The Dream Weavers Page 15

  They were so alike these two that sometimes people took them for twins in spite of the two-year age gap. Both were tall and slim with mid blond hair, Emma’s very long, Felix’s very short; both had grey-blue eyes and fair skin. There the resemblance ended. In character they were completely different, and it soon became clear that Emma, the eldest, was as usual in charge. She lugged her stuff up the stairs and into the smaller of the two bedrooms, establishing possession of both beds, one to sleep on and one to put her stuff on, before her brother could change his mind and argue, then she came downstairs again to investigate the kitchen. ‘What on earth are we supposed to eat, Dad?’ The question floated through the door as Simon tried to heave a bag containing what he assumed to be one of the beds out of the cupboard under the stairs.

  He sighed. ‘I haven’t stocked up for you lot yet, I’m afraid. I wasn’t expecting you ’til tomorrow. We’ll go out for supper, OK?’

  Behind him, Felix had put down his phone and moved over Simon’s worktable. He opened the laptop. ‘What on earth is all this?’

  ‘Be careful!’ His father rounded on him sharply. ‘I’m deciphering a manuscript. It’s part of my work. It wouldn’t interest you. Don’t touch, please.’

  ‘It’s OK, Dad. I’m not going to do anything.’ But he was, his hands already busy over the keys. ‘Is this language Anglo-Saxon?’

  ‘Old English. Photos of an ancient volume. I’m transcribing it into English.’

  ‘It’s beautiful writing.’

  ‘It is, isn’t it.’ Simon found himself smiling. ‘Imagine, all done with a quill pen and ink made from crushed oak galls.’

  ‘Let’s see.’ Emma was there now, peering over her brother’s shoulder.

  ‘You saw this actual book?’ Felix was swiping gently through the pages. ‘Look at the lovely way this guy has decorated some of the letters. They’re not illuminated, are they? If they were, they would be covered in gold. We saw them at the British Library – do you remember when you took us? But he’s put them in red with some little twiddly bits. He’s taken so much trouble.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were interested in this sort of thing,’ Simon said quietly.

  ‘You don’t know much about us, Dad, be fair,’ Felix retorted. It was said with tolerant humour. ‘You’re always locked away in your study and Mum never lets us near you on pain of death.’

  That was a gross exaggeration, but he let it pass.

  ‘You’ve obviously forgotten I’m studying history, so I’m supposed to be keen on this sort of stuff,’ Emma put in, glaring at her brother. ‘Hey, look at this bit.’ They had arrived at a blank page, shaded with scratchings out and shadowy deleted words. ‘Why did he do that? What does it say?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’ Simon felt an unexpected warmth towards these two beings who were supposed to have sprung from his loins, but who he had always assumed to have come from some distant planet. ‘It’s a bit like a detective story. The scribe has written something he, or someone else, doesn’t want to be read by other people. I’m not sure why he didn’t cut out the page, which he has done elsewhere. I would love to be able to work out what it was he’d written.’

  ‘Can we help?’

  Had his son actually said those words? Simon grinned at him. ‘I would love you to, if you can. Your eyes would be much better than mine.’

  ‘But we don’t speak Old English,’ Emma put in. Simon heard an echo of his wife’s voice there; the cold light of reason.

  ‘Dad does.’ Felix was leaning in, tapping at the keys. ‘Your phone camera isn’t all that good, but we can use the software on Dad’s laptop to enhance what’s here.’ His voice had lost its note of perpetual boredom. ‘And then Dad will be able to read it as it floats up off the page.’

  16

  When Mark returned home after evensong, Bea was in the kitchen preparing supper. She looked up. ‘I’ve heard from Petra and Anna.’

  ‘How are they?’ He reached gratefully for the glass of wine she pushed towards him.

  ‘It doesn’t look as though either of them will be home for Easter.’ She turned to slide a roasting tin into the oven, hiding her expression. The disappointment of not seeing their daughters had hit her hard. She hadn’t realised quite how much she had been looking forward to their visit. ‘Supper will be ready in half an hour.’

  ‘They both rang?’

  Bea nodded. ‘They know we miss them, and they’d obviously been discussing it, but it can’t be helped. They’re busy young women now, with their own lives. It’s our own fault for having such talented kids.’

