The Dream Weavers Page 10

  A warning. The man in the trees. A grizzled warrior in leather breastplate and helmet, his eyes angry as he spied on his king’s daughter and her lover, his hand on his sword as he rode after them into the darkness.

  The insistent knocking on the front door two floors below dragged Bea back to reality. Unwillingly, she stood up and made her way downstairs. The house was still deserted. Turning on the kitchen lights, she stood staring into space for several minutes, still there, on the hillside in her head, unable to drag herself back to the present, then she heard the knocking again. The last person she expected to see standing on the step was Sandra Bedford. Outside the rain was pouring down. The air in the Close smelled of wet grass and flowers.

  ‘My dear, I am so sorry!’ The woman propped her dripping umbrella against the wall, and stepped past her into the hall. ‘I’ve been so worried. It never occurred to me I might be embarrassing you by telling Mark you were looking for him. I made assumptions and I shouldn’t have. It was none of my business who you were meeting in the cathedral and none of my business if you were there to pray.’

  She walked uninvited towards the drawing room, pushing the door open, pausing only for a second to reach for the light switch as she realised the room was in darkness. Behind her, Bea watched her open-mouthed. This room, overlooking the front of the house, mostly furnished courtesy of Bea’s mother-in-law, was very formal, the furniture beautiful – rejected by Mark’s brothers’ families as too big for their London flats – but austere. Mark and Bea kept it for the formal entertaining that was part of his job and as the perfect place for Anna’s piano. ‘Don’t worry,’ Sandra beamed, ‘I’m not stopping. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t cross with me. Where is the dear canon? Is he here? No, of course not. He’s gone to the mayor’s reception hasn’t he, to represent the dean. Good! So, we can have a nice chat.’

  It seemed to dawn on her at last that the room was cold, the curtains open onto the darkness. ‘Ah. Are we in the kitchen?’

  Already she was backing out of the room again. In the parish, the kitchen was common property. Everyone would head in that direction, offering to help, making sandwiches and cauldrons of tea. Cursing herself for opening the front door in the first place, Bea followed. At last she was beginning to pull herself together. ‘Sandra, I’m so sorry. I was about to go out. It’s sweet of you to call in, and there is absolutely no need to apologise about Mark. It was all a misunderstanding.’

  ‘Are you sure, dear?’

  Bea saw the woman was wistfully looking at the kettle. ‘Absolutely sure. Look, you must come round another time and have tea, but I really do need to get on now. You know what it’s like. Never a moment to oneself.’ As hints went, that was as direct as she could make it, but it still took another few minutes to usher Sandra back to the front door. Finally closing it behind her, Bea leant against it with a sigh of relief.

  Outside, Sandra put up her umbrella and frowned. The canon’s wife had been deliberately disingenuous. Otherwise, surely, she would have told her who she was meeting and why. And there was something odd about her tonight. She looked guilty, almost as though there was someone there with her, someone she didn’t want Sandra to see. She shivered. It felt as though a black shadow had settled over the Treasurer’s House. As she headed across the Close she glanced back over her shoulder. The fanlight above the Dalloways’ door, a semicircle of light in the darkness, suddenly disappeared. Bea had turned off the hall light.

  *

  ‘I thought it best you know, sir.’ Burgred looked up under his eyebrows at the king. ‘They did not have long together alone, but if they plan further encounters …’ He was trying to guess the king’s reaction He had been charged with keeping the king’s daughter under his surveillance, a simple enough task, but he had allowed Eadburh out of his sight and failed to keep her safe. Brave man though he was, he had seen men killed for less and he felt himself quaking with fear. He had no intention of admitting that the two had spent an afternoon together before he had tracked them up to the ridge.

  He saw Offa’s face redden with fury and felt his throat contract with terror. ‘Do you wish me to kill him, sire?’

  ‘No!’ Offa’s roar of anger could be heard beyond the heavy curtain in the great hall itself, where men and women stopped abruptly in what they were doing and looked fearfully in the direction of the king’s private chamber. ‘You cannot kill the wretched boy. I am trying to make peace with his father! If they had only minutes together,’ he paused and glared at Burgred, lowering his voice, ‘no harm was done. Were it long enough to endanger my daughter’s reputation, you would pay with your life.’ There was a heavy silence in the room. Cynefryth had warned him that the girl was besotted. He should have listened.

