Harry continued, “Before my father died, the family only took up residence here at Abbey Grange during the summers. As I grew older I scarcely visited at Glastonbury a week during the summer. I had other diversions in London to hold my interest by then. The little time I did spend here, Lady Rowena was in Bath, the location of her family residence, or off traveling somewhere with her widowed aunt, Lady Sperring. I do not recall ever seeing her, or hearing of her for that matter, when in London. It seems we were never in Glastonbury at the same time in all of ten years.” Harry rose, joining his friend at the windows.
He believed the view of the abbey ruins from the drawing room at Abbey Grange compared to no other. He smiled. His abbey ruins. Though the distant view of the Tor from his own apartments was superb. But not like the view of the Abbey. So close, rising several hundred yards away, appearing otherworldly and ethereal as dusk fell. It was, after all, the main attraction of his grounds. The reason the windows of the main rooms of the Grange were so long and large facing in that direction. The present house, still considered fairly modern, was built by his grandfather late in the last century after demolishing an older, crumbling manor.
“Do you suppose Lady Rowena is truly on to something? That there is some lost treasure, buried here in Glastonbury Abbey? Here on your own estate?” Lyon mused.
“We of all people, Lyon, should not be surprised by such a notion.” Harry smiled knowingly. “There are many legends of this ancient land, treasures that are rumored to lie in the ruins and surrounds. It would be wonderful to see what stories such historic treasures told, what clues to the past we might unearth. Don’t you agree?”
“Certainly. I am as anxious as you are to see what Lady Rowena presents. And very curious at the notion that some holy treasure may be found. The Abbey was second only to Westminster in riches, but had a more ancient history of holiness and pilgrimage, as you well know.”
“Ah! I hear Woollard in the hall. I believe our guests have arrived, Lyon.”
“We shall find out soon then, about this treasure and about Lady Rowena.” Lyon smiled in amusement. “Quickly Harry, what do you wager? Horse-faced or a beauty?”
Harry turned back to gaze upon the bones of the Abbey. Such a mysterious and haunting site at night. “I’m hoping for a beauty, of course,” he mused thoughtfully. “Our evening would take a more pleasant turn to be certain, Lyon. It would be a most welcome diversion.”
Rowena followed Woollard, Sir John and Aunt Frances down the tall and wide open hallway leading from the foyer toward what she guessed to be the drawing room. They passed the large and grand staircase. The house was immense and spacious. Rowena was inside Abbey Grange but a few times in her life, mostly to call upon Lady Glaston and her daughters. The last time she saw Harry Bellingham was some ten years before. The Bellingham family, it seemed, was rarely in residence at Glastonbury. Lady Bellingham and her daughters spent more time there in the summers than had the father and his son. The only memory she had of Harry Bellingham was that of a gangly, sour-faced boy. She wondered if he fared on looks better in his adulthood than his father.
When Rowena entered the commodious drawing room, the first thing that took her notice was the view outside the nearly floor to ceiling windows. The dark abbey ruins rose stark, silhouetted against the deep gray twilight sky. The otherworldly beauty of it took her breath away. The sudden and unintentional intake of her breath caused both of the men standing at the large windows to turn her way. Rowena blushed profusely under their sudden scrutiny. After Woollard announced them, she curtsied as the men bowed.
“Beauty.” Lyon whispered as he nudged Harry in the ribs with his elbow to spur his friend to be a good host and speak.
“Ah. Lady Sperring, how nice to see you again. Lady Rowena, it’s been some time, has it not?” Harry took first Lady Sperring’s hand and next the Angel’s and bowed over it. Her reputation as a local beauty did not do her justice. Angelic indeed and possessing a classic, arresting beauty, Harry found himself rendered speechless at first sight of her. Thank goodness Lyon jabbed his ribs, prompting him to remember his manners as host. The thin rail of the sixteen year old girl had blossomed into a woman. Though still slender, the exquisite yet modestly cut pale blue evening gown did not hide Lady Rowena’s womanly curves. It in fact enhanced them. Quite nicely.