  Mark laughed. ‘When I was a student, my mum always used to say that I only came home when I ran out of clean clothes.’

  ‘That’s boys for you!’ Bea retorted. ‘It didn’t apply to me. I loved my parents and wanted to see them.’

  ‘And the girls love us, darling. You know they do,’ Mark said gently.

  She nodded. And if the girls were there, she wouldn’t have time to be tempted. She wouldn’t have to fight the longing to go back, to see what was happening to Eadburh. Instead she could concentrate on them.

  ‘I’ve given myself an admin day tomorrow.’ She realised that Mark was talking to her. ‘So I’ll be home all day – perhaps we can nip out to lunch as a treat. But don’t worry if you’ve got anything planned.’

  ‘No. Nothing.’ If he was there she would have to abandon any plan she might have had to spy on the Queen of Wessex. She gave a wry smile.

  ‘Something amusing?’ He had seen her fleeting expression. ‘No. I was still thinking about the girls.’

  ‘I suppose we’ll get used to them not being around much.’ He sounded wistful. ‘But as you say, they’re both talented and we are so lucky that they are driven by those talents. Please God, they don’t waste them.’

  They were finishing their supper when there was a knock at the front door. With a groan, Mark climbed to his feet, just as Bea’s phone announced she had a text. It was from Heather. You OK?

  Bea smiled as she typed her reply: xx

  As she looked up, Mark reappeared with Sandra Bedford in tow.

  ‘My dear, I am so sorry to intrude again. I know how precious your time is in the evenings.’

  Bea felt a prickle of unease. She sighed. ‘Can we give you some coffee, Sandra?’ She was beginning to dislike this woman intensely, with her busy darting eyes and her ingratiating smile. ‘Why don’t you and Mark go to the study and I’ll bring it in.’

  ‘No. No, my dear, this isn’t a cathedral matter. I happened to be passing and I saw the lights were on and,’ Sandra paused dramatically, ‘I wanted to check on you both. I sensed last time I came over that there was some family crisis going on and I wanted to offer my help. I know how hard it is when the canon is so busy and I wanted to assure you that I am there for you, if you need me. We all need someone to confide in, don’t we.’ She paused, looking from one to the other expectantly.

  Bea shivered. The cold breath on the back of her neck was a suspicion, no more. A warning. The woman spelt trouble. Mark, who was looking perplexed and irritated in equal measure, managed to reply, ‘That’s so kind of you, Sandra.’

  ‘And very thoughtful,’ Bea put in. ‘But there is nothing happening that you need to worry about, I assure you. I expect I was tired and rushing about as usual. I’m so sorry if I gave you the impression there was something wrong.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re doing too much. I heard that you have taken on a job that fills a lot of your time.’ Sandra pulled a chair towards the table and sat down. She was still wearing her coat. ‘That must be very difficult, what with taking care of the dear canon as well.’

  Bea opened her mouth to reply, but Mark stepped in. ‘Bea is very busy in her job as a supply teacher, but she looks after me beautifully, Sandra, I assure you.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that she doesn’t.’ Sandra looked hurt. ‘You know, perhaps I will have that cup of coffee.’ She began to unbutton her coat. ‘H
ow are your children? They’re both at university, aren’t they? I suppose we all feel the need to fill that empty nest when they go off to study.’

  ‘They are doing very well.’ Mark walked over to the worktop and switched on the kettle. ‘Our eldest is training to be a vet. I’m so sorry, Sandra. I’m afraid I know nothing about your own family. Do you have children yourself?’

  There was a moment of silence. ‘No,’ she replied eventually.

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought you implied …’ Mark looked at Bea desperately for support.

  ‘I’ve seen you with children in the cathedral,’ Bea put in. ‘You’re so good with them. And you’re right. We do miss the girls very much. But on the plus side, it is blessedly peaceful in the house now.’

  It was a full fifteen minutes before Sandra finished her coffee and at last stood up to go.

  Closing the door behind her, Mark turned to Bea. ‘That was a fishing expedition. The woman is impossible!’

  ‘She’s obviously very lonely.’

