The Dream Weavers Page 40

  ‘So, you told him?’

  ‘As I left, he gave me a tiny gold enamelled cross, such as the metalworkers of Offa made. I wondered if it had been hers. And I wondered if he had understood me, but I had interfered enough with the plans of the sisters of Wyrd. It was not for me to say more. If he followed the meandering paths of my reminiscence, that would be up to him. I asked for his blessing and I left the clas to return to the forests of my own land.’

  ‘But you had told him she was still alive!’

  ‘I had made my confession after the fashion of the Christians, that was all.’ She was staring away again into the deep green shadows of the forest.

  Bea was afraid the enigma that was Nesta was going to fade into the shadows again. ‘I need your advice; your help. There is so much going on. Eadburh and Elisedd haunt me. And Emma is at risk.’

  ‘Eadburh and Elisedd need no help from you. Their time is past, their story written.’

  ‘Yet Emma has become involved.’ Bea sighed. ‘It’s hard to understand what is happening. I dream the story of Eadburh; as she lives her life, it unfolds before me. Emma dreams Eadburh’s dreams of still being a young girl in love.’

  Nesta nodded slowly. ‘You are all weavers of dreams. Emma has the beautiful ripe body of a girl. What woman would not want to borrow that for her dreams as she sees herself wasting away in the lonely confines of a convent cell?’

  A gentle breeze blew through the glade and the new leaves overhead seemed to whisper agreement.

  ‘We all may wish for younger bodies,’ Bea heard the wistful note in her own voice, ‘but we don’t go out to hijack someone else’s. I am very afraid for Emma. And there is more. You warned me about her once, a woman, an erstwhile colleague of my husband’s, who seems to have set out to destroy me. Somehow she’s become involved in all this, but now she’s threatening Emma too. We have to stop her.’

  Nesta turned to look at her for the first time. ‘And how can we do that?’

  ‘I expected you to know.’ Bea spoke more forcefully than she had intended. ‘You have the knowledge.’

  ‘You have taught the child that time is but a plaited rope, looped and knotted as the fates dictate. You have shown her what to do. It’s up to her if she makes use of your advice. Maybe she wants to sleep with a prince. She has already done so in her dreams. Dreams are powerful,’ Nesta’s voice was soft, almost indistinguishable against the breathing of the forest, ‘Eadburh’s voice is seductive. Impossible to resist. The child would need to be very strong to push it away to go back to her schoolbooks.’ Sunlight was filtering through the branches overhead, casting mottled shadows over Nesta’s face. The silver streaks in her hair beneath her shawl caught the gleam of the setting sun and as though sensing the touch of the light she pulled the shawl closer. ‘But this other woman,’ she paused thoughtfully, ‘becomes ever more powerful through her mission to destroy you. She invited evil in and she plays with fire without even realising how near to the abyss she walks.’

  Bea shivered. ‘Sandra. I don’t know how she has suddenly transformed into this awful mirror image of herself. She scares me.’

  Again she saw Nesta glance towards her. This time her look was withering. ‘You have to be strong. You are the only one who can deal with her and to do so you will have to abandon caution and hesitation. You are not yet fully committed to your path. If you want to walk with the power of a wise woman, you have to have the courage to face demons.’

  Bea drew in a shuddering breath. ‘I’m not sure I have that kind of strength.’ She looked down at the ground. When she was a child her father had once told her there were dragons in this forest. She had been scared then and she was scared now. Taking a deep breath, she looked back towards Nesta.

  The log where the woman had been seated beside Bea was empty. The moss and leaves showed no sign that there had been anyone there.

  ‘Nesta?’ Bea scrambled to her feet. ‘Nesta? Please. I haven’t finished. I need you!’

  But the moment of magic had passed. The sound of her raised voice had scared the birds. The robin flew off, its alarm notes cutting through the silence followed by the sound of wings high up in the canopy of the trees.. A large black bird had flown up from the tree and circled out over the forest. Crow? Raven? The messenger of a witch spying on her or a warning from the gods of the forest that she needed to be on guard and that she wasn’t alone in her battle to save Emma’s soul. She took a step forward. She could hear voices in the distance, a child shouting, a parent calling.

