The Profundity of Heart Strings

The aroma of boiling onions wafted up to the second floor. The pungent odor brought both Chelsea and Ashley out of their exquisite reverie for a moment. The aromatic properties of the bulbous roots anchored them to the earth and to the present moment.

“Is that dinner?” Chelsea asked as she crinkled her face.

“I’m not sure.” Ashley replied as she got up and passed by the window. Something caught her attention and she stopped for a moment. Spread out like a moat around the front entrance was a crowd of photographers, their camera’s at the ready.

“What is it?” Chelsea asked not wanting to leave the dreamy cocoon they found themselves in.

“Paparazzi.” Ashley said softly. Chelsea joined her at the window. The sight both frightened and amazed her. She never in a million years thought that anything she did would garner that kind of attention. Certainly she wanted recognition for her writing and her opinions on art. Speeches, articles, lectures seemed more in keeping with her fantasies of fame. She wanted to be a voice behind the writing and ideas, not a public personality. She was being thrust into the spotlight and she felt overwhelmed.

They both stood silently witnessing the frenetic movements of men jockeying for a better position at the front door. The street was lined with news vans and satellite antennas that foretold of presidents, royalty or diplomats engaged in talks of world power, not two ordinary women who wanted to marry.

“I told Felix to bring his friend and come for dinner.” Ashley said not taking her eyes off the bustling activity below. “He is a brilliant financial advisor. I think he’ll help us. I hope he helps us.” Ashley continued.

“Your ex.” Chelsea replied.

“Very much so.” Ashley said and she kissed Chelsea softly just as there was a knock on the bedroom door. Wilkins stood on the other side.

“Ms. Coleman, Ms. Barrett. Your guests have arrived.” He announced and as Ashley turned the antique handle to the door she could hear the deliberate footfalls of the butler as he quickly tended to his duties.

“Thank you!” She said as she watched his balding head bob down the staircase. Then she turned and gazed at her beloved. Chelsea seemed apprehensive and moved with a kind of uncertainty.

“It’ll be okay. I promise.” Ashley added as she nodded her head in the direction of the dining room.

Chelsea could feel her heart rate start to race. She felt her breath begin to grow shallow. She heard Ashley say everything would be okay and she wanted to believe her. She stared at her lover bathed in the light from the hallway. Ashley broke into a warm beaming smile and it melted Chelsea. Immediately she felt calm and confident and she knew that if Ashley were with her step by step then everything really would be okay. It would be better than okay. It would be brilliant.

Felix appeared in a fine Italian linen suit with Antonia on his arm. Ashley could not help but notice that the woman was stunning. She wore a taupe crepe cocktail dress, Italian, of course, and she sported a sexy short hairstyle a la Halle Berry.

“Hey Felix.” Ashley said warmly as she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Chelsea noticed he embraced Ashley a millisecond too long.

“You look fantastic.” He beamed. “This is Antonia Bellucci. Antonia, this is Ashley Coleman, the ‘woman of the house’.”

“Welcome, Antonia.” Ashley replied and then graciously turned and slipped her arm though Chelsea’s. “This is my…girlfriend, Chelsea Barrett, the other woman of the house…Chelsea, Felix and Antonia.” The moment was slightly awkward dotted with pregnant pauses and summing each other up.

“Wilkins talked me into a traditional British dish tonight. Liver and onions.” Ashley announced. “It’ll be an adventure for our Yankee palates.”

“I love liver and onions.” Felix said as he looked over at Antonia who smiled weakly.

“I’m sure there will be other dishes to choose from for those of us who are not meat eaters.” Chelsea added. Ashley took Antonia by her arm and sweetly led her into the huge drawing room.

“I’m fascinated with what you do --- so tell me more.” She said softly.

Felix stood alone awkwardly with Chelsea.

“It’s finally nice to meet you.” He said trying to be sincere.

“Likewise.” Chelsea offered but she fell short of being genuine. Truth was she wished she could go back up to the master bedroom and hide.

“Speaking of Yankees. Can you guys get the game?” Felix asked hoping that watching ESPN might alleviate the uncomfortable strangeness in the room. Chelsea discovered the remote and handed it to Felix.

