Free The Book of Hours by Davis Bunn Page B

missives. But she has put her foot down, and we both know there is no shifting that woman when her mind is made up. She says her time in your life is over, and to write now would only cloud the waters of your transition. Hers is the voice of the past, and mine is to be that of your future. So it has fallen upon these fragile shoulders to say that somehow I am certain she is with you still.
    â€œMy day is not a good one, so that is all I have to say for now, except to share the next puzzle with you. The riddle is as follows:A little girl came to England and thought that her sorrows had not just followed, but multiplied with her arrival. Yet it was in this place of supposed darkness that she found not only a turning, but a healing. Seek where the darkness gathers, and find wings for your own renewal. Yours ever, Heather.”
    Brian took his empty cup back into the kitchen, pleased that his stomach rumbled with hunger. All he had in the pantry was a last slice of Gladys Wainwright’s bread, which he ate as he inspected the prize discovered from Heather’s first letter. The dollhouse stood on the kitchen table, burnished by the brilliant afternoon light. It was an astonishingly exact replica of the manor itself, down to the columned portico and the portraits on the parlor walls.
    As he inspected the chambers through the tiny windows, he felt Heather’s words striking with a resonance that shook him still.
    He had come to England only because he had almost no money, resigned to entering a realm of memories that were not even his, and confronting sorrows that had pursued him all the way around the world. Instead, he was indeed greeted by a healing. The reception was so peculiar, he did not know what to think of it or how to respond.
    The voices rose to greet him as he came down the stairs. He spotted Arthur standing in the front doorway, silhouetted by the sun. Arthur turned at the sound of his footsteps, revealing a face creased with worry, and said, “I am astonished the grass does not wither beneath her feet.”
    Brian stepped to the doorway and observed a tall woman dressed in Burberry serge. She wore no-nonsense lace-up shoes and a peaked hat with a feather that shivered under her torrent. “I have been a loyal citizen of this village for decades. Not to mention a regular attendee at church! I have every right to request, nay, to demand that you halt your fiendish plot!”
    Her prey was the vicar, and there was no sign of yielding within the man’s sinewy form. “Mrs. Winniskill, I regret to inform you that no amount of church attendance excuses either ill conduct or a desire for conflict.”
    From his position beside Brian, Arthur murmured, “Lavinia Winniskill. Resident mover and shaker. Married into the town’s wealthiest clan. Her husband is director of several large companies. The woman loves nothing more than a reason to stir the pot.”
    To Brian’s mind, Lavinia Winniskill sounded like a donkey learning to yodel. “What an offensive and uncouth thing to say. I desire nothing but an end to that infernal racket!”
    â€œSome people happen to find our village bells very appealing.”
    â€œThen they are not in their right minds!” She flung her arm about, missing the vicar’s nose by mere inches. “They live in some archaic past filled with romantic claptrap!”
    â€œI happen to love those bells,” the vicar replied. “And I class myself as neither archaic nor particularly romantic.”
    â€œThen you have most certainly taken leave of your senses!” She took a threatening step forward. “I warn you, this has gone quite far enough.”
    â€œIndeed it has,” the vicar agreed. “I must therefore request that you cease in this senseless and argumentative stance you are taking.”
    â€œYou . . . I . . .” Clearly the woman was unused to having someone oppose her so directly. “I’ll have you