Lady of Heaven (23 page)

Fox wriggled his
eyebrows at the sharp old lady. “A little,” he admitted. “I work in Bolton but
I was born in Dorchester.”

Fanny closed her
eyes as if envisioning his birthplace.  After a moment, the sightless eyes
opened. “I was born in Manchester,” she told him. “When I married my husband, I
never saw England again. It is the one thing I miss the most. I would have
loved to have seen the green fields of Cumbria just once more before I died.”

Morgan couldn’t
take it; she covered her mouth and turned away, struggling not to sob.  Fox,
saddened by her distress, took charge of the conversation.

“I used to play
for a rugby club in Manchester,” he told her, “but most of my time is spent at
the Bolton Museum. Did you ever visit when you lived there?”

Fanny nodded.
“Certainly,” she assured him. “I have been there several times. My very dear
friend, Annie Barlow, was one of the great patronesses of the museum and spent
a good deal of time in Egypt collecting artifacts. It was visiting those artifacts
at the Bolton that first stirred my interest in Egypt.”

Fox was watching
her expression, seeing something of Morgan in the delicate features. “Do you
still have family in Manchester?” he asked a calculating question.

Fanny shook her
head, waving him off with a bird-like hand. “Not any longer,” she told him.
“Before I married my husband, I was married to another man at a very young age.
I don’t suppose my ex-husband or our son is still alive.”

She spoke of it
without particular distress, not as if she was attempting to hide it, and Fox
took the lead.

“So you were
married before?” he said casually.

Fanny nodded.
“Long ago,” she didn’t seem willing to elaborate even if she wasn’t concerned
about hiding it. “It’s been a very long time.”

“And you’ve not
had any contact with your family since then?”

Fanny shook her
head. “No.”

“Surely you must
wonder what became of them?”

Fanny didn’t
reply for a moment; the sightless eyes turned in Fox’s direction. “You’re a
nosy young man.”

Fox chuckled
softly. “Not really,” he replied. “I’m just making conversation.”

Morgan, who had
been standing on the other side of the room as she struggled to compose
herself, turned to Fox beseechingly, silently asking him not to let this line
of conversation die. It would perhaps be her only chance to bring up the reason
of her visit, something she very badly wanted to do.  She didn’t want to throw
herself at Fanny and upset the old woman but she knew, at that moment, that she
couldn’t leave the room without having revealed herself. It was selfish but she
didn’t care. Fanny had to know.

Fox seemed to be
the only one who wasn’t too deeply emotional about the entire situation.  
Silently, Morgan pleaded for his calm and deliberate help. He read her message
loud and clear.

“It has been a
very long time but families live on and people don’t forget those they have
missed,” he told the old woman. “Your name, a long time ago, used to be Fanny
Sherburn.”

Fanny perked up,
the sightless eyes accusing. “How would you know that?”

Fox looked at
Morgan, silently asking her to explain. It was time, no matter how emotional
the subject, and Morgan understood that. She was up to bat. Morgan wiped at her
cheeks, squared her shoulders, and approached the bed.

“Because my name
is Morgan Sherburn,” she said softly. “William Sherburn is my grandfather and
Louis Sherburn was my great-grandfather. All my life, I had been told that my
great-grandmother, Fanny Sherburn, had died in Egypt so I came to Egypt to find
out what really happened to her. But instead, I found you.  It was by pure coincidence,
believe me.  A trail of clues and an old acquaintance led us to you.  I haven’t
come to bring you home or condemn you for leaving Louis; all I wanted to know
is what happened to you. Now I know and I’m just incredibly grateful to have
met you.”

Fanny’s thin
face was a mask of shock. The sightless eyes were on Morgan, whether or not she
could see her.  Morgan gazed back at the woman, waiting for her reaction,
feeling her stomach churn with nerves and praying that Fanny didn’t kick her
out on the streets.  It was such a deeply personal and pivotal moment, the
culmination of a ninety year old family mystery coming to fruition. 

After several
long seconds of tense silence, of baited breath, Fanny finally extended a frail
hand in Morgan’s direction.