“Wine?” She asked.

“Yes.” Everyone said in unison.

“I’m so glad we have a moment to speak knowing that you will have the final say about the Rhys Manor house.” Antonia began. “I wanted to share something with you that I discovered in one of the walls that had been partially knocked down.” She fished around in her bag and pulled out a manila envelope. Ashley gazed at the emerging aged photographic prints. To her amazement and awe she observed the handsome figure of Richard Rhys standing next to one of the large sea paintings that resided in the Tate. Even more intriguing were the furniture pieces, wallpaper design and statuary. Everything recorded in the photograph now lived on the top floor where Dame Thornton kept her personal rooms.

“I have to show you something!" Ashley said breathlessly. And she took Antonia by the arm and led her to the small birdcage elevator. As they ascended to the top floor Ashley murmured. “You’re not going to believe this.” Then she swung the wrought iron gate open and watched Antonia take in an exact replica of the photograph. Every piece of furniture placed in the same position.

“This is…unbelievable.” Antonia whispered and her eyes were as big as saucers.

“The Dame must have recreated the house here in London down to every knick knack and drawer pull.” Ashley said just as stunned.

“May I take some photographs?” Antonia asked.

“Of course.” Ashley said. Antonia pulled out a professional camera complete with flash and began to document the fifth floor. As she moved about Ashley studied the woman. She was kind and pretty and interesting and probably a good match.

“Do you love him?” Ashley blurted out. Antonia stopped a bit surprised by Ashley’s frankness.

“It’s too soon to tell.” She replied smiling. “I have a wonderful time with him.” And she went back to taking pictures.

“So you don’t mind that he’s addicted to his blackberry, email and cell phone?” Ashley inquired.

“Oh, He broke his phone the night we met. He hasn’t replaced it. He leaves his computer at the office and he flushed his blackberry down the toilet.” She said and she blushed as if revealing a part of their intimacy. Ashley was taken aback. “I have my own business and so I understand his need to be ‘connected’. But he said it was sucking the life out of him so he refuses to replace his gadgets.” She added as she began clicking off more pictures.

“I’m happy for you…for both of you.” Ashley said and she meant it. “This painting---here in the picture? It is housed at the Tate in a private gallery. Tomorrow morning make an appointment to go and see it. It will change your life.”

Antonia stared at Ashley perplexed but she was open to anything, particularly art.

“Wilkins assured me we get all the ESPN channels.” Chelsea said as she looked through a British broadcast guide.

“We’ll find it.” Felix replied and then he rested on a news channel that showed clips of Chelsea and Ashley being whisked away from their meeting with the Queen at Buckingham Palace.

“Not since J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter craze took over the country have we seen the kind of publicity surrounding the Queen and the Palace. Not even her Majesty’s birthday celebrations seemed to catch the eye of the entire world.” The British newscaster commented. “But two American women are now neck and neck in wealth to Rowling and Sir Paul McCartney. Thrust into the spotlight by inheriting world renowned philanthropist Dame Thornton’s estate, Ms. Barrett and Ms. Coleman could be the catalysts that sway Her Majesty’s opinions about same-sex marriage. Due to be presented before Parliament this Fall the Queen could make an historic decision changing the core foundations of the Church of England. If she decides that the Anglican Church must be equal and inclusive then she will have made the single most important change since the birth of the church by her great great great grandfather King Henry the VIII.”

“Blows my mind.” Felix said softly.

“Mine, too.” Chelsea replied. They continued watching as the news coverage switched to the British forces still fighting in Afghanistan. To Chelsea the reporter seemed to be talking in slow-motion. She felt dizzy and faint as the words and violent images crashed into her.

“Several reporters embedded with British Special Forces were killed today as insurgent fighting continued in the rocky and remote terrain of Afghanistan. Among them, Scott Burton…” The newscaster stated. Scott’s name echoed in Chelsea’s ears for a long while as if she were stuck in a tunnel suspended in time somewhere – unable to free herself. She felt her body give way. Felix stepped close and caught her just under her arms. He guided her to the large couch that seemed to divide the room.

