Destiny Lies Waiting (24 page)

Since anyone from even a few miles away from a place like this was considered a 'foreigner' she nodded, but hastened to explain, "I reside at court now, but I believe my true family hails from here."

"They books of birth records date only to 1350, Mistress Woodville," the Abbot informed her. "They murre recent books were destroyed in floods, oh, nigh on twenty year 'go. I shall fetch the surviving one fer thee nonetheless."

He was gone a long while, and she took the time to pray as she waited. For all she knew, her very own mother could have knelt in the same pew where she now was, hands clasped, head bowed, praying for her daughter's well-being.

Something inside was telling her that she was close to the truth, no matter what the Abbot brought for her.

He returned, handed her the book, and she tried not to tear through the pages in her haste. She turned to 1457, what she believed was the year of her birth. The town recorded three births that year, all boys.

In case 1457 was a mistake, she checked the two years before and after; three of the females born during those years had remained in the parish and were now dead. The others were still living there, all married to yeomen.

"But, Father, do you have any recollection of a baby having been born to folk who died soon thereafter?"

He shook his head. "Nay, lass, but if any furrener had come to Malmesbury to take away a babe nigh on twenty year 'go, I shall have r'memb'r'd it."

"May I ask, Father, do you know of any Foxley Manor?"

He blinked several times rapidly. He finally shook his head. "Nay, naught called Foxley Manor. Could have changed hands, been renamed. The community started wi' the invasion of the Saxons, when it be part of Wessex. The name Foxley dost sound very strange to me."

"How about the deeds then? I need to find Foxley Manor."

"Tha all bin destroyed in flood, Mistress Woodville, right along wi' the birth records. A shame, it was." He shook his head sadly.

She hated to think this, but she had the strangest feeling the Abbot was actually lying to her.

But since she couldn't say so to his face, she merely curtseyed, and thanked him for his tie.

"I'm sorry I can't be of more help, lass. But perhaps it's the will of God. And mayhap some things are not meant to be found."

"Aye, you're right, of course." Denys thanked him and, eyes stinging with tears of disappointment, went back out into the brilliant sunshine which at this moment seemed harsh and cruel.

Hugh was waiting for her at the entrance and together they asked some of the townsfolk if they'd heard of Foxley Manor, but none of them had. They either stared at her blankly, eyeing the royal colors draped over Chera, or dumbly shook their heads as if she were speaking another language.

Which in a way she was, for she had certainly been educated well, for all she might have been born to an obscure family….

But that was what was so maddening about it all. She had so many little clues, but nothing added up to anything. She had come with such high hopes, but had still had no luck in her search.

Refusing to give up, she approached the oldest person they saw on Silver Street. He was an elderly man leading a mule with one hand, a bag of dry goods slung over his shoulder.

Oh, please let him know!
she prayed silently as she and Hugh approached him.

The old man's eyes displayed a sense of recognition when she mentioned the name, as if he were trying to recall a hazy memory.

"Aye," he said. "'Twas once called Foxley Manor, nigh on twenty, thirty year 'go, but changed dwellers several time. I know not who the lord was, but there were divers tenants dwelt there, and now—oh, I haven't bin tha' way in yonks."

"So do you know where it is?" She spoke so fast she had to repeat herself.

He finally nodded. "Aye. 'Tis at the edge of town, due west, on the Bristol road, just on the far bank of the River Avon. Foller the Gaerstons Road to Goose Bridge."

She knew many streets had the Saxon suffix "Gaerstons" meaning the green field, and were either outside the town or led that way.

Hugh nodded. "The river's right over yonder."

Turning back to the old man, he asked, "Do you know the names of anyone who ever lived there, or who lives there now?"

The old man shook his head. "I know not who lives there or lived there, last time I 'eard 'f 't 'twere many year 'go. I don't ge' out round these parts much more, don't hear any local piffle."

"Any Woodvilles live near these parts?" Denys prodded on.

"Nay, no Woodvilles," he replied. "Can't say I ev'r 'eard that name. Me name be Blanchard, but nev'r 'eard of a Woodville round Malmesbury."

She almost envied him, never having known a Woodville. "Thank you. We shall find it!" And with that, she reached into her bag and handed the old man a few pennies for his trouble. He beamed at her, tugged his forelock, and moved on.

She turned to her retinue and pointed with a shaking hand. "Over the Avon!"

Hugh took the lead, and continued down Silver Street.

Over the stone Goose Bridge they rode, her heart thumping, her mouth as dry as salted cod. Then she saw it in the distance, surrounded by trees at the foot of a hill dotted with sheep—a two-story house in red sandstone with a shingled roof, fronted with shuttered oriel windows and an arched oak front door.

She left Chera with her maid and motioned for Hugh to follow her as she dismounted and ran up to the door.

Knocking and rattling the knob elicited no response. She then looked at the front of the house again, but the windows were shuttered tight, so there was no chance of peering in.

She walked back to the door, and her knocking became pounding as she stood there for what felt like an eternity.

But no one answered, and no amount of trying the latch or pushing the door helped. The door was well barred.

