Minster Lovell, Present Day
‘This feels slightly clandestine for some reason,’ Serena said, as she, Jack and Luna went through the little picket gate at the corner of the bridge and entered the water meadows. The morning was finer and brighter than the previous day; little white clouds chased across the sky in a brisk breeze and the sun rippled over the river. ‘I think it’s because whenever I escape from the pub, I breathe a little easier.’
She thought about the copy of The Lovell Lodestar crumbling to ash in the grate that morning. She was sure that Eve had deliberately taken it from the shelf the previous night. She hadn’t forgotten the odd expression in the landlady’s eyes as she had looked up at her from the stairs. The way that the book had been lying in the fire had been so blatant, and Eve had specifically directed her to that table. But why she should have burned the book was both odd and inexplicable.
‘I know it sounds a bit far-fetched,’ she said, ‘but sometimes it feels as though there’s something strange about the pub.’ She shuddered. ‘I’m the least fey of people normally but it feels unfriendly to me.’
‘I feel it too,’ Jack said. ‘Perhaps it’s just that Eve seems to have such an unhealthy interest in… just about everything, really. It’s rather intrusive but also…’ He hesitated. ‘Inimical, somehow.’ He gave a shrug as though sloughing off the feeling. ‘Shall we walk along the river?’
They started along the path through the meadow. Jack’s stride was slightly longer than Serena’s and she dropped back a little, which gave her a perfect view of his broad shoulders and ruffled dark hair. He stopped and turned, waiting for her to catch him up and Serena hoped he hadn’t seen her staring.
The dry, dead leaves of the previous year crunched beneath their boots, the whole scene lit in shades of bronze and gold from the rising spring sun. Luna dashed about checking out all the sniffs, kicking up her paws in the leaves.
‘Does she ever swim?’ Serena asked, looking at the peaceful curve of the river. ‘Most Labs like water.’
‘She loves it,’ Jack said. ‘One time when I was wild swimming here, she came in with me but I think she was puzzled as to what I was doing in the water. She definitely saw it as her domain.’
Jack, Serena realised, was waiting for her to indicate whether she wanted to talk about Caitlin or not. He wasn’t going to force the topic. She felt a rush of gratitude at his thoughtfulness.
‘This may sound a bit left-field,’ she said, ‘but bear with me. I wanted to ask you – do you know anything about your family history? I mean – you’re called Lovell and you lived in the village here for years. Do you know if you’re descended from the Lovell family?’
Jack laughed. ‘Dad always swore we were,’ he said, ‘but I don’t know what evidence he has for that. As far as I know, until a few generations back, our family came from the east coast of Scotland, a tiny place called Lunan Bay. I think it was my great-grandparents who moved south and Dad chose to live here because of the name, but as to the precise connection…’ He looked around. ‘It’s true that I do love it here. I grew up here and it feels like it’s in my blood somehow.’
Serena smiled at the unembarrassed warmth in his words. Jack, she was beginning to see, was completely comfortable with who he was. It was refreshing.
‘I don’t think Francis Lovell had any children,’ she said. ‘But perhaps you’re descended from another branch of the family.’
‘Francis?’ Jack said. ‘The one they tell all the legends about?’
‘That’s him,’ Serena said. ‘Francis, Lord Lovell, was a bit of a crush of mine when I was a teenager,’ she admitted. ‘I had a huge thing for Richard III and was obsessed by the mystery of the Princes in the Tower. Francis was Richard’s close friend and I found his story fascinating.’
‘Did he die at Bosworth Field with Richard?’ Jack asked.
‘No,’ Serena said. ‘I think he raised a rebellion against Henry VII after Richard died. He wanted to restore the Yorkist monarchy. He disappeared after the Battle of Stoke Field.’
‘Of course,’ Jack said. ‘There’s the old story that he hid out here at Minster Lovell, isn’t there? And that they found his body years later.’ He shook his head. ‘Rebellion was a risky business, that’s for sure.’ He glanced at her. ‘What about the Princes? What’s your theory?’
Serena smiled. ‘Does it catch your journalistic interest? It would be one hell of a mystery to solve, wouldn’t it?’