“Chelsea---Chelsea---Chelsea.” He murmured trying to get her to snap out of her crisis-induced oblivion. He sat down next to her as waves of grief washed over her.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. Someone you know obviously.” He said softly. She was inconsolable. He put his arms about her awkwardly trying to ease her despair.

“He didn’t see it coming. Chelsea, He never felt the pain. He didn’t suffer. He just left the world. That’s all. It was instant…and it was his time.” Felix said and his words somehow made it easier. He just left the world. He still existed in another form and Chelsea knew it was true having had actual conversations with Dr. Samuel Pepys the day before. And she knew that if she went back to the Tate and studied the Rhys paintings that somehow she could find her way back to Scott if she wanted to. That was the key. ‘If she wanted to’. But she knew she didn’t. Scott became the symbol of the death of her old way of being, her old perceptions.

Ashley and Antonia stepped into the room and were stunned to see Chelsea in a state of bereavement with Felix comforting her tenderly.

“Um, her reporter friend was killed.” Felix offered. Ashley moved to her quickly and embraced Chelsea.

“I’m so sorry---I’m so sorry.” She whispered and the words felt like velvet to Chelsea’s ears. Ashley wrapped her arms tightly about her and it felt like a million mothers and the wings of thousands of angels. She was buoyant, ecstatic and adrift. Scott came to represent the idea of family and yet she did not want a family with him. She wanted a family with Ashley. Her sobs of loss transmuted into waves of grace---golden fields set a light by the rays of the everlasting sun. Finite reality ceased to exist. She floated in a kind of oblivion knowing that her fiercest desires could be manifest.

The onion soup was pungent but even more caustic was the salve that Mrs. Hopkins had made and plastered across Richard’s chest. Victoria had settled in next to his bed and spoon-fed the acrid potion to her husband. Tears ran down her face and her eyes were red and puffy from the concoction. She blew her nose every few minutes.

“This is ridiculous.” Richard murmured. “We’ve lost yet another day.”

“Perhaps, but what we’ve lost now we will have gained later.” Victoria said matter-of-factly and she wiped her nose on her dainty handkerchief and dabbed her stinging eyes.

“I want to go home.” Richard stated.

“We all do.” Victoria replied.

“Then let’s go home.” He said as he began to rise. Mr. Watkins got up out of his chair to restrain Richard if need be.

“Now, sir. We all want to go back to the townhouse. But what good would that do if you end up with pneumonia.” He said as he placed his hand on Richard’s bare shoulder. “We have everything we need right here.”

Mrs. Hopkins had moved the scant belongings they had to a ground floor room with a working fireplace. She sat in an old rocking chair reading the small Bible that had once belonged to Nell. Mr. Watkins had erected the twine and hung a blanket for privacy between the two couples.

Richard leaned into Victoria and whispered, “I’m weak from time travel. This is an illusion.” Victoria knew this to be true and she glanced over at Mr. Watkins who had already begun to move to the other side of the room to afford the couple more privacy. She neither agreed nor disagreed. She simply let her thoughts unfold before her. She noticed the orange thread wrapped about his finger and she let her own fingers touch it and pull at it and somehow the string was attached to her heart and she knew deep down that what he was saying would affect the future in more profound ways than one.

Shekinah

“I believe he may be suffering from walking pneumonia.” Doctor Philips said. Victoria had pulled the Bison hide over Richard who was now shivering and wheezing. “We must move him to a room with a fireplace. This cock loft is too drafty and will only make him worse.” He added. Victoria nodded in agreement as Mrs. Hopkins clung to Mr. Watkins in the corner.

“The primary residence is in Manhattan. Would he be able to make the trip?” Mr. Watkins inquired.

“No. No. He must stay warm and still. Besides, I do not think the bridge is passable by carriage yet and the train tracks are still packed with snow.” The Doctor replied. “I will see to the Innkeeper for a room with a working fireplace. I shall also procure a remedy from the apothecary on Montague Street and bring it round in the evening.”

“Thank you very much, Dr. Philips.” Victoria said softly as she walked him to the door.

“In the meantime I suggest your good lady here speak with the kitchen to see if they have onions in the cellar. A salve would ease his breathing and a hearty soup would help break up the congestion.” The good doctor advised. He tipped his bowler kindly and disappeared down the staircase, his heavy footsteps echoing over the din of the Irish celebrations.

