Lord of the Abbey (3 page)

“Yes, Grandmother. I promise.”

“Give me the candle, William. Then be a dear boy and go and fetch your bag. I believe Moggers left it in the trunk at the foot of your bed.”

“Yes, Grandmother, he did put it away in the trunk. I will fetch it straight away.”

The concealed chamber was a small, tiny room, left completely bare with stone walls and floor. There was no window. It smelled of dust.

Lady Dulac felt the bag and confirmed the letters were indeed sewn in to the lining. She appeared deep in thought for a moment then removed her brooch, a very fine looking one with garnets and pearls. She placed it inside the bag. “Just an added measure. One might think we were merely hiding the brooch and this might keep the letters from being detected. We’ll leave the Abbot’s letters sewn inside the bag for additional protection. There is one of these stones along this wall that is loose.” Lady Dulac pushed and tugged on several of the stones. “Ah, here it is. Can you remove this stone, William? You seem to be a healthy, strong young man.” She pointed to a rectangle-shaped stone, just slightly darker than the others near it.

“Of course, my Lady, er, Grandmother.” A long, narrow compartment was revealed when the stone was removed. William watched as the Lady, rather his grandmother, rolled the bag containing the brooch and the Abbot’s letters tightly and shoved the sturdy roll of fabric into the hole.

“Replace the stone, William.” After he did, she checked to make certain the stone did not feel too loose and that it fit correctly.

“My dearest,” Lady Dulac sighed heavily after the secret chamber door shut behind them and the panel was pushed back into place, “this is a secret no one shall ever know about. You must never open the chamber again. If the King’s men thought we possessed such information, we might well be in danger too.”

“Yes, Grandmother. I know this. We will be safe. I will protect you,” William said, aware at that moment he knew far more than Lady Dulac. He knew the location of the treasures of Glastonbury Abbey. The danger of being found out not only threatened him, but now also his new grandmother. The door would never again be opened, and none would ever be told about the Abbey secrets. Ever.

Glastonbury, April 1834

Lady Rowena Locke was taut with nerves.

The new Earl of Glaston arrived in Glastonbury to take up residence at Abbey Grange just days ago. Sir John set up an audience with him on her behalf. Not just an audience as she preferred. A dinner invitation! Of course, Sir John told her Glaston insisted all three of them join him and his guest, Lord Amesbury for dinner. And so it was. They would dine with Lord Glaston and Lord Amesbury. Tonight.

Butterflies danced in her stomach. She looked at the clock.
Thank goodness! There is still plenty of time.
She shook out the shimmering, pale blue skirts of her evening gown, peered in the looking glass, wondering if she over dressed for such a small, private party.
Oh bother! It doesn’t matter what I wear. It’s not like I’m looking for a husband.

Would Lord Glaston, the new Lord of the Manor of Glastonbury, find her research on the lost treasures of Glastonbury Abbey substantial enough to allow her to conduct her own search in the abbey ruins? Rowena fervently hoped he did!

His father had not. A frown creased her brow as she remembered the elder and now deceased Lord Glaston’s suggestion that she empty her head of such foolish, romantic nonsense and apply her idle time to finding a husband. That was five years ago.

Many things changed since then. Stonedown Manor was her home now. She served as her widowed Aunt Frances’ full-time companion. Rowena was an accepted and respected spinster and resident of Glastonbury these past six years, not just an occasional visitor. And Harry Bellingham was the new Earl of Glaston these six months past. The new owner of Glastonbury Abbey ruins. The man she must obtain permission from to search the abbey grounds.

The most important change in her research came three months ago when Rowena found a letter inside the binding of an old book in the library. The letter was written by William Dulac, one of her ancestors. It was proof that, at least at one time, there were several sites where holy treasure of Glastonbury Abbey was hidden before the destruction of the Abbey during the dissolution. She did not exactly know where said treasures were located. She believed some of it must still be there. Or was it just a fleeting hope?

Sir John informed her that Harry Bellingham, the ninth Earl of Glaston, was very much interested in ancient history in the area and even belonged to a society for such like-minded gentlemen as he. Lord Glaston was intrigued by the information Sir John relayed to him. He told Sir John he was anxious to meet her and discuss the subject in person. That should be encouraging to her, shouldn’t it?

Rowena groaned in frustrated agony. She had no idea how this situation would turn out. For all she knew the Earl might read her letter, begin his own search in the Abbey, and leave her completely uninvolved and watching from afar, as she was
just a woman
. Or perhaps, because of the scandal that ensued when she broke her forced
engagement
six years ago to that lecherous Viscount Dalworth; the new Earl of Glaston might refuse any association with her at all. Then again, he might just be as cruel and insensitive to the abilities of a woman’s mind as his father and deny her outright.

