The Pilgrims Rest - Prologue
Dear Reader
This story is based on fact and is a memoir and homage to those who lived and worked at the Pilgrims Rest.
Fictitious events have been intermingled with religious and historical truths and legends relating to the town of Saint Albans which have been passed down through the ages.
An ancient tunnel which links The Pilgrims Rest to St Albans Cathedral forms the basis of this mystical tale.
Chrissy Smith
PROLOGUE
Fiona Fordham reminisced for a moment or two before entering the old family residence at the top of Holywell Hill. As she stepped apprehensively through the same glass doorway the discordant chiming of the shop doorbell jarred as though it were ringing in the unwelcome changes which now lay before her. Wistful images from another time were suddenly swept away, like the fragments of a fading dream, until nothing of any substance remained.
Swiftly covering her disappointment she turned to help her mother across the threshold and they both loitered for a while, moving around quietly on the soft carpeting, as they surveyed the interior of the new shop.
Fiona observed her Mother staring into the old, blackened fireplace, and realised thankfully that at least one original feature had been left undisturbed. She could see behind its wrought iron guard a flower arrangement strategically positioned to mask its murky centre.
Her mother’s gaze was hard to fathom, was it sadness, or a silent longing for times gone by? So much had happened in this place and her countenance suggested she was far away, no doubt remembering the good times and the bad, the loved ones no longer here.
‘Can I be of any assistance, ladies?’
A youngish man with brown shoulder length hair and laughing hazel eyes got up from his chair and moved towards them from the back of the shop. He had a pleasant, friendly manner and no doubt he thought they had come to enquire after the expensive, quality furnishings on display. Every corner of the various rooms in the shop was filled to capacity; rooms which once had been so familiar and dear to them both.
A familiar cacophony of sound suddenly invaded Fiona’s thoughts and reverberated around the shop. No one else could hear it of course but to her it was almost tangible as she remembered the hustle and bustle of a crowd of customers queuing on this very spot long ago; but all of this was unknown to him of course.
‘We used to live here some time ago’ she enlightened him, ’many years back when it was a busy restaurant. It was called ‘The Pilgrims Rest,’ I don’t suppose you’ve heard of it? It was run by our family from the mid fifties until the early eighties.’
His expression changed and he relaxed a little, shrugging off his marketing mantle.
‘Ah I see,’ he nodded and smiled, chuckling a little, as if the idea pleased him.
‘Would you mind if we had a little look around?’ Fiona asked.
‘No, not at all, please feel free’, he gestured with a flourish of his hand, presumably giving them permission to look wherever they wished.
He hovered near them for a while, seemingly glad of the distraction.
‘This shop is only part of it you know’ she offered, ‘our family used to live upstairs, on the first and second floor as well.’
‘Oh I see’, he smiled at them both and then chatted on amiably, ‘well not long after we moved in downstairs the upstairs area was taken on by a solicitor and an accountancy firm I believe. We only rent down here I’m afraid so I am not able to show you any other floors but if you’d like to knock on that black door over there,’ he said pointing to a small alcove outside the shop window, ‘through there you can gain access to the upper floors of the building. They were leased separately, you know, and turned into offices, but I am sure they wouldn’t mind if you wanted to have a look around. I understand a few alterations were made upstairs before we all moved in but as far as I know most of the original features were kept.’
Fiona quickly glanced at her mother who instantly shook her head and Fiona silently agreed. Did she really want to see what they’d done upstairs, spoiling yet more memories of how it used to be? Probably not, she decided; for the time being anyway, but perhaps another day, she might come back and take a look.
On the wall behind the young man, Fiona’s eyes were drawn to a small glass picture frame which displayed an old and yellowed, slightly crumpled drawing.
‘Excuse me, but what is that?’ she asked.
He turned to follow her gaze, ‘Ah yes, you would probably be very interested in this’, he said, as they all moved closer. ‘This drawing was found behind a plastered wall during the refurbishment and we’ve had it authenticated as a 16th century map of the original building.’
Fiona’s heart began pounding as she bent forward, intrigued, eagerly feasting her eyes on the map, something she wished she’d seen a long time ago. If only she had more time to study it in detail, she mused.
The man lightly tapped his forehead as he suddenly remembered something,
‘Of course, you’ve just reminded me, we found something else during some later building works, it was in the cellar, an old bible, with a note tucked inside it addressed to someone called Fiona,’ the young man advised.
Fiona and her mother exchanged a look of astonishment.
‘Well, how strange, I would imagine that is probably meant for me’ she informed him, trying to remain nonchalant, ’I’m Fiona, Fiona Fordham!’
‘Well goodness me, that really is great news,’ he said sounding pleased and a little relieved. ’I’ll go and get it for you at once’, he declared as he turned and started to move away, ’of course the note was sealed so we didn’t open it, we just popped it in the office drawer……… for safekeeping’, he called out breathlessly as he dashed off to the back of the shop.
‘That’s strange darling isn’t it’ exclaimed Jean, Fiona’s mother. ‘I wonder who that could be from.’
‘I haven’t the foggiest’ Fiona replied as she turned away from her mother’s curiosity, feeling a fraud, because in her heart she already knew.
The young man returned speedily and handed her a small ornate bible, with a grubby looking envelope which poked out from between the pages. She took it gratefully but his obvious optimism that she might read it in front of him was soon dashed as she popped it straight into her bag.
‘Is the cellar still in use?’ Fiona queried, looking at the familiar door behind him.
‘No, not really, it’s more or less empty at the moment, but we can go down there if you’d like’ he offered, smiling encouragingly at them both.
Fiona cleverly disguised the rising turmoil inside her and returned his smile with feigned composure.
‘Yes, please,’ she replied as calmly as she could manage, ‘I’m sorry if we are keeping you from your work.’
‘Oh no don’t worry about that at all, it’s been so tediously quiet in here today, you are a welcome diversion!’
His amiable answer soothed away any misgivings they may have had and together they walked a few steps to the cellar door. He proceeded to lift the same heavy black latch she had used herself many times before and the slatted wooden door creaked open.
Fiona moved forward and peered down to the bottom of the wooden steps as a shiver of unease took hold. The young man went down first and Fiona followed, turning to help her mother negotiate the steep, circular staircase. As soon as they reached the cellar floor, Fiona remembered the strange smell emanating from this place, an earthy, damp odour with a hint of something sickly sweet.
As she looked around and across the room into the darkest corner of the cellar, she was surprised, but strangely comforted to know that, yes, it was still there.