Epilogue
SIX MONTHS LATER
‘And so, I declare the Winterhill Priory Exhibition open.’ Bree cut the red tape and paused, smiling, amongst a blizzard of flashing photography, before beckoning Rachel to join her in the camera’s glare.
The excavation had been completed some ten weeks previously and the exhibition showcasing the results was opening officially the following day.
Tonight, in the Great Hall at Winterhill, the launch party was in full swing.
‘You have to hand it to her,’ Jenna said to Owen. ‘Bree really is the consummate professional. You couldn’t have chosen anyone better to be the public face of the project and the fundraiser.’
‘Are you kidding?’ Owen laughed. ‘Rachel was beside herself with excitement when your sister offered. Lending us that painting—’ he nodded towards a canvas that stood on an easel in a circle of bright white light against the far wall of the room ‘—was the icing on the cake.’
‘Strictly speaking, it was your cousin Jack who did that,’ Jenna pointed out. ‘He’s the one who has owned it since Bree’s first-year art show.’ She shivered. ‘Rather him than me. I find it creepy.’
Whilst Owen went off to find them both another glass of wine, Jenna wandered over to the oil painting called Winterhill, which had caused a sensation in the art world when it was announced that it would be on show for the first time in twelve years.
The painting glared down at her – the jagged priory ruins, the stormy clouds, the two nuns kneeling, the gravedigger…
It was so fierce and threatening and full of raw energy that she reconsidered her opinion of it.
It wasn’t just creepy, it was downright disturbing.
‘It’s not bad, though I say so myself.’ Bree had joined her. She looked amazing in a purple and green jumpsuit. ‘The background perspective is slightly out, but you get the idea of what I’m trying to convey. My technique needed work at that age, but I was only nineteen.’
‘I didn’t even know this painting existed until last year,’ Jenna said.
‘I was getting things out of my system.’ Bree shrugged. ‘I know it’s not historically accurate; we weren’t nuns any more when we buried Queen Anna’s box, but somehow painting us that way gave the burial more significance as a sacred trust.’
‘And Sam Welland is there, opening the grave for us,’ Jenna said. ‘You – Bridget, I mean – never forgot him, did you, Bree?’
‘Of course not,’ Bree said. For once she sounded sad and less certain of herself. ‘I made a hash of that relationship as Bridget and then I messed it up again in this life as well.’
‘Jack and Sam Welland are one and the same, aren’t they?’ Jenna said. ‘I guessed they must be a while ago. I’d been hoping that you might get back together last year but instead you just headed off on a world tour. Running away again, Bree?’
Bree looked slightly ashamed. ‘I lost my nerve,’ she admitted. ‘Jack and I did meet up again, briefly, but…’ She bit her lip. ‘When he told me he still had feelings for me, I panicked. He said I hadn’t changed in 500 years and would never let him close.’
Jenna hugged her. ‘I think there’s still a chance,’ she said.
‘I doubt it,’ Bree said.
‘Then why is he here?’ Jenna spun her sister around to face the doorway, where a tall, dark man had just come in and was looking around the room. ‘Jack’s practically a recluse,’ she added. ‘This must be his idea of hell. He can only be here for one reason – you.’
She felt Bree go taut and gave her a little push.
‘Off you go,’ she said, ‘and don’t mess it up a third time.
’ But by the time she had finished, her sister was already halfway across the room and had thrown herself into Jack Swan’s arms. The cameras flashed once more and Jenna was impressed to see that Jack didn’t even flinch. He was too busy kissing Bree.
‘Well, thank God for that,’ Owen said from next to her, handing Jenna a glass of rosé, as Bree and Jack slipped away from the party together. ‘It’s about time.’
The portrait of Marris North by an unknown sixteenth-century artist had also caused a lot of interest that evening, but there was no sign of a certain Tudor marquetry box made of walnut and decorated with mother of pearl swans.
The Swan Power Foundation, to whom it had been given by an anonymous donor, had declined to publicise the gift or put it on general display.
The contents of the box had been sent to a secure, private lab for conservation.
Rachel had summed up the family’s position when she and Jenna had had coffee together a few months before.
‘If Richard Swan knew of his antecedents and yet kept quiet about them, then the least we can do is respect his example and do the same,’ she had said.
‘It’s enough simply to know the truth. Besides, can you imagine the arguments between rival academic historians if we were to open the papers to scrutiny?
For everyone who authenticated them there would be someone to contradict it.
It would be a complete circus and a total invasion of our family privacy.
For that reason alone, I’d argue against it.
’ She smiled ruefully. ‘That said, I have significantly upgraded the security at the Foundation now that we have the box in our safekeeping.’
Peter Cox had been arrested and charged with fraud and theft. Molly, to the surprise of no one in the family, had walked away unscathed. She was currently in Dubai setting up a new business.
Owen touched Jenna’s arm gently. ‘Come up to the Long Gallery with me?’ he said softly.
Jenna smiled and put down her glass. Hand in hand they left the Great Hall and made their way up the stairs, the sound of voices fading with each step, the silence and shadows of the old house wrapping about them.
To Jenna’s surprise, the gallery was not in darkness but was lit by one branch of candles on the centre table.
She heard Owen close the door quietly and turned to look at him in the soft, golden light.
He looked a little nervous, she thought with surprise, and he stayed where he was, just within the doorway, not coming any closer or touching her.
‘When Will proposed to Marris the first time,’ Owen said, ‘she refused him. And the second time and, as I recall, the third.’
Jenna could feel a smile starting. ‘What can I say?’ She took a step towards him. ‘Marris very much enjoyed Will’s courtship of her. She did not want to agree too quickly.’
There was an answering gleam in Owen’s eyes now. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘Will enjoyed it too, but I’m hoping that this time we might speed it up a little? Life in modern times being so much faster than in the past?’
‘Hmm.’ Jenna took the final step towards him and rested a palm against his chest. ‘What are you saying, exactly?’
‘Will you marry me?’ Owen said. ‘At the first time of asking?’
‘Yes,’ Jenna said. ‘I will.’
They stood by the window of Winterhill Hall looking out into the dark.
It was the sort of night when the past felt within touching distance, blown in by the fresh autumn breeze as it sang through the ruins of the old priory and the trees that encircled it.
Jenna thought of Marris and Will, of how they had found one another against the odds in a dangerous world, and how, despite their differences, they were meant to be together.
She thought of Richard Swan, who had prospered and thrived, and had founded a family that carried Queen Anna’s secret into the present day.
Owen stood beside her, warm, solid and real.
But for a moment outside in the dark, she glimpsed two shadows walking through the gardens, hand in hand.
She thought she caught a whisper of voices and a hint of laughter.
She turned away then, into Owen’s arms. She knew that the past would always walk beside them.
It was a precious memory. But it was their turn now and the future was bright and full of promise.
* * *