Forcing her hope to stay alive, she went round back. A smaller back door was also barred, as she found when she tried to open it.

She fetched Hugh. "I'm breaking in," she declared, moving over to a shutter and pounding it with the heels of her hands.

"You can't break in here, milady. 'Tis a crime. You can be chucked into the bloody Bristol Channel for that, you know!"

"No one will know if we're quiet about it."

"We?"

"Pay heed here, Hugh. This may be my ancestral home. I need to get in there and look for anything remotely connected to my family. Now I'm going in. Stay here and keep an eye out."

"But Mistress—"

"Sush, it will be all right."

She went around to the rear of the house. The back door was nowhere near as grand as the heavy oak gracing the front entrance. It looked a simple affair, but didn't feel so simple when she rammed her shoulder against it.

"Ouch!" She rubbed her upper arm as Hugh came nearer and looked around, shuffling from one foot to the other.

"'Twill have to be a window then. Hugh, fetch a good sized branch."

They both dragged a fallen branch in front of a window and he dropped it there, nearly toppling her with it.

"What'd you drop it for? We've got to ram the shutter in!"

"Please, milady, don't make me do this. I never broke into no place in me life!"

"All I need is some extra weight behind me. Hold me up. I'll do all the ramming. Carry on then!"

She motioned to him impatiently.

Shaking his head, he lifted the branch.

"Now, when I say three, ram it through the shutter with all your might." She positioned it before the window, and drew back.

"One-two-three!" The branch ran through the shutters. She jumped back, nearly falling over him. "Sorry, Hugh."

"Oh, Jesu, help this wench!" he implored, clasping his hands together. "Couldn't ye just have broke the lock and swung the shutters open?"

"Nay, they were locked tight."

She was already stretching up and peering inside through the hole. It was dark and musty, empty and barren. In fact, it looked as though the house had been gutted; not a stick of furniture remained.

She tried to remember ever having lived here, even as a babe. But no recollection came to her as she stood staring. The house was as strange to her as if it were across the Ocean Sea.

She flattened her palms on the window sill. "Right, Hugh, boost me in."

"But Mistress, you could cut yourself—"

"I'll be careful," she said, elbowing the hole wider.

She hoisted herself up by her arms and he gave her a shove. She scrambled over the sill and landed on her hands and feet.

Standing, dusting herself off, she gave him a positive signal, told him to stand guard, and began walking slowly through the stuffy, airless rooms.

It had once been a cozy but elegant residence, and could be again if it were furnished and inhabited.

But now, hollow and shut tight, it gave off a feeling of sadness. She began wishing it were hers so she could pretty it up with cheerful tapestries, elegant furniture and sweet rushes on the floors.

But it was hers. This was her dowry!
she recalled.

She climbed a staircase to a series of bedchambers. She unlatched one shutter and let it swing open. The countryside lay before her, the Avon winding through the bottom of the property peacefully. Breathing the clean air, she wondered who'd lived here, loved here, died here. And what it all had to do with her.

Wandering from chamber to empty chamber, she kept her eyes downward for any trinket that might have been dropped.

With her eyes fixed to the floor, she almost missed what was on the wall just over the doorway of what could have been a chapel. It was a set of rosary beads with a silver medal attached, hanging down a bit over the doorway. With her heart hammering, she moved closer and stood on tiptoe to get a better look.

She had to have it. She ran and fetched Hugh, still standing under the broken shutter, his head turning this way and that, on the lookout for passers-by.

"Hugh! Come up here. I found something."

"What?"

"A rosary hung over a doorway. I need you to help me fetch it down. Come up here, will you?"

He must have realized arguing would be futile, for he climbed in the window and in a moment was at the top of the stairway, looking for her.

"In here!"

He stood under the doorway and looked up at the rosary beads. "Lift me up so I can fetch them down," she said.

"Ye would steal it, milady?"

"Who will know? Just lift me up, if you please? It's a clue, I'm sure of it."

Looking away, as if that would negate his act, he lifted her by the waist as if helping her onto a mount.

She reached up and retrieved it; it had only been hanging by a nail. He brought her down and she stood staring at it for a long time.

Then she turned the medal around, and gasped. It framed a miniature of a young woman.

Oh, God, who could she be?
Her own mother?

Denys focused on the eyes, trying to call on a remote segment of her mind to associate that face with a long-ago memory.

The woman was decidedly sad, as if she were in mourning, her lips a thin inexpressive line. Her eyes, dark and troubled, seemed to echo her black raiment. Her only adornment was a single strand of pearls about her neck.

"You don't know her, do you, Hugh?" she asked her escort, who was already halfway down the stairs. She followed, slipping the rosary under her chemise.

He shook his head. "Never seen 'er before."

"She doesn't look anything like me, does she?"

Her voice was despondent, defeated. If only the woman had borne some resemblance to her, she'd have a glimmer of hope.

"Be glad of it, milady," Hugh said over his shoulder as he opened the back door and hurried out. "She looks as though life has been terrible to her."

She shut the door from the inside once more, and then looked around a final time, hoping beyond hope to find some other clue. But there was nothing.