The Lost Ancestor by Nathan Dylan Goodwin

eyes
following the contours of a lavish Turkish rug on the floor.  Despite all
that had happened, a small part of her had still believed that Cecil would
smile, reach out and take her in his arms, dismissing the other servants.
    At the last second, Mary had thrown her
head up to look him square in the face.  He was stood in a core of light,
as if illuminated by God Himself.  She saw his beautiful boyish face and
striking dark red hair up close for the first time since 1902.  She had
locked onto his pale blue eyes.  A tiny gasp of breath had escaped when
what she saw shocked her, like a knife to the heart.  There was nothing
there.  Not even simple affection.  His eyes had reflected repugnance
and repulsion, as he had looked her up and down as though she were a dirty
street vagrant.
    Mary’s eyes had fallen to the floor as she
left the room in disgrace.  A wave of nausea had rippled through her body,
biting at her stomach as the realisation that they would never be together came
crashing down upon her.
    A faint shadow passed across the ground in
front of Mary, jolting her back to the present.  She turned and stared
towards the sunlit silhouette of a male figure.  Despite all that had
happened, a small part of Mary wondered if, at last, Cecil had come for
her.  Come to make amends.  Come to take her away.  Come to make
her his.  Yet, she knew it was not true.  She recognised the shadowed
form.
    ‘Mary, what’s the matter?  What are
you doing here?’  It was Edward’s voice. 
    Mary wiped her eyes on her sleeve. 
‘Nothing.  Resting.’
    Edward stepped out of the sunlight and
crouched down beside her, placing his hand on her wild red hair.  ‘Why
didn’t you go home?  It’s your afternoon off.’
    The softness of his touch and the
sentiment in his voice sent a fresh torrent of emotion flooding out.  She
fell, like a weak child, into his arms.
    Edward carefully placed his hands under
her elbows and pulled her towards him.
    Mary allowed Edward’s gentle hands to
guide her up.  As she stood, any pretences of grandeur fell away and she
returned to being Mary Mercer, a bashful seventeen-year-old girl.  She
looked into Edward’s dark eyes and saw a fragment of what she knew he could see
emanating from hers.  She stood, frozen to the spot by a burgeoning
feeling inside which set her heart beating faster, his eyes exerting total
control over her.
    Edward leant in and kissed Mary lightly on
the lips.  The spell was broken.
    ‘Don’t,’ Mary said, taking a step
backwards.  ‘We can’t.’
    Edward’s brow furrowed and his grip on her
arms tightened.  ‘What’s the matter?’
    Mary turned, freeing herself from his
hold.  ‘It’s Edie.’
    ‘What about Edie?’  A few seconds of
silence passed between them before Edward repositioned himself in front of
her.  ‘What about Edie?’ he repeated.
    Mary’s eyes returned to his.  ‘She
likes you and she thinks you like her back.’
    ‘What?  Where has that come from?’
    Mary shrugged.
    ‘Well, I don’t like her like that ,’
he said.  ‘But you…’ His voice trailed off into the quiet of the ruins,
then he leant in and kissed her again.
    Mary allowed his warm lips to rest on
hers.  Neither of them spoke.  Neither of them moved.
    Edward gently lay her down in the grass,
his lips moving from her mouth to her neck, his hands exploring increasingly
intimate areas of her body.
    Mary exhaled, closed her eyes and gave
herself to him, as reveries of Cecil and realities of Edward collided in her
mind.
     
     
     

Chapter Six
     
    It
took Morton less than thirty seconds to close his front door and arrive at the Mermaid
Inn , almost dead opposite his house.  Without a shadow of a doubt, it
was the shortest distance that he had ever had to travel to work on a
case.  In ten minutes’ time he was due to meet with Douglas Catt, son of
Victor Reginald, grandson of Caroline, great-nephew of the illusive Mary Mercer. 
Morton and Douglas had