AVAILABLE FILE FORMATS: HTML for the standard computer, PDF for Adobe Reader, MS Reader for the PC and Pocket PC, Mobipocket for Palm Pilot

Prologue

Boston Present Day:

"My God, look at this!" Peter's quartz-gray eyes narrowed, focusing on the miniature portrait.

Set in the inner lid of a jewel box, the picture showed a face of palest complexion, as if formed from the rarest, most delicate of Dresden porcelains. The young woman had the high cheekbones of a noble born, the graceful, aristocratic neck. A cascade of red hair framed her face. The fiery tresses fell in loose curls onto snow-white shoulders.

The eyes transfixed Peter. Like twin shards of greenest jade, they gazed out at him from the painting. It was as if they favored him with an intimate stare, brushing him with a lingering look, as if she actually saw him standing there before her. Peter had never seen such an expression on the face of any modern woman and he had dated many.

"It's English and late Sixteenth Century," the antique dealer said. "It originally had a small stone inset above the clasp on the lid. See here?" He pointed to a silver circlet pressed into the wood. It was empty. "An emerald or ruby, I'd wager, judging by the style and period, but long gone. Still, it's most attractive even without it, don't you think? It would make a nice gift." The man's time-lined face wore an anticipatory look.

"Do you know who she was?" Peter continued to stare at the likeness.

"Her name was Aurea and she's supposed to have been the niece of a Sir Thomas and Lady Katherine of Pentrose in England. Pentrose means five roses, which as you can see is the design repeated on the outside of the box. According to the wholesaler I bought it from, it was a gift from Aurea to her aunt and uncle. It's a tragic story that one."

"How so?"

"She disappeared, probably died under mysterious circumstances while attending Hampton Court Palace. Supposedly, it happened shortly after she posed for the portrait."

"Do you have any details of that?"

The merchant gave a regretful shake of his white-haired head. "I'm afraid they're sketchy at best, but it had something to do with spies and treason." Changing the subject, he added, "I guess I should point out the lining has a small slit in one side of it. Still, as you can see, other than the missing gem and that one minor flaw, it's undamaged. Do you think the jewel case is suitable for your fiancée?" He sounded anxious.

"That, I couldn't say." Peter still gazed at the miniature. "Dawn might not like opening this all the time having to look at someone so much more beautiful than she."

The dealer clasped together arthritis-gnarled hands. "Oh," he said, his rheumy blue eyes reflecting a sudden concern. "Then you don't think it's right for her?"

"It doesn't really matter." Peter had reached a sudden decision. "I'll buy it anyway."

A look of relief swept over the shop owner's wizened features. "Oh, very good, sir, I'll wrap it up for you." He held out his hand for the coffer, but Peter didn't yet relinquish it.

Instead, he asked, "You said she died or disappeared at Hampton Court?"

The other man nodded. "According to the story, she did. It was during the later reign of Queen Elizabeth--the first one, I mean. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I'm leaving for London for three months. I'll be working out of my firm's Fleet Street office there. It's why I was going to buy this, as a going-away present."

"Ah, so it's a romantic keepsake to remind your fiancée of you. It'll make a nice present, sir."

"I don't think so..." Peter's words trailed away, his usually crystalline eyes now clouded, distant-looking.

"Then you have changed your mind?" Now the dealer's tone quavered with renewed apprehension. "You don't want it after all?"

"Oh, I still want it all right, but not for Dawn. I'll keep it for myself. Why not?" Peter sounded suddenly defensive. "Why shouldn't I have something to remember her by? God knows, I'm sure she has no plans to buy me anything. Dawn's not very sentimental that way. More is the pity. Anyway, I can always find her something else. Hampton Court, you're sure?"

The shop owner again nodded. "It's a popular tourist attraction."

"I might just drop by there while I'm in England. I wonder if it's open to the public this late in the year..." Again, Peter's voice trailed away. He still focused on the startling image of the young woman. He'd already forgotten his pressing need for finding a gift for his fiancée. Only the stunning face in the miniature and the overwhelming desire to know more about her remained with him.

"Aurea," Peter whispered.

The old dealer's face held a knowing expression. That this young man was falling in love with the girl in the portrait was obvious for anyone to see. However, was there ever such an impossible love, as this one would seem to be?

Chapter One

England--1586:

"Mistress Aurea, we must hurry. The Lady Katherine is waiting. Do stand still and prithee, try not to get crumbs on your new gown."

"Oh, Gilly, must you always chide so? You're the one who gave me the bread and told me to make haste eating it. Besides, I'm almost finished." So saying, Aurea popped the last piece of coarse brown loaf into her pert mouth. She chewed the tough stuff as her kneeling maidservant, head bent in apparent concentration, continued adjusting the lace hem of Aurea's dress.

When she thought Gilly was too busy to notice, Aurea stretched, fingers reaching for her cup of flat ale. The mug was on a nearby oaken table. Just managing to grasp it with her right hand, she drew it to her and took a gulp. Although it was a drink made popular for breakfast by old King Hal, Aurea didn't like it. However, her aunt insisted everyone imbibe a draught of it each morning as a restorative. Aurea swallowed, forcing down beer and dry bread together. The combination of the two made for a yeasty and particularly bitter flavor.

She made a face and then said, "There, my good Gilly flower, I'm done with breaking my fast."

"And none too soon, mistress. If you'd spilled anything on your gown, the Lady Katherine would have had a fit. God preserve us, this cloth is all of ninety-five shillings a folder. Silk, indeed! What's wrong with good English wool, I say. Anyway," the middle-aged servant added as she stood, "you're finished." She held out a silver-framed hand mirror for Aurea to view herself.

Aurea twisted and turned to get bits of her in sight. She sighed. Not for the first time she wished her uncle would purchase a decent-sized mirror, but he always complained about the prices. Truth to tell, he was right. Good quality mirrors were frightfully expensive.

She leaned forward. Her hair looked perfect, she decided. Gilly had brushed the tresses into a blazing red nimbus that floated like a gentle cloud upon her lace-collared shoulders. This style showed off the gentle curve of her neck to advantage and framed the delicate features of her fashionably pale face. Wide green eyes gazed back at her with a thoughtful, self-critical expression.

"You're a true artist, Gilly," she said at last. "Pray, move farther away, so that I may see the gown in its entirety."

The gray-haired maidservant dipped her head in a nod and then without looking behind her, stepped back several paces, almost upsetting a gilded footstool in the process. She tottered a moment before regaining her balance.

Aurea couldn't help laughing at the comical sight. When she'd recovered, she said, "I think it is good enough, Gilly. We don't want any harm to come to you through my vanity, do we?" she said, and then smiled.