  Thoughtfully she sat down again. Nesta was right. She had to be strong.

  After Heather left, Sandra had gone back into her house, slamming the door behind her and decisively drawing the bolt before she returned to the sitting room.

  Heather Fawcett was an unmitigated busybody. Sandra smiled grimly. She, Sandra, would deal with her later, but for now she was a nonentity in the great scheme of things. She bent to pick the box up off the floor and, putting it on her coffee table, once more removed the lid.

  Sitting down, she leaned over her box of treasures, angry with herself for leaving it lying open for anyone to see. Thoughtfully she picked up the bag that contained the desiccated body of the rat and she smiled. She had enjoyed that exercise, one she remembered from her days of studying with an American wizard whose devotion to the dark side in his online lessons made him immensely popular with legions of followers. It was gratifying to think it had worked even on someone as experienced as Bea obviously was. She put the bag aside.

  The crystal ball was cold in her hands and she weighed it thoughtfully, dropping it from one hand to the other as she tried to think what her strategy should be. Did she want to save Bea and the child or leave them to their fate? She had a choice as to what to do, however much she disliked Bea as a person and resented the fact that the woman was dragging the canon into her evil world, did she want to free her from whoever, whatever, it was that had entwined her in its wicked coils, or did she want to be rid of her? Perhaps she should allow fate to decide for her.

  Sweeping all the papers and pencils aside, she made herself comfortable and, balancing the ball on the table, began to study the small muddy swirls in the crystal, forcing her gaze out of focus, not letting herself blink, waiting for the pictures to appear. She was expecting to see Ethelbert the king. Surely it was the evil swirling around him and his murderer she was dealing with here. But this was someone else, somewhere else. Another time. This wasn’t about Bea. This was about her. Her own past lives. She leaned forward, avidly watching the scene unfold.

  She watched as the cavalcade containing the murdering Queen of Wessex finally turned the bend out of sight on the forest track. She, Sandra, had been there, one of the crowd, jeering and shaking their fists, baying for the woman’s blood. The scene changed. There was another target now for their fury. She heard the name as a whisper. They were hunting for the herb-wife, Nesta, who had made the poison that killed the king. It was the women now, their menfolk outmanoeuvred, who gathered in an angry swarm and turned away from the palace courtyard, streaming up the hill to the herb gardens and the still room where the poison had been concocted.

  The hut was empty. Only the herbs hanging rustling in the draught were still there. The table was bare, the shelves cleared, the witch had gone. She had disappeared into the forest.

  Backing away, Sandra looked round, no longer part of the scene, a mere bystander as the women set light to the hut. Now they were trashing the garden, angrily pulling up the lovingly cultivated herbs, stamping on them, hurling them into the fire.

  And still she watched.

  The scene changed again. She was a maid in the palace at Aachen, waiting on the Queen of Wessex as she flirted with the emperor, carrying water, emptying chamber pots, washing clothes, a maid who is never noticed, cowering against the wall as Eadburh swept past with a curse for the servants who dared to stray into her path.

  This had been her destiny, she realised, in a dozen previous lives, in a hundred me
ditations, in a thousand dreams: to stand by the village pond as another screaming old woman was thrown into muddy waters to sink or swim, to laugh as the hangman’s noose tightened and the victim’s legs kicked helplessly as they died, to watch at the foot of the scaffold for a head to roll, to knit by the guillotine, always to watch others dragged away to their doom. It was her destiny to follow and jeer and laugh and then impotently to wander away.

  Well, not this time. Now she was ready. She drew her hands over the crystal as if to wipe out its memory and, reaching for the silk scarf she kept in the box, she draped it over the ball. She felt a sudden shiver of real fear. This was not a game. It had never been a game. In this lifetime she had real power over real people. The power of life and death.

  Her plan was simple. She needed to speak to Emma. Negotiating the narrow lanes up to the cottage, Sandra drove on past it, parking at the top on the sheep-cropped grass beyond the cattle grid. Walking back down the lane between high shaded banks laced with violets and primroses, she crept along the hedgerow towards the gate. Quietly unlatching it she tiptoed up the steps and stood for several seconds on the terrace, then, taking a deep breath, she raised her fist and banged on the front door.