“Your name is
Morgan Sherburn?” she whispered.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Come here.”

Morgan obeyed,
moving to within reach of the woman, somewhat hesitantly, hoping she wasn’t
going to slap her or otherwise physically demonstrate her shock.  Instead,
Fanny gently grasped Morgan by the wrist and tugged.

“Sit,” she
commanded softly.

Morgan did. 
With wide eyes, she watched Fanny as the woman put frail hands on her
shoulders.  Morgan held her breath as Fanny’s sightless eyes seemed to grow
distant, then warm, and then the fragile hands moved from Morgan’s shoulders to
her face.

“I want to see
you,” Fanny whispered. “I didn’t know I had a great-granddaughter, you know.  I
barely remember my son.  I just want to see if you are as beautiful as you
sound.”

That was it for Morgan;
she burst into soft tears as Fanny ran her fingers over her face, as delicate as
a butterfly’s kiss, feeling her round cheeks, her dimples, her nose and finally
the shape of her eyes. Morgan sobbed as the woman touched her hair, seeing her
with sightless eyes and imagining a young woman with beauty beyond compare. It
was a deeply tender and personal journey, something the sightless old woman
could never have dreamed of. And when she was finished seeing Morgan for the
first time, she felt down her arms until she came to her hands and gripped them
tightly.

“Tell me of my
son, Morgan,” she asked quietly. “The last time I saw him, he was six months
old. What kind of man did he grow to be?”

Morgan was
sobbing so hard she could barely speak.  Tears dripped off her chin as Fox took
the tissue handed to him by Allahaba and dried them off.  When Morgan looked up
to whisper her thanks, she wasn’t surprised to see that he was teary-eyed, too.
It would have been difficult to watch the reunion and not be deeply touched by
it.  

“He… he grew up
to be a barrister,” she told her. “He married my grandmother, Lucy, and they
had four children, one of them being my father whose name is also William. 
Your son is also a painter and he does beautiful watercolors.  He’s a wonderful
man and I love him very much.”

Frances’s
sightless eyes glistened with unshed tears and she smiled bravely, her hands
moving back to Morgan’s face.

“And Louis?” she
whispered, touching her cheeks. “When did he pass away?”

“In June,”
Morgan told her. “He was one hundred and six years old and he never remarried.”

Fanny closed her
eyes tightly at the news but she held herself together. She was a strong,
strong woman in the best tradition of the British.  Her hands moved from
Morgan’s face back to her hands, holding them tightly.

“Louis was a
kind man,” she whispered. “We were promised to each other as children and I
never knew another lover before I married him. But it was expect that we marry,
so I did, but it was almost as if I’d married my brother.  I loved him, but not
as a husband.  When we traveled to Egypt and I met Kadin, it was as if my heart
had wings. I didn’t mean it to happen; it just did. I was sorry for the fact
that I left Louis, but it was something I had to do. Had I remained with Louis,
I would have been miserable for the rest of my life.”

Morgan squeezed
her hands gently. “I’m not here to judge you, Fanny,” she said softly. “I know
what it’s like to love someone so much so that you’d do anything to be with
them.  I can’t blame you for following your heart.”

Fanny smiled. “I
can hear in your voice that you do understand.”

Morgan caressed
the paper-thin flesh, feeling the mood of the room lighten with understanding
and warmth.  Her tears were fading as she gazed into the old, tired face.

“I do,” she said
quietly. “Fox is the man who made me understand what it’s like to love someone
so powerfully.”

Fanny turned her
sightless eyes in Fox’s direction. “And you, nosy young man?” she addressed
him. “I would assume you feel the same way for Morgan.”

Fox went over to
the bed, taking a knee beside the ladies because he was far too big to sit on
the bed.  He put his arm around Morgan, kissing her cheek as his enormous hand
covered Fanny and Morgan’s intertwined hands.

“I loved her
first,” he joked. “I had to stalk her before she succumbed to my charms.”

Fanny laughed,
her teeth old and yellow but the smile still as bright. She let go of Morgan’s
hand and began feeling Fox’s wrist. She moved up his arm, eyes widening when
she realized how big he was.