‘Especially following on from the recent discovery of Richard III’s remains in the car park in Leicester,’ Jack agreed. ‘There’s a lot of interest in that sort of thing at the moment.’ He smiled at her. ‘I suppose you think Richard was innocent of the boys’ murder? I’ve read The Daughter of Time,’ he added. ‘I have to say I found it pretty compelling.’
‘You’re just humouring me,’ Serena said. ‘Neutrals find the passion that Richard evokes completely baffling.’
‘No one likes a miscarriage of justice,’ Jack said mildly. ‘Killing your nephews is a heinous crime to be accused of.’
It was certainly that, Serena thought. There was something so disturbing about the disappearance and death of a child or a teenager, all that innocence and promise snuffed out like a blown candle. She gave a shudder and Jack saw it and stopped.
‘A bit too close to home?’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. So many things must remind you of Caitlin.’
‘They do,’ Serena said, ‘and yet the really important bits – the bits I want to remember – just won’t come to me. It’s incredibly frustrating.’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Jack asked and she nodded. He drove his hands into the pockets of his coat and they walked on, side by side, whilst Serena tried to work out where to start.
‘I told you last night that I came here wanting to recover the memories I’ve lost of the night Caitlin vanished,’ she said. ‘It’s really important to me – I feel I owe it to Caitlin, and it might help the police investigation. Also, I think that sometimes, for my own sanity, I need to remember what the hell happened so I can get on with my life. There’s no closure. It’s like a puzzle I’ve never solved. I’ve tried to ignore it and that hasn’t really worked so I’ve only got this one option left. It’s a case of remember, or go mad.’
‘That sounds a bit extreme,’ Jack said, ‘though I do hear what you’re saying. And I get that you feel you owe it to Caitlin even though it wasn’t your fault. You do know that, don’t you, Serena?’ He spoke emphatically. ‘Whatever happened to Caitlin, it was not your fault.’
‘I don’t even know that, though, do I?’ Serena was horrified to feel the tears spring in her eyes. She rubbed them away fiercely. ‘If I can’t remember,’ she said, hating the wobble in her voice, ‘how do I know I didn’t do something, even accidentally, to hurt her or drive her away—’ Her voice broke as she finally expressed the fear she’d kept hidden so long. ‘When the police were talking about finding Caitlin’s body,’ she said, ‘I could see that they thought someone might have killed her accidentally and tried to hide her body out of fear at what they’d done. I know they thought it might be me…’ She turned away as tears stung her eyes again. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I just wish I could say it wasn’t me and know it was true.’
She heard Jack swear under his breath. ‘Serena. Stop this.’ He pulled her into his arms, his touch as gentle as his tone had been rough. ‘You know you didn’t hurt Caitlin,’ he said. ‘I know you didn’t hurt her. No one, knowing you, would imagine it for a second. Now, believe it.’
Serena allowed herself to remain in his embrace for a moment, her head against his shoulder, his arms about her. It was immensely comforting.
‘Thank you,’ she said, after a moment, reluctantly stepping back and rummaging in the pocket of her jeans for a tissue. ‘I needed a bit of tough love there.’
‘Any time,’ Jack said, with a lop-sided grin.
Luna, who had tired of waiting for them and had splashed off to paddle in the river, now came bounding back towards them, threading through the ruined stones of the hall with the skill of a slalom skier. A moorhen whistled on the river and the sun dipped behind a cloud.
Without warning, Serena was back in the moment eleven years before when she had trailed across the dry field from the dovecote, the grass cutting her bare feet, the July heat beating down on her. She could feel the pent-up irritation of her awkward seventeen-year-old self, jealous of her twin sister, knowing they were growing apart because of Caitlin’s romance with Leo and she felt left behind, unwanted and dull, her life empty and childish and boring in comparison to her sister’s.
She’d been feeling miserable and lonely but then someone had come… In her mind’s eye she could see a dog racing towards her and behind it the figure of a boy…
Luna stopped at her feet, panting, gazing up, and Serena turned to look at Jack.
‘Are you OK?’ He touched her arm lightly, looking concerned. ‘Serena? What is it?’
