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The Honeymoon	By : HagenRenaker Category: 1 through F > Foyle's War Views: 2430 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Foyle's War nor do I make any money off of it.

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They entered a vast room with whole slabs of stone comprising its walls. In contrast, the ceiling, though of average height, was intricately rib-vaulted in a gothic pattern. The room was furnished only in one corner; what looked like a sheet-covered desk and chair sat near the far wall.

“The Lord of the manor’s quarters, I suppose,” Sam murmured.

On the side of the chamber opposite the turret windows they’d looked from on the lower level, they spotted a wide leadlight window with side-by-side sashes of diamond-shaped panes. It opened out like a pair of doors, and the newlyweds looked with awe upon a breathtaking view of grass-covered mountains shadowed here and there by the clouds, the foremost of the range glowing like an emerald in the midday sun, the second one back shrouded by mist and appearing a mossier green; a still more distant one looking almost blue in the atmospheric light.

Foyle let his eyes wander from drinking this in to rest upon his wife’s enchanted expression. At times she looked so impossibly lovely to him with her wide dark eyes sparkling and her sweet pink bow of a mouth, and this was one of those moments. He felt the urge to kiss her, but was afraid she would think it meant he didn’t appreciate the gorgeous picture before them. In truth it was the sheer beauty of all of it—of the scene, of her—that was overwhelming his senses.

Sam beamed at him. “Christopher? Isn’t this magical?”

He glanced back out and nodded with a tiny smile, his eyes alight. He was looking directly at her again as he said, “Beautiful.”

Her smiling eyes and a funny little crumpling of her chin seemed to say, You silly bedazzled goose.

Christopher put his arm around her waist and drew her near. “I think it’s a wonderful omen, finding this treasure of a view.”

“Hmm?”

“Well, it’s rather a symbol, isn’t it? Of the lands we’ve yet to explore together, and how lovely they promise to be?”

Her eyes became misty at his sentiment and she drew a long sigh of contentment. Her voice broke a bit on the words as she told him yet again how much she loved him, and leaned in to kiss him softly.

He gently nuzzled her ear and neck, enjoying the lilac scent of her hair, making her shiver with delight.

Sam’s eyes were half-closed. “If you keep this up we shall have to lock the door from the inside.”

He grinned at her. “My sweet insatiable wife…” He kissed her probingly, holding her waist tightly to support her as her legs weakened—he had learned that this flattering response was quite inevitable. Presently he rubbed her back soothingly as she laid her head against his shoulder and calmed herself. He was rather glad she didn’t mean it about locking the door; this dusty floor looked none too comfortable to lie upon.

And Foyle could tell by her sidelong glance that Sam was curious about the covered furniture. He gave her a quick kiss on her forehead and led her toward the shrouded items.

As she peeked beneath a sheet to glimpse a gorgeously carved wooden secretary desk in several tones of polished wood, he noticed a document framed in glass upon the wall. It looked to be a crisp bit of parchment that had faded to a deep vanilla colour; the quill scratchings upon it also were only dimly apparent, but when they carried it to the window they were able to read the words upon it:

What’s Brought Us to This Path

What’s brought us to this path, dear,
We cannot say, nor know where next year
Leads us, but today the highlands’
Sweep, the brook’s eternal whisper
And the smoky heaven that bends
To hear both brook and man
Bid us take our rest here
’Til what we’re meant to know comes clear.

And when we look, dear, to the west,
To our dreams, to what will best
Be ours, the mountain’s green proclaims
The luck that stands at our heels
And the dusky stones afoot yield a key
And the blue light remains
In our eyes past sun’s last refrain
And the earth’s heart holds a mystery.

Sam and Christopher looked at each other with widened eyes as they registered how apt the poem was to their own experience of the afternoon, and tears sprang into Sam’s. “Whoever wrote this must have looked at just this view,” she said softly. “And even then, the key to this room must have been hidden where I found it.”

***

They made their way to tea rather later than Sam would normally wish, but for the first time she did not feel as deprived by the delay as she would have expected. During their return walk she had excitedly wondered about the possible story behind the hidden room and the poem, but her husband was uncertain whom they might ask about it—after all, perhaps they’d trespassed in exploring the room in the first place. But someone would know, they were sure. Time enough in the coming week to investigate.

Thought we’d get a bit of a break from investigating, but…

“Thank you so much for this wonderful day,” she said, hugging his arm as they approached the tearoom.

“I liked it better once we wandered away from the tour,” he laughed.

“Oh, well, part of it was interesting. It amazes me that they actually shackled prisoners in those dungeons,” she mused. “Good job we haven’t such Draconian measures at the station!”

“Mmm. Doubtless some we’ve locked up might have benefited.” Foyle’s dry air of amusement belied his grim thoughts.

So would some of the ones we didn’t quite catch.

The murderer Howard Paige, for instance.

The DCS knew he would have to wait for the war to end. But it would end, and then Foyle would find him.

Who knows, perhaps Sam and I can journey to the States and even live there for a while.
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The Honeymoon