by Fiona Grace
Chester opened an eye, regarded her, then closed it again. Tom, still snuggled up under the covers, stirred.
“What?” he asked, groggily, opening his eyes to slits. “Did you just say something about squirrels?”
Lacey chuckled. “I was just talking to Chester, my dear. You go back to sleep.”
“Okay,” Tom replied with a yawn, pulling the duvet right up to his ears and promptly falling straight back to sleep.
Poor Tom rarely got a morning off from his patisserie, and whenever he did, he was practically dead to the world.
Lacey smiled to herself contentedly and skipped to the en suite for her morning shower. As warm water beat down on her, she thought again about how Gina’s snow prediction was wrong. And if that was wrong, then surely the bad omen was wrong as well.
As she allowed herself to relax, she began to grow excited about the meeting with the abbot later today. She simply couldn’t resist the temptation of a mystery! What could the highly secretive meeting be all about? What kind of antique might a monk from a monastery have to show her?
Growing increasingly excited, Lacey rushed through her morning routine. She dressed herself for the cold weather in jeans and a gray knit sweater, then trotted down into the kitchen to down her usual shot of black espresso and feed Chester his breakfast.
As she began pouring kibble out of the big paper bag into Chester’s bowl, she heard a knock on the wooden stable back door. There was only one person with access to her back door, and that was Gina, who lived next door. She set the bulky bag down, leaving Chester to chow on his breakfast, and unlatched the door. She pulled it open and smiled at her friend standing on the step, all bundled up and shivering in her winter coat.
“Morning!” Lacey trilled.
Before Gina had a chance to reply, her elderly English shepherd, Boudica, came charging inside the kitchen. She promptly stuck her nose straight into Chester’s bowl and nudged him out of the way.
“Boo! You greedy mare!” Gina exclaimed. “You’ve already had your breakfast!”
Lacey chuckled. Of the two dogs, Boudica was the boss.
Gina wiped her wellies on the welcome mat and stepped inside, letting out a theatrical shiver. “Chilly morning, huh?” she said.
“Chilly indeed,” Lacey replied, leadingly. “And yet… no snow.”
Gina gave her a look. “So that’s why you’re so chipper, is it? You think you’re off the hook because my snow prediction didn’t come true?”
Lacey simply grinned cheekily at her friend.
She grabbed Chester’s leash and her winter jacket off the coat hooks and laced on her leather boots, and then they all headed out together for the misty walk to work.
They took the cliff path onto the beach. Though the longer route, it was the more pleasant, and the dogs loved it. As soon as their feet hit the sand, the dogs streaked off across it, snapping their jaws at the gray waves as they broke on the shore.
The beach looked particularly eerie in the dawn light, and there was no one else around, making it spookier still.
Gina shivered beside Lacey. “I don’t know about you, but I really don’t have a good feeling about this fog. You know what they say about fog, don’t you?”
Lacey rolled her eyes affectionately. “No. What do they say about fog?”
Gina spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “Fog in the hollow, fine day to follow; fog on the hill, water to the mill…”
Lacey looked at her with a curious frown. “And what does that mean, exactly?”
Gina shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’s definitely not good. I think you should call off the trip to the monastery.”
Lacey shook her head. “Absolutely not. I’m not passing up such an intriguing mystery just because of some mist.”
“All right, all right, but superstitions aside, it’s your wedding that’s the real issue! We’re meant to be going through the itinerary this morning.”
“The trip won’t take long,” Lacey assured her. “I’ll be back by this afternoon. We can do the itinerary then.”
Gina simply harrumphed.
They reached the Coach House—the gorgeous brick pub that stood on the corner between the promenade road and the high street—and turned onto the cobblestone street. Wilfordshire High Street was just waking up, with its various quaint stores opening for the day. The Christmas lights were still strung from lamppost to lamppost, along with the town’s white and blue winter bunting.
“When do they take down the lights?” Lacey asked Gina.
