Meanwhile, across the other side of Derbyshire, a body lay motionless in the hospital bed – a grey pallor creeping across the aged skin. The ward was enveloped in the shadows of late evening – the deathly silence interrupted periodically by the rhythmic pulse of the machines surrounding the bedside – Edward’s synthetic lifeline.
There was still confusion over what had happened earlier that day, however, Edward’s black stallion Samson had charged into the Courtyard, fully tacked and foaming with sweat. His ears were pinned back, and his eyes rolled wildly, flashing a glimpse of the whites of his eyes. It took four groom hands over an hour to calm him, and bring him back under control.
It was then that the alarm was raised, and the search for Sir Edward Fitzwilliam had begun – as man and beast were inseparable. Samson would permit no-one but his master to mount him, and the fact that Edward wasn’t with him when he was saddled and ready to ride could mean only one thing.
It was actually the gamekeeper Brownson who came across his battered and broken body abandoned in a field behind Lillington Hall. He cut such a pathetic figure prostrate on the floor, limbs angled to impossible degrees, that Brownson thought no-one could possibly survive such a trauma. However, as he bent lower and reached forward to feel his employer’s neck just under the chin, he detected a faint pulse. Filled with adrenalin, he jumped to his feet and reached for his shotgun, and fired two shots in quick succession – the agreed signal to the search party.
∞∞∞∞∞
That had been almost ten hours ago. After initial concerns, the doctors had managed to stabilise Fitzwilliam’s condition. He was by no means out of the woods yet, but he had settled at least. Penelope had told Margaret and Jason that there was no need for them to stay – she’d stop with Edward tonight. At first they protested, but Penelope was insistent – quite frankly she was tired of Margaret’s incessant sobbing and was still riled that the doctors had originally thought Mrs Lomas was Edward’s wife.
Reluctantly, Jason put his arm around his mother’s shoulder and ushered her towards the door. Casting a glance back towards the bed, he murmured ‘We’ll be back in the morning then – that’s if we’re allowed that is….’ The dark eyes that could enchant women in an instant, also held the potential to display complete and utter disdain. This was the look he cast towards the current Lady Fitzwilliam now, and turned his back – leaving her stunned into silence.
Exhausted, Penelope had rested her head on her outstretched arm, the trauma of the day’s events had taken their toll. Her normally immaculately made up features were ashen, and her red rimmed eyes burnt with a mixture of tears and fatigue. She succumbed reluctantly to the draw of sleep – which promised a temporary relief from the nightmare that was unfolding before her.
She was oblivious to time, as the hour hand indicated the passage of time – and soon the night had given way to the early hours of morning.
The stillness was eventually disturbed by a figure emerging from the shadows, creeping stealthily towards the patient. The form halted at the bedside, savouring the sweet irony of looking upon Sir Edward Fitzwilliam’s helpless body – weak and vulnerable….powerless. Without hesitation a black leather-gloved hand reached towards the apparatus, and revelled in the power of flicking the switch.
In the few seconds that it took for the machine to raise its alarm – Edward jolted into consciousness – his eyes opened wide in realisation. The body’s primeval instinct kicked into action, sensing imminent danger. Although he was incapable of speech – his eyes fixed upon the face of his killer, and registered the full horror of the moment. Any apprehension that his assailant may have felt about revealing their identity to this frail, ageing man soon subsided.
The figure observed motionless as the life drained from Edward’s eyes. Watching as his thoughts ended abruptly in one final spasm, and he descended into the darkness.
Penelope struggled to rouse herself, aware of a disturbance. She was alarmed to see a nurse rushing to the bedside, shouting for assistance – unaware of a figure slipping through a door at the end of the ward – unnoticed. It was only then that she registered the monotonous piercing tone of the machine.
Numb struck, she watched on in silence, as the nurses tried in vain to resuscitate her husband. But as the scene played out in slow motion in her mind – Penelope realised in her heart of hearts that her husband was dead.
∞∞∞∞∞
The following morning, Annie drew back the curtains to reveal the apricot and raspberry ripple sunrise. She laughed inwardly to herself. In the cold light of day it seemed absurd that she could have allowed her mind to run away with itself last night. She had been truly scared – but all that vanished now with the newly emerging day.