Now Aurea could see her full reflection, but so small was the image, it was hard to make out details. Still, she felt she looked presentable enough. The watered-green silk of the gown contrasted with her fiery locks and fair complexion to good advantage. The tight-laced narrow waist made her hips look full. Her bodice, though somewhat revealing as was the current fashion, was still demure, made so by the addition of a French ruff, a delicate beige in color, and of high quality. Pulled low in front, it rose in gauze-like wings behind her neck.

That was one thing about Aunt Katherine; she didn't stint on fabrics. No cheap Saint Audrey's, or as the English now referred to it, t'awdry convent lace, for her.

"It's indeed well fitting," Aurea pronounced.

"My thanks, but you must hurry, mistress. I'm certain your aunt will already be in the solar, waiting. It would be best, I think, not to keep her waiting too long."

Aurea nodded. "Too true," she said. "Aunt Katherine's a dear, but a dreadful stickler for punctuality."

"Amen, mistress," Gilly muttered as she gathered her scattered grooming and sewing supplies. "Amen to that I say."

Aurea tossed her a smile as she turned and made for the doorway. Her skirts swirled about her as she moved. Her train trailed long behind her. Gathering the folds of her dress in her hands to prevent tripping, she hurried down the chambered corridor, passing from one oak-paneled room to the next, and heading for the stairs at the end. Her shoes made a subdued rustling noise on the thick rushes and herbs, which lay strewn upon the stone floor. The savory scent of rosemary and the sharp-sweet, almost pungent odor of lavender rose from the bruised aromatic plants.

Aurea's breath came in short gasps. The tight-laced bodice didn't allow for deep breaths of air and the distance she had to traverse was no small one. Pentrose House was large. Built in the style fashionable back in 1530, it had every convenience nobles felt were necessary at the time. This meant a lot of closets, offices, and general rooms through which she must pass.

Puffing, she mounted the stairs and hurried through more chambers, all of which had the same dark paneling. These had wall sconces lit at regular intervals to provide much needed light. The smoking torches burned with a fitful orange glow.

At the top of yet another and narrower flight of stairs, Aurea stopped just outside of the solar. Here, she paused to catch her breath and to summon her courage before entering. This was her aunt's personal sanctum, her bed-sitting room. To Aurea, it breathed of an austere, even forbidding sort of privacy, a palpable barrier discouraging entrance.

She steeled herself and hesitating no longer, called to her aunt. Not waiting for an answer and swinging wide the heavy door kept closed to hold in warmth, Aurea entered the solar room. She squinted at the unaccustomed light shining through tall and narrow casements. White brightness flooded the room. Her Aunt Katherine sat by one of the windows, silhouetted in its glare, and bent over her sewing.

"Good morrow, Aurea." Katherine favored her niece with an appraising glance, a small and swift wisp of a smile. "You seem well and particularly beautiful this day. Perhaps it's partly your new gown. Green suits thee, it seems."

Katherine had hawk-like features with piercing dark eyes. Aurea knew she'd been beautiful once, because old portraits of her showed it. Nevertheless, years of determined Romanist asceticism had taken their toll. Her good looks had faded, her once ample figure melted away under the continuous onslaughts of too many religious fasts, too much kneeling on cold stone floors in the dark early hours of morning. Still, there were faint suggestions, mere lost echoes left of such beauty even now. They softened Katherine's otherwise severe appearance.

"A generous compliment, milady," Aurea said as she curtsied, bobbing her head forward in a brief bow of acknowledgement. "You fare well this morning, I hope? And pray, I also hope I'm not too late in coming here?"

Her aunt smiled. For a moment, her wintry features glowed as with spring sunshine. "Dearest, girl," she said. "You're punctual as always. Your uncle's the tardy one. No doubt he lingers over his breakfast and wine. I repeatedly tell him ale makes for a better physic, but he'll have none of it. In any case, sit down and we'll have a chat before he arrives. I've something to tell you." She leaned over and patted a Turkish ottoman near her own cushioned bench.

Aurea gave a gentle nod of assent and seated herself. She waited with patience, aware her aunt would speak only when she felt like it. Aurea took the opportunity to examine her appearance. Katherine wore her usual dull black gown with a white-laced head rail framing her face. It hid her hair, so not even a single faded bit of it showed. She included no bombast in her clothing to give it a fuller look, and as a result, her clothes drooped like a sack on her emaciated frame. Katherine's one concession to personal adornment was a heavy silver crucifix. It hung from a chain around her neck and glinted in the window's light. A small, leather-bound bible dangled close by her side, suspended from the girdle draped around her waist. Aurea wondered if the Lady Katherine's close resemblance to a Catholic sister was mere chance, or a secret desire on her aunt's part to emulate those whom she so much admired. Either way, she looked as if she belonged in a convent.

"Now, Aurea," her aunt said. She had returned to her sewing and didn't raise her eyes as she spoke. Deft and nimble fingers plied the needle with an expert's touch, sewing the aiglets into the front of her husband's linen shirt. "We've some important news we hope you'll find agreeable."

"News, milady?" This surprised Aurea. Nothing much ever happened out here in the country. Not that she cared. Aurea preferred the serenity and quiet of rural life to city living. Moreover, her circumstances were not difficult ones here. Lady Katherine and Sir Thomas had provided every comfort for her.

"Of what nature," she prompted when her aunt didn't immediately speak. "Is someone coming to visit?"

Katherine breathed a long sigh. She set aside her sewing on the small table situated to the left of her bench. She folded her hands in her lap.

Disregarding Aurea's last question, Katherine said, "I suppose I should wait until your uncle arrives, but truly there's no point, since it's a settled and done thing. Still, his help would've been a welcome."

"Settled, milady?" Aurea's mental warning flags rose at this. Her fragile eyebrows furrowed in a slight frown. From prior experience, she knew the use of the word "settled" meant her Aunt Katherine would brook no disagreement. "Pray, what is it which is so very settled?" she asked, her tone a shade tart.

Now it was Katherine's turn to frown. Hers was a deeper one, her dark eyebrows coming together to form a pronounced v-shape. "You don't do your usual good manners justice, Aurea. We've only the best intentions for you. You must know this. Haven't we always treated you with the utmost kindness since you came to live with us?"

Aurea lowered her head. She nibbled at her lower lip a moment before admitting, "Of course, Aunt Katherine. I'm sorry. It's this tongue of mine. Sometimes, it seems to have a mind all its own. I meant no disrespect."

Katherine smiled at her and then said, "No, my dear, of course you didn't. Perhaps it is I. I'm a little on edge of late. I do wish your uncle were here. He's well and truly late. I begin to suspect this is intentional on his part."

"May I ask again what it is that's settled?"

"Ah, I had almost forgotten." Katherine stroked her crucifix in an absent gesture, her fingers running over the polished metal of it in a random fashion. "Your uncle has such an effect on me. He can be quite vexing at times. Anyway, my dear, it seems you're going to Court."

