Cameron
stood at the garden gate waving goodbye to Alexis as she started
off down the road to the village pushing Kristina in her stroller.
The storm had passed, at least the storm outside the walls of the
house, and the day had turned pleasantly warm as sun touched the
spring blooms prodding their perfume into the air. The lake was
tranquil, its waters stilled to glass as it mirrored the ducks waddling
along its banks. A typical English day filled with promise had sprung
up around them but Cameron knew only too well the undercurrent that
flowed beneath its peaceful surface.
He leaned back against the gate pursing his lips as he studied the
house. A house no longer a home but a repository of dreams denied
where secrets as ancient as the grime crouching in corners awaited
freedom from the darkness that had fallen.
Secrets that only Alexis's mind has the power to unlock.
He frowned thoughtfully recalling their last conversation after
she found the wishkeeper with its cryptic message and matching poesy
rings.
* * * "The vicarage? Why would your Father send you there?"
he asked as she handed him the scroll.
She considered the question before she answered. "I'd forgotten
all about Vicar Marsden until Mrs. Lansbury told us about my Mother's
last days. He was very knowledgeable about music and flowers and
Mama struck up a friendship with him. Each week we would go to the
vicarage and have tea. I would sit and play with the Vicar's cat,
King Richard, while they discussed opera and roses."
"But how would your Father know to use that as a clue to seek
out the Vicar?"
She smiled remembering the day the Vicar left King Richard with
them for an extended stay.
"The Vicar had to tend to a family matter in Cornwall and needed
someone to take care of King Richard. I begged Mama and Papa to
allow me to care for him since he knew me well and wouldn't be too
lonely. Mama saw how much it meant to me and convinced Papa to agree.
I liberated him from the carrier and he jumped into my arms thereby
beginning ten days of cat mayhem at Rosewood. He quickly made our
home his castle as he stalked the corridors alongside Papa, sprang
from corners scaring everyone to within an inch of their lives,
even taking possession of Magda's kitchen where she denied him nothing.
He so entranced my Mother that all she could do was smile and waggle
a finger when she caught him exuberantly making his dirt wallow
at the expense of her prized Maria Stern roses."
Cameron smiled. "It seems a happy memory for you."
She smiled wistfully in return. "Oh, it was. King Richard and
I had quite the mutual admiration society and his purring always
seemed to take the loneliness away. I was desolate when the Vicar
came home and the King returned to his own particular castle. I
missed him very much and endlessly wove tales about our adventures
so much so my Father finally gave in to my pleading and brought
home a cat for me. I christened her Mary Queen of Scots."
Cameron nodded with approval. "A very regal name in keeping
with King Richard's royal tradition."
"She was as independent, fiery and quick-witted as her namesake
and I loved her. My Father would have remembered how much I adored
King Richard so leaving a message that was a play on the name Lionheart
makes perfect sense," she shrugged, "at least to me."
He reached out and pulled her into his embrace. "I find your
thought process as sexy and fascinating as the rest of your beautiful
body. You knew how your Father's mind worked so you must follow
your instincts. I just hope your visit yields some clues."
* * *
He turned back once more to look down the road at Alexis, her figure
now only a speck in the distance.
"Alexis, I hope you're right."
He strode up the walk and entered the house. The reception hall
was silent as a tomb, its silence magnifying the sounds resonating
from their search of the remainder of the house. Pots and pans clanged
in the direction of the kitchen as Mrs. Lansbury and his son talked.
They seemed to be striking up a very interesting friendship. He
looked up to the second floor landing almost expecting to see the
old man, a raving relic of the past weaving his tales and mumbling
secrets. He heard sounds from down the corridor, recalled Luke was
searching this floor and went off to find him.
The farther he walked the louder the sound became and he soon realized
the sound was music. He stopped by the door to the family room and
quietly listened to a melody as fragile as spun gossamer and stardust.
That's a romantic notion coming from an old cynic like me,
he thought rolling his eyes as he opened the door.
The sound emanating from the gramophone was tinny but its quality
in no way diminished the richness of the voice that filled the room,
its soulful intensity searing Cameron's heart as it struck a plaintive
chord deep within. He pulled the cover from a wingchair and sat
down to listen, his head tilting to capture the haunting melody
as tears welled unbidden in his eyes.
Luke was laying across the settee smoking a cigar, his long black-clad
legs dangling over the edge. His face was melancholy as the song
ended, the last chord sustained and held captive on the unmoving
air until the only sound remaining was the needle endlessly tracing
the record's final groove.
Cameron looked thoughtfully at Luke. "Kristin?"
