‘And so it is over,’ said Marcus at last. We are both safe. But at what a cost.’
They held each other close, taking mutual comfort from their embrace.
‘And what of Caesar?’ asked Hilary, wondering how high the cost had been. ‘Did you see him when you searched the abbey, or ... ‘ She did not like to suggest an alternative. If Esmerelda had been playing with him, he might be injured, or dead.
But at the mention of his name there came a slight noise from behind the curtains and a minute later Caesar emerged.
‘He must have taken refuge in here when Esmerelda started teasing him!’ she said with a smile, as the hound padded over to them. After all the terrible events of the afternoon, it seemed a good omen to see him alive and in one piece.
He stretched and yawned, just as though nothing momentous had happened. The normality of his behaviour did much to restore Hilary’s spirits. It had been a terrifying afternoon, but at last it was over.
Caesar nudged her hand with his head.
She stroked his soft fur, and scratched him behind the ears. He wagged his tail appreciatively, then settled down at her feet.
Then Marcus roused himself. They had had a brief respite from horror, but now its consequences must be faced.
‘The next few weeks will not be pleasant ones, I’m afraid,’ he said, as he stood up.
‘I know,’ she assured him. ‘Two people are dead. There will inevitably be consequences.’
He took her hand. ‘I will send Lund for Sir Giles Routledge. He is the local magistrate.’
‘Are you not the magistrate?’ she asked in surprise.
He shook his head. ‘I never wanted that particular duty. It would have involved a lot of people coming and going at the abbey,’ he explained, ‘and with Esmerelda in a fragile state I did not want that to happen. But Sir Giles is a fair man. He will handle everything with discretion and tact.’ He stood up. ‘I must find the Lunds. I will return as soon as possible.’
Hilary nodded.
Once he had left the room, she fell to stroking Caesar again. Although she was not looking forward to the aftermath of that terrible afternoon she knew she could face it, because she would not be alone. She and Marcus would face it together.
Epilogue
A tragic accident.
Hilary gave a sigh as she read the lettering on Esmerelda’s gravestone.
It was hard to believe it was now more than five years since that fateful day in 1810 when Esmerelda and Laurence had plunged to their deaths. Hilary’s thoughts were dark as she remembered it in all its terrible detail: the note she had received from Marcus, telling her to meet him at the abbey; their entrapment in the secret passage; their escape; and their discovery that Laurence had been the instrument of their captivity.
Her thoughts moved on, to the moment she had seen Laurence on the landing, and had seen Esmerelda behind him. She remembered the way he had struggled with the mad young woman, and the way they had plunged to the hall below.
Other memories were less clear. Lund going to fetch Sir Giles Routledge, and Sir Giles’s deduction that the deaths had been accidental: knowing that Esmerelda had been ill for some time, and assuming like everyone else in the neighbourhood that her sickness had been of the body and not the mind, he had listened to Lund’s garbled account of the tragedy on the way back to the abbey and by the time he had arrived he had decided that Esmerelda must have felt faint whilst on the landing; that Laurence had sprung to her assistance; and that in an attempt to prevent her from toppling over the banister he had overbalanced himself and the two of them had fallen to their deaths.
The knife, the one piece of evidence that might have suggested a different interpretation, had not been found by Sir Giles. It had been dropped by Esmerelda in the struggle, and had fallen behind one of the suits of armour beneath the stairs.
And so the matter had been officially regarded as a tragic accident and the case had been closed.
Then had come the aftermath: Esmerelda’s funeral; the winding up of Laurence’s affairs; and Laurence’s funeral in London, which had been generously arranged by Marcus.
And after the darkness, a chance for love.
Yes, love.
Hilary’s thoughts brightened as she arranged the flowers she had brought to the grave. She put them in the container and their gay colours showed up delightfully against the stone.
It was love that had saved them.
It had saved both her and Marcus during the dark days following Esmerelda’s death, and it had nourished and sustained them as they had come to terms with the tragedy. And then, as the memory of the horror had receded, that same love had grown and blossomed, becoming a source of great joy and fruitfulness.
The five years since then had been the most wonderful she had ever known. She had married Marcus in a quiet ceremony, attended only by his mother’s old nurse, Maud; her sister, Yvonne; and Mr and Mrs Lund. Then she and Marcus had gone to Bath. They had visited his mother’s friend, then spent a quiet month healing their bodies and their minds before returning to the abbey.
Through the long winter months that had followed they had jointly planned its restoration, and over the summer the work had begun. The venerable old building had come back to life, its smaller rooms being rescued from the dust sheets whilst the larger ones had been entirely refurbished.
She heard Marcus approaching.
‘Are you ready to go back to the abbey, my love?’ he asked.
‘I am.’
He slipped his arm around her waist and together they walked back to the venerable old building. The grounds had taken on a brighter aspect over the last few years. The shrubs had been neatly pruned, and an array of colourful summer flowers had been planted beneath them. The lawns had been tidied, the grass had been cut short and its edges neatened.
As they approached the abbey, the rich colours of the stained glass windows glowed like jewels in the sunshine, winking and shining from afar. Even the spires and points seemed to have lost their gauntness, and had taken on a new beauty in the summer sunshine.
Hilary and Marcus went inside. The hall now exuded cheerfulness. The tables flanking the fireplace were highly polished, and the fresh flowers arranged in ornate vases on top of them were filling the air with their delicious perfume.
The weapons had been removed from their place above the fireplace, and the suits of armour had gone. The hall had lost its warlike appearance, and was now bright and homely.
They went through in to the drawing-room. Hilary’s gaze swept over the brightly-polished windows, the damask drapes and newly-upholstered furniture, then came to rest on four-year-old Harry, who was playing with Caesar by the window. Beside him sat two-year old Elizabeth, and on the rug lay little Thomas.
‘Have the children been good?’ she asked Mrs Lund, who was sitting by the window sewing.
‘Very good,’ Mrs Lund smiled.
Hilary looked at her two older children fondly, then went over to the baby, who was kicking his pudgy legs in the air. She picked him up and carried him over to his father.
Marcus took the baby and cradled him in his arms.
‘Until you came here I used to think the abbey was cursed,’ he said, kissing the baby on top of his head.
Hilary’s eyes once more swept the peaceful scene, drinking in the sight of the children playing in a shaft of sunlight; Mrs Lund looking peaceful and serene; and the beautifully-restored drawing-room.
She rested her head on Marcus’s shoulder.
‘No, it isn’t cursed,’ she said, with a sigh of deep contentment. ‘It’s blessed.’
Copyright © 2003 by Amanda Grange
Originally published by Robert Hale Ltd. [UK] (ISBN
978-0709074045)
Electronically published in 2011 by Belgrave House/Regency
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
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