Ring of Stone - Part 1
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Part One - A Disappearance
When I persuaded Leonard Bolton, my friend and an expert in Middle-Eastern antiquities that he might spend some time investigating British prehistoric monuments, what followed was to change both our lives in ways we could never have anticipated.
Chapter 1 — A Disappearance
My name is Jack d'Anglais, and the story I have to tell is so unusual that I would not blame you if you think it is pure fantasy. Only two people can swear to it being the truth and one of those disappeared over seven years ago.
Recently I was contacted by a solicitor practicing in Oxford. With a name as unusual as mine I was not difficult to find. After introducing himself as Edward Martin of Martin, Fry and Associates, and asking me some questions to establish that I was indeed the person he was looking for, he informed me that his inquiries were in relation to a person who disappeared seven years previously and that I was a beneficiary of his estate.
A chill ran through me and I said “You mean Leonard Bolton?”
“Yes indeed,” he replied. “I don't know if you are aware that Mr Bolton made us executors of his will, and in Britain when a person has been missing for seven years or more and every inquiry has failed to locate them, then an application can be made to have them declared 'missing, presumed dead'. This is the case with Mr Bolton. We have completed the necessary formalities and it is now our duty to wind up his estate. Is there any possibility you can visit our office in Oxford to complete the necessary paperwork?”
“Err, yes I can do that,” I replied. I work as a teacher of physical education and it was school holidays during the following two weeks, so I could travel up from London.
“Excellent,” said Mr Martin. We arranged an early afternoon appointment on Wednesday in a week's time and concluded our conversation.
I sat back in my chair and once again thought about the mysterious disappearance of my friend, and wondered if Mr Martin had anything further to say on the matter, although it seemed unlikely.
Leonard and I had first met in primary school where we both started within days of each other, and as 'new boys' and knowing no-one else perhaps we naturally gravitated to each other. While I had two parents, a brother and two sisters, Leonard was an orphan in all but name, since his mother had died in childbirth and his father, a merchant seaman, had left some months before he was born, never to be seen again. No-one knew if he was alive or dead, so Leonard had been brought up by an elderly aunt. New boys can be bullied, and I was fortunate in already being stronger and heavier than the other boys in our class and so had encountered no problems, but Leonard was very slight and on several occasions I had to step in and inform prospective bullies that they would have to deal with me if anything happened to him. In return, he was already showing evidence of developing a brilliant mind and was happy to help me with my studies.
This symbiotic relationship continued through to secondary school. Here I did my best to help him achieve a minimum of competence in ball games but with little success. He, however, still helped me with my studies and it was largely due to him that I achieved modest success in my final examinations, gaining sufficient marks to train as a physical education teacher. Leonard starred with numerous 'A's and could easily have studied law and made a fortune, but he was not interested, and went to Oxford to study ancient Middle-Eastern civilisations and their languages.
We still kept in touch but not as frequently as before, and then one day out of the blue, Leonard contacted me and suggested that we take a week's holiday together to catch up. Both of us were still single, I because I had never found that 'perfect woman', and Leonard I believe because women held no particular interest for him. I don't mean by that that he was gay, I think he had no interested in men or women, he was totally absorbed in his work.
Leonard left the choice of destination to me, and I suggested the Lake District partly because I still felt a sense of guilt about an incident that had happened when we were in our mid-teens. One of my other friends had invited a group of five of us go on a bicycling and camping holiday there. I had suggested that we invite Leonard along too, and foolishly told him about it, but they had scoffed at that, saying that with his physique he could never manage a bike laden with camping gear on the hilly roads. They were probably right, but I have never forgotten the look on Leonard's face when I told him the group's decision. He looked so forlorn that I immediately said I wouldn't go either, but he smiled bravely and said the boys were right and he would have held everyone up, but that I must go. To my eternal shame I leaped gratefully on these remarks and went on the holiday, but it was slightly soured for me as I couldn't get the vision of Leonard's disappointed face out of my mind. Apart from that it was wonderful holiday and the Lake District, which is notorious for its unpredictable weather, blessed us with two weeks of sunshine.
I was a little concerned that returning to the Lakes as an adult I might be disappointed, but in fact I found it more entrancing than ever. We had driven up in my car, and visited some of what I remembered as my favourite places; Windermere, despite its having become a bit commercialised, where we travelled the length of the lake on a boat; Grassmere, where we visited the local church and the rather plain tombs of the Wordsworth family; Wastwater, the westernmost and remotest of lakes where we climbed part of the way up Scafel to enjoy the views, and Coniston Water, said to be the main setting for many of the Arthur Ransome 'Swallows and Amazon' books which I had loved as a child.
Finally, with two days to go, we arrived at Keswick and booked into our hotel. I had told Leonard with his interest in Middle Eastern history, that he should pay some attention to the many ancient historic sites in Britain, including the stone circles, barrows and ditches. Everyone knows Stonehenge of course, but in my view, the stone circle with one of the most spectacular settings was 5000 year old Castlerigg, just out of Keswick, set on a low hill and surrounded by some of the most spectacular peaks in the Lake District. This would be a great place to start. I told Leonard about it being an astronomical observatory with stones lining up to certain events like solstices, and also the theory that ancient man built the circles in areas of special power, often on fault lines, and this might be responsible for sightings of mysterious lights among the stones and other phenomena. He looked at me with the faintest suggestion of a smile on his face and I could see he didn't believe a word of it.
That night was not one I look back on with pleasure. Leonard had wisely chosen steak for dinner, whereas I had gone for the seafood platter. About two in the morning, I awoke with the sensation that all was not well and made a dive for the ensuite, thankful that it was close-by. That was not my only visit, and when Leonard tapped on my door around 7am and asked if I was getting up, I told him I didn't feel like going anywhere that day. He immediately said he would stay with me, but I told him there was nothing he could do, and since the forecast for the following day was rain, he should go up to see the circle himself. After some persuading, he agreed to go.
It was late in the afternoon when he again tapped on my door. The landlord had been very good, and after Leonard had explained my situation, they had supplied me with water and dry biscuits, and I had slept most of the day which probably was the best thing after the night I had had.
“Well, what did you think of Castlerigg?” I said.
“It was......interesting,” Leonard replied.
“Interesting?” I responded “Now that isn't the reaction I was expecting.”
“I mean, it was spectacular of course, but it was something more,” he went on.
“You mean spiritual, almost like the atmosphere of a cathedral, only outdoors?” I prompted.
“Yes, something like that,” he replied.
Next morning I awoke to find that the weathermen had been right in their predictions. There was a steady drizzle outside, but at least my insides were more like their old self. After a light breakfast, Leonard and I agreed there was no point in hanging around, especially since we were due to go home the following day, so we agreed to pack and head back that day.
As we drove back, Leonard did seem unusually quiet, but I prefer not to have a talkative passenger, so I was grateful for that. He did ask a few questions about the 'mysterious happenings' at stone circles and I told him what I knew, which wasn't a great deal. I dropped him off at the house in Oxford where he rented a room, and then carried on to my flat in Finchley, North London. I tried to ring Leonard twice during evenings in the following week, but there was no answer, so I assumed he was at one of his numerous academic meetings.
It was a few days later that I had a phone call from his landlady. It seemed that an hour or so after I left him, Leonard had taken an overnight bag and gone out again, this time in his car. She hadn't seen him since and wondered if I knew where he was.
“I'm sorry Mrs Benson, I have no idea. I understood he was going to work on some lectures.”
“Do you think I should ring the police?” she asked.
“Well, that's up to you, but why don't you give it a few more days?”
Four days later, I had a phone call from the Oxford police. Mrs Benson had finally called them. They had checked his room for clues as to where he was but found nothing, so they were ringing me as one of the last people to see him, just in case I could help with any suggestions.
“Well we have just returned from a short holiday in the Lake District,” I said, listing the various places where we had been. I hesitated, and then went on “The last place we were at was Keswick, and he visited the stone circle of Castlerigg alone because I had a bout of gastroenteritis. He seemed particularly taken with it, so perhaps that's a place to look for him. Maybe he went for a walk and had an accident.”
“Thank you sir,” said the constable, and he promised to keep me informed if there was any progress in their search for Leonard.
For a week I heard nothing, and then came a report that was progress of a kind but only caused me to worry more. Leonard's car had been found in the parking bay beside the gate leading to Castlerigg, and his wallet had been found in a hedgerow close-by. It seemed likely that someone had found it since there was no cash inside, but all his cards were still there, and he hadn't accessed his bank account since the day he presumably disappeared. The police had also established that he had booked a room in a hotel for three nights, not the one where we had stayed when we holidayed there. He had only stayed there on the first and third nights, but the mystery of the second night was eventually solved where it appeared he had travelled to Oxford to see his regular solicitor to make his will and stayed overnight. It was all very strange.
Mrs Benson was very good, but after no word from Leonard after two months, she rang and asked what she should do. She was in business of course, so I offered to come up to Oxford and pack up Leonard's things and put them into storage so that she could let his room.
“I'm sorry about this Mr d'Anglais,” she said, “But I don't see what else I can do. I can't keep the room for him indefinitely, especially with no rent.”
“I'm sure he'd understand”, I reassured her “If, I mean when he returns I'm sure he'll find somewhere to stay if you don't have any vacancies. In the meantime, I'll pay his outstanding rent and collect it from him when I see him.”
I found a storage facility close by. Fortunately, Leonard did not seem to have many personal possessions and most of his books were at the university, so it was mainly his small wardrobe of clothes (and more about these later) and a few items like reading lamps and a desk and chair that had to be stored. The small storage unit didn't cost much, certainly it was cheaper than paying for his room. After that I returned to London.
