck. One of the earliest wills listed was for a Sibell of Ashleigh and with mounting excitement she ordered the document from the stores. Could this be the Sybil that Dorothy had talked about? The name was similar enough. The minutes crawled by before one of the assistants finally brought it to the table where she was seated, together with a pair of white gloves.

‘This is incredibly old, so if you wouldn’t mind wearing these, please? Jenny tells me you know to handle this kind of document with care.’

‘Yes, of course, thank you.’ Melissa knew that for it to have survived this long was a minor miracle. She could hardly contain a whoop of delight as she carefully picked up the will and began to read.

The sounds of the search room faded into the background and in her mind Melissa was transported back to another age. The modern table in front of her disappeared and she saw instead a sturdy oak trestle with a candle on either side of the parchment and a small, black-clad man scratching away at it with his quill. Next to her was an unfinished baby’s smock of embroidered linen and an inkstand, and she could hear the crackling of a log fire. The heat seared her on one side while a cold draft caressed her body from the opposite direction. Instinctively she tried to adjust a non-existent shawl.

Strange memories came flooding into her brain then. Memories of dictating to the scribe while being heavily pregnant, of being filled with a mixture of hope, anger and despair as he quickly translated her words into Latin. A lassitude crept over her, a tiredness which was bone-deep, born out of almost unbearable sadness.

When at last the images faded, she put the will on the table in front of her and repressed a sob. The urge to burst into tears was almost overwhelming and she didn’t know why.
What is happening to me?
With a great effort she pulled herself together and began to write down an English translation of the Latin wording with shaking fingers.

IN THE NAME OF GOD AMEN, I Sibell of Ashleigh in the parish of Idenhurst in the County of Kent, being of sound and perfect mind and memory, God be praised, therefore do make and ordain this my Last Will and Testament in writing in manner and form following, That is to say, first I recommend my soul into the hands of Almighty God and my body I commit to the earth, and as for my worldly estate wherewith it hath pleased God to bestow upon me, I give and dispose thereof as follows, viz

I give unto James Norice, Mary Pettit and Aline Goodhew, my faithful servants, the sum of one pound each, and to my dear friend Ingirith Waite the sum of five pounds. All the rest and residue of my personal estate, goods and chattels whatsoever I give and bequeath unto my unborn child with love, and it is my wish that said child be named Roger should it prove to be male or Meriel should it prove to be female.

If said child is female, it is my wish that her guardians ensure the house and lands of Ashleigh remain her personal possessions even after marriage so that she may bequeath it to her first-born daughter, that the estate may pass down the distaff line for all eternity.

I do make and ordain Sir Gilbert Presseille of Idenhurst full and sole Executor of this my Last Will and Testament, and in witness thereof I have hereunto set my hand and seal this fourteenth day of January in the thirty ninth year of the reign of our Sovereign Henry the sixth King of England. Anno Domini One Thousand Four Hundred and Sixty One.

Signed
Sibell atte Ashleigh

Roger.
Melissa stared at her own handwriting, mesmerised by that one word. So the Sybil of Dorothy’s story had, in fact, been Sibell of Ashleigh. And if she wanted her child named Roger then it had to be because that name had
special significance for her. There was no mention of a husband, thus it followed that the child she was expecting was going to be illegitimate.

‘Progress at last,’ she whispered.

As Roger left the solar, he turned for one last look at Sibell. He knew she hadn’t believed him, but she really was beautiful and he’d been right about her figure. Although tall and lithe, she certainly had curves. Her gently rounded bosom strained against the russet-coloured fabric of her plain woollen gown, which seemed a little too small for her. And the gloriously coloured tendrils of hair, still escaping from her headdress despite her best efforts, together with her wide silver eyes, tempted him beyond belief. He wanted to free the flaming tresses and run his hands through them, feel their silkiness against his fingers, bury his face in them
 
…

Roger took a deep breath and blew her a kiss behind Lady Maude’s back, a mixture of happiness and excitement bubbling up inside him. Sibell’s cheeks turned pink and she looked away. He found her shyness endearing. She was like a frightened fawn, but he’d make her come out of her shell. He’d protect her. She was his now, although why he’d allowed himself to succumb so readily he wasn’t sure.

He’d been determined to think it over first, consider all his options. When he had gazed into her crystal clear eyes, however, Roger had known he was already lost. He was inexorably drawn to her and was helpless to prevent it. He would have laughed at the irony of it, if it hadn’t been such a serious matter. He, who had for years evaded the lures of women of all ages, had finally been caught by a woman who’d done nothing to snare him. A woman who had no idea of the feelings of chivalry she had awoken within him. Somehow, within the space of only a few meetings, she had penetrated his guard.

There was only one course open to him now and to his utter amazement, he was looking forward to it.