“It has been some time, my Lord.” Rowena removed her hand from his wondering at the tingling she felt at the Earl’s touch. Unlike his stern and scowling father, he was a pleasantly handsome man.
“Sir John, nice to see you again. I believe you met my friend, Amesbury when we last spoke.”
“Indeed, how are you, Sir John? So happy you accepted our invitation this evening.” Lyon nodded.
Sir John stepped forward to greet Amesbury.
The sandy-haired man then quickly turned to regard the ladies. “Lyon Ravenscroft, Earl of Amesbury.” Lyon grew tired of waiting for an introduction to the ladies and bowing grandly, introduced himself to Lady Sperring and Rowena. His sparkling blue eyes rested approvingly on the Angel.
“Lady Sperring, and Lady Rowena,” Harry began apologetically, “My friend, here, seems to have lost his patience as well as his manners.”
Lyon laughed. “Were Glaston not such a close friend he might admit I haven’t any patience, and at times tis’ true even less manners. I will confess this sin, for it is of little consequence, soon we shall all be fine friends and much in each other’s company, what you being Harry’s close neighbors. Abbey Grange is to be the primary residence of Lord Glaston, in case you had not heard. I make it a habit to visit Harry often. So, we shall be seeing each other much in future. It is a pleasure to meet each of you, ladies.”
“Lady Rowena,” Harry spoke before Lyon claimed her hand to bow over, or worse, “I am very anxious to hear your findings on the history of this Abbey. I have been fascinated by the history of this place since I was a boy. In all truth, my love for these very grounds spurred my decision to make Abbey Grange my primary residence. The main family seat has traditionally been in Devon, but I could not imagine myself living anywhere but here. I planned to return to Somersetshire much sooner, yet the affairs of my father’s estate kept me in London longer than anticipated.”
“Of course, my Lord. Our deepest condolences upon the death of your father,” Aunt Frances offered. “We are, however, delighted to find you will be residing at Abbey Grange most of the time.”
“Thank you Lady Sperring. Please, everyone, be seated.” He motioned to the spacious and ample seating area. He waited for the guests to seat themselves then took the empty chair next to Lady Rowena’s before Lyon reached it. “So, Lady Rowena, Amesbury and I are in suspense. Please, as dinner shall be served shortly, let us wait until then to hear the information you have regarding the treasures of the Abbey. So you are not interrupted.”
She nodded. It seemed this might go very well indeed. She feared letting her hopes rise, but a small amount of giddiness crept in, regardless. And nervousness. Rowena sensed Lord Glaston and Lord Amesbury were genuinely interested in her work. She smiled hopefully. “Certainly. I, in turn, am anxious to reveal my findings to you both, my Lords.”
“Ah,” Harry held up a finger, “Let us dispense with formalities, Lady Rowena. As Amesbury said, we shall all be friends and much in each other’s company now that I have returned. And apparently we may soon be working together to find lost and hidden treasures. Call me Glaston, or even Harry, if you like.”
“As you like, sir.” Rowena felt awkward calling him by his given name. Or merely his familiar title. Sir had to suffice for now. But he specifically said working together. A splendid sign.
“Likewise for me,” Lyon began with his easy, rakish smile then added with a grimace, “just don’t call me Harry.”
They laughed.
“Call me Lyon, ladies. I’m at your service.” The Earl of Amesbury bowed deeply. He seemed to possess a penchant for the dramatic. And seemed to always wear a wide, charming smile.
“My mother and sister, Caroline, shall arrive possibly next month, Lady Sperring, but certainly by the end of June after they quit Town to spend the summer here at the Grange. They shall be happy to see you and the rest of your party, I think.” Harry endeavored to take control of the conversation, for it appeared Lyon was intent on charming the ladies. The Angel in particular.