Annie was beginning to love her little cottage, in this peaceful Derbyshire village where reality seemed to be somehow suspended. After a quick shower, and grabbing a slice of toast she jumped into her little Citroën – full of anticipation of what the day would hold.
As an afterthought before she left, she’d rummaged under the bed and reached carefully for the box that her Mum had given her, and retrieved the bundle of letters, bound with red ribbon. The parchment paper was quite distinctive, each one carrying the same wax seal, and individual handwriting. Annie seemed to recognise the symbols on the seal from somewhere, but couldn’t for the life of her remember where. Yesterday’s events had renewed her curiosity – and she was determined to get to the bottom of Grace’s secret. So she threw the letters on the seat next to her and set off.
∞∞∞∞∞
It took Annie longer to find Lillington Hall this time, as her trip with Jason had been somewhat of a blur – and the roads were unfamiliar. However, after a couple of detours, Annie pulled up in the driveway by the stables of the Jacobean mansion. She took a moment to compose herself, and then headed up to the main house, noticing the flag flying at half mast on the lawns in front of the great house, buffeted by the chill March wind.
She pulled on the old iron door bell pull, and listened as the chimes echoed in the hallway – announcing her arrival. Annie couldn’t hide her surprise as the door opened, and Sally lazily emerged – dressed in what was obviously a man’s oversized pyjama top – her long bare bronzed legs emerging from the cotton striped fabric.
‘Oh it’s you’ not feigning her disapproval, she eyed Annie up and down with her stony gaze.
‘Is Justin in?…..only he’d asked me to come down here this morning to help out with the film crew.’ Annie had seen a hive of activity beginning as she’d driven into the estate, and couldn’t wait to find out what she’d be doing.
‘You won’t have heard will you’ She paused, seeing the concern rising in Annie’s eyes, and relished in leaving the red head wait on her every word. Finally she continued ‘Edward Fitzwilliam died last night’ Annie’s shoulders dropped noticeably – and thought back to the flag that she’d seen fluttering forlornly in front of the house.
‘So Jason and Justin have been called down to London to sort out some paperwork, they left first thing this morning’ and after pausing..’I’m surprised they didn’t let you know personally…’ the corners of Sally’s lips curled up in a sadistic grin. ‘ But Justin, did ask me to pass a message on to you’ and motioned to a door at the other end of the building, which Annie recognised from yesterday’s visit as the entrance to the kitchens. ‘I’ll meet you over there’ and promptly slammed the door in her face.
‘ You cow!’ Annie muttered audibly. ‘Just who does she think she is?!!!…..’ This blonde bimbo was turning out to be a real pain, for more than one reason. However, begrudgingly Annie set off to the tradesman’s entrance, fully aware of the insult Sally had just paid her, but she had made a promise to Justin –and she at least was a woman of honour and would keep to her word.
The exchange between the women had remained terse and brief, as Annie was given her orders as if she were the Charlady – and Sally were the lady of the house. Despite her rising frustration, Annie managed to maintain her composure – and bit her lip – she wouldn’t be dragged down to this woman’s level. For this Annie felt that she had maintained the higher moral ground.
In spite of her best attempts, Sally couldn’t suppress her adversary’s enthusiasm – and observed grimly as Annie set off in the direction of the barn on the edge of the estate. For the second time that day, she slammed the door shut – hoping to banish all thoughts of that annoying flame haired Northerner. Still clutching the handwritten note, that Justin had given her earlier this morning – with the express instructions that it be passed to Annie as soon as she arrived. Sally sauntered though to the hallway, and standing before the fire burning in the hearth she hurled the folded pages into the flames, and watched intently as the fire burned brightly.
∞∞∞∞∞
An oil lamp hung from a nearby beam, casting a soft sallow light on the stacks of hay. A young flaxen haired beauty lay evocatively on a bed of straw, propped up on her elbows, with her back arched – allowing her long fair locks to tumble freely to the floor.
‘Come closer Sir… that I might know you better….’ Phoebe slowly raised her head and rested her chin on her collar bone. Languorously opening her velvety grey eyes to look upon the gentleman stood before her – her words were spoken as a subversive invitation. Her hungry gaze followed as he edged closer, and she bit on her soft pink lip, in anticipation of what desires she had unleashed in her Master.
