Sarah turned to Peter St. Owen in the back in the taxi.
“Where do you suggest we go, sir?”
The old man turned towards her.
“Let’s go to my place, Sarah.”
He looked at Hugh as his grandson stared back at him with surprise.
“Yes, I’m sorry, Hugh. I have lived on the outskirts of Perris for the last three years ? and I actually managed to keep it a secret from your family.”
Hugh St. Owen shook his head in disbelief.
“I can’t imagine how you hid it from the townspeople all this time,” he said.
“I didn’t hide it from all of them, Hugh. I do have supporters in some areas.”
Sarah looked at the reflection of the taxi driver in the driving mirror. The taxi driver gave them all an obliging nod. Sarah smiled to herself. At least the old gentleman seemed to have friends in useful places.
Her heart began to flutter as she felt Hugh St. Owen’s thigh pressed against hers in the confines of the little taxi. She felt an increasing pressure from him as his thigh pressed hard against hers. She just hoped his grandfather was unaware of what was going on.
The car made a detour, avoiding the Perris-on-Sea business district and the Victorian promenade. It then headed inland for a couple of miles. The driver turned off the main highway onto a small country side road. Soon they were driving through a densely wooded area. Abruptly the taxi came to a halt outside an attractive little cottage in the middle of a forest clearing.  Sarah had a quick flash of the Seven Dwarfs’ cottage in Snow White. It seemed to have that sort of appeal.
“This is my place,” said Peter St. Owen.
He climbed out of the taxi.  Sarah and Hugh St. Owen followed suit. They both thanked the driver effusively for helping with their rescue. They then waited while the old gentleman unlocked the cottage door and courteously showed them into the front parlor. The taxi drove away. Silence descended on the wood.
Sarah looked around the cottage interior. It was sparsely furnished, masculine and imbued with a sort of old world charm. A welcoming fire burned delightfully in the grate. She liked the cottage at once. Quite fitting, Sarah thought, for a real life fairy godfather like Peter St. Owen.
“Very nice, grandfather,” said Hugh St. Owen.
“Charming,” Sarah agreed.
The old gentleman nodded appreciatively.
Hugh St. Owen turned to his grandfather.
“Sir, I really should call my father and tell him that I am out of danger. He must be terribly worried about me.”
Peter St. Owen looked at the young man.
“I’m sure he is, Hugh,” he said in a quiet voice, “But I would prefer that you listen to what I have to say first before you call him. Another hour or so won’t make that much difference.”
The young stud assented and gazed around the parlor.
“I’m sure both of you would like to clean up before we sit down,” said their host. “There is a restroom at the end of the hall.”
Sarah smiled back. She walked through the hallway past what looked like a master bedroom and a guest room. She stopped before entering a sensibly appointed bathroom. She was surprised to find that the cottage was much larger on the inside than it appeared outside. Sarah felt that she could afford to take a little time to attend to her toiletries. This would allow grandfather and grandson a short while to get reacquainted. After all, thought Sarah, they had experienced a very long degree of separation.
An hour later Sarah and Hugh were both freshly bathed and sitting in clean dressing gowns supplied by the owner of the house. They sat in the front cottage parlor. They eagerly awaited Peter St. Owen’s explanations of the strange goings on at the Abbey.
It was near sunset. The light from the fireplace lit up the room. The old man, his thick white hair framing his long, arresting face, stared back at them in silence for quite a long time. The fire crackled comfortingly in the background. The air of expectancy was so palpable that Sarah felt she could have cut it with a knife ? and shattered the blade.
The old gentleman eventually broke the long silence. He began to speak slowly and deliberately.
“What I have to say to both of you may come as a shock. Particularly to you, Hugh.”
Hugh St. Owen leaned forward anxiously in his chair.
The old man continued.
“I have something to tell you Hugh. It’s about your birth. You have an identical twin brother.”
Hugh St. Owen turned in his chair. The stud looked meaningly at Sarah. Of course, as Sarah had guessed, this did not come as a complete surprise to either of them. The Stranger had looked identical to Hugh. Peter St. Owen licked his lips.
“His name is David. Named after your father, Hugh,” he said.
Hugh St. Owen nodded.
“When your mother died in childbirth, it hit your father very hard.  He didn’t think he could bring up one son, never mind two. So I did what I considered to be the right thing and took one of the babies to raise as my own. And at first I thought I did a pretty good job.”
Peter St. Owen paused at this juncture.
Sarah felt a chill start to creep down her spine. She didn’t like the “at first” part of the old gentleman’s sentence at all.
“Go on, grandfather,” urged Hugh St. Owen.
The old man paused to take a sip from his cup of freshly made Earl Grey tea.