Chapter Fourteen

‘We’re having guests for tea today, dear, so would you mind helping me make some sandwiches, please?’ Dorothy came into the kitchen looking fresh and relaxed. It was Sunday and Melissa, never at her best in the morning, looked up from her breakfast with what she knew must be a grumpy expression. She wondered where the old lady got all that energy from so early in the day.

‘We are? Who’s coming?’ she enquired absently, while trying to focus her tired eyes on the Sunday paper lying next to her plate. She felt as if she had been wrung out in a mangle, absolutely exhausted physically and mentally, and it was all Roger’s fault.

Last night she had dreamt that he was fighting with two red-haired youths on her behalf. She had cheered him on, hating his opponents with a vehemence foreign to her nature, and feared for Roger when he was hurt. There had been blood, lots of it, but she didn’t think it was all his. She was sure he had beaten them in the end, despite a two-pronged attack that nearly made her heart stop. The entire dream had been so vivid, she woke up with the stench of sweat and blood in her nostrils. She had just succeeded in convincing herself she was being silly, when Jolie marched into the room and immediately wrinkled her nose.

‘Eeeuuw! It stinks in here, Mum. What have you been doing? A work out?’

Struck dumb, Melissa was unable to answer, and a sensation of panic washed over her. If Jolie could smell it as well, at least she wasn’t imagining things, but that was scant consolation. She gave herself a mental shake.
This won’t do. I’m becoming completely fixated by that ghost!
And Dorothy had warned her against that.

‘Just Amy and her father.’ Dorothy’s casual answer to her question brought her back to the present.

‘Sorry?’

‘I have invited Amy and her father,’ Dorothy repeated patiently. ‘Amy said the poor man was always alone on weekends, probably pining for his dead wife. It’s the least we can do for a neighbour, don’t you think? And with Jolie spending so much time over there, I’m sure we owe them.’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Melissa was only half-listening, lost in her own thoughts again. Her dreams were becoming a real problem and they were a nightly occurrence now. On the one hand she found herself looking forward to going to bed because she wanted to be with Roger, but the rational part of her knew this wasn’t normal. She wondered if the dreams meant anything.
Perhaps he’s trying to tell me something more via my subconscious?
If only she could recall what had been said.

She shook her head. ‘For heaven’s sake,’ she muttered and shook out the paper in frustration. ‘This has got to stop.’ With as much determination as she could muster, she concentrated on the day’s news.

‘Could someone get that please? I can’t leave the oven just now,’ Dorothy hollered from the kitchen when the doorbell rang later that day. The wonderful aroma of freshly baked scones wafted towards Melissa as she came down the stairs, vaguely annoyed about having to change into nicer clothes on a Sunday. Wearing skirts made her feel like she was working. She much preferred a pair of soft, comfortable jeans at the weekend and had planned on a relaxing afternoon, perhaps taking a long walk through the fields. As yet there hadn’t been an opportunity to explore the countryside around the manor and she also needed time alone to think.

‘All right, I will,’ she called back, walking towards the front door, adding
sotto voce
, ‘I just hope they don’t stay too long.’ She fumbled irritably with the door latch, which had a tendency to stick. She had a faint suspicion Dorothy might be match-making.
A divorcée and a lonely widower with daughters the same age, what could be more suitable?
Well, she’d catch cold at that. Melissa wasn’t interested in men at the moment, not even Steve, after his latest announcement. Although a part of her still loved him obviously – feelings didn’t evaporate that quickly – he also irritated the hell out of her. Living here at Ashleigh, she was beginning to see him from a new perspective and it made her wonder why she hadn’t noticed his domineering tendencies much before.
Perhaps I would have come to resent that with time?

‘Sweeting
 
…’
The voice inside her head goaded her beyond endurance.

‘No, go away, Roger!’ she muttered. ‘You’re annoying me, too.’ She opened the door with more force than was necessary, making the hinges squeak loudly in protest and the guests outside jump.

The fake welcoming smile died on her lips as Amy pushed past her with a quick, ‘Hello, Ms Grantham,’ and she was left staring at the girl’s father.

‘Mr Precy!’

The stunned expression on his face told her he hadn’t been aware of her identity either, which was a relief.
At least he’s not in on Dorothy’s plans, then.
He recovered first and stretched out his hand. She took it reluctantly, afraid his touch might affect her the way it had at their previous meeting. It did, and the electric jolt reverberated all the way up her arm this time. As before, he appeared not to notice.

‘Jake, please, we’re neighbours. And you’re Ms Grantham, I take it? I forgot to ask your name last time we met. It’s a pleasure to see you again.’

‘Er, Melissa.’

He shook her hand and added with a smile, ‘You’re not about to faint again, are you? Only, I wouldn’t mind a bit more notice this time so that I can catch you properly.’

Melissa managed a stiff smile in return and thought ‘Ha, ha, very funny.’ Aloud she said, ‘No, I’m not going to faint. I’m really sorry about that, it has never happened to me before.’