“Mr. Watkins? Would you see to the new room?” Victoria asked. Mr. Watkins nodded and was fast on the heels of the doctor with Mrs. Hopkins in tow pressed into service as a supervising cook.

“I’ve prevented you from going home.” Richard said in a raspy voice.

“Don’t be silly.” She said and she settled in a simple cane chair beside him.

“Did Mrs. Hopkins tell you?” He said softly.

“Tell me what?” She asked.

“About Nell.” He replied.

“About her unfortunate death.” She said and she was overcome momentarily. “She recounted it this morning at breakfast. Don’t you remember? A terrible tragedy.”

Richard nodded and gazed up at the decaying molding near the ceiling’s edge.

“I would very much like for her to have a proper monument.” He added.

“Certainly. Whatever pleases you, dear.” She said.

“Nell was…my relation.” He began and then closed his eyes for a moment.

“You should rest.” She said concerned for him.

“My niece to be exact.” And he wheezed a bit as his own emotions were awakened. “If I had only known.”

“But you did not.” She answered compassionately. “Fretting will only make it worse.”

“Now you have proof of my lineage and my past.” He said and his illness seemed to blow a dark cloud over his temperament. She studied him for a moment and took in the simplicity of the room. It looked like an Irish peasant’s lodging. He had the unmistakable symmetry of an Irishman. Handsome. The tableau of truth unfolded. Victoria fetched her small Bible and opened it to a place that she frequently marked. Then she read aloud:

“And Ruth said, intreat me not to leave thee or to return from following after thee: for wither thou goest, I will go: and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people and thy God, my God.”

Dillon pulled the Bentley up in front of the Hyde Park Townhouse. 66 happened to be the house address. Everything was happening so fast - at lightning speed that Chelsea had not even noticed the number let alone the front of the Victorian mansion. It was four stories with gabled attic windows that made up the fifth floor. Whitewashed like the rest of the buildings on the block and a fantastically Romanesque front entrance into the Foyer. The drive down the Mall and past St. James Park would be forever burned into her memory. And although she had never in a million years expected to experience such an amazing day, she felt as though she had been down the Mall before, perhaps in a distant dream. Dillon opened the car door and they disembarked dazed and somewhat disoriented by their visit with Her Majesty, the Queen. The day had been eventful and surprising and completely unexpected. Wilkins met the two women as they entered the foyer.

“Good evening Ms. Coleman, Ms. Barrett.” He said.

“Hi Wilkins.” Ashley replied still wearing a dreamy countenance.

“Is it possible for us to go to the fifth floor?” Chelsea asked trying to be discreet. Wilkins nodded and smiled.

“I want to change my shoes first at least.” Ashley said as she pulled off her heels and carried them in her hands. Chelsea took her arm.

“Come to the fifth floor with me.” She said demurely.

“What are you up to?” Ashley asked. Chelsea only smiled and held firmly to her arm.

“Ladies. We have a small elevator back near the servant’s kitchen. Follow me, please.” He said and they snaked through the enchanting house filled with art and antiques the likes of which could rival the Frick Museum in New York. The door looked like a plain wooden pantry entrance. Wilkins pulled it open to reveal a fantastic turn-of-the-century birdcage elevator constructed of pure steel. As they climbed in they could see a magnificent oculus on the top of the building pouring light down the shaft. Tiffany stained glass had been installed to make it a waterproof skylight. The small platform buzzed with the sound of electricity and antique cables slowly pulling them heavenward. Chelsea’s heart raced in anticipation of her surprise. Wilkins opened the accordion wire doorway to the fifth floor landing and pushed another heavy oak door open to the attic area that had been outfitted with several large easels, a huge painter’s table complete with every oil color imaginable, another smaller table filled with every kind of sable haired brush from a single hair to a house brush, buckets, palette knives, rolls of canvas at least eight feet wide and wooden stretchers built to perfection. Ashley was stunned. Chelsea was giddy in her wake. She walked about the room unable to find the words to describe exactly what she was feeling. It was a painter’s studio that only the successful and wealthy could imagine. It had everything and it was blank---poised for creation. Chelsea watched as Ashley turned and melted into tears.