What would she do then? She spent the last six years researching Glastonbury Abbey and all of her legends and secrets. Rowena squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She refused to fail. She would have this on her terms or…

The clock in the hall chimed quarter past the hour. Time to go. Snatching up her shawl, Rowena left her bedchamber and hastened downstairs.

She heard voices coming from the parlour. “Aunt Frances?”

“Here, in the parlour, dear. We’ve a few minutes before we leave for Abbey Grange.”

Rowena took a deep breath to calm her nerves before entering the main parlour. She whispered a quick prayer, ending it with, “St. Michael, please help me tonight. I must be successful in this.”

“There you are, dear. Sir John has already arrived.” Frances Phippen, Lady Sperring, smiled as her niece entered the parlour. Her aunt always dressed impeccably, tonight in a rich russet silk gown, her graying reddish hair coiffed ornately.

“Sir John.” Rowena greeted the snow-haired gentleman with a happy smile. She genuinely liked her aunt’s longtime friend and companion, Sir John Nunn.

“Well then, I suspect you are ready to get to the Grange, Lady Rowena, and meet with Glaston. I am confident you shall win approval for your archaeological endeavor with the new Earl.”

”
I hope so, Sir John. And yes, I am ready. I wish to get this meeting behind me. You are certain we waited a sufficient amount of time after his father’s death to ask this favor of the new Earl?”

“
Yes. Quite certain, Lady Rowena. Do not worry. Everything shall work out well.” Sir John smiled reassuringly and patted her hand. “Off to Abbey Grange we go then. You’ve been waiting a long time for this, m’dear. Your valise is already in the carriage.”

Once the ladies were settled inside the carriage, Sir John spoke. “As I told you, Lady Rowena, I have prepared the Earl for your inquiry. I daresay, he was quite intrigued, asked all manner of questions and the like. I had answers for some and not others, so I posed that he make his inquiries to you in person tonight during our meal. He was very receptive and said he quite looked forward to our meeting this evening, as did his colleague and friend, the Earl of Amesbury.”

“
I hope so, Sir John.” Rowena’s nerves were strung tight as a bow. Looking out the carriage window, she took notice of the stone building housing the Chalice Well and knew the carriage would momentarily turn onto Chilkwell Street. Her nervousness increased as Abbey Grange came in to view, the abbey ruins in the distance behind the house, standing like dark sentinels against the twilight sky. The house was relatively new as far as great houses in Glastonbury went. The Grange was less than fifty years old, done in the Tudor Gothic style, most likely so it resembled the architecture of the Abbey, its prestigious focal point. The Grange was a large and spacious mansion. Though ancient houses abounded in their town, few grand houses of large scale remained in Glastonbury.

Please, please don’t let the son be like his father!
She prayed again. For if the son was like his father and felt she was being a romantic, addle-brained and foolish female, she might never have the chance to look for the treasures of the Abbey hidden from Thomas Cromwell’s men by the last Abbot, Richard Whiting.

“
Do tell, Harry, what does your neighbor Lady Rowena Locke look like?” Lyon Ravenscroft, Earl of Amesbury asked his friend as they lounged in over-stuffed chairs in the large drawing room of Abbey Grange.

Though still early, they waited for their evening dinner guests to arrive. The room was grandly redecorated by Harry’s mother in reds and golds some years before. The décor was not suited to his simpler, more masculine tastes, but he supposed it grand enough to receive his first guests in.

“
I haven’t seen her in about ten years, at which time her age would have been around sixteen. I don’t remember anything about her save her hair, being curly and golden, gave her quite an angelic appearance. I remember thinking her thin and gangly. Somewhat awkward. I was not even twenty at the time, possibly only eighteen. I do recall I found her bosom lacking. At least I did not find it as impressive as Sally Pickley’s bosom, who was then one of the barmaids at the White Hart. I don’t think I paid Lady Rowena much notice that day because I was far more interested in leaving the dull company here at the Grange and going to look at Sally Pickley’s bosom, among other things, up close.” Harry Bellingham, the ninth Earl of Glaston confessed to his friend while sporting a devilish grin.

“
As she is a confirmed spinster; bookish as evidenced by her obsession with research of the Abbey; and didn’t hold much promise at sixteen nor have a bosom, I wager there is no hope that she blossomed into a stunning beauty. More chance she is horse-faced and long in the tooth by now, perhaps even wearing spectacles and a white cap,” Lyon mused with a disappointed sigh as he rose from his chair. “A pity. I would welcome the diversion of a beautiful, intelligent young woman.” He moved absently to the large windows to gaze upon the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey.

“
Locally, Lady Rowena is reputed a beauty, so my mother informed me before I left London. Mother has been in company with Lady Rowena and her aunt on many occasions since I last saw her. Of course my mother thinks any young, eligible woman of noble birth and good family is beautiful enough to marry me, which is precisely why she made a point of encouraging me to seek out Lady Rowena upon my arrival. I, personally, have no knowledge of the truth regarding Lady Rowena’s appearance.”

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.”