  ‘Your daughter’s virtue is safe, sire.’ Burgred breathed a prayer to Woden that this was true. ‘I will swear it on the bones of St Chad.’ Double surety.

  Offa saw the man’s fingers tighten on the hilt of his sword to stop them trembling and his eyes narrowed, but he let it go at that for now. If no harm had been done, then all could be resolved naturally. Already the enormous cavalcade of wagons and packhorses was being readied and assembled so the king’s court could return to his favourite palace at Tamworth for Easter. Distance would effectively solve the problem.

  He sent for Prince Elisedd the next morning, presented him with generous gifts and messages for his father and bad him farewell. It was left to Burgred to ensure that the young man would have no chance to say goodbye to Eadburh, escorting him and his party with a guard of honour back towards the dyke, across it and on his way towards the distant mountains in the west.

  Eadburh had been thinking about Elisedd all night, her body alive with longing, planning how they would ride up once more to see the site of the dyke and be alone together again, but first, with the small part of her that still clung to her mother’s cold, analytical training, she wanted to ensure that the plan for her future was in place.

  ‘When will you announce our betrothal, Papa?’ It had been hard to find a moment with her father, but at last she managed to corner him in the solar, commanding his astonished housecarls to leave them alone. ‘You have not said a word about my forthcoming marriage and we are about to set off for Tamworth.’

  She had managed to sweet-talk her father before, after all, when she had wanted a particular silky-coated white pony that he planned to give to her eldest sister. One pleading look from her wide blue eyes had won his doting agreement in seconds. She had no doubt at all that acquiring a husband who was a royal prince would be as easy.

  ‘Your marriage?’ Offa narrowed his eyes suspiciously, well aware that she was playing him with those big cornflower eyes and wheedling tone. ‘I have made no plans to announce your marriage, child. If any betrothal is at the forefront of my mind it is your eldest sister’s.’

  ‘But surely, you should do it here. Now. Before we go. While the prince is here.’ Her heart was thudding with sudden fear as she stared at her father’s implacable face. She had convinced herself that the engagement was as good as arranged. It made sense, it was everything she wanted and dreamed of.

  ‘What prince?’ Offa sat back in his chair by the fire. ‘Surely you don’t mean that boy from Powys?’

  ‘Of course I mean Elisedd.’ Her eyes were hard now, holding her father’s gaze.

  He studied her thoughtfully for several seconds, then he threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘Your mother told me she suspected you nursed such foolish dreams, and she assured me she had made it clear to you that it would be impossible. I would not waste an opportunity for alliance on any Welsh kingdom. Why do you think we are building our dyke? I want to keep them at a safe distance, you stupid child. Forget him. Forget this godforsaken corner of my kingdom! We will be leaving for home tomorrow, stopping to celebrate Easter at Lichfield along the way. You will not see him again. He’s already gone. I have sent him on his way with golden gifts for his father. That should keep them happy.’ He leaned
across to the table and picked up a horn of mead, raising it to his lips with an expression of intense enjoyment. As he set it down on its stand he looked back at his daughter. ‘Are you still here?’

  Her face was white with anger. For a moment he felt a jolt of unease. She was so like her strong-minded mother, this youngest child of his, and as such he should not underestimate her. ‘I will consider finding a husband for you as soon as we are settled back at Tamworth,’ he conceded. ‘There are useful connections to be made. I need steady alliances with Northumberland. Or perhaps Kent. Leave it with me, sweetheart, and I will choose you a fine stallion.’ He roared with laughter, coughed, then called for his attendants. She was dismissed.

  Prince Elisedd left his followers to wait for him at the foot of the ridge. He rode up the long trackway alone, climbing to the summit, threading his way between rocks and trees, and dismounting at the entrance to the fold. Leaving his horse with its rein looped over the gatepost, he wandered in.