“When did you do this?” She asked as she sat down on one of the stools.

“Wilkins did it for me.” She said. “While we were out…learning to curtsy.” She chuckled.

“I don’t know what to say except thank you.” Ashley replied and she embraced Chelsea in a long silent grasp. Chelsea moved slightly and gazed at her seriously.

“Paint.” She said. And she could see the potential for greatness standing in that refinished attic. Ashley nodded her head then took Chelsea’s hand and led her back to the elevator.

“Does this elevator stop on the floor where we live?” She asked. And her words echoed with potency. ‘where we live’. “I really do have to change my shoes before dinner.” Ashley added. Wilkins smiled and once again they were floating slowly down to the second floor. Wilkins pulled the door open with a steely clank and the women were set free. They walked down the hallway to their suite of rooms. And Ashley turned the knob and let the large door swing open. The sight took Chelsea’s breath away. As she entered the room the walls were adorned with tiny mirror fragments in the shape of Spanish doubloons. On every surface were lit pillar candles and the room was afire with a kind of holiness. Erin stood in the corner awaiting further instructions.

“Thank you, Erin.” Ashley said. “We’ll be down for dinner in a little while.” Erin nodded and excused herself disappearing through the door and down the corridor. Chelsea took in the sight and for a moment it reminded her of Temple Church and the two strange columns. The shimmering glow of the candles undulated across the small reflected surfaces and she felt as though a large presence had accompanied them in this most sacred space. Alongside each candle were roses, some red, some pale pink and others pure white. She felt herself uncoil almost about to take flight. She moved to the canopied bed that had been covered in peonies and there in the middle was an envelope addressed to ‘My Dear Chelsea’. She could feel her heart move up into her throat and she knew that this ecstatic moment would outlive her own existence. She could see Ashley standing patiently in the center of the room.

“I might possibly faint.” Chelsea warned.

“I’ll catch you.” Ashley replied calmly.

Chelsea opened the note and steadied herself by slowly sitting in one of the large Victorian leather chairs that flanked the huge dormant fireplace. It read:

Sixty Six holds beauty and sits upon rows of windows

Sleek with old and new---harmonious

The fiction of time destroyed

And the exquisite reflection of love weaves through its history

As we pass by on a cold December night

Our breaths solid, clinging to our lips

Visible

Silent

Resplendent

Your arm linked in mine as visions of an ocean of top hats

Move like ripples in a midnight sea.

The clopping of horse hooves on cobblestone echo through the years

And the smell of peat on a hearth as the century dies away.

We know it all too well when the memories are tactile.

Shutter and candlelight battle for sovereignty as day rolls into night

And the night rolls into years and the years roll into now…

And still we walk

Onward

Towards what, we do not know.

A wrought iron gate

Black and permanent, a fixture of the underside, the unknown…

A witness, perhaps…whispering the entrance to Zion

It permits us vague premonitions forever with each breathing

How have I lived

Whom have I loved

You are the answer…the song of every poet

As you hold me in the palms of your hands

Gently guiding me toward the sacred

Cast adrift upon eternity, I am thin and translucent

Like the wings of a dragonfly

Yet sustained by the sensation of your presence

The simplest touch

The barest venture

The deepest gaze

Words drop from lips dangling tenuously from heart strings

Stillness ushers tears standing only a million miles away

Yet within the warmth of an embrace

For this we live a thousand years

Joining full circle at the end of the world

I cannot move, I am trapped in myself

Ever observant, you watch me persevere

How shall I come to you?

By a midnight chamber? In a dream, a thought, the awareness of breath?

When the moon hints of magic and the earth trembles?

I dream I trace your body with my hand as the pole star

Pierces those delicate underpinnings that make us flesh

Our eyes and their slow tears reliving a promise

That ushers us through the corridors of paradise

Nothing which we are to perceive in this world

Equals the grace we are about to encounter

And so the occurrence that is you keeps falling

Delicate as snow…through the gift of silence.