Time passed, and gradually the mystery of Leonard's disappearance slipped to the back of my mind. The police had told me that thousands of people disappear each year, but most turn up in a few days. In a small number of cases their bodies are found, and then there are those who just completely disappear for no apparent reason, and are never heard from again. It gradually became apparent that Leonard fell into this category.
So now with the solicitor's phone call there was to be an ending of sorts with Leonard declared officially dead. I felt sad in a way, especially since there would never be any real resolution to his disappearance. I decided to contact my Great Aunt Mary who lived in Oxford. It had been far too long since I had seen her, and since I was going up there anyway, it would be 'killing two birds with one stone', although I wouldn't be telling her that. I decided to telephone her.
“Jack my boy, how lovely to hear from you. I was beginning to think you were dead, or should that be the other way around?” The touch of amusement in her voice took the sting out of her words, but I was annoyed to find myself blushing. She was right — it had been far too long since I'd been in touch.
“I was thinking of coming up to see you Aunty, I'm on holidays for the next two weeks.”
“That would be lovely, I don't have much of a social life so I'm free most days” she replied “What day did you have in mind?”
“How about next Wednesday?”
“Oh dear, how very awkward. That's my monthly bridge afternoon, but I could cancel.” she said. I could hear the disappointment in her voice. There was nothing for it but to stretch myself.
“Please don't do that, how about Thursday instead?”
“Thursday would be fine. How about coming at three? Then you can stay for tea.”
'Well it looks like I will have to stay a couple of nights in Oxford, but that won't be so bad.' I thought, and my next task was to find a suitable hotel.
The following Tuesday I drove to Oxford in the afternoon and settled into my hotel, near the centre of the city. The next day I arrived at the solicitors' offices at the appointed hour and was shown into Mr Martin's office, a magnificent room with oak paneling on the walls.
“Good afternoon Mr d'Anglais, I trust you had a pleasant trip?” he began. I assured him I had, and pleasantries over, he turned to a small bundle of papers in a manilla folder on his desk.
“As I explained on the phone, Mr Bolton used our services to prepare his will, and now that over seven years have elapsed since his unfortunate disappearance, it behoves us to deal with his estate. We have applied to the Family Division of the High Court, and they have now issued a 'presumption of death' order which means we can set about finalising Mr Bolton's estate. I should tell you that despite his having two distant cousins, he has made you his sole beneficiary. After the necessary disbursements which are higher than usual due to the circumstances of Mr Bolton's passing, the total value of his estate is three thousand, one hundred and sixty pounds. In view of the relatively small amount involved, his cousins have indicated that they do not intend to contest the will.”
“I see,” I said. “Well I knew he had no close relatives, but it was very generous of him to make me his sole beneficiary.”
“There's one more thing,” Mr Martin went on, producing an A4 size brown envelope, “Mr Bolton left this document with the specific instructions that it should be given to you by hand, and no-one else. In fact he specified that if you pre-deceased him or were unable to be located, then the envelope should be destroyed without being opened.”
With that he handed it over. My name was written on the outside, together with the words 'Private and Confidential'. I wondered what on earth it was, but I wasn't going to open it in Mr Martin's presence, and he seemed to be doing his best to conceal his curiousity. He gave me various papers to sign, and obtained my bank details, informing me that the money would be transferred to my account in the next week, and with that I stood up, we shook hands and I left his office.
I returned to my hotel room anxious to read what was in the envelope and wondering if it held a clue to Leonard's disappearance, and if so, should I inform the police of the contents. In the event I didn't, and there were obvious reasons for this as I shall relate. Having made myself a cup of tea, I opened the envelope and withdrew a sheaf of papers covered in Leonard's handwriting and sat down to read.
Next time: A letter
Ring of Stone - Part 2
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A Novella by Bronwen Welsh
Part Two - The letter
Leonard's letter to me was certainly much longer than I expected. No less than ten sheets of paper were in the envelope. I wondered what on earth he had to reveal which required so much explanation.
Here is what he wrote:
“Dear Jack,
It seems odd to be writing like this, but the fact you are reading it means that I have now been missing for sufficient time for the authorities to declare me dead. Do not feel sad for me for it means that things have turned out exactly as I want. What I have to tell you will seem strange in the extreme and will require a great deal of suspension of disbelief on your part, and it was for that reason that I specified that this document should be read by you and you alone. Whether you choose to believe it or not and what you decide to do about it is up to you, but perhaps there will be some means of proving the truth of it in due course. I am truly sorry to have made you and my other friends worry about my welfare, but as you shall see, I could not say anything at the time.
I wonder how much you remember of our friendship starting back in primary school? I know that some of the boys wondered why a tall athletic youth like you should be friends with a short 'bookworm' like me. Nowadays I suppose they would have concluded that we were both gay, but things were different then. I suppose we complimented each other. When you had problems with your homework, I helped you, and in turn you tried to help me at least make an effort to play cricket and football, though all to no avail. Something nobody, including you, knew about me was that for as long as I could remember I knew that I had been born in the wrong body and should have been a girl. One day when the physical education master had called out in frustration. “Come on Leonard, you move like a girl” I was sorely tempted to reply “That's because I am one, sir.” I didn't of course — I didn't dare reveal my inner feelings to anyone and in those pre-internet days, I, like so many others, thought I was the only person in the world who felt that way, so I kept it a secret. When I was older and began to live on my own, I acquired some women's clothing so that I could enjoy 'girl-time', but always in secret of course. I imagine that this is no longer news to you if you are aware of the contents of my room at the boarding house. I can't imagine you thought I had a girlfriend. But just dressing as a woman was not enough for me, and I was seriously starting to think about undergoing gender re-assignment, when my life circumstances changed so radically.
I move forward now to the holiday we had together in the Lake District. I hope you can remember the day I visited the stone circle of 'Castlerigg' on my own due to you being sick with gastro? That is where it all started. It was a warm day with a cloudless sky and perfect for a day's drive out in the beautiful countryside. I soon found the start of 'Eleventrees' and there was a sign indicating 'Castlerigg' at the junction. The road narrowed and slowly climbed, and eventually I saw a few cars parked beside the road up ahead, and deduced that this was the place. Parking the car I crossed the road and passed through the small wooden gate. I could see the stones on the skyline ahead of me as I walked up the slight rise past some sheep peacefully eating the grass.
I was unprepared for what awaited me when I neared the stones so perfectly situated at the top of the rise. Turning slowly, all about me were some of the Lake District's most iconic peaks — 'Skiddaw', 'Blencathra', 'Helvellyn', 'Grassmore' and 'Threlkeld Knott'. Even the names are romantic. I felt a sudden shortness of breath, overwhelmed by the beauty and majesty of this site steeped in history. How could I have ignored what was in my own backyard for so long? These stones had stood there while pharaohs sat on the throne of Egypt, and while other great civilisations had risen and fallen. They will be here when my body has turned to dust.
I felt a bit dizzy and reached out to the nearest stone to steady myself, and I felt a tingling in my arm, almost like an electric shock. I wondered if the heat was getting to me. The air seemed to quiver. I could see vague figures moving slowly in the circle but they were blurred. I took a deep breath and stepped between two large stones which seemed like the entrance, and into the circle. As I did so, the air seemed to ripple around me, and then it cleared. For a moment everything looked the same — the stones and the surrounding peaks, just as they have for thousands of years, but then I realised that something wasn't the same. I have always loved the BBC's 'bonnet dramas' like 'Pride and Prejudice', 'Cranford' etc, imagining myself as the heroine of course. Now I suddenly realised that the few couples promenading inside the ring were dressed in Regency period clothes of the early eighteen hundreds, the men in tailcoats, trousers and boots, and either wearing or carrying top hats, and the women wearing high-waisted muslin dresses which reached the ground.
'Goodness,' I thought. 'They are shooting scenes for another period drama and I've wandered onto the set. Why hasn't someone called out to me to make myself scarce?'
I looked around but there was no sign of any cameras or crew, and it was then I realised something else. My chest felt strangely constricted and I automatically reached up to touch it. Shocked, I looked down and saw that I was no longer wearing shorts but a long muslin dress. I could feel the breeze pressing it against the back of my legs. What's more, where my hand touched my chest I could see and feel the gentle swell of breasts under the gown. I felt very light-headed and reached out to a nearby stone to steady myself. This must be a dream, it just could not be happening. All my life I had longed to be a woman and now my wish had come true, but surely in a dream. And yet, and yet, it seemed so real. I held tightly onto the rock afraid I was about to faint.
“Excuse me ma'amselle, may I be of assistance?” I looked up and saw the owner of the voice, a handsome young man who stood before me with a look of genuine concern on his face.
“I'm sorry, it's the heat. I've become a little faint,” I replied, startled by the sound of my voice which was soft and feminine.
“Here, let me help you please.”
Without further ado, he took my hand and guided me to one of the smaller stones where I was able to sit down. Then he took the parasol which I didn't even realise I was holding, and held it up to shade me, at the same time offering me a drink from a silver flask.
“I regret it is brandy wine, not what you are used to I'm sure, but it might fortify you,” he said.
I took a cautious sip, and the fiery liquid nearly made me choke, but it certainly did seem to steady me.
“How does that feel Miss err?”
“Bolton,” I replied, my real name of course but I didn't have time to think of anything else. “Thank you so much, sir. You've been very kind.”
“Surely you must have some friends or family here who can escort you back to Keswick?”
I looked around vaguely. How could I possibly explain I was here by myself? Young Regency ladies rarely wander about the countryside on their own, and certainly not so far from home.
“My family are close-by, admiring the scenery,” I replied “If I rest here a while, they will come and find me. You have been very kind but please do not let me inconvenience you any more. I'm feeling much better now, and I will be perfectly alright.”
I didn't actually know if there was such a family of course, but I had to say something.
“Well, if you are sure?” he sounded rather disappointed at my words which amounted to a dismissal. To be honest I would have liked him to stay, but how could I when it would finally become apparent that I was on my own?
