Chapter Five
The parlour had warmed considerably, Allegra noted, enjoying the touch of heat on her face as she neared the now-roaring fire.
And oddly enough, the floor seemed cleaner, the cushions on the chairs brighter than she’d recalled…
everything looked almost as if it had received a quick once-over by an industrious maid.
“Oliver,” she began, turning around with a frown, “d’you see…”
“Yes.” He was doing his own survey, a puzzled look on his face. “It’s as if someone has been here since we went upstairs.”
She moved instinctively to his side. “You think we’re not alone?”
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “But there are too many strange things happening. I’m not sure I like any of it.”
Looking out of the front window, she could see nothing but snow, and the house still creaked a little as another vicious gust rattled the windowpanes.
“The storm hasn’t let up yet,” she observed. “I had no idea it was going to be such a heavy snowfall. This might even keep Mama and Papa home.” Sighing, she sat down on the couch. “I suppose we should be thankful we’re not out in it.”
He joined her, his weight making the cushions sag a little. “That is true. But still, we would appear to be marooned here, at least until daylight.”
“We’re dry.” She nodded her head at the fire. “We have heat. There’s fresh water if we need it. So I would say that overall, things could be worse.”
A log cracked sharply in the fireplace and both of them turned in unison.
“Oh.” Oliver frowned. “What…”
“Yes. On the mantel. It looks like a note.”
“It does, doesn’t it? I don’t recall it being here when we arrived.” He got up and walked to the fireplace. “Yes, it’s definitely a note, and…”
His voice tapered off as he held it nearer to the fire.
“And what?”
There was a moment’s silence, then he cleared his throat. “It’s addressed to me.”
Allegra’s mind blanked for a brief instant. “Uhh…”
“Me. This note is addressed to me.” He came back to the couch, sat with a thud, and showed it to her. There, quite clear in the firelight, was his name. Sir Oliver Bennett.
“Uhh…”
“Yes, that’s about how I feel too.” He stared at the paper.
“Well.” She swallowed, as her mind started working again. “I suppose you should open it and read it?”
He took a breath. “Yes. I suppose I should.”
Neither moved a muscle.
“Oliver,” she said tentatively. “This whole thing is becoming increasingly strange. Perhaps the answers are in there.” She touched his arm. “You have to read it. Please?”
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again and shot her a quick look. “You’re right, of course.”
With great caution, he unfolded the paper, revealing several paragraphs of neat calligraphy, and a signature on the bottom, accompanied by a formal seal.
“That’s odd,” he murmured. “I know that design.”
“Read it…please…I am bursting with curiosity here,” she nudged him.
“I need a bit more light, I think. Just a moment.” He stood and brought the candle to a nearby table. “We should add a few more in here, I’m thinking.”
Damn the man. He was procrastinating. If he didn’t read it soon, she was going to rip it from his hands and do it herself. “Good idea. We will. After you read the note.”
He nodded. “Right then. Here goes.”
Dear Oliver,
You will forgive my familiarity, I hope, since it must be allowed between members of the family.
“Family? It’s from someone in your family?” She couldn’t help the exclamation.
“Apparently, yes.”
“Who?”
His eyebrow rose as he shot her a quick glance. “Let me read the damn thing and we’ll find out.”
“Hmph.” She subsided.
You will be surprised to know that this note is written by me, Arthur Sylvester Bennett, Baron Forsythe, Holder of the Four Chalices, and Grand Master of the Book of Rowan.
I am your Great-Grandfather, and I am directing this missive to you for a very special purpose.
Please do not doubt its authenticity, but if you should be possessed of a practical mind and do not comprehend that there are mysteries of time and space that can be solved to permit such correspondence as this, then look at the seal.
It is the one your papa will use, and so will you when the time comes.
Allegra’s gasp of surprise echoed around the room, but Oliver seemed not to have heard it, as he kept his gaze fixedly on the note, and continued to read.
Now that you are reading this, I shall assume that you and your delightful companion have arrived safely at my residence. You probably have many questions as to the nature of your visit, why you and Miss Carruthers are here, and how I have managed to arrange matters for exactly this outcome.
“Questions? God, yes, I have questions.” Allegra all but bounced on the couch. “What the devil is going on? How can a man from your past, who I assume is long dead, communicate with you in a note that sounds as if it was written this morning? And how does he know I’m here?”
“Allegra,” said Oliver firmly. “Do shut up and let me finish.”
“Bah.” She snorted her irritation, but beneath that sound was acceptance. Bravely, she stifled her reactions and merely nodded.
I have great hopes for you, dear boy. You have a native intelligence (lacking in several of your forbears, I am sad to say) thus I am entrusting you with a mission.
I know you will not fail me, since you also possess an inner courage and a desire to right past wrongs.
Couple that with your sense of honour and duty to the Bennett name and legacy, and I am convinced you will accomplish what needs to be done.
The task before you is a simple one. You must put a priceless item in the place it belongs.
If you carefully examine the rooms here in the residence, you will find the treasure of which I speak.
It was purchased by me for your great-grandmother, but unfortunately I never had the chance to give it to her.
As you must know, she decided to visit her relatives in Batavia for a short summer trip, leaving me and our children behind.
I could not accompany her at that time, and the children were judged too young to make the journey.
Sadly, her choice of vessels was unfortunate.
She was on the Hollandia, which sank off the Scilly Isles, with the loss of all aboard.
A great tragedy which struck the family to the heart.
Oliver paused, his throat moving as he swallowed.