And with you I keep falling life after life, moment by moment

The earth takes it softly exactly as we take each other

And you ask innocently where am I from and who made me

The sun and the moon…the sun and the moon, dearest…

Chelsea knew in the deepest part of herself that she had read these words before, understood the sentiments and lived the emotions as if they had happened yesterday. And they were just as fresh and surprising as the first time. When she finally looked up from the page Ashley had knelt down in front of her.

“I don’t know if I am doing this right.” She said, her head bowed.

“You’re doing just fine.” Chelsea said softly between waves of emotion.

“Would you marry me, Chelsea Barrett?” She said and she held out the exquisite diamond and sapphire ring that had been bequeathed to her for that very moment.

“Where did you get this?” Chelsea asked between tears.

“It was Victoria’s.” She replied and she was overcome in the moment.

“Yes.” Chelsea whispered. Ashley rose up and kissed her again and again. Then she took a breath and said, “Are you sure? We will be in the public eye. Everyone will know. Our union will be the symbol of a movement.”

“Yes, yes, yes---forever yes.” Chelsea replied and she kissed her betrothed until they were both breathless.

Women of the Realm

Richard woke up with a splitting headache. He was soaked through from sweating, although the fever had subsided. The Bison hide had promoted a kind of purge. He saw Mrs. Hopkins sitting quietly reading her small book of proverbs and sipping a cup of tea.

“Where is Victoria?” He asked and his voice was hoarse. Mrs. Hopkins methodically moved her chair and accouterments closer to the small wooden bed where Richard lay.

“Mrs. Rhys and Mr. Watkins have gone out to find a doctor.” She said softly.

“Why did she not send you?” He asked concerned. Mrs. Hopkins frowned a little.

“At times she cannot bear to see you ill. The weather has turned quite agreeable and she decided a walk might do her good.” She replied. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit weak, I fear.” Richard said. “Certainly I feel well enough to ride over the bridge and go home.” Mrs. Hopkins smiled because that was her most fervent wish as well.

“With the Irish holiday the roads are still treacherous.” Mrs. Hopkins said. “Not because of the Irish but because of the snow.” She clarified and then giggled. Her lightheartedness was novel and Richard found her intriguing. Then she sat silent for a moment, her thoughts rushing through her mind at lightning speed. Richard closed his eyes and let the faint murmur of revelry from the Brooklyn streets lull him into a half sleep.

“Mr. Rhys?” Mrs. Hopkins said softly. He opened his eyes and studied her for a moment.

“I…I have taken this opportunity of a candid audience with you for a reason.” She began.

“Go on.” He replied, his interest piqued.

“I suggested Victoria find the doctor so that I could speak plainly with you.” She said.

“What is it?” He asked sliding up on the pillow completely alert.

“Nell…”

“What about Nell?” Richard said growing impatient.

“Did you know that she was…a relation?” Mrs. Hopkins hinted.

“A relation to whom?” Richard said perplexed.

“To you.” She replied. The words crashed through him in an unexpected way. He had so completely blocked out his childhood and his true country of origin that it took him a minute to truly identify himself.

“How…do you know this?’ He asked softly.

“When she passed it was my duty to collect her things. She did not have many belongings. Tucked inside her small Bible was a letter or two from relatives in Ireland. Connelly. Her mother, a woman named Mareid.” She explained and then stopped and sipped her tea. “Oh.” She said suddenly remembering. From the fold of her skirt she produced an old tintype that had been trimmed oval in order to fit inside a small locket. She found the piece of tin with the image burned in and wrapped carefully in a piece of cotton.

Mareid Connelly was Richard’s father’s younger sister. She married a cobbler in County Clare far from the small fishing village where he grew up. He remembered Mareid before she was married. She was stunning with long reddish auburn hair, bright green eyes and fair skin that freckled in the sunlight. She was the catch of the area. Every one seemed to compare their beauty to Mareid. She was the gold standard of the land. Her image betrayed a hard life yet her beauty never waned. She was a handsome woman. The sight of her brought a flood of childhood memories that Richard had all but blotted out. He had rewritten his history as an orphan that no one loved. Memories before the shipwreck almost seemed like dreams, illusions that never existed.

“So…now you know who I am.” He said resigned. “I’m an Irishman.”

“So you are.” She replied quietly.

