The Book of Hours (31 page)

“Like Cecilia,” Brian offered.

“She certainly deserves better, wouldn't you agree?”

Brian found himself caught by a sudden rush of memories, so vivid now that he had no choice but to speak of them aloud. “Sarah died in early January. On a Tuesday. Her eyesight had failed about two weeks earlier. It was a crushing blow for both of us. It tore at me to see her imprisoned in her own body.” He stopped, took a breath, and seemed to smell the perfumes of petals lost and gone forever. “I started going out and walking around gardens and studying the sunlight. I tried as best I could to imagine the spring that my beloved wife would not be able to share with me. The first roses were still three months away. Sarah always loved the way every bush seemed to have a different fragrance. I remembered how she would lead me from one bloom to the next, inviting me to savor the subtle difference between each creation. When I returned to the hospital, Sarah never asked me to describe what I had seen. All she wanted was to make sure at least one of us would be there to enjoy the new season.”

Brian lifted his gaze to the stars, and found himself seated in the midst of a storm of descending love. It was the easiest thing in the world to say, “She would be so happy to see me sitting here, talking with you, discussing a woman I've come to care for very deeply. Making friends and building a new home and a future with hope and purpose. Becoming ready for the season that is finally about to arrive.”

“My dear Brian—” Trevor faltered. “Your words leave me feeling very foolish indeed.”

Brian studied the night, and found within the icy dark and the starlight a presence that was both new and old as time itself. “I don't know why I've been given the chance to start over. I don't know why I've had this prospect of loving someone as fine as Cecilia. But I do know that I'll give it my very best. That I can promise you.”

“I can't ask for anything more,” Trevor answered.

An unexpected voice spoke softly from behind them. “I can't either.” Cecilia walked over and seated herself beside Brian.

He could only ask, “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough.” She took his face in both her hands—and kissed him warm and long.

It was Trevor's embarrassed cough that drew them apart. “Well, that is, perhaps I should be getting back.”

“We all should,” Cecilia said, her gaze speaking another language entirely. “I came out to tell you that Arthur's found something.”

Thirty-eight

“I
CONFESS IT WAS AN UTTER ACCIDENT,”
A
RTHUR SAID
. “I was tapping bricks in the old scullery fireplace, and found myself stuck fast.”

“I told you to leave it for someone younger,” Gladys reprimanded.

“Yes, well, it's a good thing I didn't. That's when I found it. Look here.” Arthur lowered himself down to his hands and knees, and with Trevor and Brian and Cecilia all crowding around him, he scrambled to the back of the narrow chimney. His voice echoed tightly as he said, “Back in the days before electric cookers, the servants would slip iron rods through pot handles and then slide the rods through these rings you see here, hanging the pots over the fire.”

“I can't see a thing,” Cecilia complained.

“Then you'll just have to take my word for it. I gripped this top ring here, didn't even see it until I was crammed in so. It is black as the bricks and looks to be imbedded slightly into the wall; yes, I can see now there's an indentation carved here, to keep it from being detected from outside. Quite remarkable, really.”

“Do get on with it, dear,” Gladys cried impatiently.

“Shine the torch over here,Trevor. That's better. Here we go, then.”

Brian pressed his cheek to the cold stone floor so as to watch from underneath as Arthur gripped the ring and twisted hard. There was a faint rumble as a six-brick square rolled away from the side. Arthur eased himself backward and gave everyone a chance to admire his handiwork. “What do you think of that?”

“I am rendered positively speechless,” Trevor said.

“Quite a feat for a vicar,” Arthur remarked.

Brian eased in far enough to observe, “There's a set of narrow stairs.” He pulled his head out to ask Arthur, “Want to go first?”

“Couldn't possibly, old chap,” the old man replied cheerfully. “The honors must lie with you.”

“Okay, here goes.” In order to make the narrow entrance, Brian had to twist and sit on the brick fireplace, then slide in one arm at a time. Once inside, however, the passage broadened and he was able to stand.