  Bea strained forward. She watched him stand looking round and she saw him sigh. He was every inch a prince today; he wore gold ornaments at his wrists and the heavy, ornately carved brooch to fasten his cloak. His horse stamped its hoof and pawed at the ground impatiently as he took a step into the shadow of the low stone walls and then another. He knew she wouldn’t be there. Bea could feel his resignation and his despair. He had lost her and as a poignant farewell he had come to revisit the magic of that encounter. She saw him turn away and again he sighed. He was looking straight at Bea, but if he saw her, he gave no sign.

  Walking back, he unhitched his horse and led it slowly along the track. As the hill opened up he could see the countryside for miles in every direction. To the east the line of Offa’s great ditch ran up and down over the hills, a raw scar on the landscape, a clear message that here the Border March between Powys and Mercia was forever fixed.

  He narrowed his gaze, staring east towards the triple peaks of the Malvern Hills, shrugging themselves into the evening haze. He knew deep in his heart that she could never have married him. She was destined for marriage to a king. She was not free to marry where her heart led, any more than her sisters were. His few short hours with her had been no more than a dream of what might have been. He hoped she would be happy. Mounting his horse with a heavy heart, he turned it back towards the west and began the long ride towards his own destiny.

  ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

  Alfrida was watching her sister pace up and down the gardens, her face set with fury.

  ‘Papa has sent him away?’ Eadburh stopped abruptly. ‘He’s gone!’

  ‘Who’s gone?’

  ‘Elisedd!’

  ‘But why do you care? You’ve told us often enough that you despise him.’

  ‘I changed my mind. He’s a king’s son. He’s handsome and …’ Eadburh paused. ‘I like him. And you and Ethelfled told me you thought Papa intended him for me. You said we were as good as betrothed!’

  ‘I did not!’ Alfrida was indignant. ‘I never said any such thing. And Mama confirmed it. She said no way would Papa even consider it.’ She caught her sister’s arm. ‘Stop walking about and talk to me.’

  Both girls were swathed in cloaks as a sharp cold wind swept in from the north. Ox-carts were being loaded in the courtyards, their beds dismantled, boxes packed. They were used to this regular change of residence as the peripatetic court of the king moved from palace to palace round his kingdom. As servants ran frantically here and there, the daughters of the king found it expedient to keep well out of the way. ‘I thought Papa had changed his mind. I was expecting the announcement.’ Eadburh knew she was being disingenuous. ‘It made sense for me to marry him.’ She turned desperately away to hide her tears. ‘I love him.’

  Alfrida frowned. ‘Don’t be silly, you only think you do! You’ve scarcely talked to him.’ Her fingers tightened on Eadburh’s wrist. ‘Have you?’

  Eadburh nodded. ‘Of course I’ve talked to him! We rode together. We … we talked a lot when we went to inspect Papa’s ditch.’

  She felt Alfrida’s sharp eyes on her face and she turned away abruptly. ‘He’s gentle and kind. He told me stories of the dragons that live in the hills, and the saint who saved the life of a hare.’

  Alfrida let out a scornful gurgle of mirth. ‘They told us he was a poet! He doesn’t sound like much of a man to me! I want to marry someone who’s a warrior! And preferably a king.’

  ‘Which will mean going far away from Mercia.’

  ‘So!’ Alfrida raised her chin defiantly. ‘That will be an adventure.’

  ‘And you would go to him without ever having set eyes on him? Supposing he’s ugly! And cruel!’

  ‘He won’t be. Papa would not send me to someone I couldn’t love.’ Alfrida’s confident tone faltered.

  ‘Have you ever kissed a man?’ Eadburh asked suddenly.

  Alfrida shook her head.

  ‘Well, I have.’ Eadburh couldn’t hide her sudden smile. ‘It was so exciting! And wonderful! It makes your heart race, and—’ she stopped abruptly. She had been about to confide in her sister about what had happened and she realised, just in time, she could never do that.

  But already Alfrida’s eyes had narrowed speculatively. ‘Does Mama know how you feel?’

  ‘No. No one knows.’

  The sight of their mother walking towards them silenced Eadburh abruptly and both girls turned meekly as the woman beckoned them over.

