House of Shadows (7 page)

W
hen Holly reached the Ashmolean Museum that evening she found huge posters flanking the entrance, proclaiming the forthcoming exhibition of artefacts from the Court of Elizabeth Stuart, the Winter Queen. It was, the poster proclaimed, an extraordinary showcase for an outstanding collection of the finest seventeenth-century glass, china, and portraiture.

The curator on duty at the door was reluctant to let Holly in until she mentioned her name and that she was meeting Mr Shurmer, whereupon he stood back with what was almost a bow and directed her to the second floor. The door of the lecture room stood wide; Holly could see the detritus of canapés and empty wine glasses strewn about. The guests were still chatting, however, and the roar of conversation was like a wall of noise.

She didn’t want to go in, to engage in conversation, to try to find Espen Shurmer in the crowd. Instead she
turned away and immediately felt the shock of quietness fall about her. The roar of voices faded. There was nothing but the faint tap of her footsteps and beyond the floor to ceiling windows at the end of the corridor, the tumble of Oxford roofs, spires and towers and the glitter of the city lights.

Holly loved Oxford. She had grown up in the city and she loved the crackle of excitement, the same sense of opportunity in the air that she felt in London. It felt like a city of limitless possibilities as well as a place steeped in history. Tonight though it just felt lonely and the bright white walls and bare spaces of the museum made it all the more stark.

At the end of the corridor a thick red rope now blocked the entrance to the exhibition. Holly had been to similar events in London and knew that earlier in the evening, all the guests would have wandered through, exchanging professional opinions on the rarity and quality of the collection. Now the gallery was empty and she could see the gleam of glass in the display cases. It beckoned to her, forbidden, tempting. She slipped past the rope and went in, ignoring the portraits and the other objects, concentrating solely on the engraved glass.

As always when she saw such exquisite workmanship Holly felt her heart quicken. This was the long tradition she worked within. She had wanted to be a glass engraver almost from the moment she had started to study the decorative arts. Here she was looking at masterpieces of her craft. There were slender wine flutes in the Venetian style and fat goblets engraved with scenes from Dutch life. There were
glasses shaped like inverted bells with stems of twisted spirals and broad bowls embellished with flowers.

A stunning floor-length picture of the Winter Queen dominated the far wall and seeing it, Holly felt a tug of memory. Her grandfather had told her stories of Elizabeth Stuart when she had been a little girl. Elizabeth had been a Scottish princess by birth and Holly, born in the North of England, had felt a sense of affinity with the child who had left behind her roots and travelled so far from home. The idea of a Winter Queen had caught her childish imagination; she had visualised Elizabeth spun from icicles, cold as snow, like the White Witch in the Chronicles of Narnia. But those stories had felt magical, unreal. Here was the story of Elizabeth’s life told through items she had touched and held.

Slowly now Holly walked between the display cases, taking in all the artefacts that she had previously ignored because she had been overwhelmed by the beauty of the glass. There were letters from Elizabeth to her husband Frederick of Bohemia, an astrolabe showing the celestial sphere with the earth at its centre, an engraved gold medal celebrating the couple’s marriage, a dagger enamelled and set with diamonds.

On a bed of blue velvet nestled two miniatures, one of Frederick and the other of Elizabeth. Leaning closer, Holly saw that the portraits had been painted in 1612, just before their marriage.

‘Miss Ansell? How do you do? I am Espen Shurmer.’

Holly jumped. Just for a moment she had forgotten that she had come to the Ashmolean to meet Espen Shurmer and talk about Ben.

Shurmer was standing on the other side of the display, hands in the pockets of his beautifully cut suit, smiling at her confusion with benevolent amusement. He stepped forwards and held out a hand.

‘Am I to assume that your presence here means that Dr Ansell has not returned?’ he asked. His English was almost accentless.

‘Mr Shurmer.’ Holly felt self-conscious and only just managed not to wipe her palms down her dress before she shook hands. ‘Yes, I’m afraid Ben is still missing.’

‘My sympathies,’ Shurmer said gravely. ‘I imagine that is very difficult for you.’