‘Oh my God,’ Serena said blankly. ‘It was you.’ She realised that she was shaking. ‘It was you I met in the ruins that afternoon, the day that Caitlin died,’ she said. ‘I knew there had been someone but I couldn’t remember who it was. Then when I saw you again yesterday it felt strange, as though I’d missed a step in our relationship and now, I realise why.’ She stopped for breath. ‘That’s what I meant last night when I said that I was trying to remember things, and seeing you seemed to help.’
There was a flash of emotion in Jack’s eyes. He gave her a wry smile. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It was me you met.’
‘You had your dog with you,’ Serena said, reaching down to pat Luna whilst the Labrador looked up at her, sides heaving, eyes bright. ‘He was a spaniel, wasn’t he? Loki? He ran towards me and I looked up and you were there wearing a black-and-green rugby shirt and jeans.’ She closed her eyes, the images coming thick and fast now. ‘And your hair was wet… You told me you’d been swimming, further upriver, not where Leo and Caitlin were, but beyond the dovecote. You’d seen me come out and followed me back to the hall.’
There was a tension in Jack’s shoulders. ‘I wanted to talk to you,’ he said. ‘You looked sad.’
‘I was in a miserable mood that afternoon,’ Serena said. Another burst of memories returned to her and with them another rush of emotion. She sat down abruptly on the jutting masonry of a ruined wall.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Oh God, I was so rude to you, wasn’t I, telling you to leave me alone! I was jealous of Caitlin and I didn’t want to talk.’
‘I thought you were sweet,’ Jack said. He sat down beside her, Luna flopping down at his feet. ‘Yeah, you were grumpy as hell, but with good cause. Everyone always made such a fuss of Caitlin, how pretty she was, how popular. I wanted you to see…’ He stopped. ‘You were a person in your own right,’ he said fiercely. ‘You didn’t need to be in her shadow. You were special.’
Serena pressed her hands to her hot cheeks, barely hearing his words through her embarrassment. ‘You kissed me that afternoon. It was my first proper kiss! I was scared it would be awkward but it wasn’t, it was lovely – you were lovely…’ She stopped. ‘Why do I feel self-conscious now, eleven years later? That’s bizarre.’
‘You’re reliving the experience,’ Jack said. His eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘Actually, it’s really cute. Do you remember what happened next?’
‘No, not yet.’ Serena risked a glance at him. ‘We didn’t… Did we? I mean… Oh God, tell me we didn’t. No, of course we didn’t. Not with the dog there.’ She spoke in a rush. ‘All I can remember is a lovely warm feeling’ – she pressed a hand to her stomach – ‘so I guess whatever did happen, it was really nice.’
‘We sat and chatted,’ Jack said. ‘Over there.’ He nodded towards the archway into the hall. ‘We talked for ages,’ he said, ‘not about anything in particular, about our families, and studying, and what we planned to do in the future. We were just kids really. Both of us. It wasn’t like Caitlin and Leo – all intense and heavy. I don’t think either of us were mature enough for that. But it was terribly sweet.’
‘I remember it all now,’ Serena said. ‘You’re right – I wanted to be like Caitlin, so glamorous and grown up. I was always running after her, calling for her to wait for me to catch up, and I was the elder twin! Yet at the same time the way she behaved scared me. I knew she and Leo were sleeping together and that they were totally wrapped up in each other. I didn’t want her to get hurt – I wanted to protect her but I didn’t know how.’
She glanced up at Jack but the sun was in her eyes and she couldn’t see his expression. ‘I do remember that you made me see I didn’t have to be the same as Caitlin,’ she said. ‘I don’t recall the precise conversation, but I do remember the feeling it gave me, the confidence and the sense of being myself. It’s just a pity it all got swept away with everything else when she disappeared.’
Jack squeezed her hand gently and let her go. ‘I’m glad you’ve remembered,’ he said.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Serena said. ‘Maybe not straight away, but when we had dinner last night?’