“Yes I'm sure, but thank you so much for coming to my aid,” I said, trying to soften the blow. With that he gave a slight bow and wandered off among the stones, although I noticed he glanced back from time to time to check on me.
'This won't do,' I said to myself 'It's a lovely dream but dreams don't last.”
I cautiously stood up and feeling better stepped towards the stones and through an opening between them. The air rippled again and suddenly I was outside the circle. I glanced down and felt a ridiculous sense of disappointment that I was once again wearing shorts, a t-shirt and hiking boots. I looked back through the haze to see if I could see the young man inside the circle but he seemed to have disappeared.
Feeling overwhelmed by tiredness, I made my way back to the car, sat down inside and promptly fell asleep. Some time later, when I awoke, the recollection of my dream, or whatever it was, returned in great detail. I got out of the car and walked up to look at the ring again. The air was clear and the few people wandering amongst the stones were all in modern dress. I told myself I must have imagined the whole thing, so I returned to the car and drove to Keswick, stopping for some lunch in the main street. I didn't want to go back to the inn too soon and disturb you so I took myself on a drive around the local countryside, marvelling at the amazing views. I was doing my best to distract my thoughts — I knew that, but time and time again they returned to the incident at Castlerigg. It had all seemed so real. Finally, late in the afternoon I drove back to the hotel to find that you were feeling much better.
You asked what I thought of Castlerigg and I was lost for words. I couldn't tell you what had happened, or at least what I thought had happened, so I made some remark about it being 'interesting', which sounded stupid even to me. Finally I settled on 'spiritual'- I could have said 'magical' but perhaps that was too revealing of my experience.
The next day it rained and we decided to head home. You drove me to my 'digs' and then headed south to London, and I confess on the journey back I misled you into thinking that I was planning to work on some lectures. I did cautiously ask you to expand on your remarks about stone circles and the claims of them being centres of power, and you were only too happy to do so, in the end saying you thought you had found a convert in me after all. Little did you know why!
As you now know, instead of staying in Oxford as I had indicated, I had already made the decision to return to Cumbria. If I didn't, I would be left forever wondering. If after visiting the circle nothing happened, well that would confirm that I had imagined the whole thing, but on the other hand....
I packed a small suitcase, got in my car and headed north. Arriving in Keswick, I took a room in a different hotel to the one where we had stayed, since I didn't want to answer awkward questions about why I had returned so soon. I was concerned about another issue too. Was there some way in which I could prove I had really travelled to the Regency period, that is assuming I had? To try to take a digital camera probably wouldn't work, and in any case how could I possibly explain its presence were anyone to see it? Was photography even invented at the time to which I'd returned? If so it was in its infancy. Then I had a thought. It would be a perfectly proper pursuit for a young lady to make a sketch of the scene, so why not take a sketchpad and pencils with me? I walked down the main shopping street and was fortunate in finding an artist's supplies. I wanted a sketchpad that did not look modern and found one without the modern ring-binding, and also some pencils which looked rather dated in appearance. Hopefully these would serve the purpose. I returned to the hotel, had an evening meal and went to bed early, which was probably a mistake because I could not sleep due to excitement about what tomorrow might bring.
The following day dawned bright and sunny and I set out early for Castlerigg, thinking my chances of success would be improved if few or no people were around. When I arrived and walked up the gentle slope to the ring of stones, my heart was beating very fast. Suppose the whole exercise was a waste of time? Well, I would soon know, and if nothing happened, no-one was going to know. I clutched the sketchpad and pencils as I made my way to the gap between two of the largest stones, which looked like it was intended as an entrance. The air was shimmering, the far stones seeming to sway in a heat haze. I took a deep breath and with a pounding heart walked between the stones.
Next time: A surprise
Ring of Stone - Part 3
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A Novella by Bronwen Welsh
Part Three - A Surprise
Yes! Glancing down at two swelling breasts concealed beneath the gauzy material of my gown, I breathed a sigh of relief. It really had happened before, and now it was happening again. What's more, I was carrying in my hands the sketchpad and pencils I had bought. I moved slowly over to one of the smaller stones, sat down on it and began to sketch the scene. There were several couples wandering among the stones, but no-one seemed to be taking any notice of me, for which I was thankful. I didn't know who I was in this earlier time, but with good fortune I would make my sketch and escape before anyone questioned me.
“Leonora! Leonora! Oh there you are!” A child's voice interrupted my reverie. A pretty young girl perhaps ten years old was running over the grass towards me. I stood up, rather alarmed. I hadn't counted on this.
“Leonora, Mama says to come at once. The carriage will be here soon.” She took my hand and began to lead me over to the far side of the circle where a tall handsome man and his pretty wife were waiting.
'These must be my parents,' I thought. Addressing them was not a problem but what was the girl's name? It was fairly safe to assume that she was my younger sister.
“Emma my dear, thank goodness you found her,” the woman said with a sweet smile “We don't want to keep our carriage waiting.”
I felt concerned. Obviously I was expected to leave the stone circle with them, but what would happen? Would I be suddenly returned to the present day, or be stuck indefinitely around two hundred years in the past? I didn't really have much time to consider these options since Emma was still holding my hand and was now firmly leading me towards the edge of the circle. Well, in my heart of hearts I had wanted to be a woman all my life, so why not go along with it and see what happened? I held my breath as we passed through the stones and now I was outside the circle. Emma was still there and I was still Leonora.
Emma looked up at me with concern in her young face “Leonora, are you feeling alright?” she questioned “You are looking rather pale.”
“Yes Emma, I'm fine,” I replied. I sneaked a glance down at my sketch and it was all there, the stones, the surrounding hills and the people in their Regency finery, but could I take it back to my own time?
“May I see?” said Emma, and we paused while she gazed at my sketch for a long moment. “You're very good you know,” she said finally.
“Do you think I could become a professional artist?” I said to her, smiling.
“Oh goodness me, Papa would never allow that!” she said. “Besides, I'm sure he'll find a suitable husband for you soon.”
“A husband!” I certainly hadn't thought of that.
“Of course! And I will be your bridesmaid!” she giggled.
Mama and Papa now caught up with us and Mama said “Hurry up girls, your brother is coming this afternoon and bringing a visitor with him, so we must be ready.”
I didn't know if this was something I should have known about so said nothing as we headed on down the pathway towards the road. Waiting for us was a landau with two horses. It was becoming apparent that I must be part of a wealthy family who travelled around in such luxury. Seeing us, the coachman opened the door and offered his hand to the Mama, Emma and I to step up into the carriage. Then we set off down the hill towards Keswick. About a mile or so down the road we turned off into a driveway and came to a halt in front of a substantial house which I assumed had been rented for our holiday. Again the coachman assisted us in alighting and we made our way into the house.
“Come along girls, we must get changed,” said Mama. I thought that the dress I was already wearing was very fine, but it appeared it was not acceptable for an afternoon visitor. A maid was already in our bedroom, and Mama immediately started issuing orders.
“Marie, please help Leonora get dressed. John is bringing a young man to visit this afternoon and I want her to look her best.”
It was patently obvious that Mama was match-making and I was instantly reminded of the famous first sentence from Jane Austen's “Pride and Prejudice”
“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.”
The thought actually crossed my mind to wonder if she had already written those words since at present I had no idea which year I was in, apart from it being the early nineteenth century. Anyway, to the matter in hand which was making me look presentable. Marie helped me off with my dress and then in consultation with Mama, selected another one, if anything more diaphanous that the one I had worn that morning. This was not a problem for a modest young lady of course as I was already wearing a chemise, a short corset and two petticoats. I could see that there was an advantage to being a young lady as I didn't have to make any choices and risk making a mistake, it was all decided for me!
I was then made to sit down in front of a dressing table while Marie attended to my hair. This was the first time I had an opportunity to see myself in the mirror and I confess I was not displeased with what I saw. It was virtually impossible to see any sign of the Leonard I had been, instead I had soft feminine features which I hoped any man would find pleasing.
The whole process of getting ready took over an hour, and meanwhile my sister Emma had to change as well. Then we both went downstairs to the drawing room where we would receive our guests. Mama suggested I take my sketch pad down to occupy me. She had her embroidery, and was busy teaching its basics to Emma, so that she could make her first 'sampler'. In this way we would not appear to be waiting upon the arrival of our guests, even though of course we were! Papa also sat down with his newspaper, so the whole family was now assembled.
Shortly afterwards we heard horses' hooves on the gravel outside — my brother and the visitor had arrived. A few minutes later, a handsome young man bounded into the room greeted his father and gave Mama a kiss on the cheek, followed by one for me and Emma. In the meantime another young man stood diffidently at the doorway, and when I saw him I had to suppress a gasp. It was the same young man who had assisted me at the stone circle. He instantly recognised me and we smiled at each other, before I remembered I should behave modestly, and I lowered my eyes knowing that my cheeks were glowing pink.
Remembering his manners, John said “Mama, Papa, may I present my friend from Oxford, Mr Richard d'Anglais.” I'm sure I started at hearing his name but fortunately no-one seemed to notice. Now I knew why there seemed something familiar about him — he must surely be your ancestor, Jack.
Have you ever experience instant chemistry with a young woman? If you have, then surely you must be married by now, for you are a very handsome young man. The moment I saw Richard d'Anglais again I felt that chemistry and knew that our futures were bound together.
John then introduced him to me and I looked up as he bowed slightly and said “Miss Bolton”
I replied “I'm pleased to meet you again Mr d'Anglais.”
Mama instantly picked up on my slip of the tongue and said “Again? You have met before?”
“Mr d'Anglais kindly offered me his aid when I felt a little faint at the Druid circle,” I hurriedly explained, “But we weren't properly introduced.”
Mama beamed. Obviously the proprieties had been observed.