‘Thank you,’ Holly said. ‘Yes, it is a little difficult.’ She thought about her grandparents and the stoicism they were displaying in the absence of any news. When she had arrived earlier that afternoon, her grandmother had hugged her tightly for a long, long time as though she was afraid that Holly might vanish too. Her grandfather had told her he had spoken to the police and was trying to encourage them to open a formal investigation now that Ben had been gone over 48 hours without contact.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t make myself known to you when I arrived, Mr Shurmer,’ Holly said. ‘I …’ She hesitated. ‘I had an urge to see the exhibition.’

‘Of course.’ Shurmer smiled. ‘You are welcome.’ His eyes were a vivid blue. His face bore lines of humour and experience. It was impossible to guess his age although Holly thought he must be in his late sixties, or older. His English was slightly clipped and old-fashioned which only added to the charm.

‘Why would you not wish to see it?’ he said. ‘All these items are so very beautiful.’

‘Yes.’ Holly hesitated again. ‘I’m a glass engraver, you see, and these—’ She gestured towards the display cases, ‘well, I’ve never seen anything quite so stunning.’ She found that she had put out a hand towards the nearest cabinet as though wanting to touch the glass within. It was a rose-coloured goblet with a hunting scene engraved on it in gold foil. She knew it was called gold sandwich-glass and that it was so precious and expensive that it had probably been a gift and never actually used.

She saw Shurmer’s eyes widen momentarily in surprise. ‘A glass engraver,’ he said slowly. ‘Yes, I see.’

‘It’s wonderful to see the glass in the context of other items from Frederick and Elizabeth’s court,’ Holly said. ‘On its own it is exquisite but seen alongside some of their other possessions it has so much more meaning. I can almost imagine stepping into the palace of the Wassenaer Hof and seeing the table set for a banquet …’ She tailed off, thinking she sounded impossibly naïve, but Shurmer’s shrewd blue gaze had sharpened with interest.

‘So you know about the Wassenaer Hof? About Elizabeth and Frederick’s court in exile?’

‘A little,’ Holly said. ‘I’ve been to The Hague but of course the palace has gone now. As for Elizabeth and Frederick, my grandfather told me about them when I was a child. He was a wonderful storyteller.’

‘The Winter Queen is not well known in this country,’ Shurmer said, ‘even though she was the daughter of King James I.’

‘She was known as the Pearl of Britain,’ Holly said. She looked at Elizabeth’s portrait. ‘She looks heartbreakingly lovely. So young as well.’

It was an unusual portrait, she thought. In it Elizabeth’s auburn hair was loose about her shoulders rather than piled up in some elaborate arrangement, and the long flowing tresses complemented the bold orange and black striped gown she wore. She was a true Scottish rose with creamy white skin and pale blue eyes.

‘As does Frederick,’ Shurmer said. Holly thought he sighed softly. ‘So young and eager. It is fortunate they did not know at that stage what was to come – betrayal, loss and exile.’

The Winter King looked no more than a boy, handsome and clean-shaven. His dark eyes were lustrous and his dark hair had a jaunty curl. Holly could see why he and Elizabeth had apparently fallen in love with each other on sight. Their good looks, hopes and expectations would have been a mirror each for the other. Everything must have seemed so wonderful in the beginning.

Then she remembered that Elizabeth had lost her brother only months before her marriage to Frederick. Even then there had been dark clouds. Unconsciously she wrapped her arms about her, warding off the darkness.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you did not invite me here to discuss this.’

Shurmer smiled. ‘On the contrary, Miss Ansell. In order to understand what it is that your brother wanted from me, it is necessary to know of the Winter Queen. But it seems that you already do.’ His gaze was intent, as though weighing
up just how much she did know. ‘Has Dr Ansell already told you about his researches?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Holly said. ‘I’m afraid not.’

‘So,’ Shurmer said. ‘Why did you decide to come?’

