The Silent Touch of Shadows

by Christina Courtenay

  ‘Unsheath your swords,’ he snarled, pulling his own gleaming weapon out of its plain scabbard.

  Chapter Twelve

  The lady at the library who staffed the desk in the corner marked ‘Local Studies’ looked a bit dubious when Melissa asked her about Ashleigh, but pointed to a shelf of musty tomes. ‘There might be something over there. I know one of them is an old history of the parish and there are a couple of books that mention prominent local families.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll have a browse, then.’

  Melissa settled down at a desk with a pile of books and soon learned a lot about the village and its past. But, although the manor house itself was mentioned several times, she could only find one reference to one of the owners – a Dionise of Ashleigh who had married in the sixteenth century. Melissa sighed.

  ‘That’s too late, then.’

  She turned her attention to the books that dealt with the history of the area in more general terms. She had always found it useful to link important events with the lives of the people she researched, as it was good to see how they fit into the wider context. Obviously things like the Civil War and other periods of unrest would influence their lives and Melissa knew the choices they made at such times could have devastating effects on their futures.

  The period when Ashleigh was built wasn’t one she’d studied lately, so she decided to mug up on that first to remind herself of the basics. She soon found plenty of interesting information. Skimming through the sections on the fifteenth century, she jotted down that King Henry VI ruled for a large part of the century, from 1422 to 1461, although Richard, Duke of York, was several times appointed Protector when the feeble-minded King temporarily went mad. York secretly coveted the throne and it seemed he had the common people on his side, especially in London and Kent. ‘Aha!’ Melissa muttered. ‘I remember now.’

  In one book, she found a couple of intriguing sentences.

  The Duke of York raised a rebel army and fought against the King’s forces, but was routed in October of 1459. He fled to Ireland, while his son the Earl of March went to Calais with other allies, and there followed severe persecution of Yorkist supporters. As the Duke was especially popular in Kent, the numbers of men in hiding were larger there than anywhere else. Many of them turned vicious out of sheer desperation …

  Could Sybil’s lover have been one of the outlaws? Melissa wondered. Was that why she wasn’t allowed to marry him? If her father had been for the King, then of course a Yorkist supporter would have been out of the question as husband material.

  ‘Well, it’s a start,’ she told herself as she gathered up her belongings. There didn’t seem to be anything else of interest here, so she decided to go to the nearest record office as soon as she had the time.

  On her way out, she stopped by the helpful lady’s desk once more as a thought struck her. ‘Excuse me, but do you know if there is a local historian in the town? Someone who specialises in this area?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. One moment and I’ll find his number for you.’

  Armed with the address and phone number of this individual, Melissa went home feeling as if she had made some progress at least.

  The fight between Roger and the Ashleigh brothers quickly became the centre of attention of all the menfolk of Idenhurst, as well as a good number of the women. To begin with there was encouragement for both sides, but as the bout continued, the crowd became vociferous in Roger’s favour. The Ashleigh brothers had been training with Sir Gilbert’s men for over a year, but hadn’t made themselves very popular. There were plenty of people who would welcome someone who could teach them a lesson. As Roger fought first one, then the other of the pair, there were cheers when he rebuffed them at every turn.

  Finally, in pure rage, the two attacked him at once, causing mutterings of outrage among the older members of the household. However, Roger had been defending himself since boyhood, and didn’t lose his head. A sharp slash across his forearm halted him momentarily, and the sight of blood drew gasps from some of the women present, but he didn’t let it distract him. Instead it spurred him on to a flurry of thrusts with his flashing blade and very soon the Ashleigh brothers were soundly beaten. As first Edmund, then Simon was disarmed, their swords knocked clean out of their hands, the yard erupted in clapping and cheering.

  ‘Bravo, Sir Roger. That was as fine a display as I have ever seen, I think.’ The deep voice of Sir Gilbert rang out above the din as he made his way through the crowd.