Jack shrugged. He looked slightly uncomfortable. ‘I did think about it,’ he said. ‘But I knew you’d forgotten everything about that day, and I didn’t know if it would help or just make things worse if I started telling you what had happened. It felt as though it would be better for you to recover the memories naturally.’ He looked at her. ‘If I made a bad call, I apologise. I wasn’t deliberately trying to deceive you.’
‘I understand,’ Serena said, ‘and for what it’s worth, I don’t think it was a bad call. I keep getting little flashes of things that happened. We had some sort of fizzy drink, I think…’
Jack was smiling easily now. ‘I shared my homemade lemonade with you,’ he said. ‘My grandmother had made it—’
‘The bubbles went up my nose and we laughed when I sneezed!’ Serena said. She took a breath, feeling a little light-headed. The rush of memories – the sweetness of them and the recovery of a part of her past – overwhelmed her for a moment. She hadn’t expected anything she remembered to be positive and was taken aback to feel tears sting her eyes for a moment.
‘It was very simple and easy, being with you,’ she said, clearing her throat. ‘I remember talking about the future. You said you wanted to study abroad – in Holland somewhere…’
‘Delft,’ Jack said. He pulled a face. ‘I thought at that stage I might study architecture,’ he said, ‘but I changed my mind.’
‘You walked me back to the manor,’ Serena said, ‘and kissed me again, and asked if you could see me the next day. And the next time I saw you I’d forgotten everything that had happened between us.’ She pressed her hands to her cheeks again, feeling oddly upset even though it had all happened so long ago. ‘Oh, Jack, I’m sorry! You must have thought I was horrible when I just dropped you—’
‘At first I thought you were just too upset to want to see anyone,’ Jack said. He looked away, across the fields towards the river. ‘I heard on the grapevine that you were ill but I didn’t realise that you’d got dissociative amnesia. I kept hoping that, somehow, you’d come and see me and that together we’d sort out the whole horrible nightmare – find Caitlin, somehow, and put matters right. It was stupid because of course there was nothing we could do, but I remember thinking that if only I could talk to you everything would be all right. It wouldn’t have been, of course…’ He stopped and rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Perhaps because we’d had that one perfect afternoon, I sort of idealised it afterwards when everything went so painfully wrong.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Serena said again. Impulsively she took his hand. ‘It was lovely, wasn’t it?’ She smiled a little ruefully. ‘I had a terrible crush on you, you know, and when you finally took notice of me it was like a dream. I can’t believe I forgot it.’
Jack’s lips twitched. ‘I had no idea,’ he said. ‘That you had a crush on me, I mean. I always saw myself as so awkward and nerdy, and you were…’ He shook his head, turning her hand over between his. ‘I really liked you,’ he said softly.
His gaze lifted to hers and Serena wondered, irresistibly, what it would be like to kiss him now, now that they were both grown up and, she thought, probably a great deal better co-ordinated than they had been that summer afternoon eleven years before.
‘Hold that thought,’ Jack said, as though she had spoken. ‘I’ve just seen Zoe over by the buttery door.’ He gestured to a figure in a fuchsia pink waterproof jacket and the ubiquitous rucksack. ‘She’s waving at us. Do you mind giving her the chance to apologise?’
‘Of course not,’ Serena said.
Jack squeezed her hand gently and let it go. ‘We can talk some more later,’ he said, ‘if you like.’
‘Yes,’ Serena said. She smiled at him. ‘I would like that.’ She watched Zoe trudge towards them. There was something very intense about her, compared with Jack’s laid-back manner. ‘I’m glad Zoe’s here really,’ Serena said, repressing a sigh. ‘I wanted to ask her about this weird business of the eighteenth-century burial.’
‘Yes, that is very odd,’ Jack said. ‘I asked Zoe yesterday whether it would be possible to open a grave and reseal it so that it was impossible to tell if it had been tampered with. She didn’t think it was likely.’
‘The police said the same thing,’ Serena said. ‘They felt it would show up under close forensic examination. But I can’t see there’s any other alternative.’
