Setting aside the legalities of the case for the time being—I’d need to consult an expert on the law to be certain of my conclusions—I continued with my search. I was able to verify that there had indeed been an outbreak of smallpox in the area in the summer of 1639. In itself, this proved nothing, but since the writer of the journal had referred to an arranged marriage to a titled man and the postponement of the wedding due to smallpox, this directly corresponded to the circumstances of Marjorie Ashcombe’s marriage in the summer of 1639 and her elevation to the status of Lady Marjorie from being plain Marjorie Ashcombe. Satisfied with this bit of sleuthing, I returned to my study of the family.
Jeremiah Lockwood and his wife had one son, Charles, who went on to inherit the estate after his father’s death at the Battle of Edgehill fought between Royalists and Parliamentarians in October 1642. Despite his wife’s Puritan faith, Jeremiah Lockwood fought on the side of the Royalists in what was one of the first big battles of the First Civil War. Had he lived, they might have had more children, but Lady Marjorie never remarried, living out her remaining years at her childhood home. Charles Lockwood had several children and lived well into his seventies. I consulted several genealogical sites, coming up with what I hoped was an accurate family tree. Sitting back, I looked over the diagram I’d drawn up. The last owner of Lockwood Hall, Jefferey Lockwood, had been the last of the Lockwoods, as far as I could tell, since the family had suffered severe casualties during World War II.
Only a handful of descendants had survived the war, with only two, Rose Bartlett and Alan Lockwood, going on to have children. Alan was the father of Jeffrey, who’d inherited the estate, and Rose had a daughter who now lived in New Zealand and a son who had died in a car accident nearly a decade ago. If the information I found was accurate, Rose’s daughter, Alana, was now in her seventies and had no children. Lisa Prentiss’s name never came up on any of the sites. Of course, Prentiss was her married name, but no one named Lisa or anyone else who’d be around her age was listed anywhere. Lisa’s connection to the Lockwoods had to be tenuous at best, if it even existed. Perhaps that was why she was reluctant to talk about the past, fearful that her lack of knowledge would become obvious. Not that it mattered. Many people had no interest in their family history; it didn’t mean they had no claim to it.
Had Lisa been more receptive, I might have asked her about her connection to the Lockwoods, but her terse responses did not invite confidences, and I thought it best not to keep badgering her. I closed my notebook and stood, stretching after spending nearly two hours in a hardback chair. It was time for lunch, and I was hungry. Alys was still a ghostly figure, sketched in rough lines on the canvas of my imagination, but the background was starting to fill with texture and color, and soon, I would bring her to life.
Downstairs, we were a diminished group, with only me, Len, Anna, and Paul. I was curious why Kyle hadn’t joined us but didn’t want to ask, especially since Len was watching me the way a fox eyes a particularly plump hen. Now that Yvonne was gone, I supposed I was the next best thing. His appraising gaze made me feel uncomfortably exposed, and I suddenly wished I’d stayed in my room and asked Lisa for a sandwich, especially since Paul was going on about his new book and acting for all the world like he wasn’t the subject of a rather embarrassing lawsuit.
The conversation was stilted, and I escaped as soon as I could, returning to my room to continue my research. I sat down, picked up my pen, and turned to open my notebook, only to discover that it wasn’t where I’d left it. I looked around, confused. The notebook had been next to the laptop when I left for lunch. I checked my bag, in case I’d tossed it in there, then looked on the bed and examined the chairs before the hearth, but I knew I wouldn’t find it there. Someone had been in my room and had taken my notes.
While at lunch, I had seen both Lisa and Alastair, and even Brittany had popped in to grab a sandwich. The only person who hadn’t been there was Kyle, but why would he go into my room and take my notebook? Had I locked the room when I left? I went to examine the lock. There was no evidence of forced entry, but then again, if someone wanted to pick the lock, there were tutorials online. Thankfully, access to my laptop was password protected, so they wouldn’t have been able to open any of my documents.
Unable to concentrate, I went for a walk, crashing down the path toward the reservoir like Godzilla through Tokyo in my anger. I stopped short when I spotted Kyle, standing with his back to me, his gaze fixed on the spire of St. Botolph’s. He turned at the sound of my less-than-stealthy footsteps.
“Nicole,” he said, the smile dying on his face when he saw my expression. “Something wrong?”
“Someone took my notebook from my room while I was at lunch.” You were the only person absent,