  Roger looked up and saw admiration plainly written on the man’s face. This turned to a grimace of disgust as he briefly turned to the Ashleigh brothers and ordered them to go and get cleaned up. Roger knew they weren’t badly hurt, but mostly winded, with a few superficial cuts and bruises. So it proved when, without a word, Simon pulled Edmund to his feet before dusting himself off. The two of them stalked away, pushing their way through the crowd. Despite having bested them today, Roger was sure this wasn’t the last he’d hear from them.

  ‘Might I have a word with you in private, please?’ Sir Gilbert continued.

  Roger nodded, feeling slightly dazed, and followed his host into the hall.

  ‘Please, have a seat. You there, some wine if you please,’ Sir Gilbert added to a passing servant before sitting down himself. He came straight to the point. ‘Sir Roger, I’ve been watching you for a few days and it seems to me you are exceptionally good at what you do. I therefore have a proposition for you. Would you care to stay for a while and train my men? My sergeant was taken ill before Christmas, and since then there has been a lack of discipline among them. Perhaps you can rectify that? I will, of course, pay you whatever you deem suitable.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know.’ Roger hesitated, battling with a handkerchief to try to staunch the flow of blood on his arm. ‘Actually, I’m half-expected at the castle of Lord Lydbury come May. He offered me employment, should I want it.’

  ‘I will pay you double whatever he said he’d pay you. I really am in need of your services, and I don’t doubt he can do without you for a while. He and I are friends, so if I write to him and explain the situation, I’m sure he won’t mind.’

  Roger’s eyebrows rose a fraction. ‘Double? Very well, I can’t turn down so generous an offer.’ He smiled and held out his hand. ‘You have a bargain, Sir Gilbert.’ They shook hands on it.

  ‘Oh, and one more thing. Please keep an eye on those two hotheads from Ashleigh. They have two older brothers and are apt to go raising hell at every opportunity. They’ve been sadly indulged by their father, I fear.’

  They grinned at each other in mutual understanding before Sir Gilbert beckoned to his daughter, who was passing by on her way to the kitchens.

  ‘Katherine, come and make yourself useful girl. See to Sir Roger’s wounds, will you?’

  ‘Of course, Father, it will be my pleasure. If you’ll come with me to the stillroom, sir?’ Tall and gangly, the girl nevertheless held herself with an assurance unusual in one so young. Roger had been told she was fourteen, and he admired her poise. She turned on her heel, sending a blonde braid as thick as his wrist flying out behind her, and with a smile he followed her out of the hall.

  Outside in the courtyard, they ran into Lady Maude and Mistress Sibell. When told where they were heading, Maude said, ‘I’d better check that she does it properly. We’ll come with you.’

  ‘Mother,’ Katherine protested. ‘I’m perfectly capable of dealing with a wound. You’ve taught me yourself.’

  ‘Yes, but you’re always in such a hurry. I want to watch, that’s all.’

  Roger didn’t mind having an audience, especially not one which contained Mistress Sibell. He made the most of it, engaging young Katherine in teasing banter, but glancing at the older girl every now and then. Katherine answered him in kind, not at all self-conscious or shy. Soon the pair of them were talking and joking as if they’d known each other for years.

  ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ he teased when he’d made h
er laugh so much she dropped a bandage. ‘No man will want such a clumsy wife, although I suppose your beautiful hair might make up for any deficiencies.’ He flicked her braid with his free hand and grinned at her. ‘I swear, it’s like a sunbeam trapped on earth. Did some goddess descend to bestow this gift on you or was there magic involved?’

  Katherine shook her head at him and retorted, ‘For shame, Sir Roger, I’ve never heard such rubbish. Sunbeam, indeed. Why, your own hair is the same colour. That goddess must have been awfully busy, in that case.’

  They both laughed, but Roger heard Lady Maude draw in a hissing breath, as if she’d been shocked. When he looked up at her, he caught a strange expression on her face, which was quickly masked. To ease the sudden tension, Roger turned his charm on the older woman instead. He hoped she wasn’t offended, he’d meant no harm. ‘No need to worry, my lady. Joking aside, I have seldom been tended with more care,’ he assured her.

