Chapter Twenty-Four

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

JULIET 2018

On what was Thanksgiving Day back home, Juliet joined the Bennetts for dinner. Rachel had gone all out researching traditional meals and proudly served mashed potatoes, homemade stuffing, and a perfectly roasted turkey.

Rachel made only one apology: "I could not bring myself to make pumpkin pie. Why would anyone want a dessert made out of a squash? You'll have to make do with sticky toffee pudding."

Juliet assured her that was no hardship and spent the next two hours playing board games with Antonia, the three little boys, and Noah. He didn't go so far as to kiss her in front of everyone, but there was enough hand-holding and shared glances going on to make the children giggle and Juliet blush.

Noah had driven her to the farm and gladly accepted her invitation to come in when he returned her to Havencross after dark. There followed an exceptionally pleasant half hour on a squashy sofa in the sitting room across from Juliet's bedroom—one of the few rooms that held any furniture at all. They only stopped when Juliet's phone rang.

"It's my mother," she said, stretching across him to look at her screen. "And it's Thanksgiving. I should probably talk to them all."

He kissed her once more, untangled himself, and stood up. "I'll see you day after tomorrow. If we're still on for sightseeing in York?"

She promised, and sighed with a mix of desire and frustration before calling home.

Though she had no siblings, Juliet had a number of aunts, uncles, and cousins on her father's side of the family who all gathered together on holidays. The phone was passed around from person to person, with Juliet repeating the same few sentences: "Yes, England is lovely." "Yes, I'm enjoying the house and the work." "Yes, I plan to return to teaching next year."

At least everyone in her family was wise enough not to talk about the divorce or Liam. Except, naturally, her mother, who said abruptly, "I saw the photograph online."

At least Juliet could be assured that this wasn't a prelude to her being told to "Quit taking half-naked selfies" or questions like "How drunk were you exactly?" But it was even less welcome.

"Duncan," she said flatly.

"And his student's new baby. I assume this was the same one he was with when you were in the hospital? Or are there more women to come forward?"

"Mom, did you ever pause to consider that I might not have seen that photo? That you might be telling me something I had no idea about?"

"Oh please, Juliet. I know you much too well. Of course you keep tabs on him online. I'm just glad that you managed to finalize the divorce without changing your mind."

"Thanks, Mom. Very encouraging, ‘I'm glad my daughter's only a partly hopeless loser.'"

"Juliet, that man had you pinned like a butterfly to a board for ten years. We didn't see you most of those years unless he was perched right next to you, watching every move you made and listening to every word you said. I thought I had lost my daughter for good. I will grieve forever the loss that brought you to your senses. But I will also never stop being grateful that you had enough spirit left in you to walk away."

Her mother didn't use Liam's name. Juliet had screamed at her the one time she had, in the hospital just hours after they'd taken him away.

It was an unusual flood of sentiment from her severely practical mother and, in her newly healing state, Juliet felt a pang of remorse.

"I know, Mom. I'm sorry, you're right. Yes, I saw the photo. And I didn't get drunk or crawl into bed for three days or stop showering. So you can relax. I'm doing well." She knew better than to tell her mom that Duncan had been texting her four or five times a week since the night of that photo. That his texts had thus far remained pleasant enough, dwelling on his own faults and asking for her forgiveness.

Juliet simply deleted them and hoped he would get the message sooner or later.

She thought of what else she could tell her mom as a distraction. "I even have a date on Saturday. He's a surveyor in Newcastle, and his sister helps keep up the house. His name is Noah."

"That sounds very promising. He's not a stalker, is he?"

Juliet rolled her eyes. "I've got to go, Mom. Love you."

November turned to December under steel-gray skies and unrelenting rain that only occasionally crossed into snowflakes. At least she could still work out—the best thing about a ridiculously enormous house was the ability to jog indoors. The daily workouts had become the first part of Juliet's newly perfected routine. The rest included waking to an alarm, eating salads for lunch, and spending a minimum of four hours a day researching either the Wars of the Roses or the 1918 pandemic.

Her hard work was rewarded the second week of December when Nell Somersby-Sims made a brief visit to Havencross. Juliet expected it to be a little more than a tour of what she'd accomplished so far and, no doubt, judgment about how far she had left to go. Would Nell notice that she hadn't washed down all the baseboards in the old dormitory wing?