‘Hi, Jack, hi… um… Serena.’ Zoe, out of breath and pushing the damp stray strands of hair back from her face, had scrambled over the wall to join them. She gave Serena a shamefaced half-smile, clearly uncertain of her welcome. ‘I want to apologise,’ she said formally. ‘I’m terribly sorry about what happened yesterday—’
‘It’s OK,’ Serena said, taking pity on the younger girl. ‘Don’t worry about it. I need your help, actually—’ She glanced at Jack and smiled. ‘As an archaeologist, would you say it’s impossible to bury someone in an existing grave without the disturbance being obvious?’ She kept the question deliberately impersonal for her own sake as well as Zoe’s. It was easier to deal with.
Zoe too seemed happier with things on a professional level. ‘Never say never,’ she said, ‘but I think it would be most unlikely. This particular burial’ – she swallowed hard – ‘well, we’ve been all over it several times and so have the police forensics team. To all intents and appearances, it took place in the early eighteenth century.’
Serena looked across at Jack. ‘Yet the body has been positively identified as Caitlin,’ she said, ‘so that’s not possible.’
Zoe’s gaze darted from one of them to the other. ‘Did the police mention the… erm… decomposition of the body?’
‘Yes,’ Serena said shortly. She was remembering Inspector Litton’s words:
‘The general state of the decay suggested it had been interred for roughly three hundred years and that she had been dead for longer than that. However, the radiocarbon dating suggested that this was of a young woman who had died in the early twenty-first century.’
‘They said they were waiting for further tests to be complete,’ she said. ‘There must be some glitch in the results.’
‘It’s always possible,’ Zoe said carefully, ‘but perhaps you should read this, Serena.’ She rummaged in the rucksack and took out a sheaf of photocopied papers. ‘It’s not an original manuscript but it is a typed version of the original. I was going to give it to Jack’ – she looked at her brother – ‘before he said he wasn’t interested in the case any more.’
‘What is it?’ Serena asked.
‘It’s a witness account of the discovery of a body that was found in the ruins of the hall,’ Zoe said. ‘Our body, I mean. Caitlin’s. The one in the grave.’ Again she looked awkward. ‘The thing is…’ She stopped and the colour rushed into her face. ‘It was written in 1708.’
‘What?’ Serena looked at her in astonishment. Beside her she felt Jack stiffen with the same shock. ‘You mean there’s a contemporary written account?’
‘See for yourself,’ Zoe said. She passed the papers to Serena, who moved along so that she was closer to Jack and they could both read them.
Minster Lovell Hall, August 1708
From my window here in the eaves of the vicarage I can see the men labouring in the manor courtyard in the heat of the day. Mr Coke, who owns Minster Lovell Hall now, has decreed that some of the building should be repaired and reroofed, though as he has no intention of removing here to live, it seems a costly and pointless business. He is allowing the rest of the Old Hall to fall down. He thinks it looks romantic to see the bare beams reaching to the sky and the masonry crumbling into dust.
Serena looked up. ‘Is this someone’s diary?’
Zoe nodded eagerly. ‘When we originally found the grave, I looked back through the church documents to see if it had been recorded at the time. Initially, of course, we thought it was a straightforward burial. I found a reference in the files to the interment of an unknown girl in 1708, but then at the records office, I also found this from the same year.’ She pushed the hair back from her face. ‘It’s the diary of a servant at the vicarage at the time. It was in with the Wheeler family papers.’
Serena nodded and went back to the diary.
It has been an arid summer. The river runs almost dry and the ground is hard. Mr Coke’s men sweat and swear as they dig; perhaps this is the reason the Reverend Wheeler will not let us take them cool ale to quench their thirst, for their appearance is rough and their language rougher, quite inappropriate for ladies to hear. It would have been a kindness to offer them refreshment but the vicar has little truck with Christian charity unless it is to his own benefit and why waste his good ale on Mr Coke’s workmen when no one is here to applaud his generosity? The water from the well in the courtyard may be rank but it is good enough for them.
I live in the vicarage attic along with the two maidservants. Although I am companion to the vicar’s daughter, I am in essence a servant myself. Servility does not come naturally to me. Eleven long years have I been here. In that time, I have grown old and Miss Wheeler has turned from the hopeful young girl I once knew into an embittered spinster with nothing to occupy her hands and even less to occupy her mind. She is ill-educated, for the vicar does not approve of learning in women and so his daughter does nothing but fret about her life, on the absence of a husband and children and on the nothingness of each day, until her complaints threaten to drive us both to madness. The lot of a lady’s companion is to be agreeable in the face of all and any provocation and so I hold my tongue, remind myself that her life is very small and that I am fortunate to have this position.
