Chapter 6 #2
Jenna shook her head. ‘I made a promise, Bree, and I’m going to keep it. I’m sure that’s why I’m here – why we came back a second time. It must be to protect the papers. Surely you must understand that?’
Bree’s gaze had softened. ‘Yes, of course I do,’ she said. ‘You feel it’s your purpose in life to keep the secret safe and that you owe it to Marris as well as to Anna.’ She sighed. ‘Okay, well, if you’re adamant then there’s no point in me trying to persuade you otherwise.’
‘I’m glad you finally get it,’ Jenna said tightly.
The tea and coffee arrived. The barista, sensing some of the tension at the table, put the cups down quickly and backed away, heading off to wipe down the outside tables.
‘So, we need a plan.’ Bree studied Jenna with her vivid green eyes.
‘Options…’ She ticked them off on her fingers.
‘One: try to persuade them not to excavate the graveyard. Likelihood of success: small and they might think you’re a crank.
There’s also a danger of drawing attention to yourself, which you don’t want. ’
‘Yes,’ Jenna said. ‘I agree.’
‘Okay. Alternative two: we could simply wait and see what happens. As in – it might never happen. Projects like this run out of money all the time, or they get delayed by bats nesting or water voles in the sewers. I don’t know. But plenty could happen to stop it.’
‘That’s true,’ Jenna conceded, ‘but this project seems well-organised and well-financed.’ She couldn’t imagine Owen being involved in something half-baked. He had seemed far too efficient for that. ‘It’s too great a risk simply to wait and see,’ she said.
Bree drummed her fingers on the table. ‘Well, in that case, I think we’re on to option three: you need to open up the tomb yourself before the archaeologists get to it. Take out Queen Anna’s box before they find it.’
Jenna spluttered into her fresh cup of tea. ‘What?’
‘You heard me.’ Bree’s eyes gleamed. ‘That was what you were hoping I was going to say, wasn’t it? I know you. And you want me to help you do it.’
There was a silence. ‘All right,’ Jenna admitted after a moment. ‘I may have considered the possibility. But there are very good reasons not to do it.’ She wondered if she was trying to convince Bree or herself. ‘For a start it’s grave robbery—’
‘Not technically,’ Bree interrupted, ‘since you put the box in there yourself. Technically you are taking back your own property.’
‘Well, at the very least it’s disturbing a burial,’ Jenna said.
Bree shrugged. ‘You did that when you put the box into the tomb in the first place,’ she pointed out, with devastating logic. ‘What’s the difference?’
‘It feels wrong,’ Jenna argued, knowing she was being irrational. ‘Besides, have you thought through the logistical issues of how we could do it?’
‘Of course not.’ Bree shrugged. ‘Not yet. But we managed to put the box in so I daresay we can get it out.’ She spread her hands. ‘Look, you asked for suggestions and I’m giving them to you. This is the best option but if you don’t have the nerve to do it, just say so.’
Jenna looked out of the window at the modern-day bustle of Wantage Market Square, the snaking line of people waiting at the bus stop, checking their phones, vaping, sipping their takeaway coffee.
It was a million miles away from the Tudor court and yet for her the two existences were always enmeshed.
When Marris and Bridget had hidden the box 500 years before they had imagined – hoped – that it would be safe forever.
They could never have anticipated the modern world with all its complexities.
It was her responsibility now to keep it safe. It was a sacred trust.
‘I just want to sort this out once and for all and go back to my nice, quiet life amongst the books,’ she said with a sigh. She knew that it was a tacit admission that she agreed with Bree’s suggestion. ‘That’s all I ask.’
‘Right,’ Bree said. ‘Then the sooner we get on with it the better. We do it clinically. Straight in, grab the box, get out. Protective clothing, whatever tools we need.’
A strange emotion settled on Jenna, part-dread at what was to come but part-relief to be taking decisive action. ‘When?’ she asked. ‘We can’t just stroll into the priory grounds and start digging.’
‘I suppose not.’ Bree looked irritated to be faced with a delay. She got her phone out. ‘Damn,’ she said, ‘we’ve just missed the new moon phase. We’ll have to wait a few weeks until after the next full moon, just to be on the safe side.’
‘You sound like a witch,’ Jenna said with a little shiver.
Bree took that as a compliment. ‘I’ll work out the precise timings,’ she said, ‘and give you a date. You’d better keep a close eye on what’s going on at the priory.’ She winked at her sister. ‘Don’t look so glum. What could possibly go wrong?’