Cecilia demanded, “What do you see?”

He shone the light upward and whistled softly.

“Brian Blackstone, if you don't answer me right now, I'm going to crawl in there and inflict some serious damage!”

Arthur's chuckle echoed from down below. “I say, that sounds rather possessive.”

“Hush, dear, it's none of your affair.”

Brian called back, “It looks like a spiral stone ladder. I'm going up.” He gripped the flashlight with his teeth, and used his hands and feet to scramble up.

“I can't stand this,” Cecilia declared. “Somebody hand me a flashlight.”

“I'm right behind you,” Trevor announced.

Brian did a slow revolution as he climbed, the breath puffing hard through his nostrils. Up and up he went until he was certain he had risen nearly to the level of the middle floor. He was halted by a stout wooden door set into the ceiling overhead. Brian plucked the flashlight from his mouth, pressed his back into the sidewall, levered one leg up against the opposite stones, and shoved hard.

The wooden grate fell back with a resounding clatter.

“I say,” Arthur called from down below. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Brian coughed and sneezed from the dust as he clambered through the opening.

“It's raining grit!” Cecilia complained.

“Don't stop,” Trevor hacked. “I'm stuck halfway in and catching it all right in my face.”

Brian seated himself on the lip of the opening, shone the flashlight around, and said, “I don't believe this.”

“What?” When he did not respond, Cecilia called, “Speak to me!”

He leaned down and shouted, “Everybody get up here, fast!”

Thirty-nine

B
RIAN SLID AWAY FROM THE OPENING IN THE FLOOR, LEAVING
Cecilia to help first Trevor and then Molly through the portal. He stayed where he was so as to watch their expressions. It was a vastly satisfying experience, hearing their gasps echo around the stone-lined chamber. He observed with them as they spun their cones of light about the room, flashing on the ancient shields stacked around the walls, pausing on the tall broadswords in their jeweled scabbards, the crosspieces supporting suits of chain mail and helmets with the same royal crests as the shields.

It was Trevor who pointed at the chamber's far end and said, “What's in the chest?”

“I don't know, I was waiting for Arthur and Gladys to come up.”

“Gladys isn't coming,” Molly reported. “She doesn't like dark enclosed spaces. She took one look at the opening and said she'd gone all quiffy.”

“Go on and open it,” Cecilia begged.

“Okay.” The ceiling was not tall enough for him to stand upright, so Brian slid across the flagstones on his hands and knees. The chest was an ancient strongbox. Rusted iron bands crisscrossed the top, and some ancient seal had been stamped in colored wax across the opening. In the chamber's corner lay two other strongboxes, open and empty and lying on their sides. The seal on this box had long since been broken as well, and the lid slid back easily. The interior was far smaller than the exterior, for the wood was a good three inches thick. Gently, Brian lifted up the box's uppermost contents.

Cecilia demanded, “What is it?”

“A letter from Heather.” But that alone was not what caused his hands to tremble.

“What else?”

Brian found himself rocked back on his heels. “Come see for yourself.”

“Why can't you just . . .” Cecilia's voice trailed off as she shone her light inside.

“What is it?” Trevor and Molly crawled across, and gasped again.

Brian watched as Cecilia dipped an unsteady hand into the box, lifted up a pile of gold and silver pieces, and let them slide through her fingers. The coins jingled heavily as they fell back into the chest.

Trevor lifted one coin close to his face and said to his wife, “Hold the light steady, will you?”

“I'm trying.”

He squinted and said, “The inscription is in Latin, and the coin looks hand-stamped. The crest appears to be the same as on the shields.” Trevor looked at Brian. “Do you have any idea what you have here?”

“A fortune,” Cecilia breathed for him.

“More than that.” Trevor glanced from the coin to the shields and back. “My guess is you've found the royal armory. Back in the thirteenth century the prince occupying the castle supported the wrong claimant for the throne of England. A siege was laid about Knightsbridge, and when defeated, the castle was demolished to ensure that no one would ever use it to stage another insurrection. The earliest manor was built long before the castle was destroyed. They must have designed this chamber during the siege and hidden everything here before surrendering.”