“I recall hearing about this,” he said, looking at Allegra.
“It was one of those terrible tragedies that even the passage of the years cannot truly erase. My grandfather didn’t speak much about losing his mother, but he carried that touch of sadness about him up to the time we lost him many years ago. ”
Allegra said nothing, merely kept her hand on his arm for comfort.
He’d loved his grandfather, Oliver realised at that moment.
A wonderful man who had made a point of spending time with a youngster, sharing his love of many strange and wondrous things, encouraging new thoughts and unique ideas, and above all teaching him that finding one’s passion – and starting a collection – was a very fine thing indeed.
To the best of his recollection, Oliver had been at his grandfather’s side when he saw his very first snuffbox.
“He was a lovely gentleman,” he murmured, lost in his own memories. “My grandfather. And I know he felt the loss very deeply.”
He shook himself from his reverie. “But that was long ago. Let’s see what else we have here.”
Not knowing I would lose her, I had purchased a unique item I had planned on giving her that Christmas.
At that time, I was merely an acolyte of the Book of Rowan, but I had access to many wondrous things even then.
Once I set eyes on the Blood of Amaryllis, I knew it belonged to her, and I made sure it arrived in good time.
Sadly, she never lived to see it, or enjoy its splendour.
Over the intervening years, I hid it away, since looking at it inspired the most painful sensations of loss.
And in time, the piece was misplaced, lost amidst the detritus of the years.
It is now here, Oliver, in this place. But obviously I cannot personally retrieve it.
I am only too well aware that I will find no peace until the Blood of Amaryllis is where it belongs.
Thus, I have endeavoured to ensure that someone will discover its whereabouts and end my long sojourn.
That someone is you, my great-grandson. Find the Blood of Amaryllis.
You will know it when you see it. And you will know, at that instant, where it belongs.
Once done, I shall rest at peace at last, with my one and only love.
Thank you, Oliver, from the bottom of my heart,
Arthur Sylvester Bennett
“Well.” Allegra sighed softly. “That is a very interesting note, I have to admit.”
He looked it over once more. “How is this even possible?”
She was silent, considering his words. Then she shrugged. “I have no idea. My initial response is that it’s not possible at all, and somehow we have wandered into either a state of complete drunkenness, or inhaled some of those vapours that come from the Orient.”
“I would agree, except for the fact that I feel quite normal, and can’t recall my last glass of wine, which I think might have been two nights ago.
Assuming it is still Christmas Eve. And I wouldn’t know what an Oriental vapour looks or smells like, so it can’t be that.
” He turned to her. “Are we perhaps suffering from some illness that is creating these things in our brains?”
She huffed out a chuckle. “Just one of us? I’d say yes. But both of us to suffer the same illusions?” She shook her head. “Highly unlikely.”
“You explain it then,” he waved the note around. “Because I damn well can’t.” Frustration choked him. “This entire thing, the carriage with no door handles, the inn, the candles, the bedroom…and now this note. What the hell is going on?”
Silence fell as his voice echoed through the room, broken only by the comforting snap and crackle of the logs now burning merrily in the hearth.
“I believe I’ve heard something of this Book of Rowan,” began Allegra hesitantly. “Have you ever run across any references to it?”
He shook his head. “No, it means nothing to me. Along with the…what was it…” he consulted the note again. “Oh yes, here. The Four Chalices. He says he’s Holder of the Four Chalices. How do you hold four of the bloody things? The only ones I’ve seen have been quite sizeable.”
Once again, Allegra managed to control a laugh.
“I believe it is a title, not an accomplishment,” she said, her voice rich with amusement.
“If memory serves me, the Book of Rowan was, at one time, quite an active organisation. The Book, it was said, offered to the chosen few the possibility of unlocking many mysteries of the Universe unknown to man.”
“Oh good Lord.” Oliver shook his head. “One of those groups who fancied they were linked to spirits, or witches, or something? Casting spells beneath the full moon?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Oh dear. A non-believer.”
“In what?” He stared at her. “Even Shakespeare found those notions absurd. The fault, dear Brutus, lies not in our stars but in ourselves, that we are underlings,” he quoted.
“Hah,” she snapped back. “There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
Frowning, he sighed. “I’ll not engage in a battle of Shakespearean quotes with you, Ally.”
“Good, because you would undoubtedly lose.” She straightened.
“So I would suggest we take this situation as we find it. Somewhere in this desolate little inn, we’ve been told there is a treasure.
The Blood of Amaryllis. Which, now I come to think of it, is a very red flower.
And my Mama has one she’s cherishing in her morning room.
Apparently, it likes to bloom around Christmas. ”
“How charming of it.” He knew he sounded sulky, but dammit, that’s how he felt right at this moment. He would not sugar-coat this entire business to protect the feelings of the woman sitting beside him.
Who ignored his tone and his comment. “Following on from my thought…” She cast him a supercilious look to emphasise how completely she was indeed ignoring his words, “we would probably be safe to assume that this treasure is smaller than, say, a barrel. Any red barrel would already have shown its presence.”
He sighed, surrendering to her practicality. “Agreed.”
“Therefore, we should begin our search in this room, I think.” Her gaze roamed over the walls. “And we need to be quite thorough about it.”
Oliver met that look as she turned to him and felt as if he’d taken a punch to the heart. Her eyes…that look in her eyes…a mixture of excitement and interest. She was so alive at that moment.
And a savage bolt of desire tore through his gut at the sight of her.