“January sixth,” Gina replied without missing a beat. “It’s bad luck to keep decorations up past then.”
Lacey chuckled. Of course.
They walked past the terraced store fronts with their bulging bay windows, heading for the antiques store. They’d almost made it when a shrill voice came up from behind.
“Lacey! Oh, Lacey!”
Lacey tensed. It was the trilling voice of Taryn.
Ever since she’d made Lacey’s wedding dress, Taryn had been fishing for an invite to the wedding. Lacey wasn’t sure why she was so desperate to come considering how much she clearly hated her, and could only presume it was to show off—or worse, to show Lacey up! Lacey wouldn’t put anything past Taryn. She’d made some low blows in the past.
Still, Lacey felt bad for her and was going to invite her eventually. She was just putting off telling her because she was enjoying having Taryn be ingratiating for a while, and suspected her demeanor would change just as soon as she got what she wanted.
“Morning, Taryn,” Lacey said, politely, as she took the store key from her pocket and operated the mechanical shutters. “How are you today?”
“Very well, thank you,” Taryn replied, raising her voice to be heard over the noisy sound of the rattling metal. “Though I’m not so sure about this fog. Fog always gives me a bad feeling.”
“Thank you!” Gina exclaimed.
“Not you as well,” Lacey muttered.
“Not me as well, what?” Taryn asked, her over-plucked brows turning inward as she frowned.
“Gina’s been going on about all kinds of weather-related superstitions,” Lacey explained. “Squirrels and acorns and fog on the mill.”
“Tom accidentally saw her in her wedding dress,” Gina explained.
Taryn gasped theatrically. “Oh no! That’s a terrible omen.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell her.”
The shutters clicked into their open position, and Lacey put her key in the store lock. “There’s not much I can do about it now, is there?” she said. “What’s happened has happened.”
“You could cancel your trip,” Gina said.
“You’re going on a trip?” Taryn cried, as if this was the worst news in the world.
“A day trip!” Lacey exclaimed. The lock yielded and she pushed the door open. “And it’s going to be fine.” But as she looked over her shoulder at them, she spotted a black cat streaking across the cobblestones. With less certainty, she added, “I’m sure of it.”
She entered the store, the other two women coming in after her. The dogs rushed past their legs to get to the prime slumbering spot first. Despite her arthritic knees, Boudica still got there first and lay down with a pleased look on her face, leaving poor Chester to take the lesser favored spot beside her.
“I’ll get the coffee on, shall I?” Gina said, heading for the archway that led to the backrooms. “Taryn? Are you staying for coffee?”
“Oh go on then,” Taryn said. “You’ve twisted my arm.”
It had become something of an unspoken tradition now, that on Monday morning Taryn would pop around and stay for a coffee.
But the thought of another coffee made Lacey queasy. She paused in the middle of the store as a wave of sickness went over her.
“Actually, can I have something milder?” she asked Gina. “A peppermint tea? Something to settle my stomach. All this wedding stress is making me feel quite nauseous.”
“Wedding
stress…” Gina said, pausing beneath the arch and giving Lacey a suspicious look, “…or a bad omen…” Then she disappeared under the arch and out of view.
Taryn looked over from the shelf of antique pottery she’d been idly perusing to Lacey. “Or maybe you’re pregnant?”
Taryn had quite clearly meant it as a joke, but her comment made Lacey freeze. Because now she thought about it she realized she was, indeed, late. She’d been so wrapped up in the wedding preparations and stress over the family reunion she’d not been keeping track of those particular dates.
Cold dread washed over her. Her mind began racing. Could she actually be pregnant? Was that why she’d been experiencing waves of nausea? Had she attributed to stress something that was in fact a symptom of something else?
With panic fluttering in her chest, Lacey realized there was only one way to know for certain. She’d have to get a test. And suddenly, that was all she cared about, like her mind had laser focused on it.