“Please take a seat Mr d'Anglais,” she said, indicating one well away from me. She then started on a gentle but thorough interrogation in which she elicited that Richard d'Anglais came from a good family which had rented a house at Braithwaite for the summer; and that he was studying law at Oxford. I had little doubt that Mr d'Anglais was passing his test as a prospective suitor, and this was confirmed when he conveyed an invitation from his parents for our family to attend a 'soiree' the following week at their rented house and Mama accepted with alacrity. I made no further contribution to the conversation since it appeared that was not required.
Not long afterward both young gentlemen stood up to take their leave, having promised to visit some other acquaintances currently holidaying nearby. Richard promised to convey the acceptance of the invitation to his parents and expressing his pleasure that we could attend. After they had departed, Mama smiled with satisfaction.
“Well, what a very pleasant and gentlemanly young man Mr d'Anglais is and a most eligible one too.” This was said with a glance in my direction and inevitably made me blush once more. “I think we can safely say that he found you not unattractive Leonora.”
I knew my blushes were deepening still further as she went on to offer a mild rebuke “My dear, you could have forewarned us that you had already met Mr d'Anglais.”
“But Mama, I had no idea of his identity at the time he assisted me at the Druid circle,” I protested, and it appeared my explanation was accepted.
I quickly found myself easily slipping into the routine of the family. Fortunately I have a good memory, and once I heard a person's name I had no trouble in recalling it. I knew that when our holiday was over and we returned home to Oxford (for I had ascertained from some clues in conversations that that was where our family resided), I would be meeting up with more friends, and I hoped that I would again manage to find out their names and where I knew them from without giving myself away. I was pleased that it was Oxford where we would be returning to as by now I knew the town quite well and the central part shouldn't be so very different in the nineteenth century.
Next time: The Soiree
Ring of Stone - Part 4
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Part Four - The Soiree
The day of the 'soiree' arrived and Mama and I took many hours preparing for it. Emma was bitterly disappointed that she was not considered old enough to attend such events, and I had to promise to tell her all about it the following day, including what dresses the other ladies were wearing, and if there were any new fashions. Both Papa and my brother John would be attending of course, but naturally it took them a much shorter time to dress. Men do have an easier life, but would we ladies exchange places with them? I hardly think so.
I don't know if Mama had had a premonition before leaving Oxford, because among my clothes was packed a most gorgeous gown which was most suitable for the evening. I would of course be wearing several petticoats beneath it since the material was quite diaphanous! Mama and I wore cloaks to protect us from the evening chill but Papa and John were made of sterner stuff, and of course their evening dress was far warmer than ours. Papa had hired an enclosed coach with two horses for the occasion, and I was grateful to see it. We set off at a spanking pace, and believe me Jack, that is something I will miss about the 21st century — smooth roads and pneumatic tyres, as steel-rimmed wheels and dirt roads do make for a rather uneven ride!
Half an hour later we turned up a driveway and after a short distance the coach pulled up in front of a large house brilliantly lit up in the twilight. Mama and I were shown to a dressing room where we could attend to any adjustments to our appearance necessitated by the rigors of the coach ride. That completed, we returned to Papa's company for our presence to be announced. We had expected the soiree to be a relatively small affair and were therefore surprised when a footman showed us into quite a large ballroom in the centre of the house and announced our names in a loud voice. There was a small orchestra playing, and dancing was already in progress. At a glance it appeared that there were about ten or a dozen young ladies of marriageable age with an equal number of young men, and of course a number of older couples, presumably the parents of the young ladies and acting as chaperones. I looked especially at the young ladies, some of whom were true beauties and despite my presumption that I would be Richard 's chosen one, I could not help feeling a little uneasy up against such competition.
At the sound of our names I was pleased to see Richard immediately come up to greet us with a beaming smile. He shook hands with Papa and kissed first Mama's hand and then mine, saying he was very pleased to see us.
“May I introduce you to my parents Sir John and Lady Elizabeth d'Anglais?” he asked politely, and this was quite a surprise to us all, even Mama who had somehow failed to discover their status. Perhaps it was just as well. Mama is no 'Mrs Bennet' but I'm sure her anxiety about the evening would have been greatly heightened if she had been in possession of this information. I had already realised that I was part of a quite well-to-do family but Richard's parents were obviously of a higher social strata, and now I began to worry and wonder what they might think of him marrying, as they would see it, 'beneath him'. Richard led the way to where his parents were standing to receive their guests, and we were duly introduced. I must say that his parents did not seem to be overly proud and were most cordial and condescending in their greetings. I did however feel the surveillance of Lady Elizabeth's keen eyes and suspected that Richard had already made known his interest in me.
After the introductions I was hoping that Richard would invite me to dance and was very pleased he did so. It may surprise you to learn that I who was so inept in sport had studied the dances shown on such programs as 'Pride and Prejudice' in my room at Oxford, although without the advantage of a male partner of course. The dance was the 'Cotillion', performed in a line of facing male and female dancers performing a number of 'sets' of steps and I felt that I acquitted myself quite well. I would love to have had a waltz with Richard, but suspected that at the time where I now found myself, that it was not yet acceptable. It was probably even considered scandalous, as it required men and women to have such close physical contact, and that would have been even more shocking if they were not married..
At the conclusion of the dance Richard asked me if I would like some refreshment and of course I accepted his offer, not only because I was thirsty after the dance, but also because it would allow me a short time of private conversation with him in this very public setting.
“Well,” said Richard “What do you think of our 'country cottage'?”
“Mr d'Anglais, I think you have treated us very badly in not explaining your status and that of your parents,” I responded “Both Mama and I would have taken even greater pains with our preparations for this evening if we had known.” I softened my apparent annoyance with a smile.
“Please call me Richard, Miss Bolton,” he responded “And I doubt if you could look more beautiful than you do this evening if you had taken a week with your preparations.”
What could I possibly say in response to such a charming compliment? I blushed of course and could only think to respond “If I am to call you Richard, then you must call me Leonora, although I have little doubt that both our parents would be shocked at such intimacies after such a brief acquaintanceship.”
“Well I hope that this is only the start of a very long acquaintanceship,” Richard responded, touching my hand, causing me to blush even more deeply while being secretly thrilled at his response.
“As do I,” I responded in barely above a whisper. How could I ever have doubted from the start that Richard and I were fated to be married and our descendants though the years would eventually lead to you Jack? At that moment, we both became aware that Richard's mother was bearing down upon us like a brig under full sail, and there was no further opportunity for us to indulge in further intercourse during the evening, but I was well satisfied that any concerns that I had had were totally without foundation.
That night as I lay in bed, finding it hard to sleep after the excitement of the evening, I was faced with a problem. I no longer had any doubt that I would marry Richard d'Anglais and thus become your ancestor, and the thought delighted me. However I also wished to make one final visit to the twenty-first century to finalise my affairs, including leaving my estate to you. I feel that is most appropriate as you will now understand. I also wanted to write this letter so that you will finally understand the reason for my disappearance and thus set your mind at rest. I am only sorry that there will be some years delay before you learn the truth. I know that you may still think this account most fantastical and I will set my mind to thinking if there is some way that I can send a message to you down the years to prove its veracity.
Our holiday was coming to an end, so I made the excuse that I needed to visit the stone circle once more to finalise some details of my drawings and I managed to persuade my brother John to take me back to Castlerigg two days ago. After watching me with my sketchpad and pencils for a while, he became bored and started to wander around the circle, and while his back was turned I slipped away back into the 21st Century, although now having done so I confess I am terrified at the thought that I might not return to being Leonora. But then again how foolish I am as the fact you are reading this proves I was successful. I have spent the night writing this letter, and tomorrow I am going to Oxford to see my solicitor, make my will and leave this account for you to receive with your inheritance. When I return I will drive to Castlerigg early in the morning and return to the nineteenth century and my brother John who will hopefully not have noticed my absence. How the power of the stone circle has worked in this mysterious way I do not know but I do so hope that it will work again and return me for the final time to the man I love — your many times great grandfather.
You may wonder if I will miss anything about the twenty-first century and I have given this some thought. I have concluded that my only regret would be the lack of modern medicine. I will be living at a time when various ailments and infections which are now so easily cured can lead to chronic illness or even death, especially in infants. I must certainly do my best to maintain the best possible hygiene to minimise the risks to myself and others. All the other trappings of modern society pale into insignificance compared to having the opportunity to live as the woman I was meant to be, and to marry the most wonderful man and have his children, the descendants of whom will be leading to yourself.
As to how many times your great grandmother I will be I do not know and I do not intend to seek out the family tree for fear of finding out the extent of my life span as Leonora. Such knowledge would be very hard to live with, so I will leave that for you to find out. You may wonder how I can so easily give up my academic life in the twenty-first century. That is easy. Have spent so much time studying the past, I now have the opportunity to actually go back and live my life in it. How wonderful is that? I must take care not to reveal my knowledge of the future of course. If I described aeroplanes to people in the nineteenth century they would doubtless think me a candidate for Bedlam — not an outcome I would wish!
Before I finish, there is a question you have doubtless asked yourself. If I have become Leonora at the age of nineteen or twenty, then what spirit occupied her body prior to that time? That I cannot answer, but I do have a possible clue. The morning after the soiree, I was walking down the hallway past the room Papa was using as a study, and I heard him and Mama in conversation.
“How lovely it is to see Leonora so happy and well again after that dreadful illness,” said Mama. “I dared not say it at the time, but I did fear at one stage that we might lose her.”
“And now she is fully recovered and in love,” replied Papa. “Even a man can see that! I must tell you that I spoke to Sir John d'Anglais last night, and gained a firm impression that they would have no objection to the union of our two families.”
“Oh Mr Bolton, why did you not share this information with me before? I confess I have been greatly worried that there might be some impediment to their happiness, especially when I discovered the social status of the d'Anglais family,” responded Mama.