“How is your dear mother, Harry? And your brother and sisters?” Frances, Lady Sperring, well acquainted with Harry’s family, began her inquiries as to the Bellingham family’s well-being.
The new Earl of Glaston politely responded and answered all of Frances’ questions.
Rowena rose. Drawn to the glorious view of the abbey grounds, she moved to the window. The ruins were so close to the house, they almost felt a part of the Grange. The stone sentinels jutted dark and black against the misty gray palette of dusk. The scene seemed ethereal, more like a painting than real. She half expected to see translucent ghosts gliding about or a ring of dancing fairies emerge in the midst of the ruins.
“I see you admire the scenery, Lady Rowena.” Harry left Frances and Sir John talking to Lyon so he might join the distracted Angel.
She realized she must appear quite rude leaving their conversation. “I do, sir. How fortunate you are to have such a stunning view.” Her nerves overtook her. “I apologize for leaving the conversation, sir. I fear my manners were forgotten entirely. I confess this view has bewitched me.”
“No apologies necessary, Lady Rowena. I, myself, am still drawn to this view. Especially at dawn and dusk. It seems so otherworldly.” The Angel seemed nervous. He wished to give her ease. “I heard from Sir John that at Stonedown Manor, you and your aunt enjoy a similar view of Tor Hill. Also an impressive view.”
“Indeed, sir, I will agree with you. The Tor is magnificent, and the views from our drawing room and library are splendid as well. But the Grange is so close to the abbey ruins, your view here is quite breathtaking.”
“It is, indeed,” Harry said, but was not looking at the ruins. He looked upon the Angel.
Tonight’s meeting with the son was proving very different than that with the former Earl of Glaston. She liked Harry Bellingham, and also his friend Lyon Ravenscroft. Both were affable and possessed easy, friendly manners.
The new Earl of Glaston was tall like his father, with the same dark hair, but the resemblance ended there. She did not remember the former Earl being nearly as handsome as his son. The father, so sullen and cross, was a total contradiction to his kind and congenial son. Harry’s face was very handsome. His strong facial features were a myriad of angles and planes, softened by his endearing, boyish grin. Rowena found him quite pleasing to look at. His brown eyes, fringed with dark lashes, entranced her. His lips were full. She must have found them particularly interesting, for she realized her gaze lingered there when he spoke.
“I have long wished that there was a view of the Henge from any of the main rooms at my home in Wiltshire, yet I confess there is not. But one can see it from the second floor when in the west wing,” Lyon described as he rose from his chair to join the pair, letting Harry know he kept an eye on him and Lady Rowena.
Rowena pondered his comment for a moment. “Henge, oh, Stonehenge? If you can see Stonehenge from your second floor, then you must reside quite close, sir.”
“Just down the lane. I’m the closest human living near present day Stonehenge. Seems we all have something in common. We all live near, or like Glaston here, in the midst of ancient history.”
“Dinner is served, my Lord,” Woollard appeared at the door.
“Let us continue our discussion while we dine,” Harry announced and offered his arm, “Lady Rowena.” He felt the daggers Lyon shot him in his back as he led the Angel to sup at his table. Harry grinned. He had no intention of sharing the Angel with Lyon. None.
Instead of taking their port separate from the ladies, the gentlemen joined Rowena and her Aunt Frances back in the drawing room after a very formal and enjoyable meal with intelligent and lively conversation centering around Rowena’s research. She was pleasantly surprised to find that both gentlemen knew an extensive amount of facts about the Abbey, the Tor, and most of the Glastonbury legends. She promised to show them some proof of her endeavors after dinner.
“I grew up playing in the abbey grounds. I know the stories, heard all the legends, but not once did I ponder the fact that the last Abbot had the time or the inclination to hide some of the wealth and treasures away. As you pointed out, Lady Rowena, and Lyon and I both know, Glastonbury Abbey is the oldest, holiest for a host of reasons, and was probably the wealthiest abbey in England, and was since the earliest times a site of pilgrimage. I knew of the rumored tunnels, swear I fell into the remains of one as a boy, still I never ventured to think about the fact that Glastonbury Abbey was the last to be dissolved in this area. The last Abbey standing in Somerset.” Harry shook his head in amazement.