‘This cannot be…….’ The tall gentleman cast an uneasy look over his shoulder, conscious of ensuring that there were no prying eyes witnessing this base scene. ‘My father will not permit this…I…cannot permit this’ Although the words were uttered as a dismissal, Phoebe could sense they betrayed the longing in his body. His strong hands toyed nervously with the riding crop in his hand, as if conjuring a distraction.
‘Master… know you not your own mind? May you not do your own bidding?…..’ As the elfin like serving girl rose to her feet, her blue woollen gown lifted imperceptibly, to reveal a delicate creamy white ankle. Phoebe’s tiny fingers, brushed down the folds of her skirt, clearing all traces of the straw from the barn floor.
The statuesque figure of James Beresford, stood transfixed – his strong jaw set, and his blue eyes widening with forbidden longing. He managed to avert his eyes finally from the temptation, turning his back, the tails of his dark green riding coat flapping in the draft his sudden movement created.
He took a sharp intake of breathe, as her tiny form nestled into his back, resting her cheek against his masculine form, her arms barely encircling his waist.
‘Please Sir’ she implored ‘I cannot bare this burden any longer’ James, turned his face towards the direction of her voice which was plucking at his heart strings.
‘Would that I could take you from your misery….you can but imagine the turmoil that is growing within me. But you more than anyone know, that this can never be…it is not godly…they will say that you have bewitched me.’ He reached to take one of Phoebe’s slender hands, which still maintained a softness, despite the hard work they had been sentenced to carry out by the very nature of her birth. James bowed his head, and lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed her gently, his lips brushing her skin. They revelled in the illicit intimacy of the moment.
Then he closed his eyes, as if it would erase all memory – and dropped her hand. James strode away with purpose, not looking back at the waif who now crumpled down on her knees, head to the floor. The tears streamed down her face, which moments earlier could be mistaken for tears of joy, were now a sign of her absolute and utter misery…….
‘And..cut……’ Annie was brought back to her senses, by the bearded chap stood in the corner of the barn, sporting a large set of headphones which he was just removing. ‘That was fantastic Aiden, just wonderful…..and thank you Zoe great job I think that’s a wrap for this scene’ The actress rose from the floor, dabbing at her eyes to wipe away the fake tears ‘…now next we’re over to the farmhouse for Old Woman and Vicar scene…can you get Emily and Rupert on standby please..’ A young lad scuttled out of the barn, following the orders he’d just been given.
Annie watched open mouthed as the lead star then strode past her ‘So that’s Aiden O’Connell..mmmm…dishy!’ Although fair haired men weren’t her thing, she could certainly see the merits of casting this striking man as the male lead. He threw her a friendly smile as he left the set, loosening the white scarf from around his neck, releasing a subtle musky aroma of aftershave.
On her way down to the barn, Annie had got talking to one of the grips Josie, who’d given her the low down on the epic saga, and revealed that the leading Irish actor Aiden O’Connell was the star of the production, set on an 18th century estate in Derbyshire. He was all the rage at the moment, but a little demanding apparently. Despite her best endeavours, Annie couldn’t get Josie to reveal any inside information – more than her job was worth she’d said.
The barn became a hive of activity as everyone busied around as if part of some intricate choreography. ‘Hi, I’m Annie Caruthers’ she held out a hand to the bearded chap who Josie had said was the producer. If she hadn’t been told, she could have guessed though, as he’d been standing by the clichéd folding chair with the word ‘Producer’ printed on it, and Annie chuckled to herself. ‘I’ve been told that you’re the person to see…’ Annie went on to explain that Justin Lomas had tasked her with assisting the film crew, and asked if there was anything she could do.
‘Actually, yes there is…’ he nibbled thoughtfully on the hair underneath his lip. ‘Jasmine, one of the mare’s has developed a bit of a limp – could do with a vet giving her the once over, make sure it’s nothing too serious. If you head over to the stables, Hayley will fill you in – she’s in charge of all things horsey..’
‘Absolutely’ Annie replied, ‘I’ll get onto it straight away.’
‘Great, super…well I’ll leave you to it then’ He smiled obligingly, ‘Oh, by the way, I’m Graham….Graham Darling, the producer’ He waited to see the recognition dawn in Annie’s eyes, but seeing none, turned to the young assistant at his side waiting on his every word ‘OK, let’s rock and roll then, can’t keep you know who waiting!! There will be hell to pay…..’ and then marched off full of self importance, armed with his clipboard.