  ‘Naturally, Sir Roger,’ she replied with a slightly forced smile. ‘Katherine has been well taught. I’m pleased she has been of assistance to you.’

  ‘Oh, indeed she has. She’ll make some lucky man an excellent wife.’

  ‘That she will,’ Lady Maude agreed, with an edge of steel to her voice as if to say, ‘but not you, young man; most definitely not you.’

  Although it made him angry that she didn’t find him good enough for her daughter, Roger was nevertheless in complete agreement with her since he wasn’t interested in marrying the girl. To clearly demonstrate this he added, ‘A shame that I’m promised elsewhere, indeed a great shame.’

  He saw Maude relax slightly, but she remained in the stillroom until he took his leave, thanking Katherine for her services. He winked surreptitiously at Sibell before he left, but there was no answering smile on her face. Instead, she looked as if she’d just received a blow and he cursed his tongue for running away with him.

  This was not the time to tell her the true meaning of his words, however. He’d only just realised it himself.

  Melissa was determined to find out more about Ashleigh Manor and its history, but with solicitor’s fees to pay, her job had to come first. For the next week she was so busy she didn’t have any time to herself. Even thoughts of the ghostly face faded into the background, until on the Friday evening when she sank into the soft armchair in the sitting room once more. She glanced nervously towards the opposite wall, and was relieved to find it blank. Shaking her head, she began to sort through her notes, trying to concentrate on making sense of a family tree she was putting together for a new client by the name of Tylson. Jolie was upstairs doing homework, but Dorothy sat next to Melissa watching television and she felt reassured by her aunt’s presence.

  The little table in front of her proved woefully inadequate, and soon she had spread her papers all over the carpet as well. She had a list of entries from various church registers relating to the Tylsons, several copies of wills and a few marriage certificates obtained from the Registrar General, as well as details of census records for the family at different times. Her job now was to put this information into some semblance of order which wasn’t unlike doing a giant jigsaw puzzle. Melissa began with the most recent information and worked her way backwards, stopping every now and then to check she hadn’t missed anything. It required deep concentration.

  Eventually Dorothy stood up and said, ‘I think I’ll go to bed now, if you don’t mind, dear? It’s getting late. I’ll check on Jolie, shall I?’

  ‘Mm-hmm, please. Goodnight,’ Melissa replied rather absently. She wasn’t really paying attention. She frequently lost herself in her work. Pedigrees of all kinds were a constant source of fascination, and once she had begun she became completely absorbed in the enjoyment of creating a family tree.

  The next time she glanced at her watch it was five to midnight. ‘Good grief, how did it get so late already?’ She yawned and bent to gather up her papers. Organised chaos. She chuckled to herself. Although it usually worked this way, she really must devise a better system for her notes, she thought.

  Halfway through her task she caught a slight movement out of the corner of her eye. With a frown she straightened up and glanced towards the inglenook. A little shriek escaped her and all the papers slithered to the floor with a whoosh.

  ‘Roger!’ She gripped the armchair for support and sank into it, shock making her heart settle halfway to her throat, thudding painfully.

  This time he was standing by the fireplace, leaning on it nonchalantly with one arm draped over the mantelpiece. She could see all of him, not just his face. His long hair shimmered in the light from the dying fire and his blue eyes were sparkling. He smiled at her.

  He was so close, only a few feet away, and the impact on her senses was devastating. As she detected his distinctive scent and recognised it from her dreams, she could hear the blood roaring in her ears. His smile widened, and her insides turned slowly to jelly. What was it about this man that made her feel like this? Inebriated, like the heady fizz of champagne thrumming through her veins. Or like a schoolgirl infatuated with a pop star, wanting to scream at the mere sight of him. No, not man, she corrected herself. Ghost! I can see the television through him, for goodness’ sake.

  He looked so real, though. His tall, muscular body was dressed in some kind of dark tunic and his legs were encased in tight-fitting hose, which showed off powerful thighs. He was wearing short leather boots and at his waist hung a gleaming, lethal sword. The man was confidence personified, and she almost expected him to sling her over his shoulder and carry her off to bed. She wouldn’t have lifted a finger to resist him.

