Page 1 of The Runner
CHAPTER1
Willow Manor, York - Present day
The estate was bathedin a soft, golden morning glow, characteristic of a quintessential English summer’s day. Cara and George strolled hand in hand through the lush green gardens of Willow Manor, on their way to check out the latest developments in the old barn which was steadily being transformed into the new Tudor Heritage Centre.
Caraloved seeing the progress being made each day, and a giddy joy filled her heart as she turned to look at her husband.
‘It’s coming along nicely after the initial problems of getting started,’ said George. ‘I thought we might need to delay the opening, but it looks as though we’ll make it, after all.’
It had been a hectic and exciting year so far, overseeing the renovations of Willow Manor, the ancestral home which had been in the Cavendish family for centuries. The newly married couple invested heavily in refurbishing the main house and renovating one of the massive old barns into what they hoped would become the premier Tudor Heritage Centre in the world. With George’s considerable historical manuscript experience from his former career, the Cavendish link to the royal house of Henry VIII, combined with Cara’s Tudor historian’s PhD and expertise, they made a formidable team.
Cara raised George’s hand to her lips and kissed his fingers. ‘You’ve been brilliant at handling the project while I finished my book. We would never have got this far so quickly without you overseeing everything with such dedication.’
‘Well, I do recall saying last year that I wanted a new challenge to occupy me, didn’t I? I certainly got what I asked for... and much more when we bought this rambling old place,’ said George.
‘Sometimes I can’t quite believe this is all ours and we’re really free to build our dream life.’
George brushed a lock of chestnut hair aside to reveal her eyes, which shimmered with emotion like pools of fine grey mist. ‘It’s okay to be happy,’ he said, pulling her close and hugging her tightly to him. ‘The struggle is behind us now, my darling. Let’s allow ourselves to relax and enjoy having Willow Manor back in the Cavendish family, just as it should be.’ He held her shoulders and tilted her backwards slightly as he said, ‘Although we can’t relax completely. There is far too much to do... but you know what I mean.’
And then he gathered her back into his arms, and the fragrance of his sandalwood aftershave on his warm skin caressed her senses. Cara was secure in his love, but after all they had been through to get to this place, sometimes she was overcome by the depth of their connection and worried something might snatch their happiness away again.
They swayed together gently, standing on the manicured lawn in front of the grand Tudor manor house, which was now their forever home, breathing each other in and enjoying the quiet moments before they entered the bustle of the barn building site.
‘Ready?’ asked George.
Cara nodded, disentangled her arms, and straightened her now crumpled white shirt, which had escaped from the waist of her fitted black jeans. She followed George through the barn door, and they greeted the builders, who were a cheery lot and were pleased to stop for a cup of tea to give them the latest updates. They spent an action packed few hours watching the Tudor Heritage Centre slowly come to life.
At midday when the chatty crew took their break and wandered off for lunch, George organised a picnic while Cara found a blanket in one of the almost bottomless kitchen cupboards which she discovered were an eclectic treasure trove of useful household items. They gathered their picnic and crossed the grass, weaving through a woody mass of willow trees until they came to the clear bubbling stream that cut through the estate. Cara arranged the blanket, and they settled down in the pale sunshine to munch on their egg and mayonnaise sandwiches and to drink coffee. Between mouthfuls, they fine-tuned the details of the grand opening of their dream business and new life. They buzzed with excitement and the thought that she had never been happier flashed through Cara’s mind.
Let’s stay like this forever.
The next morning Cara rose and dressed, and entered the basement kitchen, which still had a whisper of the night’s chill in the air. She poured herself a cup of steaming coffee from the pot that George had left on the machine. He was an early riser and made the most gorgeous coffee and was in the habit of leaving her some. She added a dash of milk, took a sip, and then carried her cup cautiously up the stairs, taking care not to spill any as she walked slowly through the maze of corridors towards the library. She planned to tackle some boxes of old books she’d been meaning to organise for ages. Cara had been so busy completing her book to submit in time to meet the publisher’s deadline, and getting involved in the renovation plans, that she hadn’t even made a start.
The library was her favourite room. It was the place where she always felt most at home in the grand house. There was a magical energy to it—and she recalled passing many pleasurable hours there in her Tudor time travelling days.
She pulled back the heavy chintz curtains and a wave of contentment washed over her as glints of morning sun cast golden rays into the room, lighting up the antique oak furniture and opulent wall panel hangings, making the room sparkle. The previous owners had clearly taken great care to retain much of the library’s authentic style, which attractively combined Tudor, and a smattering of more modern touches added over the years, presumably for comfort. Cara thought the effect timelessly elegant. She took another sip of coffee as her eyes scanned the room once more, and then she rested her cup carefully on a Tower of London coaster on the wooden table, before she turned to tackle her first task with solid determination and withdrew one of the faded bound tomes from a storage box.
Cara took a step back to survey the floor-to-ceiling oak shelves laden with the Cavendish book collection, some of which must be as much as five-hundred-years old. She didn’t know the details, but somehow the book collection had remained intact as a valuable feature of the library even after the house was converted into a hotel.
I bet these shelves can tell a tale or two. Never mind the books…
Cara blew the dust from the sleeve of a book titledThe Tudor Queens, which made her sneeze violently, and then she gently wiped the cover and manoeuvred the book into a space on the shelf. The book was heavy and there wasn’t enough room where she wished to slot it in, so it wasn’t as easy as it looked. Her weight pressed against the wooden frame, and she heard a sudden creak. She abruptly stepped back, not wanting to risk breaking the shelf.
Cara lost herself in a daze of dusting the book covers and then, after some time, decided to try to fit them into the spaces on the shelves. She leaned forward again, her weight pressing against the wood, and she heard the same creak. Before she could move backwards and decide what to do, the bookshelf shifted noisily and swung open as if it had come away from the wall. Cara almost fell with it, but steadied herself by clutching another portion of the shelves and moving swiftly to one side.
Her breath snagged in her chest as she stared at the dark gap in the wall, revealed by the shifting bookshelf which stood ajar at a precarious angle. A vision of one of her favourite childhood books,The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, entered her mind. Her fertile imagination kicked into overdrive. Had she discovered a hidden door to a secret world? She was unnerved and took a succession of quick steps backwards and as her calves hit the firm surface of the sofa base, she collapsed onto the brown leather chesterfield.
On the right of the sofa lay a pile of dusty books waiting to be organised on the library shelves. Cara’s heart revved like a formula one engine, and she sat there for a few minutes, staring at the dark gap in the wall, wondering what it meant. It looked like a hidden passageway.
Where the heck does it lead?
Gradually, her heartbeat slowed and returned to normal as she reminded herself that it was okay—she was just scaring herself as she sometimes did with her tendency to overthink. Ever since she’d begun time travelling, she was prone to occasional bouts of panic and anxiety about what might happen unexpectedly if the vortex came for her or George.
After a few seconds, she rose in one smooth motion and walked towards the gap in the wall. It was likely just an undiscovered priest hole, which, although exciting, was nothing to fear. She told herself not to make a mountain out of a priest hole and chuckled at her own silly humour. Priest holes were routinely discovered in Tudor homes, dating back to the Dissolution of the Monasteries when Catholic and Jesuit priests were hunted down and persecuted in England.
Cara’s first present day time travel experience had occurred in her favourite York bookshop, so it was no surprise she should be a little nervous. The shifting bookshelves had brought back memories of what had heralded the start of the most traumatic period in her life.
What is it with me and bookshelves?