Juliet braced herself for the solicitor's London-tailored perfection by wearing a jersey dress she didn't remember packing—maybe her mother had thrown it in—red tights, and low-heeled ankle boots. She straightened her hair, applied makeup (including concealer), and only stopped herself when she considered whether she remembered how to apply eyeliner.

It doesn't matter what some distant cousin thinks of me . Just as long as I don't get fired.

Nell, when she appeared, wore country-casual clothes (black skinny jeans, velvet-trimmed long-sleeved T-shirt, Burberry raincoat, forest-green Hunter boots) and a perfect ponytail. But just when Juliet's confidence began to sink, Nell popped the trunk of her car and grabbed the first of several boxes.

"Family history," she announced. "You did say you were interested in the Somersby past?"

Juliet snapped her mouth shut and swallowed. "Yes, thank you. Let me help."

They placed the boxes on the long table in the Victorian kitchen alongside Juliet's notebooks and the boxes from the Bennett farmhouse.

"This is really very—where did you get all this?" Juliet opened one and saw a number of neatly-labeled folders: Surveyors' Maps , Renovation Work After 1940 , Property Tax Receipts .

"Someone in the family had to pull everything together in order for the sale to go through. Clarissa Somersby did a lot of the work; I just cleaned it up a bit. It's interesting." Nell was defensive in a way Juliet recognized—it was a tone she'd often heard coming out of her own mouth. Every time Duncan had squinted and cocked his head about one of her interests, for example. She'd never known anyone more able to convey disdain with just the blink of an eye or the scrunch of his nose than her ex-husband.

The memory broke through Juliet's own preemptive defensiveness. "Thank you for bringing all this—I'd have come down to London and spared you the trip if I'd known."

"I'm supposed to check in before winter hits anyway, to make sure you're set up in case there's any trouble."

"I think so. Noah Bennett from the surveyor's office came round, made sure I have firewood and plenty of food stored."

"Noah Bennett? Very nice."

Did Nell sound amused? It had been so long since Juliet had had a friend who teased that she wasn't sure. She cleared her throat. "Anyway, do you want to take a look at the things I've set aside for possible resale or for the family to choose from?"

"You've been very thorough in your lists and photos. I trust you. And I'm heading up to Edinburgh for a conference."

"I'll enjoy going through all this." Juliet waved at the boxes. "Plus, I have an appointment at the Berwick Museum this afternoon. But don't worry, clearing out Havencross is my first priority."

Nell snorted—more elegantly than Juliet would have done, but a snort nonetheless. "You've already done more than expected. Honestly, your presence here is mostly to ensure the place stays standing through the winter. As long as you keep your eyes open to fire or flooding, you can entertain yourself however you like." She arched her eyebrows and added, "And Noah Bennett is well worth entertaining yourself with."

There was really nothing she could say to that, though her reddened cheeks made Nell laugh. For the first time in years, Juliet didn't automatically assume that the laugh came at her expense. Although she did wonder, not as fleetingly as she'd have liked, if Nell knew that from firsthand experience.

Juliet had debated the merits of taking the train versus driving to Berwick and, as traditionally English as a train felt, decided that the convenience of having her car outweighed the experience. She could go Christmas shopping after her appointment.

The Berwick Museum and Art Gallery was located in the redbrick military barracks that formed part of the Berwick Castle grounds. Juliet had to admit the ruins made a fitting backdrop for her queries today—the castle had been here long before even Havencross Priory was built. She went to the information desk and waited for Noah's friend to be summoned.

"Dr. Stratford! Delighted to meet you. Noah's told me all about you." Daniel Gitonga was a solid, broad-shouldered Kenyan with a smile almost as charming as their mutual friend's.

"Noah only met me six weeks ago. And please, it's Juliet. The only person who ever calls me doctor is my dad. Plus, I haven't even finished my dissertation."

"Don't get me started on the pride of parents. Although I'm pretty sure my mother doesn't correct those people who assume I'm a medical doctor."

Juliet asked the question dear to every historian: "What brought you to history?"

"The purity of my heart that despises all things material—like rent money and vacations."

With laughter and mutual understanding, they talked about their respective study and career paths as he led her through a maze of back corridors and staircases leading all the way to the top floor.

"I've got us in a conference room to better view the items I pulled for you." He ushered her in, and Juliet felt the historian's buzz at seeing things last used by those long dead. Even for her though, these items were extraordinary—she'd never gone further back than the eighteenth century.

She and Daniel donned thin cotton gloves, and he gave her an overview from left to right. "These are the items found on the Havencross grounds in 1918: a carved wooden top, eight coins, and a textile livery badge."