  There was an interval of several seconds before she heard footsteps inside. The door was opened by Simon himself. He did not look happy; even less so when he saw who it was. He spoke before she could say why she had come. ‘I’m sorry, this is not a good time for visitors. I’m expecting someone.’

  Sandra felt a surge of anger. ‘I haven’t come all this way on a whim. I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Why? To explain all the damage you’re doing to Bea?’

  Sandra took a step forward. ‘Bea is a dangerous woman and I want, I need, to help your daughter.’ She put out her hand as though to push him back so she could enter the house.

  He didn’t budge. ‘No. I’m sorry. I don’t want you here. I’m expecting my wife at any moment.’

  ‘I will go, but not before I’ve explained.’ She spoke through gritted teeth. ‘You don’t understand what is happening.’

  Behind them a car pulled into the layby outside the cottage and parked beside Simon’s old Volvo. He groaned. ‘Please. Go. Now. I told you, I do not want you here.’

  ‘Dad?’ Emma had appeared behind him. ‘Is that Mum’s car?’ She spotted Sandra and stared at her. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Sandra clenched her fists. ‘Your wife should listen to what I have to say as well.’

  The force with which Val slammed the door of her car after she climbed out spoke volumes. She opened the gate and ran up the steps onto the terrace and only then seemed to see the stranger standing by the door. She stopped in her tracks.

  ‘Mrs Armstrong? I am sorry to intrude but there are things you ought to know about what your daughter has been doing.’ Sandra was oblivious to the family tensions around her. ‘You need to listen to me. I don’t think your husband understands what is happening to him. He is blinded by Bea’s charisma and now there is an added problem and he can’t see the danger of what has been going on.’

  Emma pushed past her father. ‘What is going on is absolutely none of your business!’ she shouted. ‘You’ve been following me, and we should call the police! You’re nothing but a vicious stalker!’

  ‘Em!’

  Simon put his hand on Emma’s shoulder but she shook him off. ‘No. Everyone is too scared of her to tell her what an appalling person she is. A busybody. A spy. A vicious, jealous interfering—’ Words failed Emma and she burst into tears.

  ‘That’s enough!’ Val walked past her husband and Sandra and pushed Emma back towards the door. ‘Go inside. I have no idea what is going on here, but I’m beginning to understand. This lady,’ she threw a withering glance at Sandra, ‘appears to have a very good idea of the situation, but I gather it has nothing to do with her, so I think we can deal with this ourselves, thank you.’ She glared at Sandra. ‘I suggest you leave us to our own affairs.’

  Sandra held her ground. ‘I didn’t come all this way up here to be sent away. I’m not the one in the wrong here,’ she stated stoutly. ‘I’m coming in. That child will lie to you, and your husband is besotted with the woman who is grooming your daughter!’

  The silence that followed this statement was broken only by the call of a buzzard riding the thermals above the valley. Sandra took the chance to walk inside and sit down by the empty hearth.

  Even Val was left speechless by this. She turned to Simon, who also appeared dumbstruck. ‘Call the police!’ she hissed at him. She followed Sandra inside and stood looking down at her.

  ‘Val. Let’s all calm down.’ Simon shouted after them as Emma pushed past him and ran upstairs to her bedroom. The whole house shook with the force of the door banging behind her and they heard the sound of her sobs through the ceiling.

  ‘Now see what you’ve done!’ Val spat the words, whether at Sandra or Simon or both wasn’t clear. ‘All right, if you’re so keen to tell me what you think is happening, let’s hear it, then perhaps you will leave us in peace.’ She sat down opposite Sandra, perching on the edge of the chair, her arms folded.

  ‘No, Val,’ Simon tried his best.

  ‘Shut up!’

  He sat down at his writing table and put his head in his hands.

  ‘Well, I’m waiting,’ Val looked at the woman opposite her.

  Sandra smiled. This was her chance.