"Pay a visit at Court, is that all?" Aurea couldn't hide the relief from her voice. "Oh, it is nothing, Aunt Katherine. I've never been to Court. I should very much like a holiday there." She clapped her hands together. Aurea felt a brief moment of anticipation, but then came a new uncertainty. "I wonder if I'd fit in there though?" Aurea asked. "From what I hear, all they do there is dress up in their best finery and gossip about each other all day. That and try to curry favor with Her Majesty."

Katherine gave a disdainful sniff. "Indeed," she said. "'Tis truth you're not far wrong there. The English Court has descended to wicked depths these last years, but through no fault of our good queen." She added this last in seeming haste. "Despite her high office, she is but a woman, after all. Those young courtier crows who flap around and flatter her are the ones to blame for the Court's failings, and not her.

"In any case," Katherine continued, "I think you misunderstand. You're not going for just a short visit. You're to be a handmaiden to one of the queen's ladies, the Lady Gwyneth of Mansgate. It's to be a position of some permanence. Sir Thomas' friend, the Marquess of Rendlesham, arranged the appointment, and he'll act as your chaperone while there. Of course, the queen is nominally your mistress, but Her Majesty seldom concerns herself with the lesser gentry. She has so little time to spare from affairs of state."

"Bu-but, I like it here." Aurea stumbled over her words in her haste to make her own desires known. "I love you, Aunt Katherine, and dear Uncle Thomas, too. I don't wish to leave."

"I know, Aurea. And truth be told, we enjoy having you here, for we love thee, too. Still, it's time for you to enter the world. You must find a husband, one who can keep you well and in comfort. You'll not find him out here in the country, my dear."

"But there're many of the gentry nearby," Aurea reminded her aunt, her tone once more sharp. "Surely, someone amongst them would do? There's no need for me to travel so far as Richmond Palace, is there?"

Katherine shook her head. "You see, child?" she said. "You've just proven my very point. You don't keep up with the affairs of this world. Her Majesty isn't in residence at Richmond or Nonsuch Palace for that matter. She's been at Hampton for many months. It's said to be her favorite of the three. I shouldn't wonder. After all, it's rumored it was her own witch mother, the six-fingered Queen Anne Boleyn, who snatched it from the clutches of the traitorous Cardinal Woolsey."

Her aunt stopped speaking and glanced about her, as if in fear someone might have overheard her. Then she shook her head and in a quieter voice added, "No, it'll do you good to attend Court. Lady Gwyneth will make you a good mistress. At least, so Lord Rendlesham assures us. I trust we can rely upon his word."

"But I don't want to go!" Aurea jumped up from her ottoman. "Please, Aunt Katherine, don't make me leave the only home I've ever known. I beg you."

Lady Katherine exhaled a sigh and then said, "Come here, my dear child."

Obedient, Aurea moved to stand directly in front of her. She stood with her hands clasped before her, head tilted down, staring at the floor. After her outburst, she was ashamed to meet her aunt's penetrating gaze, certain she would be reprimanded.

"Look at me," Lady Katherine commanded. "That's better," she said when Aurea lifted her head.

"Dear one, you don't understand. This isn't a punishment. We're trying to help thee make thy way in life, not cast you out of our home. Truly, Aurea, you're like the daughter I was never able to have. However, you are of a certain age, my dear, and must find a husband who'll act as a guardian and protector for you. A lone woman can't survive in these troubled times. Your only other choice is to go abroad to a nunnery. And I'm sure neither you, nor the good sisters you might go to, would much favor that alternative." Her tone was dry, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of Katherine's lips.

"I'm not even Catholic," Aurea whispered.

"Indeed, child. We raised you as your parents requested, in the New Faith. It's often been a sore point for me you don't belong to the Church. Still, a promise is a promise. Besides," she added, "I swore to them on this." She glanced down as she again fingered her gleaming crucifix. "It's a vow I'd never willingly break."

"Oh, Aunt, I don't wish to leave you!" Disregarding her new dress, Aurea fell to her knees and leaned her head against the side of Katherine's lap. She felt tears slide down her cheeks. They dropped to stain the silk folds of her aunt's dark gown. Between sobs, Aurea said, "I don't remember my parents, only you and Sir Thomas. How can I be without you? How can I be all alone?"

"There, sweetness." Katherine stroked her niece's hair in a soothing gesture. "Cease your tears. 'Tis not forever, you know. You may visit us often once you've found a husband. I'd like that. And remember, this estate entails to you, since Sir Thomas and I have no heirs. You must find a good man, Aurea, someone who'll take care of you and this manor."

Aurea tilted her head up and gazed at her aunt through eyes streaming liquid-silver tears. They traced wet tracks down her smooth cheeks.

"If you wish it," she managed and then gulped before adding, "If it's what you want, Aunt Katherine, then I'll do as you ask."

"It's not what I want, not at all. If I could have my wishes, then you'd always be at my side, Aurea. Aurea, it's such a pretty name." Katherine said this as she brushed a finger along her niece's jaw line in a feather-light touch.

"You know, your father is the one who named you thus. He was quite the scholar before the plague took him and your mother. As I've told you often, I'm sure, your name is from the Latin and means golden. It is what you've been to me, Aurea, like golden moments, full of beauty and innocence. They're a tonic to me."

She cradled her niece's chin in one hand, and looked into her delicately defined face with its gemstone eyes. "I'll miss you, my golden one," she whispered.

"And I'll miss you so, Aunt Katherine. When must I leave?"

Katherine tilted her head back, as if intent on gazing at the coffered ceiling above her. "Too soon," she said. She looked back down at her niece. She still cupped the girl's chin in the palm of her hand.

"You must be ready to depart Monday hence. You'll travel by coach to the Thames River and from there embark upon a short boat trip to the palace itself. It's the swiftest and safest route. Oh, how I shall miss you, my girl. I shall miss the very sight of you." Now hot tears welled in Katherine's eyes. They shimmered there like wet diamonds, threatening to spill over.

Her niece smiled. Like sunshine breaking through a cloud, it parted the gloom that had settled over them. "Aunt Katherine," Aurea said, "you'll take care of yourself and Uncle Thomas while I'm gone won't you? You promise me. Not too many hard fasts or long hours on your knees praying?" She leaned forward and threw her arms around her aunt in a quick hug.

"Oh, my dear!" Katherine sounded and looked flustered for a moment. Then she returned the embrace. When it ended, she said, "Don't chide an old woman for her faith, Aurea. It's hard enough to keep it in such vile times as these. Still, I promise not to be extravagant in my vigils. I can't manage them any longer in any case. My knees trouble me too much and the chill makes my very bones ache."

"You promise?"

"Yes. Still, I'll pray for you. That I must do. Now off with you. Be about your packing. And don't forget your garden gown. I hear the queen loves to walk the palace grounds and you must look your best. Oh, and watch the servants. You'll present a poor reflection of us when you've your introduction if they crease your clothes while stowing them away in the trunks."