“What’s wrong with you?” Taryn asked, interrupting her ruminations. “I mean, are you all right?” she amended, evidently remembering she was trying to be more pleasant these days. “You’ve gone pale. Are you sick?”
“I’m fine,” Lacey said, quickly. “I just… thought of something… I forgot to do this morning. An errand I need to run.” She was starting to feel panicky and vulnerable under the notoriously nosy Taryn’s scrutiny. She needed to get out right now. “The bank!” she cried, thinking up the first excuse she could.
Taryn looked confused. “The bank doesn’t open till nine.”
Crap, Lacey thought. Not only was her cover story full of holes, but Taryn’s comment had reminded her that the pharmacy, like the bank, did not open until nine. She’d have to wait until after her monastery meeting to buy a test. How was she going to get through the meeting with Abbot Weeks while this was percolating away in the back of her mind?
“Right, yes,” Lacey said. “But I don’t need to go into the bank, I just need to deposit some checks in that safety drop-off thing outside.”
“I wouldn’t trust that,” Taryn said, knowingly. “It looks like a laundry chute to me. Posting a check? Seems far too risky!” She put her hands on her hips. “And besides, who’s paying you with checks? That’s not very sensible, Lacey. What if they bounce? That might be how you do things in America, but over here you really need to use chip and pin.”
“I’ll—er—I’ll bear that in mind,” Lacey said rapidly. “Chester! Chester, come on, boy, let’s go!”
Chester jumped up and followed Lacey as she hurried for the exit, her mind a swirl of anxiety. Just as she reached the door, she heard the clinking sound of crockery coming from behind.
“Lacey?” Gina called. “You’re leaving already? But I just made your tea! And you don’t need to leave for the monastery yet.”
Lacey pulled the door open. “Errands!” she cried over her shoulder without looking back.
And with Chester on her heel, she hurried away.
CHAPTER THREE
Lacey had a lot of thoughts swirling in her mind during the drive to the monastery. So much so she barely noticed the beautiful British countryside as it passed by outside her window. Winter had turned the trees bare and the fields barren, giving it the sort of romantic, bleak beauty Lacey normally loved.
But her mind was stuck on pregnancy, and children, and that long-held question of hers she’d never found the answer to. She and her ex-husband had divorced over it, over his desire to have children and her reluctance. If she’d felt like she had no time to raise a child back when she lived in New York City, then how would she ever manage one now when she had a business to run?
At least Chester was enjoying the drive. He was half-hanging out the window of the car, sniffing all the interesting smells of a new, undiscovered part of the country.
Lacey turned onto a small, bumpy dirt path, following it all the way to St. Cyril’s Abbey. The monastery was a beautiful dark gray stone structure nestled into the side of a rolling green hill. It was gorgeous, like something from a fairy tale. Or a horror movie, Lacey amended. With its mist-obscured turrets and towers jutting up into the overcast sky, and spindly trees like skeletons, the place definitely had a creepy vibe.
Pushing Gina’s voice out of her mind, Lacey parked the car and headed toward the imposing wooden door. Chester kept close to her legs as she made her cautious approach and tugged on the rope. A deep bell tolled, making Lacey shudder, then the door was opened and a monk in a long cream-colored gown tied with a rope sash appeared before her.
“Good morning,” Lacey said, mustering as much courage as she could. “I’m here for a meeting with Abbot Weeks. I’m a little bit early. I hope that’s not a problem.”
“That’s quite all right,” the man said, nodding. “The earlier the better. Please come inside.”
He moved away from the door and gestured for her to enter. Lacey peered into the shadows, gulped, and stepped inside. Chester slunk in after her.
The door, it turned out, did not lead into a room or building, rather a courtyard with a covered stone walkway running around the perimeter of an overgrown mass of hedges and statues in the center. Thanks to the tall buildings either side, and the gray day overhead, the courtyard was so dark it may as well have been dusk.