“I must confess, sirs, I never thought seriously of treasure until I began researching. It came to me as I researched that Abbot Whiting must have known what was coming to Glastonbury, as evidenced by the fall of all the other abbeys nearby. Then I found a letter giving evidence to the fact that Abbot Whiting did indeed realize what was coming and did hide some of what he considered the holiest of treasures. Of course I have no way of knowing if some, or any of it, is still there.”
Her audience fell silent. All eyes were upon her. She felt heat stain her cheeks as Glaston and Amesbury regarded her intently. She was not accustomed to male attention, other than Sir John’s, of course.
“A letter, Lady Rowena?” Harry asked, his curiosity obviously piqued.
“Yes. In my years of researching the Abbey, I looked for anything that might indicate some of the Abbey’s most venerated relics were hidden before Abbot Whiting was arrested. It seemed there was plenty of time, a year or longer, to hide some of the treasures while all over England abbeys were being destroyed or given to Henry VIII’s cronies as private residences. Of course, I did find evidence that some plate and chalices were found within the abbey walls before and after Abbot Whiting was hung.”
Rowena continued, “There were the letters written to Thomas Cromwell by his men here at Glastonbury, who supervised the stripping of the Abbey before it was demolished. Their letters listed many of their finds. I looked to the older writings of Malmsbury and John of Glastonbury, as well as John Leland who visited just before the Abbey was destroyed, to see what was known to be at the Abbey before the Dissolution. Many of the most popular and well known treasures and relics were not mentioned again after the Abbey was dissolved.”
Rowena took a deep breath to help ease her nerves. Both gentlemen were watching her, wide-eyed with interest. She fought to overcome her sudden shyness. She was not used to being the center of attention. Rowena went on, “I quite by accident found the letter several months ago sewn inside the cover of a book in the library at Stonedown Manor. It fell from the book cabinet I opened. When I picked it up I noticed the parchment protruding from the damaged corner. The book was copied by monks at the Abbey before the Dissolution. The book is called St. Augustine on the Trinity. I confess I never gave the book any consideration in all the years I’ve been at Stonedown.”
She wavered as she realized the undivided attention of the company was still upon her. Was acutely aware Harry Bellingham’s dark brown gaze had not moved from her, it lingered still. His expression was pensive, and there was something more. Something she could not name.
She admitted to herself again, he was a distractingly handsome man with his dark, coffee-colored hair, and rich brown eyes. His sculpted face all hard planes. His lips – well his lips did seem to hold her attention. Rowena did not remember the last time she thought about kissing a man. His lips seemed so – well so sensuous, quite kissable, really. What was she thinking? Rowena had only been kissed twice in her life. Kissable? Why was she thinking of such a thing now. And the last thing she wanted or needed was t
o think of kissing a man. Especially him! She would not marry, did not need to. Or want to. She was free now. For Aunt Frances made certain Stonedown would always belong to Rowena.
“Who wrote this letter?” Harry asked her. He was quite intrigued. By the Lady, as well as her tale.
“William Dulac, who was adopted by Lady Dulac of Dulac Manor the day the King’s men arrived to dissolve the Abbey. He was born William Fotherby, was orphaned at a young age, about the age of five, I think. Abbot Whiting took him in, cared for him, taught him to read and write. William was trained to be Abbot Whiting’s personal servant. The Abbot arranged for William to be adopted by the widow, Lady Dulac, and he sent him to the Lady for protection before the Abbey was destroyed. The letter is long and detailed. I brought it with me tonight, you may both see it.” Rowena paused and looked to Sir John, “Excuse me, Sir John? Do you think we could have the valise brought in?”
Lord of the Abbey Page 3