‘Rebecca!’ I jump as I hear Miss Wheeler calling me from far below. She sounds cross and impatient. The heat irritates her; everything irritates her. She will want me to fetch her a glass of lemonade which she could so easily have poured for herself.
I tread lightly down the faded runner of the attic stair carpet, one hand on the rail to steady me against the steepness of the flight of steps.
‘Rebecca!’ Miss Wheeler is standing in the hallway, flapping her arms at me like an outraged butterfly. ‘Where have you been? They have found something exciting in the ruins of the hall. I see them digging madly! Do you think it could be the Minster Lovell treasure? They say it was lost hundreds of years ago and nothing but ill luck came to the family thereafter.’
‘I doubt it is any kind of treasure,’ I say, wondering at her childishness.
We stand on the steps, Miss Wheeler and I, watching the sudden buzz of activity in the courtyard of the manor. The workmen are excited. They have uncovered something in the cellars of a tower, something lost and long forgotten. This is an unexpected prize that breaks the monotony of their routine and they dig with a will now, curiosity speeding their work. Beside me, Miss Wheeler fidgets with anticipation.
‘I cannot see,’ she says. ‘Rebecca, should we go down there?’
‘Certainly not,’ I say. ‘That would be most unladylike.’
A shout goes up. The foreman comes running across the courtyard and behind him, more slowly, Mr Coke’s agent, Mr Anstruther, emerges from his office, rubbing the ink stains from his hands and blinking in the sunlight.
Miss Wheeler grasps my sleeve and pulls me down the steps. I realise that she intends us to join the gathering in the courtyard. I try to resist but Miss Wheeler is hastening us down the path to the gate and into the ruins. The ground is hot and the stones score my feet through the thin slippers I am wearing. I feel the perspiration slip down my back and prickle my neck. And all the while she is talking and talking…
‘How exciting this is! It looks as though they have found a body! Perhaps it is old Viscount Lovell. Do you know the tale, Rebecca? They say that he was a great friend of that terrible monster King Richard III and that he hid away here after the Battle of Bosworth and starved to death, locked in a secret room, when the retainer who was hiding him perished…’
I put up a hand to guard my face from the harsh sun. Miss Wheeler had dragged me out in such a hurry that I had no bonnet. I can only hope that the Reverend does not see us or he will rebuke me for immodesty, perhaps even dismiss me. I try to ignore Miss Wheeler’s babble.
Blinded by sunlight, I stumble and almost trip over the irregular stones of the path. The workmen do not notice our coming at first, so intent are they on their discovery. One man doffs his cap; others dip their heads. Still they have not spoken.
I cannot relate what it is they have found. Some poor creature whose body is tumbled on a rough blanket, bare bones, jumbled and brittle. She looks as though she might disintegrate with a puff of wind. There is a flash of gold amongst the remains; a man pounces on it like a magpie but the others turn on him and he falls back, abashed.’
‘Have you found the famous Lord Lovell?’ Miss Wheeler trills.
They look up from the corpse and the naked shock in the face of Mr Anstruther to see us there stirs me from my horror. This time it is I who pluck at her sleeve.
‘Come away, Miss Wheeler,’ I say. ‘This is no place for us.’
Mr Anstruther hastens to agree with me. ‘Let me escort you back, ladies,’ he says gallantly. ‘I must inform the vicar of what we have found.’ He shepherds us away with such a masterful manner that Miss Wheeler finds it quite impossible to resist. Nevertheless, she is talking all the time, and looking back over her shoulder to watch the foreman marshalling the men to remove the bones from their makeshift grave.
‘It looked too small to be the Viscount Lovell,’ she said, with evident regret. ‘A child, perhaps.’
‘The surgeon will no doubt be able to tell,’ Mr Anstruther says. He sounds grim.