“And it seems there is none,” said Papa
“Well, if Richard d'Anglais makes her as happy as you have made me, then she will be a fortunate young woman,” said Mama.
There was silence now, and I felt that I was intruding on intimacy between a husband and wife, and crept silently away. I thought long about what Mama had said. Could it be that in that illness, Leonora's spirit had gradually faded away, and that it was my good fortune to time my appearance at exactly the right moment to take its place? This can only be conjecture on my part, but I have certainly not felt at odds with any other presence within my body.
Dear Jack, one thing I must mention before I conclude this rather long letter. I am aware that as Leonora I will be leading a life of privilege, and when I marry Richard that privilege will be even more enhanced. I will become mistress of a relatively large household with many responsibilities. I wish I could have access to Mrs Beeton's famous book but alas I think that will not be published until I am an old lady. I will have to acquire the services of a good housekeeper, and devote considerable time to learning all I can about household management. It is my intention to deal fairly and honorably with all manner of people giving them due respect whether high or low born. I mention that lest you think your ancestor intends to use her wealth to lead a life of indolence. When I do finally leave this earth, I trust it will be said of me that I lived a good and productive life. If not, it will not be for want of trying.
I have written so much and could have written still more but it is very late now and I must conclude this letter. I do hope that you, Jack, will find the woman of your dreams if you have not already done so, and that she will give you much happiness, as much as the happiness which I am sure I will enjoy with Richard.
With much love, your ancestor,
Leonora.
P.S. I am including a sketch I made at Castlerigg, not that it proves anything of course, but it is my conceit that you may wish to have a sample of my work.”
I sat back in my chair, staring at the papers. Whatever I had expected to read, it was nothing compared to such an amazing story. Truly, if it had been written by anyone other than a person I had known for so long as one of the most intelligent and well-balanced on the planet, I could have been forgiven for thinking that it was all an elaborate hoax. Nevertheless, the facts were that Leonard had disappeared, and in his letter he seemed in possession of a number of facts which he could not have otherwise known, and which I could surely check for veracity.
Next time: A visit to Aunt Mary
Author's note: The "Mrs Bennet' referred to in the text is the mother of five daughters in Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice". She is given to fits of anxiety concerning her social status as she works to secure marriages for all her daughters. As mentioned in the text, Leonora's mother is fortunately not cast in the same mould.
Ring of Stone - Part 5
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Part Five - A visit to Aunt Mary
The following afternoon I set out to visit my Great Aunt Mary. No, I will change that. From now on I will refer to her as Aunt Mary for, as she was fond of saying “Great Aunt makes me sound like I came out of Noah's Ark.”
I presented myself at the door of Aunt Mary's house at three o'clock as arranged. It was a big old house near the centre of Oxford, and had once been filled with family members, but now she was the only one remaining, and how she managed to keep it running I had no idea. I rang the old-fashioned bell and heard it tolling somewhere deep inside the house. After a minute the front door opened and there she was, just as I remembered her. Her face broke into a beaming smile at the sight of me and she held out her arms in welcome. I hugged her tiny bird-like frame cautiously, afraid I might break one of her bones. Her hug was altogether more enthusiastic.
“How lovely to see you again Jack,” she said “and I see you're handsomer than ever. No wedding on the horizon yet?”
How ridiculous! Here was I, a grown man being embarrassed by an old lady.
“Well, err, no as a matter of fact.”
Aunt Mary looked serious. “Don't wait too long Jack. I had offers I knocked back, and look at me now, an old lady rattling around alone in a great big old house. You may never find 'Miss Perfect', but I'm sure there are plenty of very nice girls around who would make you a lovely wife. Anyway, what are we doing standing on the doorstep? Come on in.”
She led the way down a rather dark hallway lined with photographs, and into a very pleasant sitting room. On the table were two plates, one with sandwiches and the other with little cakes. She had obviously gone to a great deal of trouble.
“Make yourself comfortable and I'll put the kettle on,” she said, bustling out of the room. I walked around the room while she was gone. Filled with rather heavy old-fashioned furniture, the walls of the room were filled with bookcases, and there were old prints, probably of family members on the little free wall that was left exposed. Soon she returned with a tray bearing a silver teapot, two cups and saucers and a small jug of milk, carefully placing it on the table.
“How are your parents Jack?” she inquired, and I replied that they were well but that I didn't see too much of them since they retired to Devon. I promised to pass on her regards. We continued to chat about this and that, mainly my work, until the burden of guilt got too much for me and I decided that confession would be 'good for the soul'.
“I have to be honest with you Aunt Mary. I did intend to come and see you, and I know it's been far too long, but there is another reason why I came to Oxford on this occasion. Do you remember an old school friend of mine called Leonard Bolton?”
She screwed up her face in concentration “Yes I'm sure I do but I never met him. Didn't something happen to him?”
“Yes, he mysteriously disappeared about seven years ago,” I replied, and went on to tell her the story about Leonard and how he was now officially declared dead. I said how sorry I was that I hadn't told her about that reason for my visit, right from the start.
“It doesn't matter Jack,” she said, patting my knee affectionately, “The main thing is that you are here now.”
Feeling much better, I changed the subject.
“Aunty, the last time I was here, you tried to tell me about your research into the family's history, and I confess I didn't show much interest. Well, I've grown up a bit now, and I'd really like to know more about the d'Anglais if you wouldn't mind telling me?”
She beamed. “I'd love to. Why don't you come into the library. I've charted the family tree as far as I can, and I'd love you to see it.”
We walked into the adjoining room, which had even more book cases than the previous one. There was a round table in the centre, and on it was a huge sheet of light cardboard, covered with names and dates.
“This is you down here, see?” she said, pointing to my name on the bottom line of the family tree. Then her finger traced upwards through my father and grandfather, further and further up the sheet through about ten generations. I had my fingers crossed that she had managed to trace the line back far enough, and sure enough, there they were, close to the top of the chart, only one line for their parents above them: Richard Charles d'Anglais and his wife Leonora Elizabeth Bolton. They had had six children, four boys and two girls, and Aunt Mary pointed out that I was descended from their second son John. It seemed there was a tradition to alternate the names Richard and John through the generations. Only knowing my father's and grandfather's names previously I hadn't realised that.
“That's amazing Aunty, how did you manage to find out so much information?”
“Well it's much easier nowadays. I learned to use a computer in the library, and there are sites where you can find out information that you used to have to pay someone to look up for you.”
“I wish I could see a picture of Richard d'Anglais and his family,” I said wistfully.
“I think I can help you there,” Aunty replied, opening a very large photograph album and consulting a sheet of paper on the inside cover. “Yes here we are.”
She turned over several leaves and stopped at one photograph. It was a large family group arranged on the broad outside steps of what appeared to be a substantial house from what I could see of it. At the centre of the group was Richard, and seated beside him was Leonora wearing a black dress. They both appeared to be in their late forties and still looked like a very handsome couple. Surrounding them were their children and a number of grandchildren. Aunt Mary pointed to one man standing on the top step.
“I believe that is John your direct ancestor, and here on the lower step is his son Richard.”
“That's truly amazing, Aunty, I never expected I'd actually see them. Thank you so much for showing me. You know, I would have loved to seen how Richard and Leonora looked when they were younger, about the time they were married, but that was before the invention of photography wasn't it?”
“Yes, you're right, Niepce's first photo is dated to 1826 I believe, but all is not lost. Richard and Leonora both had their portraits painted, possibly as wedding presents to each other. My niece Jennifer has Richard, and I have Leonora's portrait in the dining room. Come, I'll show you.”
She led the way into yet another large room, dominated by a huge dining table which could accommodate at least twenty people, and walked to a corner of the wall near the window. The painting was not very big, about two feet high and a foot wide, and the artist may not have been an 'Old Master', but there was obvious talent in the way he had captured his subject. Leonora must have been aged about twenty when it was painted. She was obviously clad in the height of Regency fashion, and the delicate fabric of her high-waisted muslin dress was caught to perfection. Her left arm leaned on a very large harp and clasped the right one, her head faced the viewer and she had a slight smile on her sweet face. I had little doubt of the relationship, her resemblance to Leonard was striking. Then I saw something else that made me gasp. On the wall behind her, the artist had depicted in the greatest detail he could manage with brush strokes, a framed pencil sketch, which Leonora had obviously drawn. There was little doubt of its identity — Castlerigg. It was also very similar to the sketch which had been enclosed with Leonard's letter.
So engrossed was I in the painting that for a moment I forgot Aunt Mary's presence until she spoke.
“I may be old Jack, but I haven't lost my marbles yet. This isn't about Richard d'Anglais, it's about Leonora isn't it.” She said it as a statement, not a question.
I nodded slowly “Yes it is, Aunty.”
“You see something in that portrait, something very significant don't you?” This time it was a question and I nodded again I was thinking of what Leonard, or as I now thought — Leonora, had written in the letter, about trying to find some way of sending me a message down through the years to prove that what she had written was true. What better way than through a portrait which stood the greatest chance of being cherished as a family heirloom and passed from one generation to another? I looked at Aunt Mary, and made up my mind.
“Aunt Mary, would you mind waiting here for a moment? There's something in the car I'd like to show you.”
A minute later I was back with a photograph of Leonard, and the envelope with the letter and sketch. I handed her the photograph.
“This is my friend Leonard, taken on that holiday to Cumbria, just before he disappeared. Can you compare it to the portrait please?”
Aunt Mary held it up next to Leonora's face. “Well there is certainly quite a resemblance there,” she conceded. “So you think Leonard has turned out to be a long-lost relative?”
“Yes I do,” I replied. “Aunty, in addition to the bequest, Leonard wrote me a rather long letter explaining his disappearance. I'd like you to read it with an open mind and then come back and look at Leonora's portrait again.
