The Book of Hours (25 page)

“A few days, not more.” Cecilia started to ask what the matter was, when the mayor climbed to the podium, banged the gavel for quiet, and announced, “Voting is now closed. We will count the ballots as swiftly as possible.”

Trevor slipped into the row behind them and muttered, “There is nothing I hate worse than waiting.”

“My dear fellow,” Arthur exclaimed, “you look positively ghastly.”

“I keep repeating that it doesn't matter,” Trevor answered, clenching his arms across his middle. “But I can't seem to convince myself.”

“It matters,” Brian said grimly. “All of it does.”

The comment caught them all by surprise. Gladys said, “You scarcely look any better than the vicar.”

“They're holding the auction the day after tomorrow,” Brian reminded them.

A second pall settled over the little gathering, isolating them further from the tumult. Finally, it was Arthur who straightened and said sternly, “See here, do you want to hold on to Castle Keep?”

“More than I've wanted anything in a very long time,” Brian answered.

“Then it's settled.” The old gentleman pounded his fist on the seat beside him, and for an instant he shed his burden of years and once again became the general leading his troops into battle. “I knew Heather better than anyone alive, and I am absolutely certain she would not have neglected the issue of death duties.”

“It has been bothering me all along,” Gladys agreed. “But what are we to do?”

“Six hundred thousand pounds is six hundred thousand more than I have,” Brian agreed.

“Oh piffle!” Blue eyes clear as winter's first frost glared at them. “What are we, a bunch of whiners?”

“No, dear,” Gladys chided gently. “But we are rather poor.”

“Nonsense. I for one am not willing to sit around and let Hardy Seade and his ilk walk away with my home!”

“But what are we to do?” Cecilia demanded, drawn to hope despite herself.

“The answer is in the riddles,” Arthur said. “I'm convinced of it. And where have the riddles been found?”

“Inside whatever the last puzzle revealed,” Brian said, a spark of interest flaring in his voice and his eyes.

“Precisely.” Arthur used his fist as a gavel, pounding it a second time. “Then we must go back and tear apart that laboratory.” He stared at them, one at a time. “Who's with me?”

Before they could respond, the mayor climbed back up and hammered the gavel. “The meeting will come to order. Silence, please.” When everyone had settled as best they could, and those who remained on the stairs had entered and found spaces around the back wall, the mayor continued,“We have arrived at a final count. Bailiff, do the honors, please.”

A portly man with the bearing of a retired policeman mounted the side stairs. He dragged out the moment long enough for the people to begin stirring impatiently, hunting for his spectacles, coughing and fiddling with the page, dearly loving his moment in the spotlight. Cecilia found herself clenching the chair in front of her as the man finally began,“We are here to decide the matter, which reads as follows:‘Should the village churches have their bells restored, and the habit of chiming the hours be resumed?'The villagers were asked to vote for or against.”

“Get on with it, man,” someone muttered, and was swiftly joined by a restless chorus of assent.

The bailiff lifted his gaze and frowned the gathering to silence. Behind her,Trevor shifted nervously in his chair.

Finally the bailiff admitted to himself he could tarry no longer and released the news, “The ayes have it, five hundred and nineteen votes to—”

His final words were drowned out by the pandemonium that filled the chamber. The crowd on their side of the hall leaped to their feet with a great shout, and Cecilia found herself hugging everyone about her. From across the hall came angry accusations, but the merriment that surrounded her was so great that Cecilia could ignore them all. Her back was pounded by people she did not see, she shook a dozen hands in as many seconds, she laughed, she cheered.

Then she found herself staring into Brian's eyes, seeing the happiness and the melancholy mixed there with such tender openness that it was the most natural thing in the world to sweep him into her arms and offer the comfort of a heartfelt embrace. Brian stood in stunned immobility for a long moment, then slowly brought his arms up and around her. And the feeling was so good, so complete, that she could do nothing save close her eyes to the world and the commotion, and give herself over to the comfort she had expected to give, yet found herself receiving.

