The Passing Bell Tolls for Thee

1 Welcome Home

April Waverly pushed the button that lowered the window on the passenger side of the Mercedes and breathed the fresh autumn air. She took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm her twitching nerves. The Lodge at Oakton was her new home today, in a few minutes, as required by Ramsey's will. She had lived at Oakton for just over two years, as an employee; now she was mistress. What will the future bring?, she wondered. I have a mansion, a farm, money, if. If I meet the requirements of Sir Drew's will. They're not hard.

Oakton Farm was 137 acres on the chalk in Wiltshire and the ancestral seat of the Ramseys. Sir Guy Ramsey, son of a Norman knight who came with William the Conqueror, married Edris, heiress of Aethelric of Pel. Their son was Sir Drury Ramsey, who married one of the heiresses of Baron Kennette, thereby acquiring properties in Pelham and other counties. The last Ramsey, Sir Drew Vere Ramsey, died August 16, 2022.

Ben Muir, Sir Drew's distant cousin but not a Ramsey, was his heir, to no one's surprise, as the two men had been, everyone thought, like father and son. The surprise was he left Oakton and a generous fortune to April Waverly, his carer and assistant.

Ramsay paid quite well for her devotion exclusively to his care, with the commitment to forego any relationship that might keep her from attending him. She knew almost no one in England but Harvey Waverly, her ex-husband. Their divorce agreement gave enough money to return to South Carolina, but she jumped eagerly at the chance to earn a great amount of money. The job was actually easy, if solitary, and absurdly well paid, so she accepted the requirements over Harvey's objections. Sir Drew's will extended the obligation to Ostara. If she refused or left, she would forfeit Oakton and receive only the £50,000 from their original agreement.

"It's so lovely here," April said. "I do like Wiltshire." Pastures dotted with white puffs of sheep, cottages, and estates, and barns rolled by the windows of Ben's new Mercedes. Mine, a piece of this beauty land is mine, she told herself.

"Yes," said Ben Muir, Ramsey's solicitor, and foster son, who handled all his affairs but for the will. "Oakton is beautiful." He drove the Mercedes along the road that ran beside Oakton, where sheep grazed in the green grass and woodlands filled with English Oak spotted the horizon.

Yes, she thought, Oakton is beautiful, and it scares me. Her heart beat faster and she took a few slow, deep breaths, hoping to prevent the panic attack from taking over. She rooted in her purse and removed the anti-anxiety medication. She washed one down with a gulp from her water bottle, knowing the panic would continue. She hoped something would distract her, but few things could. She'd have to suffer while waiting the attack out.

Drew, enjoying the vigor of Ben's young body, turned the Mercedes up the driveway to the Lodge, a three-story house built on the ruins of the old manor in 1830 and remodeled in the 1920's. A fireplace from 1689 still warmed the drawing room on cold nights, and a small priest's hole was now a pantry. Drew had modernized Oakton twice since inheriting the Ramsey fortune in 1969.

"I'm surprised Sir Drew didn't leave Oakton to you," April said. "You were like a son to him. Really, the only person he was close to. Including the King's Oak Druids."

Ben smiled, a smug, satisfied smile. April winced and looked out the window to hide her dislike. "He left me everything else."

"Oh, yes," said April, remembering the will. Sir Drew Vere Ramsey had been very, very rich, to her surprise. Oakton was one of his smaller properties. "I just wondered why he remembered me in his will. I mean, he paid me very well, more than usual for a mere assistant and caregiver. I'm only a nursing assistant, not a nurse."

Ben shrugged. "He felt he owed you something, for your care these last two years. He knows—knew—how much you loved the farm, and that you'd care for it as he did."

How does Ben know that? April wondered. I never told anyone but Sir Drew how much I like Oakton.

Ben's warm brown eyes twinkled at her. Ben was very handsome, brown eyed and dark haired, tall, broad-shouldered, but April thought him pushy, and avaricious. He always shook her hand a little too hard and knew too much. Ramsay asked me endless questions about my life, and I told that lonely old man almost everything. I'd never have told him much if I knew he'd blab it all to Ben.

Ben parked by the front door of the Lodge. He walked slowly to the passenger side and opened the door. He held out his hand and April, grinning nervously, took it and got out. Ben pulled her up forcefully, and she staggered. "Careful, now. Don't stumble on your first day home. Some folk here think it's bad luck."

She bit back the retort that he had pulled her over, and just shook her head. "I don't have the keys. Do you?"

Ben laughed, eyes narrowing in amusement, and she realized her faux pas. "Mrs. Bigwood will open the door for you. You're the lady of the house. Mistress of Oakton." He smiled down at her, enjoying her discomfort.

"Yes," April replied, "provisionally."

Ben laughed, a throaty, pleasant sound, as he watched April from his bedroom eyes. "The provisions of the will are easy enough to fulfill. Then Oakton Farm will be your home." His eyes were bright with greed and malice.

"Live here till Ostara, March 21; celibate—I've done that while working for Mr. Ramsey; allow the King's Oak Druids free use of the woods to worship and join them for certain occasions." She shrugged. "Easy enough."

"You must change your name to Drea Ramsay. If you want to reject your inheritance, worth £2,000,000, and refuse the farm, you can accept £50,000 and go your way." Ben watched intently for her reaction.

April nodded. "I do love Oakton, and Wiltshire. I want to stay here. I think, I think, I could be happy here."

Ben grinned, showing many teeth. "I know you will love Oakton as if you had been born and bred here."

I wonder what that means. "I never thought something like this would happen to me." She twisted the bracelet on her wrist nervously.

Ben said, "Believe." He rang the bell.

A pleasant chime sounded deep in the house, and soon they heard footsteps padding on the wooden floors of the Lodge. The door opened, and Mrs. Bigwood, tall and lean, black hair in a large bun on her head, stood there, shrewd eyes looking down her nose at the former carer.

"Good morning, Mrs. Waverly," she nodded, and stepped back. "Welcome home."