"Oh!" Aurea jumped to her feet. "I'm to be introduced to the queen?"

Katherine smiled at her niece's excitement. "Eventually, of course, Aurea, it's to be expected. You're to be a member of Her Majesty's household. However, always be respectful. Never speak until spoken to by her. You understand?"

Aurea nodded.

"Then go now, child. And know this, Aurea. We expect to have many letters from you. I'll have need of them to sustain me."

Aurea curtsied, her smile in stark contrast to her tear-stained face. "I'll write them, Aunt Katherine. As I hope, you'll write me. I'll desire your good advice and guidance, milady. Methinks I can use all the help I can get."

Katherine grinned and then said. "In your case, Aurea, I've no doubt of it." She waved her hand in dismissal. "Go and be about your tasks. And Aurea," she called after her already departing niece.

Aurea paused and turned back. "Yes, Aunt Katherine?"

"If you perchance to happen upon your wayward uncle, tell him I wish to speak with him."

"Yes, Aunt."

"Immediately."

Aurea nodded. "As you wish, milady." She hurried from the room.

She didn't run into Sir Thomas as her aunt had apparently hoped, but instead made her uninterrupted way downstairs and back to her own bedchamber. She'd chosen it for herself as a small child. It wasn't a large closet as private rooms in the manor went, but was well appointed, having full oak paneling, a large stone fireplace, and a kaleidoscopic Turkey carpet. The rug swirled with unlikely but brilliant colors. Reds, greens, blues, and yellows all seemed to mix and dance across its surface. There was also a sumptuous feather bed. Safely under its covers, it had kept Aurea warm on even the coldest of winter nights.

Smaller quarters suited Aurea. Larger chambers tended to be drafty and when servants were slow to light the fire, often chilly and damp. She fell to work, choosing the wardrobe she'd need for her journey. It was an arduous task, because Aurea didn't look forward to taking this trip, or leaving the safety of this cozy room behind her.

* * *

Sir Thomas entered the solar half an hour later. He did so without knocking, but his manner was hesitant, shoulders hunched in an unconsciously submissive gesture.

"Is it done, good wife?" he asked.

Katherine, still seated and busy with her sewing, looked up at him. The stare she gave him was a cold and penetrating one. It lasted for several long seconds before she deigned to say, "It's done, husband. And where, pray tell, were thee during all of this?"

Sir Thomas, a redheaded and hairy bear of a man, cleared his throat. He ran one nervous finger around his tight ruffled collar. "I thought... I thought perhaps it best if I left this to you. It was a distasteful task, I warrant?"

"Indeed..." Katherine favored him with a sour look. "You, my craven husband, have no idea just how distasteful! Aurea is like a daughter to me and I had to order her away, and to such an unsafe place, such a pit of denizens. The thought of it tears at my heart."

"I'm not craven!" Sir Thomas had a gruff voice and his russet beard shivered in an agitated manner as he spoke. "Now, good wife, how is it you can speak to me so? I'm a knight and your husband."

"You promised I'd have your support in this matter and yet you absconded. You closeted yourself while I did your night-soil work! Brave and noble knight, indeed; craven is more like it. I stand by my words, husband." As flint struck against steel, Katherine's dark eyes flashed with inner fire.

Sir Thomas scowled, but then bent his head in surrender. "Aye, Mary, I'm ashamed," he said. "I admit I'd not the courage nor wish to face the little darling. I dislike giving bad news to her. Can you forgive me, my dear?"

Katherine sighed before saying, "I've forgiven thee long ago, my Thomas, and for much worse things than this. In any case, you're noble and honorable in those things that matter most. You're a good man."

"I am?" He looked up, a hopeful expression lighting his rough and craggy features, softening them. "You're not angry anymore?"

"Indeed, I was, Thomas. I must admit. I felt sorely alone here, confronting our poor niece in such a fashion. In the end though, she took it well enough. Aurea seems resigned to it in any event, but I wish it hadn't been necessary."

"She believed the story of needing to find a husband?"

Katherine shook her head. "I wouldn't have lied to the girl, Thomas. She does need to seek a man, 'tis truth. Of course, it doesn't have to be at Court where she must find such a one. This I didn't say, although she raised the issue herself. She's not a stupid girl is our Aurea."

"She'll be better off there." Sir Thomas took a seat on the ottoman near his wife, the one so recently vacated by Aurea. He looked like an overgrown and misbehaved child hunched there. "It truly is for the best," he added.

Katherine bit her lip before saying, "So it is everyone's wont to keep telling me. And so I told her, but still I fear for her in such a devilish place. I hadn't thought our faith would ever place us in such jeopardy, and certainly not that child. We've been loyal to the queen in all things. We don't warrant such a reward as this."

Sir Thomas' thick red eyebrows beetled together. "It's not the queen's doing," he growled. "It's those who incite her fears of a Spanish invasion. And those cursed Jesuit spies landing on our shores, sneaking all about the country and inciting their rebellions."

Katherine hurriedly made the sign of the cross. "Thomas, you speak blasphemy! They're sent by the Holy Father in Rome and are warriors of the Church."

Her husband shook his head. "I'm a true son of the Mother Church, Katherine, but the Holy Father should keep his nose out of England's affairs. No good can come of his interfering. As it is, shadows fall over us who are loyal to both Church and Crown. And Katherine, those shadows grow long. Now they even cast upon Aurea."

Chapter Two

Aurea was overwhelmed. There was no other way to put it. It was not with the beauty of the place, but its sheer size. Floating on the iron-colored Thames River and passing black-and-white cottages with reed-thatched roofs had not prepared her for the sight that met her gaze when they rounded the final bend. Hampton Palace was huge.

It drifted toward them, or rather, their boat glided toward it, as the river men put their backs into their work, plying the dank chill waters with long oars. The things made wet slapping sounds as they struck the river's leaden surface. The men grunted with the effort of moving the laden vessel forward. They passed the occasional small fishing dinghy, or woven wicker coracle, as they made their way. The peasants in those other vessels ignored them, the men seemingly intent on their efforts to catch something in their nets.

Aurea had no thought for them or their labors, but instead fixed her gaze on the brooding rose-colored edifice hulking before her. Situated some ways back from the broad Thames and centered in a park-like setting of lawn and trees, the place was all towers and ramparts with low crenellations on them. What looked like hundreds of tall chimney pots rivaled the towers for height. Narrow casemented windows, some with arches and some rectangular, but all trimmed in a white-gray stone fretwork, stared like so many blank eyes back at her. Despite it being such a gloomy day, no candlelight shone from them, which seemed odd to Aurea. She had half-expected the palace to be blazing like a candelabra on such a dark day as this.

