Ever Crave the Rose (The Elizabethan Time Travel Series Book 3)

by Morgan O'Neill

  Brandon felt relief at seeing her shining face. A bittersweet homecoming, to be sure, but now he was certain she was going to be all right.

  “Darling, do come join us,” he said. “Sister Marie says she has something for us to see.”

  * * *

  Monsignor Tim left for a moment, then returned with Jonathan’s strongbox. He placed it on the table before them.

  Wow, Anne thought. They sent it.

  Her husband let out a low whistle. “I’ll be damned.”

  Anne immediately noticed how corroded the metal looked. And someone had broken the lock!

  As if reading her mind, Tim explained, “We couldn’t find the key, so we took the liberty of breaking in without your permission. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, of course not,” Jonathan replied. “Where did you find it?”

  “In the Vatican Library,” Sister Marie said. “It popped up yesterday in the Vat archives—the Elizabethan section, to be exact. One of our brethren, a Watcher, discovered it. Your belongings are inside, along with a note from Father Edgar.” She reached out and patted the lid. “There’s even a sterling silver rattle with a coral tip and the queen’s insignia. Glorious piece. I assume it belongs to Rose.”

  Anne laughed out loud. Somehow, this little touch made everything better. “Yes! I felt so bad leaving it behind.”

  She could hardly contain her excitement as Jonathan opened the squeaky, old lid. He handed her the rattle, then brought forth a letter which rested on top of their other things.

  As Anne touched the tarnished silver, she realized that from her point of view it’d been left behind just a day ago, but in reality it had rested in the box for centuries, well over four hundred years. Mind-blowing!

  With a shake of her head, she listened as Jon began to read Edgar’s letter.

  Greetings, fellow Travelers.

  I sit amongst your friends, sharing a drink of celebration now that you’ve gone, for I managed to escape the tunnel without our enemy’s detection. I did watch you at the end, and I saw everything that transpired. I thank God the doctor prevailed, and your journey was well begun. I hope it succeeded fully, and you are now home. I shall endeavor to make my way out of London one day soon, perhaps traveling all the way to Rome, where I can leave your things in a place of safety. I hope you don’t mind, but I used the pages of your Tudor history book to light my way in the dark, since you took the torch with you. Perhaps it is just as well that it was burned, so that nobody here could find it.

  Should you ever discover a way to let us know you did, indeed, arrive safely at your destination, please endeavor to send the information to any one of us, for we have vowed to watch and wait for your response and share the news, as it will give us all great solace.

  With my sincerest regards, Edgar Traveler—

  Suddenly, Jonathan’s voice caught. He cleared his throat, then added, “Anne, see here. It’s signed by everyone.”

  He waved the letter before her, and she glimpsed squiggles beneath Edgar’s name. As she waited, Jonathan placed it on the table. She reached down to gently touch each signature: Henry’s elaborate flourish, Cath’s tight and elegant script, Bob’s scrawl, and Alice’s mark of X.

  A warmth coursed through her body as she felt the pull of their love from across space and time.

  “How in the world can we let them know we made it?” she asked, not imagining there’d be an answer.

  “Ah. We have a solution,” Sister Marie said brightly. “You see, time travel is the key. We’ve decided to give it another go—”

  “You’re going back?” Anne cut in.

  “Well, not me. Others… Travelers.”

  “But the danger.”

  Marie nodded. “Of course. It’s a given, but risks are part of any trip, eh? It’s already been approved by the Holy Father. This time we’re sending an advance team, and they’ll be much better prepared. There’s a portal in Mantua that we’ll use. We’ll get word to your friends—I promise—and, with God’s help, they’ll learn you’re here.”

  With a nod, Tim added, “Indeed, ’twill be a grand adventure. And God help us all, for, you see,” his voice had a touch of fire in it now, “I’m going back, too. What you cannot know is that the Mantua portal opens to 1544, the year before Daniel died.”

  “But then, that means...” Anne hesitated at the implications.

