“Read,” he repeated.
Poppy turned back to the effigy. “First, this is really old and worn and second it’s, you know, Latin, which I had hoped to forget before I had to use it again.”
She bent over the book and ran her fingers across the letters for some moments, murmuring and backtracking before she stood up.
“What lies beneath is more than what is written on these pages,” she said. “I think. I mean that’s the closest I can come.”
“So what? She’s pointing out that her body is buried here?” Sorrel asked.
“I don’t think Elizabeth had anything to do with her grave. That would have been Thomas, and he’d hardly leave a cryptic message for future grave robbers,” Poppy said. “It was not unusual for a noble’s effigy to contain something of value to the dead person. There’s Thomas’s sword. Eleanor of Aquitaine’s effigy is holding a book, too, and married couples were often pictured with clasped hands in death to indicate their eternal bond.”
Gabe shifted behind them. He came forward and patted the book. Then he waved them away. He bent and gave an almighty shove. The carved book scraped away from the tomb with a grinding screech.
“Jesus, Gabe, what the hell!” Poppy yelled.
Sorrel stepped forward and peered into the hole. “It’s the book,” she whispered.
“Yes, I can see that, and now it’s cracked and Dad is going to have our heads.”
“No, Poppy,” Sorrel said. “It’s THE book, the diary. My God, it’s been here all this time.” She turned to Gabe. “How long have you known about this?” she asked. trying to speak slowly and clearly so Gabe wouldn’t have any doubt what she was asking.
Gabe spread his hands and turned to Poppy. He signed, also slowly, hoping she would be able to follow.
“Hold it,” Poppy said. “Can you talk this part?”
Haltingly and with great effort Gabe began to, something he only did with Graham.
“I found it during the building,” he said softly.
“Well, clearly someone wanted to hide it,” Poppy said. “Thomas, no doubt, but why not just destroy it?”
“Maybe it was one of her children,” Sorrel said. “I’d like to think someone cared to leave it with her.”
“Should we touch it?” Poppy asked. “Should we wait for Andrew or maybe Mum?”
“Yes,” Sorrel said. “Let’s find your mother.”
WITHIN THE HOUR Stella and Graham were standing in the crypt staring at Lady Kirkwood’s effigy. Stella reached out and stroked Elizabeth’s face while Graham stood by her side, his face as white as the stone. Slowly she reached into the opening beneath the stone book. With a cloth she lifted the book out. Stone dust and centuries-old dirt sifted away as she drew it to her.
“I don’t know what to say, Gabe,” Graham said, signing as he did. “This is remarkable and more than a little unsettling.”
“Obviously we’ll get the historical people in,” Stella said. “But before we do I think Sorrel and I need to have a wee look.”
“I won’t have it,” Graham said. “What if it’s contaminated or something?”
“Cursed, my love?” Stella asked with a small smile. “I think we can safely say that this book may be the only thing that can lift that curse you are so afraid of. Or do you expect Sorrel to poison us from our own garden?”
Graham spluttered and felt that spluttering was all he was good for of late.
Stella wrapped the book in the cloth and led the way out of the crypt.
The sun was near blinding as the little party stood at the church door. It was as if they had all been lofted out of the darkness together, blinking and squinting at a brave new world.
“I say we get Delphine in for supper, and Gabe,” Stella said, looking around. “Yes, there you are, Gabe, you must come, too.”
“Please Stella, let’s not race into some kind of grand escapade without guidance or thought.” Graham was wringing his hands like some kind of Edwardian fop.
“Oh Graham, it is much too late to worry about that,” Stella said. “Besides, Gabe is our guide, Delphine is our thought, and Sorrel is our enchantress. I think we’re quite safe together.”
THERE WAS NO Andrew to reassure Sorrel as she finished up in the garden and showered for dinner. There were no Sparrow Sisters to offer advice, even remedies, as Sorrel dressed back in the blue room. She felt uneasy in the Tithe Barn without Andrew. It was as if she didn’t wish to examine the veracity of her happiness there without the tranquil influence of Andrew’s touch.
In the kitchen all was activity. Graham was decanting wine, Stella setting the table, Poppy shooing Wags back to the hall fire with the hounds and at the center, an oasis of calm as Delphine assembled her mise en place. Sorrel watched fascinated as Delphine set out a row of glass bowls and filled them with all the ingredients for her meal. On one wonderfully scarred baking sheet she placed all the chopped and minced vegetables she needed: carrots and celery, onions, shallots, and leeks, mushrooms and minced garlic. On the next she arrayed two cut-up chickens and on the third were beakers of wine and stock, saucers of softened butter and herbs, stripped and cleaned from their stems. Finally, a mortar of finely ground salt beside two bowls of coarse ground pepper and flaky Maldon sea salt.
“Coq au vin, only with white wine,” Delphine announced. “It is too warm for red, and we are too busy to be made drowsy with heavy food.”
Whatever was in the future, and it might be hard indeed, Sorrel was at peace in this moment, content in all ways save the absence of Andrew. As if she read her mind, Poppy brought out the missing puzzle piece.
“How do you think Uncle Andrew is faring in London?” Poppy asked.
“I imagine he is finding his way with the benevolent overlords,” Graham said. “Surely he will be welcomed back given his”—Graham looked at Sorrel and raised his glass—“recent return to life and love, sense and sensibility.”
Sorrel blushed and lifted her glass. There was no denying the relationship, no hiding the brazen way she’d simply shifted herself from the comfort of the blue room to the passion of the Tithe Barn.
“I am grateful to you all for welcoming me and for accepting that Andrew and I seem to have found common ground.”
The laughter was full-bodied and immediate.
“To common ground,” Graham toasted as soon as he’d regained his composure.
Stella leaned into Sorrel and whispered, “I couldn’t be happier for both of you.”
“Can I say something?” Sorrel asked.