As the ferry approached the slime-covered wooden pilings of the dock, she shivered. Aurea could feel the damp despite her layers of thick clothing and the heavy cloak she wore. It was made of the finest English wool and was a parting gift from Sir Thomas. However, it was a drizzly day, and the cold breeze blew a spattering of rain. It wet everything, including her new present. Damp, the cloak smelled like sheep, and those fat drops of rainwater felt like ice against any exposed skin.

Upon docking, the men fell to, hauling her possessions from the vessel and onto the roughhewn planks of the sagging pier. The boat rocked from their efforts. The air rang with their curses and shouted epitaphs. Each one hefted a heavy trunk onto his back. Bowed under their weight, the unkempt laborers toiled up the gentle, but grass-slick slope. Aurea followed. She made for a dark-cloaked and lonely figure bent against the chill wind, trailing several paces behind the men.

Although spring, most of the trees still had little or no leaves. Their branches, bare and stark, looked like skeletal fingers grasping for the gray heavens. That was how Hampton Palace seemed to Aurea as she approached it--gray, dark, and dismal. She felt it wasn't a propitious start to her stay there.

Passing formal gardens still waiting for their first blooms, hedges of yews, and red-berried holly with glossy green leaves, they made it to the first base court. Here, an officious yeoman of the guard, one dressed in red livery, stopped them. He demanded her destination and then to see Aurea's letter of introduction.

She handed it to him without comment, although she felt certain he was too illiterate to read it. His vapid expression seemed to prove that point. He barked curt orders to the men as they filed by, directing them as to which route they should take through the palace.

"This be ol' Cardinal Woolsey's part, ma'am," Caleb said. He was a trusted older servant of Sir Thomas and Aurea had known him since she was a small child. Her uncle, unable to accompany her for some reason not specified, had charged Caleb upon pain of death with his niece's safe arrival.

"Ol' fat Woolsey, him kept his guests in this section, he did."

Aurea didn't respond, being too busy brooding. They entered under a stone and mortared archway.

"Now we be entering Anne Boleyn's Gateway, ma'am. She wot be the one who King Hal done to death for being a witch. He had 'er head chopped off clean by a French swordsman and they says her bewitched lovers' ghosts still haunt the palace, stalking the corridors at night."

Shaking off her reverie, Aurea asked, "Does everyone think she was a witch, Caleb?"

"Oh, not everyone does, ma'am. Certainly, not Good Queen Bess, wot with Anne Boleyn being her very own mother, an' all. And don't say such a thing where others can hear ye around these parts. It would mean the tower for ye. Trust me, I've run many an errand 'ere for your father. I knows of wot I speak."

"Oh." It was all Aurea could think of to say.

"See the clock, ma'am? Ain't it a grand one?" He nodded, indicating for Aurea to look ahead of them. What could only be the Great Hall that King Henry had built rose before them, its towers stabbing dark against the overcast sky, all of them topped with spinning gold weather vanes or colorful pennants, which snapped and billowed in the stiff breeze. There was a large clock embedded in the outer wall, set well above the gateway. Its gold hands and Roman numerals ticked away the time. Aurea stared with fascination as they approached it. Clocks were rare and terribly expensive things.

"King Hal himself had it put in. Back in 1540, I think 'twere."

Approaching this close to the palace now made Aurea nervous. She glanced about, seeking any stray courtiers who might have stepped outside for a breath of fresh, if frozen air, but nobody was in sight.

"We go to the Lady Lucinda's and Mistress Liylia's private closet, ma'am. Your uncle gave me instructions to bring your things there."

They entered the Great Hall. At last, Aurea spied some people. These were all servants though. They hurried about their business, removing the last of their straw-tick sleeping pallets, and raising the trestle tables for the evening meal. Everyone ignored the new arrivals. This surprised her. Could just anybody walk in here, Aurea wondered? One lone yeoman seemed insufficient protection for the Queen of England.

Then such thoughts fled from her as she realized just where she really was. The hall was the largest she'd ever seen. Aurea paused to take in all of it. High above her, higher than she could believe possible, was a carved hammer-beam roof. It stretched away into the distance, creating a vast, enclosed, and echoing space. Banners bearing various royal insignia draped from it in a colorful array of reds, yellows, blues, greens, and gold, or silver. They were rife with insignia.

Caleb, along with the roughshod laborers who carried her luggage, also stopped. He followed her wide-eyed gaze upward. "Look there, ma'am. You be seeing them carved badges?"

Aurea searched the area toward which he pointed. "Yes, Caleb," she said at last when she'd located the medallions. "What about them?"

"They be ol' Henry's badges, ma'am. See how they be twined together with Anne Boleyn's own? They never took them down. He married his Queen Jane before these be finished. With all his wives, he kept the craftsmen right busy. Aye, he did...and the ax man, come to that," he added after a slight hesitation.

"Good Lord," she whispered, "How dreadful! What an awful reminder. Queen Jane must have had to see them all the time."

"Indeed, ma'am. She must've. But this way," Caleb added, as he started moving again. The river men were giving them angry stares as he and Aurea stood there, gawking like pilgrims in a cathedral at the hall's features. It was the heavy trunks they bore, which no doubt prompted such reproachful looks.

Aurea and Caleb turned to the right and headed down a long corridor. The hard-heeled boots of the stevedores made a loud clatter behind them as they walked its stone-paved length. It was Norman in appearance with a multitude of fretted arches meeting to form the ceiling above them.

Reaching her new quarters, the men deposited her luggage on the floor with loud thumps, bangs, and accompanying groans of relief. Caleb bowed and with a polite smile of thanks, accepted the five shillings (the coins came from a bulging purse provided to her by her uncle), and then bid her farewell. He and the other laborers turned to leave.

Panic swept over Aurea. She was about to be left all alone and in such an unfamiliar place. "Caleb?" she called after him with a tremulous voice.

Trailing the others, he paused and turned back to her. His cornflower blue eyes mirrored his concern. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Where is everyone? Why are their no courtiers, or anyone else for that matter, but a few servants? Why is it so empty here?"

"Ah, this wot be troubling ye, is it?" Caleb smiled, showing chipped yellowed teeth. "Not to worry, 'tis hunting they be, ma'am. The queen and all her men are after chasing all manner of beasts. The women will all be attending them at the lodge. They'll be trooping back anon, early this evening most likes. Then later, they be all dressed in their best finery and attending to supper in the Great Hall. You must look sharp, ma'am. Lady Katherine will want you to look your best for it. She'd expect no less from ye. You know that?"

Aurea nodded. "My thanks to you, Caleb, and I will. And a safe journey back to Pentrose for you."

"Ah, but with your generosity, I'll be able to stay in a nice cozy inn by a warm fire tonight. I'll drink a draught or two to your health, ma'am." He gave a big grin, winked, and then departed.

Aurea was now a solitary figure standing amidst her luggage in a strange room, somewhere in the confines of Hampton Court Palace. She felt beyond her depth. A shiver took her. It shook her with an unexpected violence, and this time cold wasn't the cause.