  Lonely and malicious.

  Malicious and dangerous. Bea put the thought out of her head.

  ‘And I am being unchristian,’ Mark was saying. ‘I’m sorry, if so. I will have a word with someone tomorrow about her circumstances. But even so, to call uninvited at this time of night. It’s too much. And why is she so interested in you? What was all this about you having a job that takes up so much of your time?’

  ‘I do have a job. I’m a teacher, as you told her.’

  But they weren’t talking about teaching, were they.

  ‘A proper job.’ He sighed. ‘No, sorry. I didn’t mean that to come out like that. I’m obviously having an attack of tactless idiocy. Of course you have a proper job, it’s just that it’s a bit on and off, isn’t it. And it’s holidays now.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘OK. I’m going to say it. Supposing she’s got wind of your ghost hunting? There’s no way someone could have told her, is there?’

  ‘Certainly not through me,’ Bea said indignantly. ‘She’s being nosy, Mark, and ironically she’s right, we were talking about missing the girls.’ She gave a hollow groan. ‘You don’t think she’s got this place bugged, do you?’

  He laughed. ‘I wouldn’t put it past her. Every institution has a Sandra somewhere. But darling, please be careful. If word got out, it could prove so awkward for me. You do see that.’

  ‘I do. And I have always been discreet. Chris is the only person who knows and she is aware she mustn’t say anything. And Simon has promised. And so had Heather. It was only that one wretched man and if Sandra knew about that she would have let us know ages ago. I don’t see how she could have picked up anything, I really don’t.’ She paused. ‘I’d like to think she came over because she has a kind heart and means well, but could you keep reminding her I’m a teacher. Perhaps drop a few hints that I do some tutoring as well in the holidays. Anything to put her off the scent.’

  ‘I can’t lie, Bea.’

  She sighed. ‘Dear old George Washington! Of course you can’t lie, but you could imply.’ They looked at one another and after a moment’s hesitation they both burst into laughter.

  Much later Bea slid quietly out of bed and tiptoed across to the window, looking down into the Close. The half-moon was casting the hard shadow of the roof across the grass. There was no sound from Mark as she made her way to the door.

  Sitting down in the candlelight upstairs she took several long quiet breaths, seeking into the silence for a sign from Eadburh, whose story had moved down to the kingdom of Wessex, far from home and from her sisters, far from Offa’s Ridge and the cottage on the hill. There was no danger in watching the queen as she rode, no chance of her seeing Bea. She had remembered to control the scene, to protect herself.

  Eadburh was riding along a winding track with high cliffs towering above her, followed by a party of her husband’s warriors. There were two women with her: Hilde, who had accompanied her from home on her first long ride from Mercia, and another who had become her preferred companion among the thanes’ wives who surrounded her. The countryside was spectacular, wild, a land of eagles and wolves.

  The messenger caught them up at a bend in the track where the grasses blew gently in the wind. He dived into his bag of letters and found one for her, and she dismounted, then made her way to a fallen lump of limestone that formed a natural bench in the sunlight while her ladies talked and giggled with the messenger as he rested his sweating horse.

  The letter was from her elder sister, Ethelfled.

  I am married, and in Northumbria, and father’s reach spreads ever further across the island of Britannia. Tell me you still think of me, sister mine, for I am lonely among strangers here. My hope of marrying the son of Charles, King of the Franks, came to nothing. Instead I reign beside my new husband, the king in this wild country. Father was angry beyond measure that his careful plans to ally with the Franks did not succeed, and although Charles’s sons remain without wives he announced he would no longer seek a marriage for me there. Within months l was on my way to wed Ethelred at a place called Catterick on the great road north, and now I live in a savage distant place among the hills.

  Eadburh gazed up at the towering grey cliffs above her with a rueful smile. After the gentle landscapes of her homeland she too was in a wild setting, though the palace itself at Cheddar, not two miles from here, was in the flatlands below the Mendip hills, on the banks of the River Yeo. She had been drawn to this wild gorge; it reminded her of the landscape that might have been hers had she married a prince of Powys. She batted away the sudden sharp pain of the memory and turned back to the letter in her hand. For Ethelfled to reach out to her with this homesick missive must mean she was lonely indeed.