“The second manor was built around the remnants of the first, and the third around that,” Molly added. “I remember that from my school days.”

Trevor took the light from his wife and flashed it toward the empty strongboxes in the corner. “The family must have kept this hoard secret, dipping into it when times got hard.”

Cecilia demanded, “What does the letter say?”

Brian looked down in surprise. He had forgotten what he held. With none-too-steady hands he slit the envelope and pulled out the single page. Time and the dry air had turned it to the brittle quality of old parchment. The scrawl slipped up and down, many letters only partly formed. Brian squinted hard as Cecilia held the light up close, and read:

“My dear Brian, now all my secrets lie revealed. Alex had always planned to bring these lovely items out into the open and make one room of our overlarge house into a village museum. But illness took him before the plans could be realized, and after his passage I let his dream fade with so much else. I congratulate you for having forged ahead to the end of our little quest. My fervent prayer is that your internal quest has been equally successful.

“The doctors tell me I do not have much time left, and my poor crumbly body is saying the same. I find it remarkable I have managed to make the journey to deposit this letter. I decided to write it here, at the old home's secret heart, for it was here that Alex and I used to come and share our most private dreams. As I sit here upon the floor with a treasure box as my writing table, I find him so very close. Perhaps this is the way our end is supposed to be, when the worldly veils slip away, and we begin to glimpse those who have gone ahead.

“But all my anticipations of the other side are not pleasant. Soon I shall find myself approaching the sacred altar. There are so many stains on my garment, I am ashamed to say. Few of them I can do anything about, for I have left it too long. All I can do is rely on the forgiving grace of my gentle Savior, as must we all. But even as He takes my hand and lifts me up, I will be crying tears of sorrow for having wasted so much, and having served Him so poorly.”

Brian paused for a long breath and heard Molly snuffling quietly. He glanced over and received a quick little nod from Cecilia's overflowing eyes. He looked back to the letter and continued,“How I shall miss not seeing the coming summer. Do try and cherish this day for me,my dear Brian. The gentle press of English seasons is so subtle that one is prone to ignore the fact that time passes. Try and hold on to this moment, my newfound friend. Walk by the river for me, will you, please? Listen to the swans fly and imprint upon your heart their wings' rainbow of sound. Buy the biggest, ripest strawberries the Knightsbridge market has to offer, and dine on them with dollops of Devon cream. Taste the wind. Find a cloud and name it for me, will you? Hear the song of your heart and sing it out loud. And before you part with the day at its close, speak with the Lord your God. Thank Him for the gift of life, however imperfect, however mysterious, however tragic at times. Thank Him for the gift of another day on this earth, another season of life. And however hard it may be for you, ask Him to complete your healing.

“I am certainly not one who can lead you forward by example, but I do so hope you will take heed of my words, and accept the blessing I know God wants to give you. As my dear friend the vicar liked to tell me, we are simply beggars who happen to discover where other beggars might find bread.”

Brian paused until Trevor managed to regain control. Only when the chamber was silent once more did he continue: “God's perfect love waits to reveal to you a future He has already planned and waits to set in place, if you let Him. God is a gentle God, you see, and will never enter where He is not made welcome. Don't let go of God,my dear. Not even for an instant.

“So now I must depart, and I leave with you all wonders of the days yet to come. Live well, my dear Brian. With love, Heather.”

Brian spent a while sitting there in the gloom, holding Cecilia's hand. As he looked about the chamber, it seemed as though he was surrounded by both a past, and a future that was newly his. It took him a very long moment to realize that the others were waiting for his signal to speak, and longer still to recognize that they were one person short. “Where is Arthur?”

“I suppose the climb might have been too much for him,” Trevor said.

“Or perhaps he didn't want to leave Gladys all alone down there,” Cecilia said. She started back toward the portal. “I'll go tell them what we've found.”