Lady of Heaven (3 page)

Fox was watching her carefully, the
way her lovely mouth moved and the way her nose wrinkled when she spoke.  He
realized he was becoming more interested in the woman by the moment in spite of
everything; he could feel his interest moving from initial attraction to
something else. Morgan Sherburn was beautiful, intelligent and well-spoken. He
didn’t know the first thing about the woman, but what he did know had him
quickly captivated.

“I can appreciate that,” he said
evenly. “It’s admirable. But it still doesn’t explain why you need me to
translate the papyrus. “

Morgan took a deep breath,
collecting her thoughts.  Her gaze moved back to the journal on the table.

“My great-grandparents returned to
Britain after spending six months in Egypt on their honeymoon,” she said
quietly. “They returned because my great-grandmother was pregnant with my
grandfather.  He was born in 1923 and when he was about six months old, they
returned to Egypt because my great-grandmother just couldn’t seem to stay away.
She had come to love it.  When they came back the second time, according to her
journal, they reconnected with friends and ended up purchasing a papyrus that
was said to have been recovered at a dig in ancient Thebes. My great-grandmother
wrote about this papyrus in her journal; she said that an antiquities dealer
told her it contained the details on the burial on the Lady of Heaven, the
Mistress of The Gods, the Mother of the Lands and The Great Wife.  The
translation he gave her is even written in the journal. He told her that the
papyrus gave clues to the tomb of Isis and my great-grandmother, ever the
adventurer, set off in search of it.”

By this time, Fox was looking at
her as if she had lost her mind. “What did she find?”

Morgan put her finger on the
stained journal page. “She didn’t,” she whispered, her voice rising as she
continued. “Dr. Henredon, I’m pretty sure that my great-grandmother disappeared
in her attempt to follow the clues on this scroll. I believe she was murdered
because of it and I believe this stain on the page confirms it. My
great-grandfather and grandfather fled Egypt back to England, where my
great-grandfather refused to ever speak of it again.  He never remarried,
living to the ripe old age of one hundred and six years old until dying this
past June. He put the scroll away and never spoke of it again.”

Fox’s dark eyes glimmered. “Then
how do you know about it?”

Morgan sighed faintly and carefully
closed the pages of the journal. “Because I came across the story while
cleaning out the house,” she picked it up and moved back to her purse. “I found
the journal in the library, tucked away in the drawer of a desk, and read the
entire thing. The papyrus was in a box in my great-grandfather’s closet.  I felt
like I was piecing together a giant puzzle, finding things all over the place,
putting them together to make one big picture.  We were always told that my
great-grandmother died of fever in Egypt, but it’s just not true. When you read
her journal, you can see that she was verging on something that had her
incredibly excited. Never once did she mention illness or fever, and as she’s
happily writing about this papyrus and the clues she’s piecing together, her
journal suddenly ends and there’s this massive brown stain on the page. I think
it’s blood and I think she was killed for whatever was contained in that
papyrus.”

Fox watched her carefully slip the
journal into her big purse, lured in spite of his better judgment by her tale.
It really
was
a fascinating story.

“It could be coffee,” he said
softly.

She nodded in reluctant agreement.
“Or tea,” she conceded. “Or wine or a hundred other things; I realize that. But
I just don’t think it is.”

He pondered that for a moment. “And
you said that the papyrus had been translated by the dealer who sold it to
her?” he clarified.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Then why do you need me to do it?”

“Because I want confirmation that
the translation she was given is correct.”

His gaze was steady on her. After
several moment’s deliberation, he reached for the case that was open on his
desk, pulling it towards him so he could get a look at what it contained.  He
supposed he could offer her that much but realize he was doing it because he
was attracted to her more than because he believed her story. It was dastardly
but true. As he reached for the wax paper that she had used to protect the
sheets of the papyrus, his phone rang.  Fox hit the speaker button.

“Henredon,” he said, peeling back
the wax paper.