Chapter Three

The tube trip toward Hampton had been uneventful, if crowded for much of the way. Jammed, might have described it better, since people had to excuse themselves to worm their way through the packed humanity just to reach the doors of the cars. It was only as the subway left the confines of downtown London and climbed into the open air that passengers dispersed in small groups at each station along the way. When Peter switched to the train that would finish the journey, he found himself virtually alone on it.

Peter stared out the window. His smoke-gray eyes had a faraway look to them. The train swayed and rocked. It fled past industrial loading docks and the rear of terraced rows of brick houses. They all looked alike. The day was dark and dreary. Rain streaked the car's windows, distorting the view into an Impressionistic scene of a stormy day.

England at its best, Peter thought. It wasn't for the first time.

The gloomy weather matched his feelings. Despite his rush to move to England, his efforts in finding a place to stay, and become acquainted with the intricacies of his new job on Fleet Street, an unrelenting depression had settled over him. His fiancée, Dawn, had noticed it, despite his best efforts to hide it from her. She'd remarked on it several times before he'd left America. Each time, Peter had passed it off as his just feeling low at having to leave her. In short, he had lied.

The truth was it had nothing to do at all with Dawn. In fact, he'd already relegated Dawn to his past, as far as he was concerned. Peter knew it was over between them, even before he'd left the States. It only remained for him to tell her so. He did not look forward to that duty. Still, he suspected she felt much the same way. Her manner when he'd departed had been, if not off-hand, then certainly low key. Dawn had shed not a tear at their parting for so long a time.

In any case, all he could now think about was the portrait of Aurea. It preyed upon his mind, that long-dead beauty, one forever beyond the reach of his desire and grasp. Even knowing this, something within still drove him toward Hampton. He had to see where she had lived, laughed, loved, and then died. Peter didn't know why, but he just had to do this.

Just think of it as a pilgrimage, he rationalized to himself for the umpteenth time. With so many centuries between them, it was all it could ever be.

He took the little jewelry box from his greatcoat pocket. Again, he traced his index finger over its smooth surface, following the swirled pattern made by the repeated groupings of five oaken roses intertwined on an ebony background. Almost with an innocent shyness, he lifted the lid. Once more, he stared into the tiny face of the miniature. The beautiful, but wistful features of Aurea gazed back at him.

Long minutes later, the recorded tones of a female announcer broke his reverie. "Hampton Court," it said. "All those for Hampton Court; when exiting the train, please mind the gap."

* * *

In the dim privacy of the chamber, which was now to be her shared home, Aurea removed her traveling garments and carefully folded them. She placed them in a huge wooden chest set to one side of the room for just such a purpose. Now clad just in her woolen under things, she cleaned herself of the journey's trials as best she could. She shivered as she washed herself with a combination of cold water laced with purifying alcohol and perfume. Aurea opened one of the trunks she'd brought with her and found a velvet day gown. It was a dove-gray, with stiff white-linen cuffs. She laid it out and smoothed it with her hands as best she could.

Donning and adjusting it took some time. There was no Gilly to help. Aurea didn't bother stuffing bombast into the hips. She seldom did. She avoided this fashion trend as much as possible. The idea of using horsehair, wool, or other such stuffing to make her hips appear more curvaceous and her waist thus slimmer by comparison, seemed somehow dishonest to her. Aurea often wondered if it wasn't older women who'd forced this foible as the fashionable thing to do. After all, they were the ones probably most in need of it.

The white lace ruff was the most difficult part, but there was a mirror on a stand in the corner of the room, near one of the canopied beds. Aurea knew it must belong to one of her new companions, one from a wealthy background judging by the size of the looking glass. She didn't think the owner would mind her using it though, especially since she wasn't there to object.

Done with her many adjustments, Aurea studied her double in the mirror. Her hair was the one sour note. Despite her best efforts, the ringlets Gilly had created with such care now bordered on being frizzy. The damp weather was to blame. Still, her hair's coppery highlights showed to good effect, giving off soft glints in the ambient light from the candle's flame.

Her gray gown with its puffed sleeves (fashionably slit and lined with white silk in the appropriate places), and fulsome skirt with train, looked exquisite. Tiny stitched seed pearls patterned the velvet, giving the whole gown an opalescent shimmer when she moved. Aunt Katherine had spared no expense on her gifts of the three dresses. The seed pearls alone were a penny apiece!

Matching gray silk hose, hidden beneath the folds of her dress, and chic square-toed shoes completed her ensemble. If she were as brazen as to dare raise her skirts, the silver buckles would gleam against the polished black of the shoes' leather.

Placing a silver necklace that held a tiny emerald over her head, she let it fall to her white shoulders. The green jewel nestled between the twin curves made by her ample breasts. This necklace was Aurea's only adornment and created the simple look best suited for the afternoon. Suppers in the Great Hall would be another matter. They would mean even more time for lengthy preparation.

Now Aurea was at a loss as to what to do next. It seemed it would be some hours yet before the queen and her retinue returned from the hunt. The palace was still largely empty. This limited Aurea's options. Reaching a decision, she left the chamber, intent on just exploring. At the very least, she could learn her way about the place.

She let her whim take her where it may, and made the rounds, drifting from room to ornate room, chamber to ostentatiously furnished chamber. Often she became lost in the huge place, disoriented by the seemingly endless number of rooms. She did chance upon the odd yeoman, liveried in red, but these men hardly provided company for her. They always stood as stone. Dressed in uniforms with scarlet caps, evil-looking pikes in hand, they barred access to certain areas. They never spoke.

After a while, Aurea ignored them and just passed on by with the barest of glances. It was easy to do, for they seemed as statues and there were many of those about the place. They littered the palace, standing people carved from stone and whitest alabaster, set in various alcoves, frozen in permanent but assorted attitudes for all time.

This was when she chanced upon a long gallery. It stretched away ahead of her into the distance. One side was all tall casements, paned with leaded glass, and held in place by intricate stone fretwork. The windows fronted on a view of a courtyard sprawling outside and one level below her. A weak and honeyed light entered through the glass and it lit the huge portraits lining the opposite wall. No doubt, those scowling and sober visages were ancestors of the queen and various other once-prominent worthies. They were intimidating.

Then a peculiar feeling came over Aurea. It was as if she'd somehow been there before. What did those most unworthy French call it--dé ja vu? The curious sensation grew so strong Aurea felt she might swoon from it. She turned to leave, intent on seeking some place to sit down and rest for a moment. After all, hers had been a strenuous day, and she'd had little to eat. These factors must account for her feeling so queer.