"I'd read about the coins and badge, but not this." Juliet touched the spinning top, no longer than her ring finger, and had a sudden, vivid image of a boy spinning it and watching it intently—a tall, fair-haired boy with wide eyes.

She shook her head clear. "Tell me about the coins."

"Five silver groats, two silver patards from Burgundy, and a gold crown ryal."

With a laugh, she said, "Okay, now tell me what that all means. Is it a lot of money?"

"The silver was very common—common enough that you can still buy medieval groats today for a hundred pounds online. One of the groats was minted in 1455 under Henry the Sixth." He pointed at the outline of a crowned man. "The other four were struck between 1463 and 1469, under Edward the Fourth."

He pointed at a crowned figure that she supposed looked marginally different to the first one. "What about the coins from Burgundy? Is that unusual?"

"Not for this time period. They were both struck in 1469—the year before that, Edward the Fourth's sister Margaret had married the Duke of Burgundy. There was plenty of commerce passing back and forth between England and the Low Countries. Silver is silver, no matter the name or face stamped on the coin."

Juliet touched the edge of the gold one. "This is less common?"

"Less common, and obviously worth a good deal more than the silver. It argues that whoever lost or buried these coins was someone of a certain wealth. At the least, a prosperous merchant."

"Or a manor-owning family?"

"Or a manor-owning family," he agreed.

"May I?"

When Daniel nodded, Juliet picked up the gold coin and studied it front and back. Unlike all the others, this had no royal portrait on it. "That's the English royal coat of arms, correct?" She pointed at the shield.

"Correct. Lions and lilies."

"And what's this on the reverse?"

He grinned. It seemed Noah's friends were as good-humored as he was. "Think about it."

"Are those petals?" she asked. He nodded, and illumination burst upon her. "Ah, it's the white rose of York."

"Yes, it is. This coin is known as a rose ryal."

"How much would it cost me to buy today, if one were for sale?"

"Thousands of pounds. More significantly to your research, this ryal was minted in London in 1470. However all these items came to be together, it's a fair bet it happened during the reign of Edward the Fourth."

Warwick's banner floating in the wind … the drumming of hooves on packed earth, the creak and murmur of leather saddles, the iron jangle of armed riders …

Where had that image come from? Juliet remembered the moment on the stairs up to the medieval solar, that sense of having been seized by something outside herself, hearing sounds she shouldn't have been able to recognize—

"Juliet?"

Daniel was looking at her expectantly, holding the last item.

"Sorry," she said. "What did you say?"

"I said this adds weight to the Edward the Fourth theory. Do you know what a livery badge is?"

"To identify servants, right?"

"Clerks, messengers, men-at-arms—their lord's livery badge was sewn to their clothing and provided recognition and a certain standing. Anyone who bore a livery badge was under the special care and protection of their lord."

"So you think whoever created this little cache was under the protection of a specific lord?"

"I do."

"Are you going to tell me which one?"

"Let me say this—don't confuse a coat of arms with a badge. Coats of arms were heraldic devices meant to proclaim an often complicated family history. They could be quartered and quartered again until they could hardly be deciphered. And there arises the question of multiple brothers—how do you easily distinguish between the male members of the same family? That is where the personal badge comes in. Most every man of status—and a good many women, like Anne Boleyn—chose their own symbol and motto as a straightforward form of identification. Easily seen on the banners of a battlefield, easily carved into stone, easily turned into textiles."

Juliet, distracted by the mention of the famous queen, said, "I think I remember something about Anne Boleyn. Was hers a falcon?"

"Very good. Ironically, she paired it with the motto The Most Happy."

"All right, so I'm looking at a personal badge." Juliet took it from Daniel and narrowed her eyes. The colors had dulled over the centuries it had been buried, but she could still separate white from gold. "The white rose of York." She didn't touch it but circled it with one finger hovering. "What's the gold surrounding it?"

"That is the Sun in Splendor. Before the Battle of Mortimer's Cross, three suns appeared in the sky. To calm his anxious men, Edward of York assured them it was a sign of heaven's favor toward their cause. When his armies were victorious and he became king, he chose to set his York rose in the midst of the sun—in remembrance of Mortimer's Cross."

Juliet pondered that. "So someone at Havencross had the personal badge of the King of England?"

"They did. It begs all sorts of questions—not the least of which is, how did it come to be lost in the earth with a handful of coins and a child's toy?"