They were finally forced to release one another when Arthur stepped in close and cried, “One battle down and one to go! All right, who's with me?”

“Count me in,” Cecilia said, running her hand down Brian's arm, squeezing his hand, releasing it, and stepping back, feeling still the embrace and the strength of the man.

The old gentleman lifted his fist in defiance to the crowd and the tumult and the night. “Tallyho!”

Twenty-seven

B
UT THE SEARCH OF THE SECRET STUDY PROVED FUTILE
. More than that, it was depressing. They began in the best of spirits, joined by Molly and Trevor, laughing and calling to one another, buoyed by the recent victory. Yet the hours ticked by, and with them their gaiety and energy drained steadily away.

Finally at midnight Gladys chided her husband, “You really must have a lie-down, dear.”

“Nonsense.” Arthur fumbled about, fatigue increasing his burden of years. “Has anyone checked the corner over here?”

“I did,” Brian replied, using Gladys's words as an excuse to sit down. “Twice.”

“I'm afraid I can't keep my eyes open any longer,” Trevor admitted. “This hasn't been the easiest of weeks.”

“There, you see,” Gladys scolded. “And he wasn't up half the night like you were.”

Arthur's shoulders slumped in defeat. “My dear chap, I feel like we've let you down horribly.”

Brian's face mirrored the weary resignation in his voice. “You've done all you could.”

“We'll start again first thing tomorrow.” Slowly Arthur bent over to accommodate the tunnel. “Come along, my dear.”

Cecilia and Brian were the last to leave, walking down the stairs together, standing outside the old place beneath a star-chased sky. Too tired and too beaten to speak, she reached over and gripped him in another tight embrace. Only as she turned away, this time it felt more like a farewell.

Cecilia managed to make it upstairs and disrobe before sleep overcame her. The next thing she knew, the first faint tendrils of dawn were gracing another clear blue sky. She rose from bed and dressed hastily, suddenly ravenous. She scrambled three eggs and ate them with two pieces of toast. Only when her stomach was full could she sense the same sorrow she had known the night before.

Her mind went back to the talk with the businesswoman, Monday's first patient. How clear it had all seemed then. How vivid the sense of turning. Cecilia found herself hearing her own words as though spoken by someone else. About the vulnerability and the need for answers she did not have. Her body began rocking back and forth, gentle motions driven by unseen winds. Her eyes closed and her heart whispered words that seemed drawn from outside her, speaking far more clearly than she could herself, expressing thoughts she had never given voice to, until now.

Brian was glad he was alone when he found the letter. Very glad indeed. He had awakened an hour before Tuesday's dawn, eaten breakfast, and returned to the secret room because there was nothing much else to do. It was as he was packing one of the spark machines, turning the ivory crank and polishing the great wooden wheel, that he had heard a sibilant rustling. Squeezing in close to the contraption, he had squinted and poked and prodded and finally pulled out yet another yellowed envelope.

“My dear Brian,” Heather began, “I do so hope you enjoy my latest little surprise. Well, Alex's, actually. He discovered this place and these contraptions in our early courtship days. In our rare bad moments I would accuse him of marrying me just so he could claim them as his own. But never mind that. I hope they bring you as much pleasure as they did him.”

Brian used the cloth to wipe off a low bench, then tested it cautiously before easing himself down. By the light of Arthur's flashlight he continued reading, “My hands are better today, perhaps because I spent half the night talking with your dear wife. These contacts with her remain the most brilliant light in my dimming vision. Sarah is truly an earthbound angel. But of course, this you know. What you most certainly have not heard from me before, my newfound friend, is that she deserved you, and you her.

“I spoke at length about this particular missive with your dear wife, and it has left me feeling restored. Not in health, but in confidence. I hope you will forgive me for mentioning Sarah here, but I feel it important to establish credibility. I have shared with you my mistakes. Now allow me to pass on some of Sarah's own wisdom.

