Strange Dominions: a collection of paranormal short stories (short story books) by David Calvert Page B

rather sudden.”
    “Then you know absolutely nothing of what happened here?”
    “I’m afraid not.”
    Jenny had, wherever and whenever possible, avoided protracted conversations concerning Lucy, but to tell the story of the missing misericord without once mentioning her involvement was akin to omitting the ‘great fish’ from the biblical story of Jonah. She took a calming breath before giving her account.
    A look of surprise crossed the cleric’s face at the mention of her daughter’s name, occasioning Jenny to enquire if something was wrong.
    He looked at her with uncertainty. Smiling nervously, he replied, “There isn’t, unless your surname happens to be Bowcombe.”
    Her confirmation had a curious effect on him. He seemed reluctant to pursue the matter any further, inciting Jenny to ask again if anything was wrong.
    The mention of Lucy’s name had set off a disturbing train of thought. “It’s nothing.” he said, ultimately. “Mere coincidence.”
    “Coincidence?”
    “Yes. You see Edmund’s companion’s name was Lucy Bowcombe, too,” he said.
    Jenny sensed there was more to it than that. Something other than sheer coincidence had generated his nervous response and she intended to get to the bottom of it.
    Failing to allay her suspicions, Lucas finally gave way. “You’re right;” he said, “I haven’t told you everything about the historical Lucy, and with good reason. I’m not sure I believe it myself. Perhaps if we apply the principle of Occam’s razor things will become clearer.”
    “Occam‘s razor? Never heard of it,” Jenny admitted.
    “Briefly stated it’s this: if something looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, the chances are it is a duck. In other words, there’s no requirement to form a more complex assumption or theory.”
    Jenny was becoming agitated. “And the point is?”
    “I’m coming to that. But first I need to check everything you’ve told me about your daughter is correct. You said she disappeared when she was fifteen, and that the jewel vanished at the same time – yes?”
    “Yes,” she sighed.
    “And you’re quite sure that all this took place on August the 10th?”
    “Of course I am! I’m hardly likely to be mistaken about it, now am I?” she snapped. “If there is a point to this, Lucas, I wish you’d make it.”
    He braced himself. “As a consequence of my investigations into Edmund”, he began, “I came across the story of Lucy Bowcombe. Apparently, after a terrible storm, a local farmer discovered her in the chancel. She was in a highly agitated state, and could remember nothing of her past, other than her name. Contemporary reports said that she was between fourteen to sixteen-years-old, and spoke in a curious tongue. The date was August 10, 1362.”
    It was abundantly clear now what Lucas was leading up to, and Jenny balked at the absurdity of it.
    “But you said this girl spoke in a foreign language,” she argued.
    “No, I didn’t. I said that she was reported to have spoken in a ‘curious tongue’, which doesn’t necessarily mean she was foreign. Modern idioms and syntax are wholly different to what they were centuries ago. Back then they spoke Middle English, a substantial part of their vocabulary being French and stemming from the Norman Conquests. Edmund himself was of the Anglo-Norman aristocracy, so Lucy’s speech would seem like a foreign language to him.”
    Jenny fell silent. Circumstantial though the evidence was, she found it strangely compelling.
    “And there’s one other thing;” Lucas resumed, “Clasped in her hand was a chrysoberyl gemstone.”
    “Have you any idea how absurd that sounds? You’re telling me my daughter was whisked back some seven centuries in time Why? How?”
    “The ‘why’ and ‘how’ of it I can only guess at. You said yourself that Lucy had never really gotten over the death of her father, and was often seen talking to the effigy as though it were he. She