“It’s very beautiful here,” Lacey commented as she followed the monk around the walkway. He walked so slowly and elegantly he reminded her of a ghost. The fog and old architecture only added to the spooky atmosphere.
“It is. A place of calm and tranquility. St. Cyril’s Abbey has been a place of worship since 1087. We’ve been serving the community for hundreds of years.”
“Wow, that’s a long time,” Lacey said, exchanging a look with Chester. Even though he obviously had no comprehension of the conversation, she still sought him out for comfort.
The monk continued. “As you can see, we’re in the middle of some minor repair work.” He pointed to a scaffolding structure over to the side, covered in bright orange construction tape. It looked very out of place in the surroundings.
“Is that a bell tower?” Lacey asked, eyeing the tall, narrow tower behind all the scaffolding and tape. Her gaze went all the way to the top, where she could just make out a large bell through the mist.
“It is,” the monk replied.
They headed through another doorway on the opposite side of the courtyard, and this time, Lacey found herself in a corridor. The monk guided her to a door with a gold plaque on it that read: Head Abbot. He knocked.
“Come in,” a voice called.
Lacey recognized it as the same voice she’d heard on the phone last night, male and slightly croaky.
The monk took a step back and gestured for her to enter. He was very polite, but it was also a little disconcerting.
Chester stayed close to her legs as Lacey went inside.
The stone walls were exposed, the floor tiled in the same slate as the courtyard walkway. There was a large mahogany desk in front of her, behind which sat a man in full religious get-up. He was elderly, with a lined face, a large nose, and ears that seemed far too big for his head. He was almost entirely bald, except for a few sporadic tufts of hair. He had a large rosary necklace around his neck with a heavy looking crucifix hanging from it.
The monk who’d led her here did not follow her inside, but instead leaned in and closed the door behind her, shutting her in with the head abbot. Lacey started as the door clicked shut behind her.
“Lacey, please sit,” the monk said, standing and gesturing to the wooden chair opposite his desk. “I’m Abbot Weeks. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
Lacey took the seat nervously. “Thank you for inviting me. How can I help?”
“We’ve been doing some minor construction work,” Abbot Weeks explained, his blue eyes regarding her.
“The bell tower,” Lacey said. “I saw the scaffolding.”
“Yes. That’s right. Well, the walls were beginning to crumbl
e, then one opened up, and we found something inside.”
Lacey’s eyebrows rose as a frisson of excitement went through her. “Something inside?”
She recalled what the monk had told her before, about the abbey being here since 1087. If there was something in the walls since then, it would be one of the oldest items Lacey had ever handled! Any nerves she felt gave way to anticipation. Suddenly, she was chomping at the bit to find out what it was.
“We don’t know if it was built into the walls,” Abbot Weeks said, leaning out of view down the side of the desk. “Or whether it was hidden there for some reason…”
He straightened up and placed in front of Lacey a wooden box, covered in dirt and debris. There was a latch. Whatever the abbot was talking about was inside the box.
“There’s no documentation of work being previously done on the bell tower,” Abbot Weeks continued. “Which lends itself to the theory it was put there during the construction. But of course the monastery has been here for hundreds of years, and anything could have happened during that time.”
“What is it?” Lacey asked, her eyes fixated on the box, no longer able to hold in her curiosity.
Abbot Weeks nudged the box toward her. “Why don’t you open it and take a look?”
Filled with intrigue, Lacey stood. She took hold of the lid of the wooden box with her fingertips and gently opened it. It creaked on its rusted hinges.
And there, inside, lay an old, worn, dirty, ancient scepter.
Lacey gasped.
“What do you think?” Abbot Weeks asked. “Do you think it’s worth anything?”
The scepter was not terribly lavish or ornate, though from first inspection it appeared to Lacey that it may well be made of gold. Even if it was not, it would certainly be extremely valuable, simply given the potential age of the thing.
“Absolutely,” Lacey said, awestruck. It looked to her like it must’ve belonged to royalty. “Do you have any history of royal visitors?”