“And those revelers that everyone despises and no one wants to hire—those are my people.” Richard continued.

“Doesn’t change who you are.” Mrs. Hopkins said. Richard gazed at her for a long moment and then noticed the afternoon light, how it moved across the stark white walls. The yellow sun of Spring turned them a light cream color and for a moment he wished for something sweet.

“Who am I?” He queried.

“A man of good character…generosity…You, you are the one my Victoria loves beyond all else.” She said and her sincerity moved him.

“She should have a proper funeral.” He murmured.

“Certainly.” Mrs. Hopkins concurred.

“Have you written to them?” He asked.

“I have not…the storm made it impossible.” She replied.

“I shall do it.” He said as he slid back down on the bed. “I would like for her to have a proper monument.”

“As you wish.” Mrs. Hopkins replied. “I shall fetch you a fresh cup of hot tea.” And she jumped up leaving her book marked and in the seat of her chair. She moved like a shadow and was quickly beyond the door and down the stairs. Richard closed his eyes for a moment and he heard the light tapping of footsteps. He assumed Mrs. Hopkins had forgotten something and returned post haste. But the light footsteps stopped bedside.

“Yes?” He said, his eyes still closed.

“Are you sleeping, grandpa?” He heard a little girl’s voice say. He was startled by her presence and sat up right.

“You have the wrong room, dear girl.” He said. She was dark haired and wore a pink dress in the style he was not familiar with. She had dark eyes and pale, ivory skin and sat where Mrs. Hopkins had been. She could not have been more than five years old and yet she had impeccable manners.

“You are Mr. Rhys.” She said rhetorically.

“Yes.” He responded slowly unsure of this little girl’s lineage.

“Then I have the right room. Has Mr. Chaplin arrived yet?” She asked excitedly.

“Who is Chaplin and who are you?” Richard said and he put his hand to his head to see if his fever was spiking. He felt uneasy and strangely outside of himself.

“Oh, Grandpa, Charlie is a movie star!” The little girl explained. “You like to tease me, so.”

“I see.” Richard replied growing ever more uneasy.

“I have a secret I want to tell you.” The child began and she got up from her chair and gestured for him to lean close. She cupped her hand about her mouth as children do and whispered in his ear. “I want to come back.”

“And you shall.” He said playing along.

“Before you go home.” She added enigmatically. Heavier footsteps echoed through the corridors and they were the familiar footfalls of Mrs. Hopkins climbing the last set of steps. The little girl’s eyes grew as round as saucers and she whispered. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

“I know.” Richard said and quick as a rabbit she sprinted through the doorway and out into the hall.

Ashley and Chelsea lay face to face in the massive canopied bed that was centered in the iconic Victorian Bedroom suite. Both distracted by the surreal occurrences of the day.

“400 million.” Ashley whispered and her eyes glazed over.

“Holy cow, I’m not sure I can comprehend that amount.” Chelsea responded.

“Yeah.” Was all Ashley could muster.

“And that’s just looking at her obvious assets. Who knows what other investments and foundations she is involved in throughout Europe---the world.” Chelsea said.

“It’s not really ours, though.” Ashley replied.

“What do you mean?” Chelsea asked.

“Well…she made us managers…in a sense. I mean, sure we have inherited a living wage but the majority of the wealth is earmarked for the people.” Ashley said.

“We’re obviously stewards.” Chelsea added. “No question…I just wonder how she felt so confident that we could fulfill her wishes. We only met once. How could she tell?” Chelsea wondered.

“I have a feeling she knew.” Was all that Ashley was willing to give up at that moment.

There was a soft tap on the door to the suites.

“Yes?” Ashley answered in her full voice.

“I’m sorry to disturb you but Mr. Wilkins requested that I ask you to meet with him in the dining room in a few minutes. He has some developing news to share.” A female voice said from the other side.

“Thank you, Erin. We’ll be down in a minute.” Ashley responded.

“What do you think it is?” Chelsea asked. “More assets?”

“Who knows.” Ashley shrugged and she pulled on a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. She slipped her sandals on as Chelsea opted for a pretty lime green satin robe.