A fine layer of smoke wreathed his head as Luke exhaled and nodded.
"The diva herself."
"That is the most stunning voice I have ever heard. No wonder
it captured a Prince."
Luke found it hard to let go his anger against Mikkos Cassadine
even for Alexis.
"Don't kid yourself, Dr. Quack. All this romantic haze is nothing
but window dressing for a megalomaniac who would stop at nothing
to take what he wanted and Kristin Bergmann was what he wanted.
But hell, if all this cheap, bodice ripper romanticism makes Natasha
happy I won't rain on her parade. Lord knows the woman has been
through enough hellfire and damnation in her life. Allowing her
those little folksy family fantasies is no sweat off my socks."
Cameron looked fondly at his friend, always intrigued by how friendship
with 'Natasha' softened his rough edges.
"So, did you find anything down here?"
"You mean other than cobwebs, old phonograph records and blood
spatter?"
Cameron raised his eyebrow. "Luke!"
"Nah… just some weirdness. Did you happen to notice the
paintings missing from the walls?"
Cameron shrugged. "Yes. I assumed they were valuable and Mikkos
had them removed when the house was closed."
"Interesting theory, Doc. But I took a gander at all the rooms
on this floor and even a few on the second and guess what I found?
Two Monets, a Matisse 'Bleu' nude, two Degas with those cute ballet
chicks and a Cezanne so that pretty much shoots your theory to Hades
and back."
Cameron rubbed his beard. "If artwork that valuable still remains
here…"
Luke nodded as he relit his cigar. "Makes you wonder just was
hanging in these empty spaces, don't it?"
* * *
The serene beauty of the day surrounded Alexis and Kristina as they
made their way to the village. The early spring wildflowers were
already in bloom, their bold yellows and creamy lavenders gleaming
in the sun. Alexis had always been fascinated by wildflowers, their
constancy as they return each year without prompting to blanket
the fields and the country lanes. Each month brought a new array
of colors, a palette deepening as spring turned to summer and then
to autumn until they finally bade farewell to slumber beneath winter's
mantle of snow.
She stopped the stroller, leaned down and faced her daughter with
a smile. Kristina looked like a movie star, her very grownup Ray-Bans
perched squarely on the bridge of her dainty nose. She was giggling
and pointing at a butterfly dancing around her shoe.
"Bufalie," Kristina giggled as she bounced in her stroller
trying in vain to catch the butterfly until it finally flitted away.
A sad look washed across her face as she looked up with a pout,
her lower lip clenched between her teeth exactly like her Mother.
"I know sweetie but there are things in nature, beautiful magical
things that are meant never to be caught. We must learn to enjoy
their beauty from far away and protect their right to fly free.
How about we pick some wildflowers to present to the Vicar?"
Kristina bounced and cried, "Fwowlers, Mama!"
Alexis smiled. Nothing would ever equal the overwhelming feeling
of joy she had when her daughter called her 'mama'. She feared that
being kept apart for nearly a year would savage their mother-child
bond but it was as strong and vital as when she carried her. She
knew then that everything she did, every step she took to protect
her child had been well worth the personal cost. She sighed happily
as she looked at the cowslips, trumpet honeysuckle, celandines and
primrose recalling long walks with her own Mother along this road,
picking flowers to surround a bouquet of roses she was taking to
the vicarage. Alexis bent to pluck a few wild pansies when she heard
Kristina scream.
She scrambled to her feet dropping the flowers on the grass as she
quickly looked around but there was not a soul to be seen other
than the two of them. Kristina screamed again but as Alexis reached
her a whoop appeared in that scream and she relaxed realizing her
daughter was not screaming with fear but with laughter.
"Ok, missy, what's so funny?" she asked her daughter who
was still screaming as she pointed to the road.
Alexis looked around and finally found the source of her daughter's
laughter. A small toad attempting to cross the road had somehow
managed to wedge its right leg in a tiny crevice. He kept trying
to leap but all he succeeding in doing was slapping himself back
against the ground.
"Ah, reminds me of some men I have known. Perhaps we can lend
an assist?" Alexis chuckled as she walked over and gently released
the toad from its rocky prison. It hopped into her hand and she
walked over to her daughter holding him out for her to see.
"This is a toad, Kristina. He is probably on his way to the
pond to find his family. Isn't he lucky we found him and can help
send him on his way?"
Kristina put out her hand to touch his slimy head and quickly pulled
back, an expression not unlike having eaten a sour lemon crossing
her face. She shuddered delicately and crossed her arms across her
chest.