“Dr. Henredon?” Came a female voice.
“Dr. Loyes would like to see you if you have a moment, sir.”

Fox’s fingers paused from where
they were lingering on the wax paper. “Now?”

“Yes, please. He has people waiting
in his office.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Morgan watched as he carefully
replaced the wax paper and hung up the phone. He stood up, facing her somewhat
apologetically.

“Sorry,” he said. “I need to go.”

Morgan’s eyes were hopeful. “I can
wait if that’s okay.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry; I
just don’t have the time today. Maybe another time.”

Morgan waved him off, suddenly
feeling foolish and exposed. She had played her hand and figured she had lost,
so she couldn’t move fast enough in her attempt to get out of his office.  She
felt like an idiot.

“Don’t worry about it,” she told
him. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

She was fumbling with closing the
artwork case and he took pity on her, helping her close it and fasten the lock.
He picked it up and handed it to her.

“You didn’t waste my time,” he
replied, somewhat gently. He was starting to feel sorry for her. “Thank you for
bringing that journal. It’s really remarkable. I would like to read the entire
thing some day.”

“Sure; anytime.”

Morgan took the case and her purse
and made haste out of his office.  Fox was right behind her, watching her
rounded buttocks beneath the tight jeans.  Before he could say anything
further, she swung on him and extended a free hand.

“Thanks again for your time, Dr.
Henredon,” she said hastily. “I really appreciate it. Sorry to have bothered
you.”

He shook her hand but she didn’t
give him a chance to reply. She bolted from the offices, awkwardly clutching
her artwork case and purse, hurrying away as if she was fearful that someone
might follow her or, worse, comment on her foolish visit. 

As Fox watched her disappear down
the hallway towards the museum lobby, Mrs. Moberley walked up beside him. The
woman peered at the fading figure over the top of her reading glasses.

“What on earth did you do to that
woman?” she asked, perplexed.

Fox shook his head. “Nothing,” he
replied honestly, scratching casually at his neck. “Not what I wanted to do to
her, anyway.”

Mrs. Moberley shot him a vicious
glare and moved back towards her desk. “Dr. Loyes wants to see you in his
office. Now.”

Fox glanced at the woman, a lazy
smile on his face. “Don’t you want to know what…?”

“No,” she said flatly, cutting him
off. “I don’t want to know.”

“Sure you do. You always want to
know.”
“Go,” the woman snapped, pointing in the direction of the executive offices. 
“Go before I

lose my temper, you cheeky boy.”

Still smiling, Fox did as he was
told.

November 2, 1922

            We
have traveled into the city to explore. Mr. Arak has taken us to interesting
places so far, including an old Turkish bazaar that has been here for
centuries.  The people are so helpful and friendly. Perhaps we will find
treasure here!

            ~ FS

CHAPTER TWO

Heaven’s Gate
Manor

Lancashire

The rain had
started the day before and had grown worse by the hour. Sheets of it pounded
mercilessly against the old stone of Heaven’s Gate, drenching the ancient gray
rocks and the countryside surrounding the expansive home.  The land was
brilliant, wet green as far as the eye could see.  In the distance, the forests
of Cumbria lined the horizon, dancing with the lightning that tickled the
treetops.

Morgan was
walking in the middle of the wet and green wonderland.  Since returning from
the Bolton a few hours earlier, she had been depressed and moody, unwilling to
resume her duties of helping clean out the old manor and wanting very much to
be alone for a time. But with her mother around, solitude was difficult; Laura
Sherburn was a vivacious woman who doted on her children.  There were three of
them, Morgan being the oldest girl and, as Laura viewed it, her closest
friend.  Morgan didn’t usually mind her mother’s company but that particular
moment was an exception.

So she had
donned a borrowed pair of Wellington rain boots, a rain coat, told her mother
that she was going for a walk, and ventured out into the weather.  England had
seen unseasonable rains all summer, bleeding over into September and nearly
every day had been a wet barrage.  Coming from Southern California, Morgan
wasn’t used to so much rain but discovered that she liked it a great deal. 