“Sweet Heaven,”
she exclaimed softly. “He’s a big one.”

Morgan snorted
softly. “He’s huge. I didn’t know the British bred them so big.”

Fanny’s hands
were still moving up Fox’s arm. “How big are you, darling?”

Fox suppressed a
grin as Fanny felt up his arm. “Six feet seven inches and around twenty stone,”
he told her. “I’m bigger than you are, love, but not nearly as beautiful.”

Fanny stopped
poking at him. “Cheeky devil,” she sniffed, but they could tell she wasn’t
serious. “A pity I can’t see you. I think I’d like to.”

So she was a
flirt, too, even at her age.  Morgan laughed softly as Fox winked at her,
grinning, and stood up.  Morgan watched him walk over and stand near Allahaba.

“I think you’ve
scared him, Fanny,” she teased. “His cheeks are red.”

“I would hope
so,” she said. “If he’s going to flirt with me, he’s going to pay the price.”

Morgan laughed
joyously; the writings in Fanny’s journal mirrored the sparkling personality of
the elderly woman and Morgan was deeply in love her. There was so much life and
spirit still left in the old veins and Morgan thought, at that moment, that she
was the luckiest woman on the face of the earth.  She got a second chance to
know Fanny Sherburn.

“I’m so glad I
found you,” she said, squeezing the frail old hands. “I feel like this is a
dream. Never in my life did I imagine I’d be sitting here, talking to you.”

Fanny grinned.
“You are a beautiful soul, Morgan,” she squeezed her hands in return.  “I am so
glad I had the chance to meet you as well.”

Morgan grinned
up at Fox, who was smiling sweetly at the two of them. He looked at Morgan and
swore he’d never seen a happier person, not ever. She was nearly bursting. He
mouthed ‘journal’ to her and Morgan nodded quickly in agreement. She returned
her focus to Fanny.

“I brought
something of yours with me to Egypt,” she said, fumbling with the purse still
strung over her shoulder. “I think you’ll recognize it.”

Fanny folded her
hands patiently as Morgan brought forth the journal that was so old and
precious.  Morgan put it carefully in Fanny’s lap and placed the old woman’s
hand on it, watching the woman’s expression as she did so.  Fanny ran her hands
over the journal for only a few moments before her sightless eyes widened.

“This?” she
hissed. “Is it… is it true?”

Morgan watched
the thrill, the disbelief, in the woman’s expression. “It’s your journal from
your trips to Egypt,” she confirmed. “After Louis died, my mother and I were
going through his possessions and we came across your journal.”

Fanny was
upswept in the journal, opening the old pages and running her fingers over them
as if remembering very word, every scrap.  The pages were faded and the cover
worn, but to her sightless eyes, it was still new and beautiful as it had been
the last time she saw it.  It was a deeply poignant moment, one not lost on
Morgan or Fox.  When the old woman finally spoke, it was clear she was holding
back tears.

“Louis took this
back with him when he returned to England,” she whispered. “He took all of my
possessions, in fact. He left me with only the clothes on my back.  I suppose
it was easier to tell people that I’d died in Egypt if he returned with all of
my possessions.  It was his way of saving his pride. I didn’t really mind too
much since I started my life with Kadin anew, but I… I’ve missed this.”

Morgan was back
to being weepy at the sight of Fanny with her journal. She knelt beside the
bed, watching Fanny’s expression as she caressed the pages of the old journal.
It was an amazing moment as history and reality came together.

“We found
something else, too,” Morgan murmured. “The Lady of Heaven papyrus.”

Fanny’s head
snapped to her, the sightless eyes glazed with shock.  “You found it?”

“Yes.”

“Intact?”

“Yes,” Morgan
replied. “Why do you ask?”

Fanny shrugged
her frail shoulders. “Because… because Louis hated that papyrus,” she said. “It
was what brought Kadin and I together. I was sure that when he took it with
him, he would destroy it purely out of spite. He hated everything it
represented.  Kadin had translated for me but when Louis left, he took both the
journal and the papyrus so we would not have the translations. He took
everything.”