∞∞∞∞∞
It was turning out to be a beautiful day. Cotton wool clouds were chasing hurriedly across the cerulean sky – showing a tantalising glimpse of Spring that was just around the corner. A woodpigeon cooed contentedly on the bough of a majestic oak tree, rocked vigorously by the chill breeze.
Annie was savouring the beauty of nature, as she ventured back towards the house. She was hoping to catch up with Chambers, as she didn’t have a clue where to start with finding a vet, and she didn’t have an internet connection – or a laptop come to that. She didn’t think that Sally would be too keen on helping out either. Anyway, she didn’t want to give her the pleasure of seeing her fail at the first hurdle. ‘There’s nothing like good old fashioned local knowledge to get you by..’ she thought, feeling slightly inadequate in fulfilling the role with which Justin had charged her.
Firstly Annie dropped by her car, as she wanted to fetch the letters that she’d brought from Great Grandma Grace’s treasure box. Chambers could be useful for more than one reason, as she had some questions which were puzzling her about the oil painting that she’d seen yesterday on the landing in Lillington Hall. He seemed the fountain of all knowledge on the Fitzwilliam family, surely he’d be able to provide her with some answers to quell her growing intrigue.
The door creaked noisily as she opened the passenger door, which was unlocked.
‘Damn…must get that seen too’ she cursed. ‘Can’t be seen in the company of gentry with a squeaking wreck of a car’ Annie patted Dollies’ roof apologetically, and looked on the seat for where she’d left the letters.
‘They’re gone!’ she exclaimed. Frantically, she scrabbled round on the floor, by the sides of the seats, and underneath with mounting desperation. There was nothing there. ‘How can that be? I left them there plain as day….I’m going mad…..’ She clutched her at her hair and shook her head, devastated as having lost a piece of history….her own history.
Scanning round, she checked the courtyard, but it was deserted.
∞∞∞∞∞
If Annie had arrived five minutes earlier, she would have seen Thomas Chambers, scuttling away from the courtyard with a package concealed beneath his dark jacket. He was headed for the grassy mound across the road, on which the old Norman church was perched. He stopped abruptly at the lych-gate, and scanned around furtively. Content that no-one had observed him, he scrambled unceremoniously up the path towards the church.
Again, as he stood on the threshold of the church, he looked around him from the high vantage point, and could see no-one around.
Closing the door quietly behind him, he crept up the stone flagged aisle, towards the altar. The air was cold, and had the fusty smell of age. Candles flickered in the murky alcoves, and on the steps of the altar – lit in memory of Sir Edward Fitzwilliam ‘God rest his soul…’ Chambers uttered under his breath in tribute to his Lord and master.
The silence was all encompassing, and Chamber’s could hear the rush of his own blood in his ears – so loud was it, that he looked around him again – as he felt sure that someone else would hear.
In the shadows to the right of the altar, there was a small wooden door, concealed behind a heavy tapestry curtain. Thomas, reached into his pocket and retrieved the iron key, and put it in the lock and turned. It was clear that no-one had ventured this way recently, as the spiders webs made their own delicate tapestry, between the cold stone walls and the hard oak door.
The door creaked open reluctantly, and reaching for one of the candles on a nearby windowsill Chambers ventured carefully down the spiralling stone steps which disappeared into the darkness.
At the foot of the stairs, Chambers found himself in a small dingy crypt – the dampness of the air enveloped him, making his skin feel clammy to the touch. Purposefully he moved towards the far left corner of the cavern, until he felt a change in the floor beneath his feet. Setting the guttering candle on the floor, he felt for the edges of a threadbare rug, and began to roll it back to reveal a wooden lid, with an iron ring pull. Again, there was another lock, which Chambers proceeded to unlock.
Bracing himself, Thomas reached under his jacket and pulled out the bundle of letters that he’d ‘acquired’ from the young red head’s car. He lowered the parcel, into the void that he’d uncovered, and felt for the stone ledge which would be the documents final resting place.
‘What’s past is past’ He said to himself ’…………She’ll never know, it’s best this way…….’ Reverently, Chambers re-sealed the cavity, and sat back on his heels, an overwhelming sadness encompassing him. For the first time in his adult life, a tear dropped down his cheek, and he began to weep uncontrollably.
Parwich Heights 
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