  “It means we’re bound and determined to right a terrible wrong by rescuing Danny,” Tim explained, his tone changed, low and serious. He turned to Jonathan. “We’ll set up everything else, besides. Robert Wright will learn of your comin’, Doctor, and your friends from 1562 will know you, Anne, and Rose time traveled safely to 2015. Of course, it will take years and perhaps many back and forth trips for all of this to come about, but rest assured, we’ll do everything possible to make certain the outcome is the same as before—except for Danny.”

  Marie crossed herself. “May the Lord bless us in our labors.”

  “Indeed,” Tim said, and Anne noticed the fire had returned to his voice. “By the grace of God,” he went on, “we’ll get this done. After all, Sister Marie is a genius, I am tenacious as a dog buryin’ his bone in a tight spot, and we’ll have the resources of the Vatican, both past and present, at our disposal.”

  “And one thing more,” Marie added with a twinkle in her eye. “We have time on our side.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chelsea, London

  Beneath the full moon, Anne and Jon walked hand in hand to the ancient mulberry. All day she’d had the strange feeling the tree was calling to her. Weird stuff, she realized, but her instincts told her this was important. When she’d confided this to Jon, he suggested it might have something to do with their time traveling. What exactly that was, she couldn’t guess, but she knew it felt right to be here.

  Anne glanced back at the wonderful old house. Golden light flooded from the bow window, and she imagined her grandparents there, watching over her and Jon with love and hope for the future.

  She looked at her husband’s face, etched by moonlight. A hero, a good man. So deserving of a future free from worry and harm.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  When Jon nodded back, she took his hand and pressed it to the tree trunk.

  He took his other hand and covered hers, then she did the same. Four hands blanketed a patch of bark, a linking of past to present. In its own way, the tree was a time traveler, too.

  “We have a love that has spanned the ages,” Jon quietly said.

  “We have a love for all time,” she replied.

  “We are inseparable.” He pulled her close and kissed her.

  “And home,” she said, holding him. “We’re here together, and we’re finally home.”

  * * *

  It was late, and everyone else was sound asleep. Anne tip-toed through her grandmother’s attic toward the old steamer trunk. Trudy told her there was something new here, gifts from her grandmother.

  She glanced around. When she was young, her visits to London included spending rainy summer days playing among her grandparents’ antiques and family treasures. Even in adulthood, she felt the sweet pull of the place.

  Seems like I was just here, she thought as she sat on the floor before the trunk. She shook her head on reflection. In actuality, it was only months ago in this era, with whole centuries passing in the interim.

  She closed her eyes and breathed in the ages. “I miss you,” she whispered to her grandmother.

  The words had their effect, bringing tears to her eyes. She wiped them away and lifted the lid of the trunk. Three new items rested atop Catherine’s other possessions: an envelope with Anne written across the top, a small jewelry box, and a beribboned pink rose. She leaned in and examined the stem—thornless, definitely the one Robert Dudley gave her at Hampton Court.

  It was then she realized her grandmother foresaw this moment, anticipating her revisiting the attic.

  With trembling hands, she o
pened the envelope and read.

  Dearest Anne,

  I am dying, but do not grieve for me, for I have lived a long and full life with much happiness. In the past few months, I’ve felt your grandfather’s faithful and loving presence surround me, and I’m convinced I shall reunite with him soon.

  I was overjoyed to hear of your new note, which told us you are safe. If I’m not here in body when you arrive, I shall be with you, Jonnie, and Catherine Rose in spirit. Please hold each other tight and cherish your years together. It passes so quickly—too quickly.

  In my will, I left this house and many of my possessions to you. I hope you and Jonnie will choose to live here to raise a new generation of Hastings-Howards-Brandons. I also hope you will welcome Trudy and Duffy to stay with you. I have no doubt you’ll want that, too, but I felt the need to voice it just the same. I left you and all of my other heirs substantial sums of money—Trudy, too—but this house has always been in your heart, so it is yours. Please enjoy it with my blessing.