I pulled the sheaf of papers out of the envelope. “There's one other thing, he included a sketch which you might find interesting.”
Aunty Mary's eyes widened at the sight of the sketch “Now that is very interesting,” she responded
“Something else I'd like to ask you, I was wondering if you know where Leonora is buried?”
“Oh that's easy. She and a number of your early ancestors are buried in the graveyard of St Oswald's church in Grassmere, Cumbria. It's quite famous because William Wordsworth and his family are there too. What is it my boy, you look quite pale?”
“It's probably a co-incidence, but we visited that churchyard during our holiday, just before Leonard disappeared,” I replied. I looked back once more at the painting. “Leonora was said to be good at drawing wasn't she? Do you know if any of her other sketches survive?”
I realised what I'd said and expected Aunt Mary to question how I knew that, but she didn't.
“Alas no,” replied Aunt Mary “They were all lost in a house fire many years ago, together with her journal. Nowadays we could have scanned and copied them to make sure they were preserved. I really do think that modern technology is wonderful. You know I do remember seeing her sketches when I was a young woman, and while I couldn't swear to it, the sketch you've just shown me could easily have been by the same hand, except of course we know it isn't.”
I could see Aunt Mary was getting tired, and besides, I thought enough had been said for one day. I made my farewells, saying I would travel to Cumbria the next day to see Leonora's grave and return in a couple of days to see what she thought of the letter.
Next time: My visit to Cumbria
Ring of Stone - Part 6
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Part Six - Grassmere and Castlerigg
I awoke to an overcast sky and after breakfast, loaded up my car and headed north-west to pick up the M5 and later M6. The motorways are handy for traversing the country quickly, but I confess I was happier when I finally reached Cumbria and took a left turn to drive past Kendal and through Windermere, finally arriving at Grasmere in the mid-afternoon. I stopped at a florist's shop for a small posy of flowers, and walked the short distance to the churchyard. The chilly day with threatening rain had discouraged visitors, and there seemed to be no-one from the church to ask for the location of Leonora's grave, so I set about searching for it myself, and after about ten minutes I found it. It was the oldest of a group of three headstones and also the most ornate. I bent down to look at the inscription which read as follows:
Sacred to the memory of Richard Charles d'Anglais, Kt, born 25th July 1791, died 4th Aug 1852. Aged 61
Below it was inscribed: and of his wife Leonora Elizabeth, born 2nd May 1793, died 8th Aug 1868 Aged 75
I stood looking at the inscription for a while. So Richard had been knighted, like his father, — presumably for services to the law. That meant Leonora would have been addressed with the courtesy title of 'Lady d'Anglais'. Another little bit of information. She had also outlived him by fourteen years. That must have been hard for her, and perhaps quite lonely. While she did have quite a large family, by then they would have all been grown up and probably moved away.
It was as I knelt to place the posy at the foot of the stone that another line partly obscured by some grass caught my eye. I cleared it away to read -
and of their son Richard John, born 4th Sept , died 7th Sept 1814, aged 3 days.
I had held my emotions in check until that moment, but now as a drizzling rain started to fall from the leaden sky above, so tears started to roll down my cheeks. Poor Leonora and Richard. I could not imagine how it would have felt to lose their first-born son. Was it something one could ever recover fully from, no matter how many children came afterward? It must have been even worse for Leonora to lose the infant she had nurtured in her womb for nine long months, and more so with the knowledge that in generations to come with the advancing of medical science, their child might have been saved. I had wondered if there was any significance in the black dress she was wearing in the photograph Aunt Mary had shown me. Was she then still in mourning for her baby son, or had it been for another family member? That I would never know.
I knelt there for a long time, oblivious to the rain soaking me to the skin and making dark tracks down the headstone, and then something happened. A feeling of peace came over me and began to raise my spirits, and a thought came into my head. Indeed it was more of a demand than a thought — 'Go to Castlerigg at dawn.' it insisted, over and over again.
“Yes, Leonora, I will,” I said out loud, attracting curious stares from a couple walking past, who half-paused and then hurried on. For the first time in hours, I smiled.
I walked back to my car and took the road north to Keswick, checking into the same hotel where Leonard and I had stayed all those years ago. I think it had changed hands and in any case they were hardly likely to remember me. As I checked in for one night, I told the Manager that I intended to get up very early the next morning, and go out for a while, but that I would return for breakfast if I was in time, and pick up my belongings and settle the account. I set my alarm for five o'clock, and went early to bed.
I was awake shortly before the alarm sounded, had a quick shower, dressed and boiled the jug provided for a quick cup of coffee before stepping outside into the brisk morning air. The weather had cleared during the night, the sky was filled with stars, and Venus blazed overhead. Getting in my car I drove up the winding road to Castlerigg and parked in the lay-by opposite the gate. There was no-one else around and all was quiet. I had had the foresight to bring a small torch, nevertheless, as I walked up the pathway to the circle, a grazing sheep wandered into my path, startling both of us and I carried on with a wildly beating heart.
At the circle I could just make out the stones in the starlight and could see a faint glimmer of light in the eastern sky. I walked slowly around the circle, the only sound being my feet on the sodden grass. When I arrived back at the western side of the ring I stood and waited. What it was that I waited for I did not know, but I knew I had to be patient. The only change was the gradually lightening eastern sky.
All was quiet as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for the new day, and then something did happen. At first I thought my eyes were deceiving me as the stones on the far side of the circle seemed to be fading. Then I realised that a mist was rising from the ground, slowly growing thicker, and swirling in strange eddies about the height of the stones, completely obscuring most of them. I looked up and the stars were gradually fading before the advancing dawn. Only Venus was holding out against the brightening sky. I looked across the circle and it seemed to me that the mist was starting to fade except in one area, and then that faded too and I saw that I was no longer alone. On the far side of the circle a young woman clad in a long white gown was seated on one of the smaller stones, bent over a sketchpad, busily drawing. I breathed as silently as I could, not daring to disturb her. After a couple of minutes she seemed to become aware of my presence, and slowly lifting her head, turned in my direction and gave me the most wonderful smile.
“Leonora!” I breathed, and lifted a hand in greeting. It was at that moment that the first rays of the sun appeared past the brow of a distant peak, shining directly into my eyes and dazzling me. I gasped, blinking and rubbing them, and when I looked again, she was gone. No matter, this vision was the final proof, and I could not do other than believe that every word I had read in Leonard's letter was the truth. What power this ancient site held to bring together the past and present generations I will never know, and many would say I deluded myself, but what I saw, I saw. I slowly turned away, and the stones cast long shadows before me as I set off down the slope to my car to return to the hotel. After breakfast I took the road south.
Driving back to Oxford my mind was consumed with thoughts of Leonora. I realised that I actually knew very little about her life; I knew the dates she was born and died; her six children; that she married Richard and became the mistress of a substantial household, and her love of sketching and music. It was not a lot really. What a pity her journal had been lost. That would have been really interesting to read. I decided I must ask Aunt Mary if there was any more information available about Richard and Leonora from other sources.
I wondered too if she was ever tempted to reveal more about herself to Richard but I thought it unlikely. Such revelations would surely have led him to think her mind was disturbed and cast a cloud over their happiness, so what would be the point of it? I'm sure she developed the habit of never speaking about what was then current or future events before taking the time to consider what she should say and making sure it did not reveal her knowledge of the future.
Next time: The perfect woman
Ring of Stone - Part 7
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A Novella by Bronwen Welsh
Part Seven - The Perfect Woman
The following day, Saturday, I rang Aunt Mary, told her I was back in Oxford and was reminded to visit her for afternoon tea again as arranged. At three o'clock I rang her doorbell and was greeted again with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I was ushered into the same room as before and managed to keep my patience in check as Aunt Mary served tea.
“My, you have matured,” she remarked, “But I can see you are bursting to know what I thought of your friend's letter.”
I smiled “Was my impatience that obvious?”
Aunt Mary laughed.
“Well I confess it did seem like a work of fiction at first, although several questions came to mind; if Leonard wanted to disappear, why go to the trouble of making up such an elaborate story? Also, how did he know about Leonora and her marriage to Richard unless he knew he was a distant relative of yours of course, but why would he never mention that? I suppose the clincher was the portrait which of course he had never seen. As you suggested, I went back to look at it and I immediately picked up on the significance of the drawing of Castlerigg in the background as you knew I would.”
“So you believe it's true then?”
“Well it's hard to come to any other conclusion even though logic tells us it's impossible. But then I'm reminded of that quote from Hamlet “There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” How about you, what do you think of it?”
“Yes Aunty, I do believe it. It has something to do with the stone circle, and I believe that somehow, and I don't know how, Leonard went back in time and became Leonora my ancestor. I believe it was what she wanted and I believe she lived a happy life although I visited her grave and realised that she lost her first-born son.”
“Yes I'm sorry my boy, I forgot to point that out to you. So many young children died in those days, but Richard was the only one she lost. It must have been very hard though.”
“Oh yes, and another thing, Richard was made a knight like his father, something else I didn't know.”
“He would have been a Knight Bachelor as they are called, probably due to his legal career. He became a judge you know.”
“No, I didn't know that, it's yet another piece of the jigsaw. I do so wish her journal had survived”
I took a deep breath. “There's one more thing, and this must remain strictly between the two of us, Aunty. You must never tell anyone or they will want to lock me up. While I was at her graveside I felt compelled to go to Castlerigg at dawn. I went there yesterday morning and I saw her, I really did Aunt Mary. She was sitting on one of the stones sketching, and then the rising sun blinded me and when I looked again she was gone.”
Aunt Mary took both my hands in hers as she looked deep into my eyes. “I believe you Jack,” she said, “but you are right, neither you nor I must ever reveal that. It will be our secret.”
We sat in silence for a while pondering the significance of my vision, and then the doorbell rang.
