The Signature
WRITTEN BY CARMEN NINA WALTON
What power is drawing Hannah to the old church?
Hannah discovered the town with its old church when she became lost returning from an interview. I like it here, she thought. I can’t believe I’ve never been before.
She thought she’d been as a child, but couldn’t remember the occasion. Stopping for lunch, she glanced into an estate agents window.
I could afford to live here.
She’d considered moving house and the charming town attracted her.
It felt so much like home that when Hannah bought the flat in what had been the old jail, she needed no time to get used to anything.
Shopping or crossing the park, she had the constant feeling she’d been there before. A school trip… a course… maybe a holiday? She knew street names before she saw the signs and recognised buildings, monuments and statues. She mentioned it to a workmate who simply laughed at her.
One afternoon Hannah went shopping and saw tourists filing into the church in the square. Momentarily she heard the sound of discordant bells and leaves rushing in a gust of wind and felt confused.
Forgetting her groceries, she headed towards the church and the tourists to see what was happening.
“Fortunes have been spent restoring the church.” A tour guide pointed out stone walls sand-blasted gold and jewel-like stained glass windows.
The wistful beauty of the church made Hannah uneasy and she tried to understand why.
“These are original panels from 1679,” the guide went on. “They were being used as shelves before the restoration.”
Hannah noticed a small staircase that disappeared into the gloom. Probably it went up to a room somewhere.
She continued following the tourists, finding out about who had used the church over its long history.
Eventually they reached the staircase and the guide pointed into the gloom.
“Here’s where Sarah Moffatt was persuaded to end her engagement to William Montague when he discovered that she’d been married and was a woman of dubious means.”
Hannah knew a Sarah Moffatt from somewhere. A colleague… a school friend… It’d come to her.
“…And here’s her signature in our book.” The guide had led the tourists up circling stairs into a chamber where an ancient book lay open at a page marked with ribbon. “Here it is.”
The visitors huddled around the book. Hannah craned her neck to see.
“The famous flourish of Sarah Moffatt.” The tour guide was triumphant.
The signature was uncannily like hers
“That looks like my signature.”
Hannah’s remark caused the tourists to chuckle. She was about to protest again but thought better of it.
Yet the signature was uncannily like hers. She was sure of it… but didn’t know how it had landed on a page dated 1679.
She walked away from the group, planning to return on a quieter day. She had reached the door when she heard the tour guide saying, “Of course, Moffatt caused havoc in her day.”
Hannah turned, feeling unaccountably cross.
“What did you say?” She felt the need to stick up for Sarah Moffatt, even though she couldn’t think why.
“Calm your temper, Sarah.” Hannah looked to see who had spoken but the room was empty but for a polished table. “Or more trouble will follow.”
A man was stepping out of the shadows to discourage her from leaving.
“Sign this paper.”
Confused, Hannah inhaled sharply
“I need to go.”
“First sign the paper.”
The man’s shirt had frilled cuffs; his black velvet jacket was beaded and embroidered. A great vintage buy, Hannah thought. On his legs he wore tights and buckled shoes.
“Sign the paper and release him.” His eyes, filled with dislike, bored into her.
“Who are you?”
“Who am I? How dare you question the head of the most powerful family in the county? My son has made an error in choosing you. I’ll see that you are compensated for his folly. Once you release him.”
Hannah reached a trembling hand to braided hair and noticed that the man who sought her signature had long hair woven into a plait at his neck.
“From what?” Her voice was muffled in the locked chamber. She felt suddenly restricted in a fitted maroon dress with a shaped bodice and full embroidered sleeves. What’s going on?
“Your tyranny, avarice and spiteful nature. You shall not become a member of my family, nor will my son be connected with yours. We understand a broken engagement is damaging, even to such as you. We will take the blame and behave honourably.”
If it was a re-enactment, it was impressively realistic
If it was a re-enactment, it was impressively realistic – yet they were alone, and there was no end to it.
Hannah smelled the man’s cinnamon and rosewater lotion as he stepped past her and out of the room. Hannah made to follow but was bustled back in as he returned with a candle.
“Hurry, Sarah, and let it be done.”
He placed the candle on the desk in front of the book, illuminating a quill resting in ink which he handed to her.
“No.” Hannah felt she could not besmirch the beautiful page. This re-enactment had gone too far.
“Yes.” The man twisted her wrist towards the page. “You will do it.”
Hannah’s heart hammered.
“I don’t want to. Help me, someone –”
A scented hand covered her mouth.
“Who d’you think will disobey me, mistress? Sign.”
Ink spluttered from the quill, staining the page
Reluctantly Hannah did. Ink spluttered from the quill, staining the page. She meant to write her usual signature but it came out curled and thickened as ink flowed from the quill. Her eyes swam over the blurred words she was agreeing to. All she saw was the name Roger Montague… father of William Montague.
“At last! ’Tis done. Now leave this town,” the man shouted.
The chamber door opened and two clerks hurried in to take the book. Hannah was ushered into a corridor where a young man stood, an agonised look on his face.
“Father – she is my love.”
The young man was handsome – no, beautiful. Dressed like his father but more brightly, he smelled of spice and oils. He reached out to Hannah and when they touched, a wave of something vital passed between them and she knew that she adored him.
“You’ll thank me in time, William,” the older man’s voice boomed, and then he pushed her away.
“William!” Hannah called, strangely sad. “What have I done wrong, Sir?”
“Married for money, my dear. William will not begin life with a reputation tainted by your past. Be gone.”
“Sir. I can explain.” Hannah knew the story – poor parents, a clever girl with uncommon abilities, a hasty marriage and young widowhood. “You are wrong about me.”
A door opened and she was pushed into the street. Wind howled and she struggled to catch her breath. She screamed at the door but her words were lost in a tornado of dry leaves.
“Are you OK?” the tour guide asked. “We wondered if you were feeling faint when you leaned forward to see the signature.”
Hannah’s world spun and she waited for it to be still.
“Who was Sarah Moffatt?”
“A remarkable woman who loved William Montague.” The tour guide warmed to her subject. “She was ahead of her time and jailed because she was misunderstood by Roger Montague. Before you fainted, I showed everyone the document she signed to release her fiancé from their engagement. You can see where her tears splashed the ink.”
Fainted? Hannah breathed deeply and wondered how long she’d been out.
“Better now?” the woman asked kindly.
“I…” Hannah didn’t know where to start. “I thought I was in that room with Roger Montague, and I was Sarah Moffatt. I can’t think what happened.”
“They said she’d come back.” The guide’s face grew solemn. “Apparently she left here shouting, I will return.”
Hannah recalled words lost in the wind
Hannah recalled slamming a door, words lost in the wind. I will return. She had thought it a nightmare.
“I want to go home now.”
Hannah gathered herself and left. She’d come back when it was quiet and see the signature on the document for what it was; smudged, rushed lettering, a woman who lived a long time ago.
“See you again, then.”
At the church door Hannah stood and remembered a young man… his dark hair… the tempting smell of him, and her heart dancing when they touched.
I loved him. And he loved me.
Hannah walked through streets she knew well and understood she’d said she would return. And she had.
Now all she had to do was to find her beloved William.
Read our other Haunting Series stories…
Karen Byrom
My coffee mug says "professional bookworm" which sums me up really! As commissioning fiction editor on the magazine, I love sharing my reading experience of the latest books, debut authors and more with you all, and would like to hear from you about your favourite books and authors! Email me kbyrom@dctmedia.co.uk
