“The large pot you see hanging at the hearth would have been used to heat water for bathing, although many believed that bathing too often wasn't healthy,” their guide explained with a faint smile.
“The table with the mirror above is original to the residence. You will see that the mirror is made of polished metal, and there is an assortment of personal items.” She pointed out a brush, combs, and several porcelain containers.
There was nothing masculine about the room, Kris thought. Nothing to indicate that a man had ever occupied the chamber. Except for the suit of armor that stood in one corner. Was it original to the residence or had it been added to add to the tourist experience?
“The house has been in the same family for over four hundred years. They maintained it as it was originally. It has only recently passed from the last private owner to the heritage foundation that oversees the entire island as an historical site. There are stories that it was originally built by a very wealthy patron of the abbey who lived here for several years.”
Kris exchanged a look with James. According to Vilette, Isa Raveneau had lived at the abbey the rest of her life after James' death. Was it possible she might have been that wealthy patron?
“As a point of interest,” their guide added, as they left the room, “you may want to visit the abbey archive, which contains documents and manuscripts written by the Benedictine monks who have lived here over the years. There are translations from Latin and copies are available for purchase and provide an interesting glimpse of daily life at the abbey.”
Kris stayed behind as the tour moved on.
“What are you doing?” James whispered.
“Vilette said that Isa Raveneau lived at the abbey after James' death, and never returned to her family.”
She wanted to see more of the chamber, the furnishings, something that might tell them if Isa Raveneau might have lived there.
“Kris...”
“You don't believe it.” She heard the doubt, saw it in the expression at his face.
“I believe that Vilette believes it.”
“What about the medallion?” she asked.
“A medallion that somehow survived over seven hundred years?” he pointed out. “A trinket that could have been found in any antique shop.”
“Cate believed the story.” Believed it enough that she had come here, following that story. And now two people were dead.
“What are you looking for?” he demanded.
She shook her head. “I don't know...”
What was she looking for? A sign that saidIsa Raveneau slept here?
A wealthy patron had built the house, and everything in it indicated wealth with a feminine touch in the choice of wall hangings in the great room, in the delicate porcelain dinnerware, and other artifacts.
The keystone over the entrance to the home had been carved with the year 1342. According to Vilette, Isa Raveneau had gone to Spain to ransom James Montfort after the disastrous battle at Teba in 1335. Also according to her story, they had returned and sought refuge at the abbey, known for giving sanctuary to pilgrims traveling across Europe. And then Isa Raveneau had supposedly returned to the abbey and stayed there after that trip to take James' body back to Scotland.
Like so many old houses, chateaus, and castles that she'd seen on earlier trips, the room had the smell of old wood, thepungent smell of the ocean that surrounded Mont St. Michel, and the faint smokiness of the fireplace that was large enough for a person to stand in.
The craftsmanship never failed to amaze her, seen in the countless cathedrals and castles with their vaulted ceilings, each stone precisely placed to support the next, and the next, like the stones over the opening of the fireplace with the keystone that locked all the others in place.
The furnishings had been roped off, but not the window casements, a tall wardrobe, or the fireplace.
Seven hundred years of soot had accumulated on the granite stones in the hearth, all but obscuring the images that had been carved on each one—flowers and leaves that draped the arch of the fireplace in the design cut into the stones.
Symbols, letters, numbers were often cut into stones to mark something significant—the year a slab was poured for a new building, a family crest, or emblem.
The great houses of Europe were filled with carvings meant to convey a date, a family name, or some important event. The Egyptians had been noted for their carvings and paintings inside palaces and tombs. The Romans had their own symbols, statues, and letters.
“The raven?” he suggested.
According to Vilette, it was part of the Raveneau family crest.
“Possibly,” she replied, tracing the image on the keystone with her fingers.