“Would you get that for me please?” said Aunty Mary, stirring as if from sleep.
“Of course,” I replied, glad of a distraction from the thoughts that swirled around my mind, and walked down the hallway to open the front door. What I saw took my breath away. A young woman stood there. She had dark shining hair that fell in curves around the perfect oval of her face. Her eyes were a sparkling green and her full lips were curved in a half smile. She wore a light summer dress that curved around her full breasts and down to a tiny waist from whence it flared out in soft folds. Call me old fashioned, even sexist if you like but in today's society where ninety-five percent of women you see in the street are wearing trousers or jeans, I find it a rare pleasure to see a woman wearing a dress, especially a woman as delightfully feminine as this one. Her smile broadened and I realised that I was staring.
“Is Miss d'Anglais in?” she inquired.
“Err yes, she is. I'm Jack her nephew, well great-nephew actually, I'm up visiting her from London, oh and please come in.” I realised that I was babbling and suspected this ravishing creature had the same effect on every man she met.
“I'm Fiona, a friend of hers from the Book Club. I've brought along this month's books for her to read.” I realised that she was holding several volumes as I stepped aside for her to enter the house and then followed her down the hallway.
“Fiona my dear! I'd forgotten you were due here with the books today,” said Aunty Mary as we entered the room. I looked at her suspiciously. A mind as sharp as my aunt's never forgot a thing, but the look on her face was inscrutable.
“You've met my nephew Jack then? He's up from London and picking my brains on family history.”
Fiona smiled at me again and I remembered what Leonora had written about 'instant chemistry'. I have had many girlfriends, even lovers in my time, but never had a young woman affected me the way Fiona was doing right now. Suddenly it became very important to me that she should feel the same way, and for the first time in many years I felt shy in the presence of a woman. I had absolutely no doubt that Aunt Mary had set up this meeting, but far from being annoyed with her I just wanted to thank her.
It turned out that Fiona was an English teacher in an Oxford school, and of course I had to admit that I was a Physical Education teacher, so here was something in common, both teachers. Aunt Mary made some more tea and we hardly noticed her leaving the room, so engrossed were we with each other's company. I knew I had to ask her out, but how was I to do that in Aunt Mary's presence? As it turned out, Mother Nature provided the solution. We hadn't noticed the sky getting darker outside until a clap of thunder made us all jump. Torrential rain followed, and didn't look like easing up.
“Oh dear, and I rode up here on my bicycle,” said Fiona. “I'll have to get a taxi to take me home.”
“Nonsense!” said Aunt Mary, “Jack can take you. He's got one of those big 'people mover' cars.”
“It's useful for transporting the boys and equipment when we play sport against other schools,” I explained “But yes I'd be happy to take you, and there's plenty of room in the back for your bicycle.”
We borrowed an umbrella from Aunt Mary so that I could escort Fiona to my car. This of course involved her taking my arm, an added delight as I inhaled the subtle perfume she was wearing. Then I returned for her bicycle which she had left leaning against the side wall of the house. During the drive to Fiona's flat we suddenly fell silent in contrast to the way we had been chatting in the house. For my part I was trying to pick the perfect time to ask her out, and decided I would wait until we reached her home in case my invitation was declined, which would have been awkward for both of us. It was a new experience for me to feel nervous in the company of a woman, but of course that was because never before had a positive response to an invitation been so important.
Fiona's flat was on the fringes of Oxford proper and we were there in about ten minutes by which time the rain had stopped. I opened the door and helped her alight and then fetched her bicycle from the back of the wagon. We walked to her door and it was now or never.
“Fiona,” I said “I've really enjoyed our meeting today and I would like to invite you to dinner if you have a free evening. Even though I live in London, it's not far too travel up to Oxford.”
Fiona smiled “Thank you Jack, I would really like that, but I would hate to drag you all the way from London. Are you staying much longer in Oxford?”
“Well I'm on holiday of course, so I might stick around for a couple more days and see some of the sights.”
“In that case, would you like to make it Monday evening, or is that too soon?”
“Oh no, that would be perfect!” I knew I was beaming with pleasure. Anything this delightful young woman suggested would be perfect. So it was arranged that I would pick her up at seven o'clock on Monday.
I spent Sunday walking around the old town, looking at some of the colleges, while my mind was filled with visions of Fiona. On Monday morning I was up early. It would be a busy day. First of all I needed a suit. I only had one and I hadn't brought it with me of course, not expecting any need for it. The hotel recommended a tailor who stocked a good supply of ready-made suits and fortunately he had several for me to choose from in my size. I completed my ensemble with a new shirt, tie and cufflinks. When I explained to the tailor my mission for the evening and asked his advice on a choice of restaurant he recommended Brasserie Blanc, one of a chain of restaurants run by Raymond Blanc who I was given to understand was quite a famous French chef. I rang immediately and was fortunate in securing a table for two thanks to a cancellation. My next errand was to buy a new pair of shoes, and then to have a hair cut. Finally I purchased a bouquet of flowers and felt I had done as much as I reasonably could to make a good impression. I had a light lunch and returned to the hotel with my purchases in order to have a brief siesta and then get ready for the evening.
I rang Fiona's doorbell promptly at seven o'clock. If her appearance at my aunt's door had stunned me, my reaction to her appearance now was perhaps more in the 'thunderstruck' category. She was wearing a beautiful lime green silk dress with matching high heels. Her hair was styled in what I now understand to be a French Roll. I am no expert on women's make-up but I'm sure it discretely accentuated her beauty.
For a moment I was stunned into silence before finally coming out with “Fiona, you look absolutely fabulous.” Perhaps it wasn't the most original line but it seemed to go down well.
“Why thank you, kind sir,” she replied with a little curtsey, “And you look very handsome I must say.”
It seemed my decision to purchase a new suit was justified! Then I remembered to offer the
bouquet of flowers.
“Thank you so much — they're beautiful. Please come in while I put them in a vase.”
I followed her into her small one-bedroom apartment and stood waiting while she found a vase and placed the flowers in it.
“That will do for now,” she said “I'll arrange them properly later. If you've booked a table we don't want to be late.”
“Yes, I have booked a table at Brasserie Blanc at seven thirty. I hear it's very good.”
“I'm sure we'll have a lovely time,” she replied.
'I could be eating fish and chips with this girl and still have a fabulous time,' I thought to myself.
In fact the food was marvelous and I felt almost guilty that we didn't pay it as much respect and attention as we should have since we were so engrossed in each other's company. The only thing the restaurant lacked was a band and dance floor, but we made do with holding hands over the table.
The evening seemed to be over very quickly, and all too soon I was driving Fiona back to her flat and walking her to the door. I expected a short 'good night' kiss but was unprepared for the intensity and enthusiasm with which she kissed me. Of course I had the inevitable reaction of a healthy male but that didn't seem to bother her, quite the reverse as she pressed her body close to mine, and when she unlocked the door she kept hold of my hand and drew me inside, leading me straight to her bedroom. I helped her carefully remove her dress which she laid over a chair, and the temperature rose considerably seeing her in her black lingerie as she helped me off with my clothes. When we both fell on the bed naked our bodies were more than ready to join together in an ecstasy of passion.
Later, as we lay on the bed waiting for our breathing and heart-rates to return to normal, Fiona turned to me and said half-seriously “You must think me a total wanton taking you to bed on our first date. I can assure you that has never happened before.”
I smiled as I lightly caressed her curves with my fingers. “All I can think about is that I love you, Fiona.” There! It was said, and for a moment my heart skipped a beat in case it was said too soon.
Fiona smiled “Thank goodness for that. I love you too Jack. I knew it from the first moment we met.”
“Even though I was babbling and making a complete fool of myself?”
She smiled at that but said nothing, proving not for the first time how much wiser women are than men.
Much later she said “You know, one thing was puzzling me when I arrived with your Aunt Mary's books on Saturday. She originally said it was alright to bring them Monday, and then called to say she'd changed her mind and could I bring them Saturday afternoon instead. The moment you opened the door I realised what she was up to. She has mentioned you briefly in the past, but she didn't tell me how handsome you are. Then of course she confirmed my suspicions by saying she'd forgotten I was coming. I didn't believe it for a moment!”
“Neither did I,” I said “We were set up. You know that don't you?”
She laughed. “Well I don't mind, do you?”
“Not at all,” I replied, and leaned over to kiss her.
Next time: A New Generation (Final)
Ring of Stone - Part 8 (Final)
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Part Eight - A New Generation
We were married six months later. By then, I had found a position as a Phys Ed teacher at an Oxford school, and Fiona was two months pregnant. Aunt Mary was a special guest of honour at our wedding which was a simple affair with only twenty-five guests. Fiona looked lovelier than ever as she walked down the aisle. Perhaps it was that extra glow of a pregnant woman, but at that stage it was our secret alone. During my speech I revealed how Aunt Mary had played match-maker and how grateful we both were that she did. She even had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.
A couple of months later we were talking about how Aunt Mary had contrived to bring us together, and how I had been asking her about the family tree at that time. I decided that the time was right to tell Fiona about Leonard and Leonora, including my visit to the graveyard and the vision at Castlerigg.
When I finished she asked “Why didn't you tell me this before?”
“Well I wanted you to get to know me much better first, so that you wouldn't think I was some weirdo prone to making up fantastic tales and ready for the 'funny farm',” I replied.
She laughed at that. “Well it does sound rather fantastic.”
“So you don't believe it then?”
“Well you believe it, and that's what matters. I believe in you so I believe it too.”
I didn't argue with her. If I had not experienced that vision at Castlerigg then perhaps I wouldn't have believed it either.
Now that we were living in Oxford, we saw much more of Aunt Mary than before — well that was certainly true in my case. One evening she rang me and I could hear excitement in her voice.