  40

  Sandra spoke without interruption for several minutes, all too aware of Mrs Armstrong’s eyes fixed unblinkingly on her face. Val’s expression was forbidding. When at last Sandra fell silent, there was a long pause. Simon raised his head to look from one woman to the other.

  ‘Thank you.’ Val spoke very quietly. ‘Leave this with me.’

  Sandra looked perplexed. ‘But I have to help you deal with this.’

  ‘I don’t see how, or why you need to involve yourself further in our affairs.’ Val stood up. ‘I would like you to go now so that my husband and I can talk. Please,’ for the first time her voice rose slightly, ‘leave us alone.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No. Nothing else. Speak to no one, follow no one. Leave us all in peace!’

  ‘You don’t believe me!’ Sandra was outraged.

  ‘I believe you are perfectly sincere, Mrs Bedford. But I don’t believe our family is any of your business. Whether or not there is a problem here, it’s for Emma’s parents to address, not a complete stranger.’

  She moved forward to stand over Sandra’s chair. There was no mistaking her body language. Sandra stood up and shuffled unwillingly towards the door. ‘I did tell you that the bishop and the dean—’

  ‘Yes, you told us.’

  Simon moved at last. He walked over to the front door and pulled it open. ‘Time to go, Sandra. Thank you for your help, but my wife is right. This is for us to sort out now. Please do not take this any further. And don’t come here again.’

  ‘But Bea—’ Sandra was already outside on the terrace.

  ‘Leave Bea alone.’ Simon closed the door with a bang and leaned against it, his eyes closed.

  ‘What a ghastly woman.’ Val threw herself back down into her chair. ‘Mad as a box of frogs! I hope and pray that’s the last we see of her, although I doubt it will be. I can recognise the type a mile away: a self-righteous busybody of the worst kind.’ She gave an exaggeratedly loud sigh then she looked over at Simon. ‘Please tell me you don’t believe any of this utter and complete nonsense. I have never heard such drivel. When Felix told me what had been going on, I couldn’t believe my ears. Ghosts, apparitions, possession. And now black magic and witchcraft, exorcisms and God knows what! You have obviously all lost your senses.’

  With a quick look up at the ceiling where Emma’s sobs had fallen silent at last, Simon pushed himself away from the door. ‘Come into the kitchen. We can talk better in there.’

  Following his look, Val stood up. ‘Coffee. I’ve been driving for nearly four hour
s.’

  ‘And you must be exhausted.’

  ‘I’m taking Emma back, you do know that, don’t you.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Does she?’

  ‘I think so. Val, you’ve got to—’

  ‘I’ve got to nothing. You listen to me.’ She sat down at the kitchen table, white with fatigue. He switched on the kettle and reached for the coffee pot. It was no use arguing until she had had her say.

  ‘This woman, Bea, is at the root of all this. That much is obvious. I cannot think how you allowed her to get such a hold over Emma. That dreadful Sandra person seems to be right as far as that goes. This is clearly a case of some sort of grooming. No, nothing to do with sex. I know it’s not that.’

  Simon bit his lip and waited.

  ‘It sounds as though Bea is thoroughly unhinged. I rang her husband and warned him off. He must be out of his mind with worry, but then all religion is verging on the insane, in my opinion. I should imagine the atmosphere in a cathedral is beyond unhealthy and thoroughly incestuous. Bloody hell, Simon! What on earth have you got yourself mixed up in?’

  She paused and Simon took his chance. ‘Finished?’ he enquired mildly. He pushed the mug of coffee across the table towards her.

  ‘No. Not by a long chalk!’ She glared at him.

  ‘Any chance I can get a word in edgeways at this stage?’

  ‘Why not. Let’s hear your excuses. I trust she’s wrong about you being in love with this woman.’

  ‘I don’t need to make excuses, Val. And no, I am not in love with anyone except you, and that’s tricky at times, believe me! I may not have handled all this as well as I should, but we have been experiencing an extraordinary, unprecedented series of events and you screaming scorn and derision at what has happened here does not help the situation. Emma needs sympathy and understanding. She needs help and advice and she has been getting that from Bea. I doubt very much if you know anyone who can do what Bea has been doing to help her, but if you do, then by all means wheel them in.’