“‘The treasure you seek is not here in this room, of course. And I am hoping you have already begun to discover it for yourself. That is my hope for you, Brian. That this lovely village and this marvelous house will bestow upon you the most precious treasure of all, that of knowing God.

“‘Prayer is the answer, dear one. Prayer gives us the strength to go beyond the boundaries of fear and pain. In order for you to heal, in order to live the life I refused myself for so long, you must learn to dwell within the refuge God grants us through prayer. Prayer then becomes a doorway to what lies beyond the pain and the fear and the past.

“‘To arrive at this deeper purpose, you must develop prayer as a regular discipline. You must make it a constant in your life, and not just a sometime act. Prayer will grant you a very special distance, allowing you to step back from life and view everything more clearly—both the internal and the external, both the good and the bad. So my challenge to you this day, my dear, is to see prayer as a continuing surrender. Little by little, relinquish all that separates you from God. Your grief, your woes, your fears, your worries, your unfulfilled desires. Not every time of prayer will provide consolation or fulfillment. But only through the preparation of this discipline will you become ready for that holy moment when it does arrive. You must be brought face-to-face with the shadowy vista within yourself where God is not. Then you shall be ready to climb the glorious Jacob's ladder toward the miracle of a heart renewed in God.

“‘Step-by-step you shall be brought to the pinnacle where you are smitten with bliss, where God shall implant within you His own holy desire.' Those are your dear Sarah's own words. I wrote them down as she spoke, knowing the message was intended not for me, but for you. Use the testimony of her own departure, and the strength she found in the midst of her greatest tragedy, to drive this point home. And grow beyond where I find myself.”

Brian had to set down the letter there. He did not know how long it was before he was able to clear his face and begin anew. Here in this windowless alcove time mattered little. The silence and the isolation only heightened the force he found there on the page.

Eventually he was able to refocus on Heather's words. He turned over the page and read, “I must apologize for the state of Castle Keep. I am not so far gone as to be unaware that it is a dismal wreck. I never much cared for the worry of maintenance, which is a full-time occupation with such a house. I was born here, you see, and tended to treat it with the same matter-of-factness that I viewed my arms or feet before they started going off on me. Castle Keep was simply a part of who I was. Big houses do that. They are either friends so close you scarcely see them at all, or your worst enemy. I am pleased to say that Castle Keep and I were on the best of terms, and I am certain the old dear has long since forgiven me for forsaking her so.

“Alex was the one who loved the task of keeping the old place up. After he left me, well, I dared not do anything that might fill the hole he had left in my life. It was a mistake, I realize that now. A dreadful one, and I have paid for it with half a life only half lived. Part of why I was so eager to be a part of Sarah's little plan was to save you from repeating my natural mistake.

“Now then. I expect you to set things right about the place, Brian. I leave all my possessions to you, with the express command to retain only what you truly care for, and burn the rest. I expect you to begin your destruction with the hippo heads, which were brought back from Africa by my grandfather, a ne'er-do-well who cost the family half its fortune seeking the lost treasures of Zin.”

Brian dropped the letter to his lap, utterly confused. Heather did not speak with the tone of someone who was so addled as to forget the matter of death duties. And Sarah was bound to have informed her of their own financial state, particularly after the horrendous costs of Sarah's illness.

“So here is my next clue, dear one. On your knees you will need to search, falling prostrate as was done in ages past. Seek what is ancient and yet timeless. Beg from lowliest point for highest gain. The most ancient places contain the newest wisdom. Seek on your knees with the hunger of a questing heart. Ask for the divine spark to ignite the fires of holy passion. And find more answers than I can ever give you alone. Yours ever, Heather.”

Brian sat staring at the dark shapes and the glinting glass, mulling over the words and the riddle. It was only when the distant door creaked that he was brought back to reality. He heard a voice call down, “Brian?”

“In here!”

A few moments later, Cecilia's shape emerged in the tunnel. The instant she saw his face she exclaimed, “You've found another letter!”

“We're missing something,” he said, lifting the yellowed page.

“Something big.”