“Jack! I have a lovely surprise for you, but I don't want to tell you over the phone. Can you and Fiona visit me tomorrow evening?”
The following evening we arrived at the old house. Aunt Mary was as bright and bubbly as ever. Whatever the surprise was, she was certainly excited by it, but in typical style, she kept us waiting in suspense while she asked how we were faring, and of course about the progress of Fiona's pregnancy.
“Well, I think I've kept you in suspense long enough,” she smiled, “But before I show you what it is, I should give you some background. A cousin of mine, Dora, passed away a few months back. You never met her as she lived in Cambridge, and we often had jokes about the rivalry between the university cities. She lived with her daughter Jean in a big old house like this one, and of course Jean was given the task of sorting everything out when she died, just as someone will have to do in this place.”
She saw the look on my face and went on “Don't look like that Jack. Everyone has to go sometime and I think ninety-two is quite a good innings, don't you? Anyway, Jean was going through some old trunks in the attic and came across the item I'm going to show you. Fortunately she knew that I'm the unofficial family historian and thought I might be interested in it, so she arranged for it to be sent to me. It's in the library. Come with me and I'll show you.”
She led the way into the library, and there on the round table sat an old cardboard box, about eighteen inches long, a foot wide and perhaps nine inches deep. Aunt Mary smiled “Why don't you lift the lid Jack?”
I did as she suggested, and it was one of those heart-stopping moments. The box appeared to be full of type-written papers, and the top sheet was titled “Leonora's Journal, 1811-1868”.
I was so stunned that for a moment I couldn't speak. Aunt Mary stood there grinning. Obviously my reaction was all she could have wished for and more.
“So somebody copied it then?” I managed to get out eventually.
“Yes, I'm sure it was Dora, as Leonora's original journal and sketchings were at her house. She trained as a legal secretary, and my theory is that she used Leonora's journal to practice her typing skills. Presumably after she finished, she couldn't bear to throw away all that hard work, so she put the pages in this box and it ended up in the trunk in the attic and was forgotten about.”
“But you did say that the original journal was lost in a fire, so how did the copy survive?”
“Perhaps I wasn't clear enough about the fire, Jack. It didn't burn the house down, in fact it was mainly confined to the library which was where Leonora's journal was kept. Apparently a log fell out of the fire and set the carpet alight, but it was discovered fairly quickly and while most of the items in the library were lost, the fire didn't spread much beyond that room.”
“I can still hardly believe it,” I said “I wanted so much to read Leonora's journal, but I'd resigned myself to the fact that is was lost forever.”
“Yes, that alas has happened all too often,” Aunt Mary replied. “I should loan you 'Kilvert's Diary'. He was a country parson who wrote a diary of his life in Clyro on the border of England and Wales in the late eighteen hundreds, not long after Leonora died in fact. Much of his diary was lost for various reasons, but enough of it survives to paint an extraordinarily descriptive picture of life in those years. It would have been such a shame if it had all been lost.”
I could not stop myself lifting out the title page and read the first page of the journal
“September 3rd 1811. Today I have commenced writing a journal. I never thought to do so before, but one day when I am an old lady I shall look back at this extraordinary year, and I want to remember it for ever. I intend that for now it shall be for my eyes only, but hope it is not a conceit of mine to think that my descendants may find it of interest far into the future.
My Papa gave me the most beautiful leather-bound book of blank pages as a gift on my eighteenth birthday, and I can think of no better use for it than to record these thoughts of mine. I know that most people would choose to start at the beginning of the year, but today is a very important day in my life because I am convinced that I have met the man I am destined to marry. His name is Richard d'Anglais and not only is he the handsomest man I have ever met, but he has the sweetest nature that anyone could wish for. I know that we will be very happy together.
I looked up to find Fiona and Aunt Mary both looking at me and smiling.
“Why don't you take it away and read it?” said Aunt Mary.
“Yes I will, and what's more, my first job will be to scan all the pages and make multiple copies to disk so there is no chance that it will be lost again,” I replied.
The ending of my story is bitter-sweet. Aunt Mary had a fall three months later and broke her hip. For such an elderly person this was serious, and when I went to visit her I could tell that she was unlikely to be leaving hospital. She smiled at me reassuringly and said she had lived a good life and was not sorry to go. Her only regret was that she would not see our daughter grow up.
“How did you know that Fiona is having a baby girl?” I asked. “We only found out ourselves yesterday when she had the ultrasound.”
Aunt Mary smiled “A lucky guess I suppose. After all I had a fifty percent chance of being right.”
The next day, I brought Fiona with me to the hospital. We sat on either side of Aunt Mary's bed. While I held her hand, she smiled at Fiona and said “May I?”
“Of course,” said Fiona, and taking Aunt Mary's hand she laid it lightly on her 'baby bump'.
“Oh!” Aunt Mary gasped “I felt her kick.” We all smiled at this connection between generations. Then I exchanged glances with Fiona and nodded.
“Aunt Mary” she said, “Some people say it's bad luck to reveal a baby's name before she is born but I think you deserve to know.” Then she leaned over and whispered in Aunt Mary's ear.
She smiled. “Thank you my dear. That is a lovely choice.”
She died three days later, and we were so glad we made the decision we did. I was called upon to write and deliver the eulogy. in the little old church where she had worshipped most of her life. The congregation was rather sparse but then she had outlived most of her friends. I spoke about Aunt Mary's life and how although she never married she loved children and had been a teacher. I also mentioned how she had brought Fiona and I together and for that blessing we would be grateful to her all our lives.
As I suspected, Aunt Mary had requested that I shoulder the majority of the task of clearing out the old house prior to it being sold. In the process of doing so I came across an envelope addressed to me, and opening it I read the following letter:
Dear Jack,
It seems strange in a way to be writing this knowing that when you read it I will no longer be with you, but you know us women — we always want the last word. I'm hoping to still be around for the birth of your first child, but if not, I know that she will be such a joy to you. I'm so glad that I was able to facilitate your meeting with Fiona. I just knew you were perfect for each other and I have been proved right.
I hope you don't mind taking over as the 'family historian'. I know you have developed quite a fascination with it since finding out about your ancestor Leonora, and I'm sure there is still more of interest to be discovered in our family.
My love to you, Fiona and your children,
Mary
Dear Aunt Mary, she was right about everything, and I gladly took over her unfinished work on our family history, just as she knew I would. As for the mention of 'children', we did indeed have a son we called Richard, two years later.
I distributed various items of furniture and some of the pictures to various distant relatives, and what was not wanted went mostly to antique dealers. Besides the painting of Leonora and the first choice of any furniture that we wanted, Aunt Mary left us a generous bequest from the sale of the house — sufficient to pay off the mortgage on our cottage, and that was a special blessing now that we were reduced to one wage. In a place of honour we hung the portrait of Leonora and her one remaining drawing, together with a framed photograph of Aunt Mary.
Four months later, Fiona was delivered of a healthy baby girl. It was two days after she was born when I was visiting Fiona in hospital that she told me about something strange that had happened.
“I was asleep between feeds and I had a curious dream. In the dream I woke up and turned to where our daughter was sleeping in the cradle beside of my bed. There was a young woman dressed in white looking down at our baby with a lovely smile on her face. At first I thought it must be a nurse, but then I realised the young woman wasn't wearing a nurse's uniform, indeed it looked like she was wearing a rather old-fashioned high-waisted muslin gown, and when she turned to look at me and smile, I'm sure I recognised her from the painting.” She continued “Then it seemed in my dream that I fell asleep again. It all seemed so real, that now I'm not even sure if it was a dream. It was Leonora wasn't it.”
She said it as a fact rather than a question, and there was a slightly anxious look on her face.
“Yes I'm sure it was,” I replied. “Perhaps it was her way of letting you know that what I told you was true. But there's no need to worry, she will be our daughter's guardian angel all of her life.”
Then I gazed down at our gorgeous baby girl — the daughter we had named Leonora Mary.
THE END.
Dear reader, you are invited to follow Leonora's life story in the sequel 'Leonora's Journal' which will start to be posted immediately on Bigcloset
Author's notes:
First I would like to thank all the readers of my story, especially those who awarded 'kudos'! A special thank-you to those who took time to leave comments. These are always very much appreciated.
Leonora's part of the story is necessarily curtailed, but I feel there might be interest in the rest of her life. Inspiration came when I recently re-read the late nineteenth century diary of the Rev Frances Kilvert covering nine years he spent at Clyro on the English and Welsh border country. Deemed a minor classic it is amongst the very best of English diaries. Why should Leonora not have kept a journal? Many ladies of that period did, so the rediscovery of it was fortuitous indeed. Titled, naturally enough “Leonora's Journal”, the first volume of the Journal will be published in weekly chapters now that the story of the 'Ring' has concluded.
Regarding Castlerigg stone circle, the inspiration for the story. Britain is fortunate in having over a thousand pre-historic monuments, standing stones, circles, burial mounts, earthworks etc. Even the most famous, Stonehenge is able to overcome the commercialism that rings it, but I prefer those sites which are still more or less in their natural state. I make no apologies that Castlerigg which I have visited twice is among my favourites, not just for the circle itself but the magnificent setting, surrounded as it is by some of the Lake District's iconic peaks, Skiddaw, Blencathra, Helvellyn etc. Others have their own favourites, and it is right that this should be so.
Why ancient man invested so much time and energy in marking these particular sites is not known, but being far closer to nature than we can ever be, maybe they did discern that these were unusual places, perhaps with special powers, who knows? Modern research has detected anomalies such as reduced background radiation, emissions of ultrasound and observations of light phenomena at some of these sites, but the research is still in its infancy. What I do know is that visitors to these sites rarely fail to be moved by their ancient surroundings, monuments which will still be there as far into the future as they have been in the past. They are truly in so many ways 'magical places'.
Bronwen Welsh 2013 and 2022