“It was after he returned from boarding school in Switzerland that the trouble started,” he said.  “Vivien de Gallois, your own stepmother, Sarah, seduced the young lad. She started filling his head with notions about the Guardians of the Abbey and how he was born to lead them in times past.”
“Times past?” said Sarah. “What do you mean sir?”
“I mean in previous lives, Sarah.  She told him that he had been David St. Owen, Guardian of the Abbey in a previous life.”
Sarah and Hugh St. Owen exchanged glances. To Sarah the story was getting weirder and weirder.
“And then?” Hugh St. Owen prompted.
His grandfather cleared his throat.
“That was when he really began to go off the rails, I’m afraid.  He took to skulking around the Abbey. He discovered the underground cave and of course the cell beneath it. He attempted to make it his home from home.”
“So that’s why the prison cell was so well furnished,” said Hugh St. Owen.
“Oh, yes, Hugh. I am afraid that things have got much worse.” The old gentleman paused.  “He now thinks that he is you, Hugh St. Owen, as well. He is quite schizophrenic.  He is at times completely out of his mind, and all the time Vivien de Gallois has been aiding and abetting him.”
“But why?” asked Sarah. “Why would she do such a thing? It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Power, my dear. Power,” said Peter St. Owen. “What else does a witch live for?”
“But how do you know she is a real live witch, grandfather?” said Hugh St. Owen.
“You surely must have seen how your father behaves in front of her, haven’t you, Sarah?”
Sarah nodded in agreement.
“Yes, I have sir. Indeed I have. It’s almost as if he’s afraid of her.”
The old gentleman nodded back.
“He is.”
Sarah then felt compelled to relate to Peter St. Owen her father’s attempted rape on her person. The old gentleman listened and nodded, almost as if he had expected such a thing. He clucked and tut-tutted when Sarah got to the violent part.
“You cannot blame your father for that, Sarah,” he said at length. “He really was acting under Vivien de Gallois’ spell. Or Vivien de Gallois-Llewellyn as she likes to call herself nowadays.  He didn’t know what he was doing.”
“But Vivien was not even in the bedroom, sir,” Sarah said.
“Oh yes she was, Sarah. Or somewhere very near,” said Peter St. Owen.
Sarah thought back to the moaning sound she had heard behind the locked door. Maybe Hugh’s grandfather was correct.
Sarah thought hard for a moment. Then she said:
“Mr. St. Owen, my father told me that he wasn’t my real father and that my real father died long ago. Is that correct?”
“I don’t know my dear, I don’t see how that possibly could be.”
Hugh St. Owen leaned further forward in his chair and cut in to the conversation.
“But grandfather, what I don’t understand is, why all this secrecy about bringing up my twin brother? Why did you feel it necessary to hide him and yourself all these years?”
The old gentleman leaned back in his armchair, and brushed a wisp of hair out of his face. With the orange-red glow of the fireplace lighting up the dark room, he looked to Sarah like an ancient, avenging angel.
Peter St. Owen looked away and then stared hard at his grandson.
“The shame, Hugh. The shame,” he answered. “Your father was going through a very hard time emotionally and financially. And you know how people talk in this small town. He didn’t want any encumbrances or any questions asked. That was why you were not born in a hospital but in the privacy of your own home. Unfortunately a hospital would not have saved your dear mother’s life. She had a weak heart, poor thing. But, as I said ? ”
The old man paused at this point and gave out a heavy sigh.
“As I said,” he continued, “People talk. Your father didn’t want people to know that he felt driven to giving away one of his sons to his own father. Even though it was perfectly legal. We both felt it was best if I faded into the background. I was retired. I had made my money. I could afford to bring up the boy quite independently of interference from anybody”
Hugh St. Owen leaned back in his chair. He frowned and sat very still while he digested all this interesting, if painful information.
“I see,” he said.
Sarah felt for her companion. She stared into the fireplace, searching for some meaning as the flames flickered upwards from the hot, red coals.
She looked at Peter St. Owen with a puzzled expression.
“But where is David St. Owen now, sir?” she said.
The old gentleman gazed at her.
“I have no idea. I have tried to get him committed, because I believe he is dangerous. Look how he tried to molest you. But I cannot find him”
“Of course not, grandfather,” said Hugh St. Owen.  “Vivien is obviously hiding him somewhere. But where?”
Sarah looked at both men. Her beautiful green eyes flashed with annoyance.
“It really is strange how everything always seems to come back to Vivien, doesn’t it?” she said. “It’s amazing how one person given a little power can wreak such havoc. Even so, I haven’t actually observed her performing any so-called magic on anybody…”
Hugh St. Owen stood up in his chair and walked over to Sarah and held her hand.
“We’ll get through this, Sarah,” he said. He looked down at his lovely comrade-in arms.