Mr. Wilkins seemed agitated at the changing developments occurring minute by minute. He paced in the vast dining room still wearing his suit from the workday. He was groomed immaculately, not a hair out of place. Ashley sat in a large puffy chair and Chelsea moved to a Victorian chaise lounge.

“I am terribly sorry to bother you both at such a late hour. But I have just been informed by Buckingham Palace that her Majesty, the Queen will be in attendance at the memorial service set for two days from now to be performed at Westminster Abbey.” Wilkins said fidgeting. “The Dame had been a friend to the monarchy since World War II and so there is a closeness and respect.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Chelsea asked. Wilkins seemed shocked.

“It has everything to do with you. You will be in attendance since you are the Dame’s heirs and you will have to be tutored on the etiquette and propriety of engagement with the Royal family. The proper way to bow, curtsy, speak, etc, etc.” He explained.

“I have nothing at all appropriate to wear.” Ashley said standing and she began to pace nervously.

“That has all been arranged. Valets, if you will, have been assigned to you both and so tomorrow morning at 7:00AM you will be whisked to various shops and designers to find appropriate mourning outfits for the funeral. Also…Her Majesty’s secretary requested a half hour interview with you both at Buckingham Palace and you should be dressed appropriately for your private audience with the Queen.” Wilkins said and he dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief.

“The Queen?” Chelsea reiterated in disbelief.

“Yes, Queen Elizabeth II.” Wilkins clarified.

“I ---I don’t know what to say.” Ashley uttered. “I mean, I have no idea what to talk about.”

“Her Majesty will be asking you questions. Simply answer them to the best of your ability.” Wilkins advised and his face flushed from nervous anxiety. “Mr. Smoot has set up an account that will be a temporary holding of a small amount of the assets for this particular situation until the estate can be settled.”

“I don’t even know what to wear to go shopping.” Chelsea said growing anxious.

“Dungarees are certainly acceptable.” Wilkins said. “One word of warning. When the news breaks as it will any moment now, the paparazzi may find you both easy prey. Don’t be at all surprised to find a herd of photographers camped outside the door in the morning. Good night.” Wilkins said and he gracefully glided out of the room.

“Oh, my God. The day keeps getting stranger by the moment.” Chelsea said and she got up and started pacing.

“It’s all falling into place.” Ashley said stoically.

“What? What are you talking about?” Chelsea replied.

“All of my dreams, all of your dreams, they are conspiring to manifest.” Ashley answered.

“I had a strange out-of-body kind of experience today.” Chelsea began. “ I could see London as it was several centuries ago…and there was…a curious…wanting.”

“Wanting?” Ashley echoed.

“I wanted you there. I wanted you to feel the same sublime experience.” Chelsea added.

Suddenly Ashley’s cell phone rang. She frowned for a moment and then looked at Chelsea.

“I feel like I should take this.” Chelsea nodded and disappeared through the corridor.

“Hey Felix.” Ashley said,

“Ash. I, uh, I was just checking in, you know. I, um, I hired a restoration expert for the house.” He said.

“Yeah, that’s great.” Ashley replied.

“She’s fantastic! Her name is Antonia and she is amazing at research and finding exactly what was in the house or might have been in the manor at that time.” He continued. And Ashley could hear a woman’s voice in the background.

“That’s great, Felix. I’m glad you like her.” She said.

“We’re planning on flying to London to collect some antiques and wallpaper and stuff and then on to Europe for the more furniture hunting. So…I was wondering if maybe we could meet for lunch or something?” He said and his voice was confident and strong and she could tell that perhaps he needed her permission of sorts to move forward.

“You’re not going to believe this, Felix. But I may need your expertise---your financial expertise. I could even hire you.” She said.

“Hire me? I’m pretty pricey.” He replied.

“Felix. I just inherited 400 million pounds sterling.” She said. She was met with silence on the other end.

“Are you on meds?” He said after a pregnant pause.

“Do me a favor and watch BBC America or PBS news tonight. You’ll see that I am lucid and serious.” She added.

“This is crazy. How is this possible?” He said on the other end.

“If you don’t believe me I’ll put Chelsea on the line and she can tell you that it’s the truth.” Ashley replied. “Oh, and I will be able to pay cash for the house…and everything in it.”