  During one of my cleaning sessions with Trudy, we found the ring Jonnie gave me for our engagement so long ago. It rests in the box beside this note. Please gift it to Catherine Rose. I have imagined it on her finger as she makes her way in the world years from now. Tell her about your grandfather and me, so that we will not pass out of memory.

  Also, there is a box on a shelf in this loft which contains Jonnie’s military kit. It was given to me for safekeeping by his father, Nigel. Please tell Jonnie that his father loved him very much. He never gave up hope he would return. I was with Nigel when he died, and he wanted Jonnie to know he never doubted him. Although he did not know anything about the time travel, he believed that whatever happened to him, wherever he went, he did not go willingly. He also told me that he and Jonnie’s mum would watch over him from heaven.

  And now, my darling, I come to the end. I love you with all my heart, and I am so relieved now that I know you are safe.

  You are my beloved granddaughter. I wish I could kiss you one more time.

  Grandma Catherine

  Tears spilled from Anne’s eyes. “Oh, Grandma, thank you,” she whispered. “I’ll love you forever, and Rose will know all about you. Trudy and Duffy are family, always have been, and nothing can ever change that. They will always have a home with us.”

  With a tender resolve, she re-read her grandmother’s last line.

  I wish I could kiss you one more time.

  With a trembling heart, she brought the letter to her lips and kissed the signature. Smiling through her tears, she took a deep breath and gathered herself, then opened the jewel box. Nestled amid a bed of midnight-blue velvet sat a delicate ring of diamonds and rose-colored gold.

  Anne gently touched the ring, then gazed at the thornless rose. She breathed in, catching a faint whiff of its glorious scent.

  Love. It made the world go ’round—the ages, too. The unending dance of life whirled through her thoughts, an incredible fate having brought her to this place once more.

  Finally, everything had come full circle, her life wreathed in love, everlasting.

  Epilogue

  1590, Mortlake House, England

  John Dee paced the floor of his library, glancing every so often in the direction of the workmen who removed straw from a large packing crate.

  How long had he waited for this moment?

  Years, many years—in truth, several decades. Ever since the day Dr. Jonathan Brandon revealed curious, albeit incomplete, details about his life. Incomplete, indeed. So much so it had taken Dee almost thirty years to piece things together for his quest.

  “Dr. Dee, sir?”

  He came out of this thoughts. “Aye?” he asked his steward.

  The man indicated a circular object now resting in a stand upon his desk. Dee watched a workman clean away the last bits of straw from its dark surface.

  The steward bowed. “All is in readiness, sir.”

  “Thank ye kindly,” Dee told everyone. “You may go.”

  His steward ushered the workmen from the room. When the door finally shut, Dee breathed in and out deeply, relishing the quiet. He let his thoughts play back to the circumstances that started his quest, everything he’d ascertained after Dr. Brandon and his family mysteriously left London in the spring of 1562.

  1562, what a pivotal year! The queen took the Brandons’ sudden disappearance hard, to the point her health was compromised, almost unto death. The following October, she barely survived a bout with smallpox, her deliverance mayhap provided by the excellent care of Dr. Burcot, a disciple of Brandon’s.

  Yet, despite Burcot’s expert medical knowledge, Elizabeth often complained to Dee how she wished—nay, needed—to be reunited with Dr. Brandon and his wife, Anne. Whenever she fell into a melancholy state or felt ill, she would summon Dee and make the same demands again and again—do everything in your power to find the Brandons and bring them back to her.

  The enigmatic nature of their disappearance only deepened with time. Although at first some suspected Norfolk was involved, the queen was certain he had nothing to do with it, since he seethed with fury any time their names were mentioned, as if he too was plagued by the vanishing. Ah, but that was old news, Dee realized, and it truly mattered not, for Norfolk was long dead, having been executed for treason in 1572. With no clue as to what actually happened to the doctor and his family, Elizabeth remained convinced they were still alive and, if found, would heed her command and return to England.