  The realisation hit her with sickening clarity that she was sitting there grinning like a love-sick adolescent at a ghost, but she couldn’t help it. She had absolutely no control over her emotions concerning this man, and she simply stared at him, waiting. For what, she didn’t know.

  ‘Sweeting, you must help me, please.’ His voice broke the spell. As before, it seemed to come from far away at first, but when he repeated the words she heard them clearly. The terrible sensation of loss assailed her again, and she felt the tears begin to roll down her cheeks.

  ‘How?’ she managed to whisper. ‘How, Roger?’

  He said nothing for a moment, but his gaze grew pensive. ‘The ring will help you. Search, sweeting …’

  The apparition faded slowly, but Melissa stayed motionless in the chair for a long while afterwards. Indeed, her limbs felt as if they were made of the heaviest granite, and the unbearable sadness filled her mind to overflowing. A shuddering sigh went through her and she tried to gather her wits.

  Am I going crazy? Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands as she clenched them in frustration. No, as far as she could make out she was entirely sane. The first time she had been ill, and could possibly have been hallucinating, but tonight she was healthy and completely awake. Therefore she could only conclude that ghosts really did exist. She just couldn’t doubt her own eyes.

  There had to be a logical explanation for his presence in this house, however. Who was Roger? Was he indeed Sybil’s long-lost lover, the father of her child? Was he a Yorkist outlaw? And how was he connected to Ashleigh? Melissa was entirely convinced now that somehow, somewhere he had existed. Tossing her long hair over her shoulder impatiently, she stood up, raising her chin in determination.

  ‘Well I’m damned well going to find out,’ she vowed. She would start on Monday, and never mind Mr Tylson’s family tree. He could wait.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Sir Gilbert. Good of you to see me.’

  John of Ashleigh strode down the hall towards the dais, where his host awaited him, stony-faced. Sibell trailed a few steps behind. Her father had allowed her to accompany him to Idenhurst, but she’d been told to keep quiet and stay out of the way. ‘And we’re not staying long,’ her father had added.

  Her father attempted an ingratiating smile, obviously trying his best to be jovial, but his attempts fell flat. His discom
fort in the other man’s presence was making him squirm visibly and Sibell bit her lip. Although Sir Gilbert was normally a cordial host, there was an underlying coldness in his manner this day which appeared to be penetrating even John’s thick skin. Sibell wished herself anywhere but here.

  ‘Please, be seated,’ Sir Gilbert said, but Sibell noticed that they were not offered any refreshment. He turned to Sibell. ‘Why don’t you run up to the solar, my dear? I’m certain Maude would appreciate your company.’

  Sibell glanced to her father for permission and he nodded reluctantly. He looked as if he had chewed on something sour, but his face soon became wreathed in smiles once more when Sir Gilbert called for wine at last. Sibell made her escape.

  The solar was empty and Sibell sent a serving maid to look for Maude. While she waited, she became absorbed in a beautifully bound book called Troilus & Creseyd by Geoffrey Chaucer, which was lying on the table. It was the story of a perfect, gentle knight and Sibell seized on it with alacrity, although she treated it with great care, since she knew it was very valuable. She loved Chaucer’s stories, and anything that offered escape from reality, if only for a while, was a welcome distraction. Reading was one of her favourite pastimes, and one she’d learned here at Idenhurst. Unfortunately, she seldom had the opportunity to indulge in it, since her father considered books a waste of money.

  ‘Mistress Sibell, we meet again.’

  Sibell looked up, eyes widening. ‘Sir Roger!’ She leapt up from the bench. He had managed to startle her yet again. The man moved as gracefully as a fox and just as quietly. Sibell felt herself blush furiously as she recalled that his was the face she had pictured while reading about the perfect Troilus. Perhaps her thoughts had conjured him out of thin air. She frowned slightly and wondered what he was doing there. ‘Should … should you be up here?’ That sounded rude, so she attempted a feeble joke. ‘This room is normally full of women and only the bravest of men walk into this lion’s den.’