Beneath the Hallowed Hill Read Free

lounge were drawn up to another fireplace laid ready. A gilded mirror hung above a mantel decorated with dried-up evergreen sprigs, holly with browned berries, and pillar candles.
    “Looks like she planned to celebrate here. Wonder why Tessa didn’t take it away?”
    “Maybe she misses Cynthia.” Michael kissed her forehead. “I’ll get the rest of our bags.”
    Anne turned her back on the sad mantelpiece and explored farther. What was once a smaller room, perhaps a nursery, was converted into a walk-in closet. Rows of drawers and hanging clothes ended in a cozy dressing room complete with a little table and mirror. Anne opened a small door on the left and found a water closet. The second, larger door led to the bathroom they first discovered.
    Suddenly, Michael stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He was winded from climbing the steps, and his breath blew warm on her neck. “Hungry?”
    “What time is it?”
    “Five hours earlier in New York, but it’s dinnertime here.”
    “Look at all this.” Anne pointed to the full closet, then at the dressing room. Brilliantly colored Egyptian perfume bottles lined the dressing table. Silk scarves and necklaces hung from small gold hooks from floor to ceiling. “She must have spent a lot of time in this house.”
    “I don’t blame her.” Michael closed his eyes for a moment. “Do you feel it?”
    Anne stretched her senses. “It’s so quiet. Not like Giza, I couldn’t sleep there.”
    “Glastonbury is full of peace,” Michael repeated, then his stomach rumbled and they both laughed. “Let’s go to town. There are some good restaurants and the walk will work out the kinks from the plane.”
    They hiked down Wellhouse Lane and passed the stone wall dividing Chalice Well from Chilkwell Street. Past the Well, a row of townhouses crowded up to the sidewalk, the windows full of plants and sun catchers with pentagrams and Celtic knots now lit from the lamps inside. An orange cat ran from the garden of a larger house and paused to look at them. The mouse he was chasing took advantage of his hesitation and dove into a drainpipe.
    They turned down High Street and slowed their pace to look into shop windows.
    “There’s a Chinese takeout.” Anne pointed to a sign in one of the windows. They stopped to read the menu.
    “Another night,” Michael said. “I’d eat it before we got home.”
    They passed a health food store, then noticed a regular grocer across the street. A young man with dreadlocks was just folding up his display blanket from in front of the St. John’s Church. The stores displayed their offerings to the tourists. Crystals filled one window, locally made clothes another, books and Tarot cards were displayed in a third.
    “Here.” Michael led the way into Café Galatea, where they took an empty table next to the front window. The wares of local artists hung on the walls, and a variety of newspapers were strewn about. They ordered a large pot of tea and two sesame stir fries. The tea arrived, and with steaming mugs in hand, they watched the tourists and town residents parade up and down the street. After dinner, they strolled past Market Square and the haunted George and Pilgrim’s Inn, down Magdalene Street along the wall of the Abbey, then up the hill back to the house. Michael lit the fire in the bedroom and they sat in comfortable silence.
    “I’m too tired to unpack.” Anne pointed to the suitcases still piled at the foot of the bed.
    “We’ll settle in tomorrow, then I’ll show you around.” Michael stifled a yawn.
    Anne smiled. “Time for bed.” They curled together beneath the smooth sheet, but sleep won over passion.
    * * * *
    Something woke Anne. She listened for a sound, but heard only the ticking of an old clock downstairs. She rolled over and snuggled down under the duvet, but sleep did not return. Rather than toss and turn, she crept out of bed, careful not to wake Michael. In the closet, among Cynthia’s