  I expect our first child and my husband needs a son to grow tall and strong as we live here amongst his enemies who jostle always for position, ever looking for the chance to depose him.

  Eadburh dropped the letter on her knee, once more looking up towards the cliff where a peregrine falcon swooped down through the cloud. There was a wild goat up there on the cliffs, balancing on a narrow ledge, its curved horns a sudden silhouette against the sky. So, her sister was pregnant. Unconsciously her hand strayed to her own stomach, which was still stubbornly flat. She had wondered more and more often if her mother’s remedy to rid her of Elisedd’s child, the baby she still mourned so bitterly in some locked away part of her heart, had rendered her unable to bear more children. The time had come, she realised, to seek help in that regard; she needed amulets and charms. With a sigh she refolded the letter and tucked it into the embroidered pouch at her girdle. The messenger had further bulky missives for Beorhtric from Ethelfled’s husband and already he was remounting.

  As his horse disappeared round the bend in track, the sound of its hooves echoing off the high crags, Eadburh looked up and with a sudden jolt of fear she crossed herself.

  Bea froze. In her fascination with the scene before her she had drifted closer without realising it. The woman’s eyes locked on hers. ‘Demon! Witch! Why do you follow me? I banish you three times three and still you return!’

  Her women clustered round their frightened mistress as she leapt to her feet, and Bea saw two of the warriors from their escort reach for their swords, staring round in terror. She clutched her little crucifix, holding it out it in front of her. ‘I am not a witch!’ she heard her own voice, thin and scared in the silence of her room. ‘I’m not …’

  But they had gone. The Queen of Wessex and the people anxiously surrounding her had faded into the past and Bea could only imagine them there, on the track, staring round in confusion as the cry of the falcon echoed from the cliffs above them and died away into the silence.

  The sound of the front door quietly opening and closing had woken Simon. He reached for his phone and stared at it groggily. It was 2.30 in the morning. With a groan he climbed out of bed and went to peer out of his bedroom window. He could see the faint outline of his daughter sitting on the wall outside in the
dark. She was smoking a cigarette.

  Grabbing a heavy sweater, he tiptoed downstairs past the recumbent form of his snoring son and let himself out into the cold night air.

  ‘Emma? What is it, darling? Can’t you sleep?’

  Hearing the door open, Emma had hastily stubbed out the cigarette and tossed it over the wall. ‘I thought there was someone out here, Dad.’

  ‘Felix is asleep.’

  ‘Obviously.’ There was enough light from the stars to see her smile. They could both hear his snores through the door.

  ‘It’s a beautiful night.’ Pulling his sweater more tightly round himself with a shiver, he sat down beside her. Above them the stars were a brilliant carpet across the sky, the half-moon low on the horizon. After their urban sky at home in London where one could see even the biggest constellations only occasionally, he had been stunned by the sheer number of stars out here.

  ‘There was a woman out here, shouting. I’m surprised you didn’t hear her. She’d gone by the time I came downstairs.’

  He sighed. ‘Was she calling for Elise?’

  ‘So you did hear her?’

  ‘Not this time. I was asleep. I had hoped she’d gone.’

  ‘Who is she? Who is Elise?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Dad?’

  He sighed. ‘No one knows who she is. When we look for her, she disappears.’ He sighed. ‘We’re beginning to think she’s a ghost. Christine, the woman who owns this place, asked the local ghostbuster to come by and see if she could get her to leave. At first I thought it had worked, but obviously not.’ He could feel Emma’s gaze fixed on his face and he waited for an explosion of laughter. It didn’t come.

  ‘A real ghost?’ She sounded impressed.

  ‘A local vicar was up here as well, and he said she was a nun.’

  ‘A nun!’ It was an incredulous squeak. ‘What was a nun doing up here?’

  He grinned. ‘Good question. But she’s not a scary ghost.’

  ‘I’m not scared.’ Emma was looking at him with something like awe. ‘That’s so cool. A real ghost! Wait till I tell Felix! Vicars and nuns!’ she gave a gurgle of glee. ‘Better not tell Mum. She would think you’d gone mad – or kinky.’