Behind her came the echo of footsteps on stone paving. Startled, because she was sure she'd been alone there, Aurea turned back. A dark figure approached her from the opposite end of the long chamber. She could see it was a man. He was not another servant, judging by his strange attire. As he strode, he stared down the length of the gallery at her and with such a smoldering intensity, she couldn't help wondering if his gaze was for someone else. Aurea automatically glanced over her own shoulder to see if anyone was standing behind her. There was no one. He must then be looking at her. The oddity about the situation was he didn't seem to be all there. His figure wavered, shimmering one moment, and seemingly solidifying the next, as if viewed through rippled water darkly. It was almost as if Aurea were watching a waking dream.

Her eyes widened with fear and amazement. Was she seeing one of the many fabled ghosts of Hampton Court? Could this be an echo of one of the witch-queen's executed lovers come to haunt her? The figure moved closer, walking, yet at the same time appearing to glide several inches above the floor. Aurea's suspicion must be correct. He was a ghost!

She made the sign of the cross as Aunt Katherine so often did and waited. If this was God's test and evil was sent to confront her, then she would not be found wanting in courage. Aurea was no coward. Or was she? She couldn't help trembling at the sight of the nearing creature.

* * *

When Peter left the train, he felt strange, disoriented. The phenomenon had started the minute he set foot upon the wet concrete of the platform. Now, as he made his way down the road in the direction where the signs indicated the palace to be, the feeling became stronger, more overwhelming, and more intense with each step he took.

He crossed the steel bridge, which spanned the equally steel-like waters of the flowing River Thames. Traffic on the causeway was heavy. Countless little automobiles swooshed by on the rain-slick tarmac. Their sounds made a jarring note to him, as if they no longer belonged, as if the noises were somehow out of place and shouldn't be there at all.

Peter glanced to his right and down the waterway. It was then he spied the palace on the river's left bank. It bulked there in the gloaming light, huge, blocky, and impressive. At the sight of it, a sensation within him exploded. It was like a white-hot fire. It had such a force, it physically shook him. His heart thundered in his chest. Peter broke into a cold sweat. He had to get to the palace and it had to be now!

Peter broke into a run, his feet pounding against the hard concrete of the sidewalk. Despite the frigid weather, he shrugged out of his great coat. It was just too confining, too restricting. He carried it under one arm as he dashed across the rest of the bridge and covered the remaining distance to the gates. Time, somehow he knew this, was terribly short. Stopping at the kiosk, breathless, he handed in his pre-purchased ticket and rushed inside, racing across the vast, but empty grounds, sprinting over the shimmering wetness of verdant lawns, and broad walkways.

At last, gasping for air, he entered the palace. The entire place appeared deserted except for a few security sentinels. They looked lonely. It seemed the time of year and the weather prevented most tourists from coming. Without hesitation, as if by instinct alone, he made his way past them and toward the gallery walkway.

One well-intentioned guard, a matronly woman dressed in a dark-blue uniform, attempted in a good-natured way to strike up a conversation with him as he passed by her, but he only flashed a quick smile and rushed on, leaving her in his wake. Another guard stood at the entrance to the gallery itself. Peter acknowledged his presence with a curt nod. The man nodded back. This one seemed in no mood to talk, which suited Peter perfectly.

He paused in the entrance to the chamber. Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century Flemish paintings hung on the walls, with some by other artists as well. At a glance, Peter noticed one by Cranach, another by Joos van Cleve, and a Provoost. There were also a large number of renaissance paintings by various Italian masters. He gave them a mere fleeting look before his attention fixed elsewhere, on the far doorway. All his being, all something--he didn't know quite what, drove him there. He advanced toward it.

Then he paused in mid step. A sense of imminence overwhelmed and then consumed him. Peter's breath came in short gasps. He closed his eyes for the briefest of instants. A swirling vertigo seized him. The moment passed. When his long eyelashes fluttered open, she was there. She stood alone at the far entrance, a small, but stalwart-looking figure staring bravely back at him.

She wavered like the image of someone standing some distance down a desert highway, with heat waves interfering, distorting the scene. It made her appear unreal, mirage-like. For his purposes though, Peter could see well enough. He felt blessed to see her at all, this long lost beauty of another age, his Aurea. Was she truly real, or a ghost, maybe even just a product of his fevered mind--perhaps, a hallucination induced by his obsession? He had to know.

Peter walked toward her with purposeful and measured steps. He never took his eyes from her, his beautiful Aurea of the portrait. There was no doubt. This girl had the same flaming hair as depicted in the painting, the same eyes of purest jade, and a complexion unmarred or lined by any earthly matters. She stood there as if frozen, waiting in silence for him. As he approached her, he could see her eyes widen. Fear showed in them, but something else, too. Was it courage, and maybe, perhaps just a touch of recognition and hope?

Peter stopped a few paces short of her. He was afraid to approach too closely, fearful this lovely apparition might vanish like a puff of smoke, a vision dissipating like a dream before his awakening eyes. He gazed at her, too nervous even to speak at first.

* * *

Aurea watched the young man draw nearer, his image becoming clearer, the strange rippling effect subsiding. He was tall, dressed all in black, except for a long tan cloak of some sort, which he carried with him, looped in a casual way through the crook of one arm. His clothes were of a most unusual design. They didn't show his legs to advantage in the same way as men's hose, or culottes, as the French called them, did. Yet, his apparel hid neither his masculine physique, nor his body's contours--the tapered chest, lean hips. He had a manly stride undiminished by the fabrics he wore for they flowed like liquid with his muscular movements, hiding little. He had raven-dark hair. Cut in a precise but engaging short style, it was almost Roman in fashion. He was square-jawed and had facial features of most chiseled proportions.

Why, he's rather like a Greek god, Aurea thought. His skin was tan, tan as some common field hand's would be who had been too long working in the sun, but he wasn't weathered-looking as they were. Gray eyes regarded her with a crystalline intensity, sheer pristine fragments of diamond. They burned pure with a deep and smoldering fire.

Devil's eyes; the thought leapt unbidden to Aurea's mind. They had such a look to them as could make young girls surrender up their very souls, as well as other things....

Peter stopped some paces away from her. For long moments, they just stared at each other. The silence seemed to buzz it was so loud in Aurea's ears.

She could bear the suspense no longer. "What are thee, spirit, or ghost?" she challenged. Although Aurea's voice echoed loud throughout the empty chamber, it carried a tremulous note to it. "And who sent thee? Are you just earthbound, oh spirit, and denied heaven's blessed entry, or of demon origin?"

A slow smile creased the man's face. His eyes glittered with a sudden humor. "I could ask the same of you." His voice was smooth and low. "But to me you appear as an angel from above and no demon. You're very beautiful. Did you know that?"

This gave Aurea pause. Was one supposed to be able to converse with a ghost, especially so charming a one? Demons, most assuredly could talk, for they tempted and enticed, but ghosts speaking? They wailed and moaned perhaps, but surely, they didn't carry on such flattering conversations? Or did they?