So she walked,
feeling the heart of the lands that had given birth to her family.  She felt a
real connection here, unlike her home in Southern California. Here, it was
different. Heaven’s Gate Manor had been built in 1561, an Elizabethan jewel
built during the reign of the great Virgin Queen by Sir Robert Sherburn, Baron
Dunscar, a man who was supremely loyal to Lord Burghley,  Queen Elizabeth’s
chief advisor. Up until that time, the Sherburns had resided in Bromley Cross
Castle, an enormous Medieval Fortress that was two miles east from the present
manor. The Sherburns had been a powerful and warring family.

Although it was
now mostly ruined, there were still walls and a keep at Bromley Cross. Morgan,
having only been to her great-grandparents home once in her life when she was
very small, remembered being frightened of the skeletal remains of the
once-great castle. Her brother had told her that it was filled with ghosts and
she had been terrified.  Now, she found the ruins romantic and impressive.
Maybe there were ghosts but she wouldn’t bother them if they didn’t bother her.
As she strolled upon the ruins with the rain and lightning bearing down on her,
she found peace and comfort in the walls that had stood for almost nine hundred
years.  She would miss them when she went home.

She found a seat
in the gatehouse entry, shielded from the elements by the passageway that led
from the entry to the bailey beyond. It was quiet here and she could think. She
didn’t blame Dr. Henredon for telling her to take a hike. Well, not so much
take a hike as accusing her of being less than honest with the purpose of her
visit. He had been right, of course, but in her defense, she had been positive
the man would have never agreed to meet with her had she told him the true
purpose of her visit.

 But she had run
into a dead end with Henredon.  Morgan shouldn’t have been so emotional about
it but it was difficult; her great-grandfather had been a man she’d met four
times in her life, a tall man with clear brown eyes and a sharp wit.  The last
time she had seen him had been during her senior year of high school. The man
had come to visit for her graduation, taken one look at her, and got
misty-eyed. When pressed, he said it was because Morgan was the spitting image
of her great-grandmother. And with that, an odd connection to the woman had
formed in Morgan’s mind, this woman she mirrored. She wanted to know more about
her.

But the story
hadn’t been a kind one.  Frances Sherburn, or Fanny as her great-grandfather
called her, had been a beautiful woman of ambition and intelligence.  All of
that was cut short when she died of a fever in Egypt at nineteen years of age. 
Morgan remembered asking where the woman was buried but her great-grandfather simply
told her that he had left her in Egypt because it was what she would have
wanted.  He would say no more than that. For fifteen years, Fanny’s demise and
resting place had been established in Morgan’s mind. Or at least she thought.

The journal she
discovered in the old desk had changed all of that.  Both she and her mother
had read it from cover to cover, discovering what a truly brave and unique
woman Fanny Sherburn had been.  Towards the end of the journal, however, she
began to allude to fears for her safety. It was difficult to read between the
lines of Fanny’s romantic and enthusiastic musings, but Morgan began to suspect
that something was troubling Fanny, something strong enough to cause her to
write about it.  There was even a section of the journal where it looked as if
pages had been torn out. It was very odd. But maybe that was just Morgan’s
suspicious police mind talking.

She was fairly
confident she could figure it out; nine years as a cop for the City of
Pasadena, California and two rotations in the detective bureau would be put to
good use.  Once she was on to something, she didn’t easily let it go. It was
her job to figure it out. That instinct had come in especially handy when she’d
figured out her now ex-husband had been cheating on her.

But it was
something she didn’t like to think about, the marriage that had only lasted
four years. She and Nathan had been very happy for a time, or at least she
thought so, but she was still trying to figure out why the man cheated on her
with a woman he’d met in a coffee shop.  He had told her it was because the
woman made him feel like he wasn’t competing with her career for attention. Five
years later, it still hurt.