  Eadburh hung back and peered over her shoulder as her sister and mother disappeared into the hall. For a long moment she stood there as the rain began to fall and scanned the garden as though searching for someone.

  Bea caught her breath as the girl looked straight at her and the air seemed to crackle and grow thin. ‘Who are you?’ Eadburh breathed. ‘What is it you want? You who watch me so carefully from the shadows. Do you think I haven’t seen you there, eavesdropping on my secrets?’ Her blue eyes were hard as agate as she met Bea’s gaze and held it. She raised her hand and made the sign of the cross. ‘Angel or demon, you are not wanted here.’

  Then the rain clouds closed around her and she was gone.

  The stone slipped from Bea’s fingers with a crash. She sat, not daring to move, her heart thudding under her ribs. The gardens and the shadowy figure of the princess had vanished and with her the scent of woodsmoke that hung over the settlement, the splash of rain and the distant barking of a dog.

  Bea’s mouth was dry as she stared round the room, her own room, lit by the flickering candle. Outside, street lights from the town were casting shadows across the gardens behind the canons’ houses. She could hear the rain on the trees and on the rooftops. She stared down at the stone lying on the floor at her feet. Eadburh, daughter of Offa, King of Mercia had seen her, locked eyes with her and spoken to her.

  She sat immobile for some time, hardly breathing, frozen with fear. That wasn’t supposed to happen. She should have been protected by her cocoon of light. She should have been safe.

  When at last she stood up she stepped shakily over the stone without touching it; leaving it lying where it was and made her way to the door. They had gone. All those people in the past had gone, but even so, she had to get out of the room, had to distance herself from the memory of those angry blue eyes.

  12

  The house was nestled at the head of a hidden valley. As the car drew to a halt, Simon peered through the windscreen at the grey stone façade. Around them the gardens lay sprawled and tangled in a mass of unruly colour, daffodils everywhere, peering defiantly through collapsed mossy pergolas, stone balustrades, lichen-draped trees and on what might have once been a lawn around the edge of a grey stone fountain, long ago run dry. Simon had been afraid Jane would insist on blindfolding him, the woman’s paranoia about secrecy had been so intense, but now he saw why there had been no need. He hadn’t a clue where they were, whether they were in England or Wales, or Narnia itself.

  ‘What a fabulous place,’ he breathed. ‘W
hat are they going to do with it?’

  ‘I don’t think they know themselves.’ Jane switched off the engine. ‘There are quite a few places like this around here in the Marches. Lost in time. Forgotten. Magical.’ She smiled at her companion. ‘It would need a fortune to put it right and I doubt if the young couple who have inherited it had any idea what they had been saddled with.’

  That assumption was soon proved wrong. They had heard the car and the massive oak door had opened before Jane and Simon had reached the flagstone steps. They were, Simon reckoned, in their mid-thirties, Kate, obviously pregnant, was tall, with long dark hair, knotted back in a ponytail, framing an aquiline, attractive face with intense brown eyes. Her husband, Phil, was also tall. Slim and wiry, he wore glasses that gave him the look of an academic completely out of his comfort zone. Which he clearly wasn’t. Simon and Jane followed them into an enormous kitchen at the back of the house that looked as though it had last been modernised sometime in the early 1800s. There was however electricity, a small cooker and a kettle and a sink that had modern-day taps.

  ‘I don’t know if Jane has explained,’ Phil said to Simon as they sat down with cups of coffee. ‘Kate’s great aunt left her this place.’

  ‘I’ve been coming here every year since I was a child,’ Kate interrupted gently. ‘She knew how much I loved it. I was her only relative. My parents were killed in a car crash several years ago,’ her voice shook slightly but she swallowed hard and carried on, ‘and I have no brothers or sisters, so it’s up to me to try and look after it.’

  ‘The snag is, there’s no money,’ her husband went on bluntly. ‘So it’s a choice. Keep the stuff and sell the house, or sell the stuff and try and run the house in a way that will pay for itself, as a B & B or a retreat or for glamping, something like that.’

  ‘I’d never been into the library. It was always kept locked. I didn’t even know it existed.’ Kate took over the story again. ‘We contacted Jane in the hope that some of the old books in there might be valuable.’