“Yes, yes,” said Peter St. Owen. “You will both have to take care of each other. I don’t know why Vivien de Gallois hates you both quite so much, but there is no doubt that she means to do you both some harm. You’ve already got enough evidence of that, young lady.”
Sarah looked across at their rescuer.
“I do believe that the solution is somehow linked up with the family name, sir,” she said. “And if we can find that link, I’ve no doubt that many of the pieces of this puzzle will fall into place.”
“You may be right, my dear,” said Peter St. Owen. “From what I’ve heard, you’re a bit of a historian yourself.”
Sarah nodded.
“Yes sir, I am. Or rather, I try to be.”
Hugh St. Owen, still standing by Sarah and still holding her hand, turned to his grandfather.
“Grandfather, Sarah has really been through the mill. She needs quite a bit of rest and seclusion.  Could you possibly accommodate her for the night or even longer? It seems unlikely that David will come snooping around here if he is afraid of your committing him.”
“Of course she can stay, Hugh,” said the old gentleman, “I have a guest bedroom. She can stay as long as she wants.”
Sarah smiled at Hugh’s grandfather. He really was turning out to be her real life fairy godfather in moments of peril, she thought to herself.
“Thank you sir. I’m very grateful.”
“Think nothing of it, my dear. You are very welcome. You couldn’t possibly go back to your father’s house with all that has been going on.”
Sarah smiled again at both men. For the first time in a while she felt comparatively safe, warm and comfortable.
Peter St. Owen rose from his chair and switched on a side lamp.
“I think it is time now that I prepared some dinner for the three of us,” he said. “I do have a maid that comes in to clean and prepare some meals during the week. Let’s see what she has left me.”
The old gentleman started to walk to the kitchen.  Just then there was a loud knock at the front door.
Peter St. Owen turned around. He looked in surprise at both his guests.
“Visitors at this hour?” he said, ‘How very unusual.”
“Be careful, grandfather,” said Hugh St. Owen, “It may be a trap.”
The old gentleman nodded and approached the front door.
“Who is it?” he said in a raised voice.
“A member of the Perris-on-Sea constabulary,” came the direct answer. “Could you please open up, sir?”
Peter St. Owen looked in shock at his two companions, and all exchanged questioning looks.
“What now?” thought Sarah.
Peter St. Owen opened the door. A man in, what Sarah judged to be his middle-fifties, stepped into the parlor.  He was wearing a raincoat and a trilby hat. Behind him were two uniformed police officers of the Perris police force.
The man took off his trilby.
“Excuse me for barging in at this advanced hour, sir, but we have some business here,” he said.
Peter St. Owen looked down at the man from his imposing stature.
“Oh, and who might you be?” he said.
“I’m Inspector Steve Rice of the Perris-on-Sea constabulary, Mr. St. Owen.”
“And?”
“And we have business with your grandson, Hugh St. Owen, sir.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. So they knew of Hugh’s grandfather’s whereabouts, and of theirs too!
The Inspector turned his attention to the young man.
“You have been missing for almost three days, young sir,” said the Inspector. “You must have known that your absence was in all the papers, and yet you never even bothered to inform your father or any of the townspeople as to your whereabouts.”
The young stud pulled himself up to his full height and faced the policeman. Sarah did not like the tone in the Inspector’s voice.
“What is the problem, Inspector Rice?” asked Hugh St. Owen. “I was kidnapped and held against my will for nearly three days.”
The Inspector cast a disapproving eye over the young man.
“Kidnapped, eh?” he said with a slow, thoughtful drawl.
Sarah and Hugh glanced at each other.
What was coming now, Sarah wondered? The two accompanying policemen stepped forward.
Inspector Rice took a card out of his pocket and proceeded to read.
“Hugh St. Owen. I am arresting you for the murder of Vivien de Gallois-Llewellyn. Anything you say will be written down and taken in evidence against you.”
The three people were too astonished to speak.
“Are you aware of your rights, sir?” said the Inspector, raising his voice for emphasis, “ You are accused of the murder of this young woman’s stepmother: Vivien de Gallois-Llewellyn.

Sarah felt the room go into a tailspin. She could not believe what she was hearing.

Why was Hugh St. Owen, the sexy, studly man of her dreams being accused of a crime that he could not possibly have committed? Was Vivien de Gallois really dead? How had the Inspector known where they were? What fiendish plot had the Guardians of the Abbey ? and no doubt Hugh’s twin brother ? hatched against them? And exactly where and what was David St. Owen hiding? See the next exciting installment in Chapter 15 of Sarah Llewellyn and the Druid’s Curse coming soon!
 

Read Chapter 15: The Body in the Morgue
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