* * *
Jenna was still thinking about the box and its contents as she walked back down the lane that led from the market square to her bookshop in Mill Street.
She was anxious about Bree’s plan – which was entirely reasonable, she assured herself, given that she was generally a very law-abiding person – but at the same time she was sure they were doing the right thing.
It was comforting to imagine that finally she had discovered the reason why the three of them had returned for a second life; she and Bree had had long arguments about it in the past, with Jenna insisting that they had to have a purpose whilst Bree had disagreed that there was any sort of cosmic plan.
Jenna was also thinking about Owen. Years before, curiosity had led her to try to trace Will and Marris’s descendants and also try to find out the fate of Anna’s son, Richard Swan.
When she had discovered a marriage between the two families of Swan and Sharington in the seventeenth century, it had felt strangely inevitable.
Someone called Jack Swan was Richard’s current day direct heir, but Jenna suspected that Owen and Rachel must be closely related to Jack and also be Richard’s descendants.
She made a mental note to check out the family connection and shivered as a cloud blotted out the early spring sunshine.
There were so many links between her and Owen, but he had no idea of them, and she had to keep quiet if she wanted to keep Marris’s promise to Queen Anna.
‘Don’t tell Molly anything about our plan, will you?’ Bree had said before they had parted at the coffee shop. ‘She doesn’t need to be involved. Rose had nothing to do with hiding the box in the first place, so Molly can keep out of it.’
Jenna had been irritated but she couldn’t fault Bree’s logic. Rose had caused them endless trouble in their Tudor existence. Perhaps that was why there was always that more than a little conflict between them in this life. Bree and Molly in particular could fight like cat and dog at times.
‘It’s hardly fair to blame Molly for Rose’s behaviour in 1542, is it?’ Jenna had once argued, but Bree had looked mutinous.
‘I disagree,’ she had said. ‘Molly is Rose, to all intents and purposes. In fact, I’m waiting for her to do something terrible, just as Rose did. It will happen.’
Sisters, Jenna thought. Siblings often had their differences, but the grudges that the three of them held were probably different from most other people. They certainly went further back.
And speak of the devil, there was Molly, her flashy bubblegum-pink sports car parked right outside the bookshop in defiance of the double yellow lines.
She was leaning against it, talking on her phone.
When she saw Jenna, she smiled but made no effort to end the call, so Jenna pushed open the bookshop door and went in.
Her sister would join her when she was ready.
The shop instantly calmed her. It worked every time.
The smell of crisp paper, fresh ink and new bindings; it was distinctively different from the nostalgic scent of old books but equally seductive.
At least it was to Jenna. But then, she had been known to stroke books in appreciation of their glorious covers and sensory feel.
Bart, one of the booksellers, was busy behind the counter, ticking off items on an invoice.
He was nineteen, held down three part-time jobs to pay his college fees and was an invaluable source of information on Gen Z reading habits.
He held up his phone to show her something on TikTok.
‘There’s a big buzz on BookTok about some new biography of Jane Seymour,’ he said. ‘Shall I order a copy for stock?’
Jenna shuddered. ‘I suppose so,’ she said without enthusiasm, muttering: ‘Bloody Tudors, why can’t I get away from them?’
Bart laughed. ‘I take it the show you’re going to see in London isn’t Six, then?’
‘No,’ Jenna said. ‘We’re seeing The Lion King.’ She had steered clear of the musical about the lives of Henry VIII’s wives, although she heartily agreed with the theme of them reclaiming their own narrative. ‘I hear it’s brilliant, though,’ she admitted. ‘Bree’s been to see it five times.’
The door opened and Molly came in on a wave of expensive perfume. She was glowing with a perfect tan, set off by a short high-necked white lace dress worn with black high-heeled boots that should have looked out of place in a provincial winter high street but somehow looked amazing.
‘Babes! How are you?’ She hugged Jenna and sent Bart a blinding smile. ‘I need a book and I thought you would be the perfect person to find one for me.’
Jenna managed to keep the surprise from her face. Molly was not renowned for enjoying reading. In fact, she had once boasted that she never picked up a book if she could help it. ‘There are so many more exciting things to do,’ she had said.
‘I’ve got a new man,’ Molly continued, ‘and he reads. So, I thought I’d better show some interest. What’s hot at the moment?’
‘Bart can give you all the latest on the charts,’ Jenna said, but Molly shook her head.
‘I need literature,’ she said. ‘He’s very highbrow.’