  For his part, Dee kept a secret from everyone, even Elizabeth. He believed to the depths of his soul the Brandons had left England, yes—but they’d gone off to somewhere unfathomable.

  Aye, he thought, unfathomable, yet discoverable.

  He’d put two and two together as he considered the circumstances leading to their disappearance, particularly Dr. Brandon’s curious statements after his daughter’s christening. It was then the man let slip details that launched Dee’s long search, one that finally came to fruition when his agent located an object in Spain, the very thing he hoped would help him find the Brandons.

  Dee walked over to the table and stared at a round Aztec shewstone—or scrying mirror—fashioned from a polished volcanic glass called obsidian. He had it on good authority it once belonged to the great sorcerer Tezcatlipoca, a dark lord of the Aztecs, who used it to communicate with demons.

  With a shiver of disquiet, he took his Bible and searched for the Apostle Paul’s passage to the Corinthian mirror-makers, recorded as 1 Corinthians 13: 12-13. Upon finding it, he read.

  For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

  He looked into the glass and beheld his own countenance, which looked dark in reflection, mysterious, even otherworldly. Through a glass darkly. Paul’s words meant that mankind’s knowledge was imperfect in this life, only a shadow of what would be eventually revealed after death. But then face to face. Those words held the promise of enlightenment, for all would be made known to those who passed through the heavenly gates and stood before the Savior.

  But then again—Dee trembled at his own boldness—could it be that I shalt gain sacred knowledge as a result of what will be revealed in the coming moments?

  He raised his hands before the shewstone. This was the moment he’d waited for, his long quest, mayhap, nearing completion.

  Lord, give me strength! His mind called to God because, despite his audacious thoughts, this was the start of a new path, a powerful path, one that he would control, for Dee owned the shewstone now—not Tezcatlipoca—and he planned to use it for good deeds, not evil. He would seek to speak with beings of light like the Lord’s angels and, mayhap, others who lived somewhere beyond this world, beyond all worlds, in that unfathomable place.

  Firstly, I willst learn to wield the power of the glass, and then I shalt seek that place and I shalt find the doctor, and then, anon, I shalt find Anne. For the queen I shalt do this, and in so doing
I willst become a peer of the realm, raised above all others.

  Aloud he repeated, “Lord, give me strength!” And then, he added, “Shewstone, help me find Jonathan Brandon!”

  Dee peered into the mirror’s black depths and began to chant the magical words, “Tirratarratorratarratirratarratum... Tirratarratorratarratirratarratum.”

  He placed his hands on the surface, so cool and smooth, and continued his incantation, “Tirratarratorratarratirratarratum... Tirratarratorratarratirratarratum.”

  Suddenly, he felt a mysterious warmth at his fingertips. His hands tingled and the heat began to travel up his arms. When it settled in his chest, his heart blazed with excitement.

  To his utter amazement, the mirror’s surface suddenly gave way, and he felt something—nay, someone—on the other side, a person touching back, a man’s right hand splayed across his own left, skin to skin, warmth to warmth.

  Oh Lord! Dee gasped and pulled away, then stared at the clean-shaven face of a man whom he nevertheless recognized at once—Jonathan Brandon. The doctor’s eyes were closed, his expression impassive.

  Seize the moment! Dee shook himself, then found his voice and shouted, “Return! Jonathan Brandon, thou shalt return to serve thy queen!”

  Immediately, he heard a woman’s voice cry out from what seemed like a far distance, “Jonnie!”

  Brandon opened his eyes, but his gaze was vacant, as if held captive by some ungodly power.

  “Jonathan!” the woman shouted.

  Brandon drew in a sharp breath and pulled his hand from the mirror’s reverse side. In the background, Dee heard a wealth of conversation, a spilling of heated words.

  “My good sir!” a man huffed. “It is absolutely forbidden to touch anything on display in this room or anywhere in the palace, for that matter. One would think a grown man would have sense enough to know that. I’m afraid you have forfeited any right to remain on the premises. Please leave at once.”