It is a relief to regain the shadow and coolness of the vicarage. Whilst Mr Anstruther summons the vicar and Miss Wheeler hurries to acquaint the housekeeper with the shocking news, I sit quietly in the parlour and try to regain some semblance of calm. I feel hot, dizzy and in danger of swooning.
There was a row of dots at the bottom of the sheet and then another diary entry below. Serena swallowed hard. She was aware of Jack’s hand on hers, warm and comforting. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
Serena nodded. Her throat was paper dry. ‘Caitlin was wearing a necklace when she disappeared,’ she said. ‘A gold chain with a little gold rose on it. They found part of it in the ruins that night and the other part in the grave with her body—’ She swallowed hard. ‘Oh God, this is so weird! I can’t…’ She picked up the papers again. ‘I want to read on.’
‘Are you sure?’ Jack said. He was looking worried. ‘Absolutely,’ Serena said.
1 September 1708
They are burying the girl’s bones today, a week on from when she was found. There is a pitifully small group of mourners. Reverend Wheeler insisted that his daughter and I attend to make it appear that someone cares about her passing. As long as the correct observances are made, the Reverend Wheeler is content. God forbid that the bishop should hear any whisper of scandal or malpractice in this parish.
It seems to me that the only person who genuinely grieves for the girl is Mr Coke’s agent, Mr Anstruther. I sense he feels pain for the dead girl even though he knows nothing of her.
‘Poor child,’ he kept repeating, when we assembled outside the church, ‘to die alone and lost.’
Miss Wheeler is standing beside him now, shedding a pretty tear every so often whilst checking out of the corner of her eye that he has noticed her distress. Occasionally she will lay her gloved hand on his arm for comfort. I suspect she sees Mr Anstruther as her last hope of marriage. For his sake I hope he does not make her an offer. He is too good a man to be obliged to suffer her complaints each and every day. At least I am paid to do so; a minuscule sum but it is a small recompense.
There are but a half-dozen of us in the church. The foreman of the labourers stands in the back pew for the service, looking ill at ease and turning his cloth cap round and around in his big, meaty hands. He knows it is his duty to attend but his eyes dart about as though he is seeking escape. He looks everywhere other than at the small casket resting before the altar. The workmen are a superstitious breed and they say that the building work is cursed because of this girl. They live in fear of an accident on the site, believing themselves ill-wished for disturbing a corpse.
‘Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery…’ The Reverend Wheeler is in full flood; he adores the sound of his own pomposity.
The girl is being buried in a plain grave. The fragment of a golden necklace that was found amongst her bones will be buried with her. No one wants to risk the wrath of God or any other deity by removing them. It feels as though everyone, whether educated or illiterate, rational or superstitious, feels discomfort at the discovery of her body.
The body is laid to rest, out of sight, out of mind, forgotten once again for all eternity. Now she is safely returned to the ground, we all breathe more easily and as we step out of the church into the bright, hot afternoon sunlight, our spirits lift still further. There is no suggestion that we should mourn the girl any longer; our lives resume. Miss Wheeler and I walk back to the vicarage, Mr Anstruther returns to the estate office and the foreman of the builders jams his cloth cap on his head and hastens to the alehouse.’
Serena looked up from the transcript. Her eyes were full of tears.
‘I feel as though I’ve just read an account of Caitlin’s funeral,’ she said, ‘but that’s impossible. It simply cannot be.’
Jack put his arm around her. It felt so reassuring that Serena allowed herself to lean into him. Zoe, tactful for once, was looking the other way, fiddling with the strap of the rucksack. Serena felt Jack’s lips brush her hair.
‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘when all logical explanations have been dismissed, all you’re left with is the impossible.’
‘In this case,’ Serena said, ‘the impossible is that somehow Caitlin was buried in 1708, and that’s madness.’
‘I agree,’ Jack said steadily. ‘By all the known laws of physics it’s not possible. Yet it seems to have happened. And we’re going to keep on working on this until we find out the truth. Come on.’ He stood up, pulling her to her feet. Luna jumped up too, shaking herself. ‘Luna’s on the case,’ Jack said. ‘We’ve got work to do.’