"Stop your blandishments and name yourself, as well as your origin." Aurea's voice still quavered as she said this, disproving her brave words. "Who and what are you? Spirit, I demand to know."

"I'm Peter, Peter Vincent. And I'm a man who's come far to find you. Look." He fumbled for the jewelry box in the pocket of his coat. He pulled it out and opened the lid. Peter held it out for her to view.

"See this? It's what brought me to you. I've crossed an ocean and I don't know what all else to find you. I just thank God, I did. You're every bit as wonderful as your painting showed you to be."

Just then, a faint waver passed over him, causing his image to shimmer, but then the effect faded. Aurea ignored the phenomenon and concentrated instead on what the spirit held. She gasped. Her right hand flew to her alabaster throat in surprise. There could be no doubt. The little painting was a portrait of her!

"Now see here, Sir Ghost." It came out as more of a croak. "Where did you obtain this? What dark arts did you use to conjure this thing, evil one?"

The young demon who called himself Peter threw his head back and laughed. It was a melodious sound and pleasing to Aurea. Extra pleasing, she felt, when one considered it came from a dead person, or something of similar ilk.

A most charming demon, this one, she thought, but then Aurea had no prior experience of what to expect from such as he. Maybe all demons were this way. She'd have to be on her guard.

"Don't you feel something special, Aurea?" he asked. "Don't you feel something marvelous? I do just looking at you."

She flushed. This was getting out of hand. Aurea decided to go on the offensive. "You know my name, Sir Ghost," she said. "How is this possible? Is it one bandied about in the pits of Hell? Am I so already fallen?"

He laughed again, revealing the whitest teeth she had ever seen and then said, "I guess you could call the Twenty-First Century hell. Some do and in some ways, the name does fit. But from what I've read of your period, it isn't any better. Probably, it's worse in fact. Aren't your people always chopping off each other's heads? Even your royalty does it to each other a lot, don't they?"

"How dare you? It isn't fit for a lowly spirit to speak ill of our monarch. Even for such a handsome and comely ghost as you!"

"Oh-ho! So you think I'm good looking. You do come right out with it, don't you?"

Aurea bit her lower lip and flushed again, this time a much deeper red. She shouldn't have said that. What had possessed her to say such a thing? Somehow, it had just slipped out. This demon was indeed a devious one to make her speak her mind so plainly and so quickly, too.

"Of course, you appear this way to me." Her tone was sharp, defensive. "It is mere illusion, I'm certain. The trickster is at work here and makes you look so to me, for you're like no mortal man I know. You're too tall, your body too muscular, and your face too sweet and fair by far. Everything about you is too perfect, Sir Ghost. Therefore, it can't be real. It must be dark illusion."

He laughed once more. There was maleness, an animal quality to it, which attracted her. It was so genuine and honest sounding. She found herself smiling despite her better judgment. Oh dear, was she already coming under the spell of this creature?

"Well, thanks for the compliments." Peter gave a lopsided grin. It lit up his features, making him look even more devilishly handsome to her.

Then his image wavered again and when Peter spoke next, his words tumbled out in a rush. "Look, Aurea," he said. "I don't know how long we've got together here. I mean, for the life of me, I don't even know how we're managing this. We're centuries apart in time. Still, whatever or whoever is allowing this; it's a miracle, the chance of a lifetime, many of them in fact. I know this is asking a lot, and there just isn't time to explain, but would you consider trying to come back with me now, to my own time?"

Ah-ha! Aurea thought. Aunt Katherine had told her demons behaved this way, always luring and tempting. She'd been right all along with all her talk of devils and sprites, for he must certainly be such a thing. He had to be if he was trying to entice her to go with him. And just where was this destination--into the foul depths of Hell itself?

She made the sign of the cross again, before saying, "I refuse your evil invitation, oh demon, for truly you cannot be just a shade of some dead soul to entice me so. You must indeed be of hellish origin. Be gone! Get thee hence, I say! Go about thy dark business and leave me to mine."

Peter's eyes widened. "You really think I'm a demon? You do, don't you?" Dark eyebrows tilted into a frown. "I hadn't counted on that. I'd forgotten just how superstitious people of your age were."

"Of my age? How dare you, sir! I'm not so old. I'm not some superstitious and ancient hag. First enticements and now you hurl insults. Oh, you're a nasty devil, you are. You have no manners at all."

He smiled. Aurea noticed a charming dimple in his right cheek. Suddenly, she found herself smiling again, too. Then an odd thing happened. His figure wavered, almost to the point of dissolving altogether. Behind him, the very paintings on the wall seemed to shift and transform, moving about in a most peculiar way, the faces altering and blurring, running as if melting wax.

"What...what is it, Sir Ghost?" she asked. "What's happening?"

His laughter cut off in midstream. It was as if someone had clapped a hand over his mouth. He regarded her with anxious gray eyes, face etched with lines of sudden concern. "I think the moment is passing, Aurea, at least for now. God willing, there may yet be another. But you must listen to me. Your life is in danger. Something bad is going to happen to you and very soon. I must tell you about it. If I can manage it, may I see you again, that is if it's allowed?"

His image shimmered again, becoming indistinct. Then it steadied, but it wasn't as clear as before. Comprehension dawned on Aurea. He was departing, but had no wish to go, summoned by some force back from whence he came.

"Can we meet again?" he asked once more, his voice sounding thin, fading. She could see through him now. It made him look like a true spirit.

"Yes!" She shouted of a sudden. "Yes, I'll see you tomorrow at noon in the queen's own garden. If you can, Sir Ghost, meet me there."

"Where is the queen's garden?" asked Peter, his voice just the faintest of whispers brushing against her ears, his figure vaporous, looking like a dawn mist dissipating on a new day.

"I don't know," she said, sounding miserable. "I've only just arrived, but at this time of year, it should be a private and safe place to meet. Find it and you'll find me waiting for you."

He faded from sight altogether, like a candle flame guttering and dying before too strong a breeze. "I'll find you...." It was the slightest of murmurs, a ghost of a breath on the still air.

No sign now remained of that most handsome of spirits, Sir Peter. No paintings shifted or changed faces. All was solid, normal once more. Doubt surfaced. Aurea wondered if the visitation had even been real or just a waking dream after all. The place was so empty again.

It was one more thing. It was lonely without the attractive and charismatic creature. Demon or spirit, he had a way about him. Aurea had to admit it. Still, she was not without something to do. She must seek out the location of the queen's garden, for she intended to be there come noon the next day. Aurea had to know if this visitation had happened or was just a hallucination. She hoped it had been real, because evil spirit, ghost, or no, this demon--if it was that--was indeed a most comely and unique vision. She would not mind him haunting her. There was another odd aspect to all of this; Aurea had felt as if somehow she had known him all her life. She had felt immediately comfortable and close with him. For the first time since her parents had died, she had felt completely safe.

To order or learn more!