Holly did not answer immediately and he did not prompt her. There was a quality of patience, of stillness, about Espen Shurmer that was unusual, she thought. It felt as though he would always be prepared to wait as long as was needed to get what he wanted.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said honestly, after a moment. ‘I think I came because I thought it might have something to do with Ben’s disappearance, or at least help me to work out what has happened to him.’

Shurmer nodded slowly. ‘It is important to you to find him.’

‘Very,’ Holly said.

Silence fell again. She waited for Shurmer to say something reassuring. Almost everyone she had met in the past 48 hours had told her they were sure Ben would turn up soon. She knew it was intended to help, to make her feel better, even though it didn’t. But Espen Shurmer said nothing.

‘When we spoke you mentioned something about a pearl of great value,’ Holly said. ‘I must admit it surprised me. That really doesn’t sound like Ben. He’s not into antique jewellery or history of any sort, to be honest. He’s too—’ She paused. ‘He’s more about the present rather than the past.’

‘Indeed?’ A frown touched Espen Shurmer’s brow. ‘Yet he was researching your family history?’

‘I only heard about that recently,’ Holly said. ‘It seemed weird – totally out of character.’ She looked at him. ‘I’m astonished he told you about that too. Did it have something to do with his questions about the pearl?’

She saw a shadow of something flicker in Shurmer’s eyes. ‘Perhaps.’ His tone was non-committal. ‘I do not know. All I know is that Dr Ansell wanted me to tell him all I knew about the Sistrin.’

‘The Sistrin,’ Holly said, and as she said the name she felt something shift inside her like the faintest of echoes, as though she had heard the word before. ‘That is the name of the pearl,’ she said softly.

‘It is,’ Shurmer said. ‘But before I tell you about it, Miss Ansell, we must go back a little.’ He gestured to her to sit beside him on one of the museum’s wide leather benches. ‘You will humour an old man, I hope.’

It felt something of a royal edict. Holly sat.

Espen Shurmer waved a hand towards the cabinet that was closest to them. ‘You see the crystal mirror, here? What do you think of it?’

Holly followed his gaze. The same display case that held the rose-coloured engraved glass also held a number of other objects, but amongst all the gorgeously extravagant glassware they had been all but invisible to her. Now she saw them: a signet ring, a sapphire necklace set in dull gold, and a small mirror in a wooden frame that was studded with diamonds. It was shaped like a teardrop with a worn handle at the base. It was beautiful, a piece of workmanship so delicate it looked as though it would be too fragile to hold. The glass shone with a milky bluish radiance.
Yet there was something about it that Holly did not like.

‘It’s a stunning piece of work,’ she said carefully.

‘It is Murano crystal,’ Shurmer said, ‘and was a gift to Mary, Queen of Scots when she wed Francois II of France. It is pretty, is it not?’

That was something of an understatement, Holly thought. The mirror was exquisite. Yet there was also something malevolent about it. She did not want to look into it though she was not exactly sure what it was about it that scared her.

‘Mary was Elizabeth’s grandmother, wasn’t she?’ she asked. ‘Did she bequeath it to her?’

The lines deepened about Shurmer’s eyes as he smiled. ‘After a fashion,’ he said. ‘It was stolen by Elizabeth I of England when she had Mary put to death. Later Elizabeth sent it back to Scotland as a christening gift for Elizabeth Stuart, who was her goddaughter. It was, however, something of a cursed gift.’

‘Cursed?’ Holly said. She didn’t believe in the supernatural. She had never liked things she could not explain: ghosts, the Loch Ness monster, even the placebo effect. Even so, she felt the goosebumps creep along the back of her neck.

‘The mirror became a tool for necromancy,’ Shurmer said. ‘Soothsaying,’ he added, in response to Holly’s enquiring glance. ‘After Frederick lost his throne he became obsessed with the need to know whether he would ever regain his patrimony. He was a member of the Order of Knights of the Rosy Cross. They were said to have the power of foretelling the future and they used the crystal mirror in their magic.’

‘I remember reading about the Knights of the Rosy Cross years ago,’ Holly said. ‘Some people thought them healers rather than magicians. And some said they were charlatans in league with the devil.’