The Yellow Scarf #4
Now the woman, bent low and in the plain clothes of a servant, was standing on the threshold, a candle held in a trembling hand.
Instantly, the room was still. The air fell silent.
She’s here, quick.
The woman cried out at the sight of the coloured threads tangled and twisted on the floor, at the broken furniture, and the flame shook.
Sophia called out again, even though she could not be heard, willing the old woman to turn and find the door and release the catch.
But she didn’t move. She merely stood in the middle of the room, her old eyes clouded with confusion.
My lady, Perdita.
Sophia knew her part in the story was nearly at an end. The outline of the room was fainter than before, less distinct. Minster Lovell Hall was returning to its current state, leaving the past behind. Condemning the bride to her living tomb.
She’s here, here.
Then Sophia watched the expression on the old woman’s face change. Willing her to turn, to keep looking, to not give up. The woman shuffled across the room and bent down to pick something up.
Her yellow scarf, lying precisely where Sophia knew the hidden door to be. She didn’t understand how the woman could see it. It was caught on something, a nail or a splinter. She pulled again and, this time, the yellow square of material came free. At the same time, Sophia heard a click.
The door sprang open. A cry from within, then tears of delight and relief and gratitude.
The old woman’s arms around the younger girl, helping her out into the room.
Weeping, comforting, reassuring Perdita that no one was hurt, no one had been killed.
The old nurse explaining that her husband had gone with the soldiers in exchange for his household being spared.
For the past hour, the servants had been searching the house and grounds.
No one knew if she might also have been taken by the soldiers, or that she might have fled and fallen into the river in the dark, slipping through the ice.
Then older servants remembered rumours of a hidden room within the house, known only to Lord Lovell.
Perdita inclined her head. Her husband had told her of the room, fearing the anger of the king, and sent her there. Had wanted to keep his new bride safe.
Sophia saw a shadow cross Perdita’s face and knew she was thinking of her husband, sacrificing himself to save his family.
To save her. As she watched the old woman and her charge, their heads bent low, she realised their voices were becoming more faint.
Little by little, their features were fading, their outlines almost transparent now.
She knew her time was done. The story had been rewritten and she had no further part to play. Sophia felt something shift inside her, a sense of the past drifting out of reach and her own time calling her back.
Then, at the very last moment before the connection was broken, Perdita lifted her head and looked straight to where Sophia was standing. And she smiled.
Sophia looked down at the yellow scarf in her hand, then slowly walked back down the stairs of the tower and out into the gardens that lay stretched out once more beneath the blue October sky.
Minster Lovell Hall was in its ruined state again, no walls or doors or windows to be seen.
The trees along the banks of the River Windrush were touched by the copper and burgundy hues of autumn.
Soon, though not quite yet, they would start to lose their leaves.
Sophia heard the chimes of the church bell striking midday. On the cobbled path ahead, she saw her companions walking back up towards the coach. She waved and called out that she’d join them in a couple of minutes. Not to go without her.
There was one task remaining.
She walked quickly back along the avenue of trees to the chapel and went inside.
It felt different this time, as if she belonged there.
She walked up the nave to the altar and looked at the face of the girl – her ancestor – carved in bas-relief.
Was she imagining it, but was her expression different now?
Sophia lingered there for a few moments more, then turned.
Her guidebook was still lying on the pew at the back of the chapel where she had left it earlier.
Sophia opened the book and saw there was more about the Lovell family than she had realised.
Lady Perdita Lovell had been married at Minster Lovell Hall on Christmas Eve 1485.
Her husband’s life spared by Henry VII, though his lands were forfeit, they had a long and happy marriage and been blessed with many children and grandchildren.
Descendants of the Lovell family were still to be found in Oxfordshire, Suffolk and Sussex today.
Sophia closed the book.
As she left the chapel for the last time, she looked up. Now beneath the inscription were the names of Lovell and his bride and their dates. Both had lived long into old age. The scratched letters – LOST BUT NOT FORGOTTEN – were no longer there.
Sophia smiled. Then, tying her yellow scarf around her neck, she stepped out into the autumn sunshine.