"Well, I guess I won't have to worry about you kissing any
frogs to find a Prince, will I?" Alexis laughed as she delicately
deposited the toad along the side of the road and he hopped off
into the meadow.
"My, that was quite an adventure! Let's gather our flowers
and find Mommy's friend."
They continued along laughing and singing silly songs until they
turned the bend in the road that led to the village proper.
They never saw the man, the one watching them from his hiding place
among the trees, the one now following stealthily behind.
* * *
Cameron whistled. "This is quite a gallery."
Luke surveyed the ballroom. "Odd though…all those pretty
paintings and all that fine woodwork and not one speck of dust."
"Like Alexis's Mother's room… clean as a whistle,"
Cameron muttered as he touched one of the varnished archways that
led to a Cezanne landscape, his hand lightly brushing the words
etched into the wood. From reviewing some of the documents Alexis's
father left he knew the language was Russian, the Cyrillic lettering
carved with a flourish along the sides and center of the arch.
"Luke, can you translate this?" he asked as his fingertips
traced the unusual symbols.
Luke walked over, pulled out a pair of reading glasses and squinted
at the archway.
"It reads nespyashchikh solntse, grustnaya zvezda which
I think roughly translates to 'sun of the sleepless'."
Cameron moved closer to the painting and studied it. It was a vibrant
watercolor of a lake scene, the Mediterranean blue of the water
and the fiery reddish lavender of the dusky sky merging into one
and virtually leaping from the canvas. There was something electric
about it, almost as if the sky was alive.
They moved to the next alcove and found a painting of a woman dressed
in blue satin sitting on a wrought-iron chair in a flower garden.
On her lap sat a small wooden box, her hand grasping the lid as
if preparing to open it. Cameron walked back a few paces to the
archway and read the inscription.
Là où votre trésor est, là veulent votre
coeur soit également
"I recognize a few words but I'm not much on translation,"
he mumbled as he wrinkled his nose.
"Outta the way Doc. Lemmee me take a look," Luke grumbled
brushing past Cameron.
He touched the letters and frowned. "Hmmmm… 'where
your treasure is, there will your heart be also'. Well, heck,
if there's treasure involved, sure as shootin' my little heart will
be going pittypat."
"That is from the Bible, book of Matthew," Jerry said
as he walked over to where they were standing.
Luke snorted. "I thought lowlife mercenaries like you skipped
Sunday school."
"Lady Jane made me and Jax read the Bible. She said it would
teach us more about life than any philosophy book."
Cameron smiled as he left them discussing Sunday school, moving
off to survey the treasure trove of master artists and lesser works.
He counted sixteen wooden archways lining the walls of the ballroom,
with carvings in French, Russian, Swedish and English. He did not
speak Russian or Swedish, recognized a mere smattering of French
but English he knew and the carvings spoke the timeless words of
Shakespeare, John Milton, and some he did not recognize. But what
he did recognize was a pattern as the inscription carved into each
archway related to the painting within, some in a direct way and
others in ways more obtuse. He recalled all he had learned about
Mikkos Cassadine, his twisty and Machiavellian mind and it would
be like him to couch his messages in obscure, undecipherable ways.
As he studied the archways, he became more confident that this room
was their Rosetta stone where the answers - or at the very least
the clues - awaited them.
He looked for Luke and Jerry and they had disappeared into one of
the alcoves. He made his way to another hosting a landscape very
much like a few others he'd seen in the house, an overriding theme
as forests and lakes gleamed under fiery skies but this one drew
him close.
It was of a winter's eve, the glittering snow feathering tree limbs
and blanketing the banks of the midnight blue lake. A large antlered
deer dipped his head to drink as the night sky mirrored ribbons
of violet-blue and green flame, the frigid water refracting upon
a landscape where a sky of burnished fire conjured day from the
night.
He looked at the inscription carved in English script and recognized
Alexander Pope, a quote from The Iliad of Homer.
Aurora now, fair daughter of the dawn,
Sprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn.
He thought about the first landscape and the Russian inscription
'sun of the sleepless'. The sun, the dawn, fiery light…he sensed
something just outside the edge of his consciousness dancing back
and forth in the shadows, tantalizing him as it bobbed and weaved
just out of his grasp. He could sense the puzzle pieces aligning
but each time his mind reached out to click one into place it found
only isolated flashes of clarity until darkness fell once more.
His eye was drawn once again to the painting. He leaned close and
squinted, his eyes searching the canvas until finally coming to
rest on the lakeshore next to the deer. And there he saw it almost
unseen among the snow-covered rocks.
A clump of edelweiss rested at the deer's feet and lying alongside,
tossed as if an afterthought, was one perfect crystalline rose.
