Читать книгу Sleeper’s Castle: An epic historical romance from the Sunday Times bestseller - Barbara Erskine - Страница 17

Nina dropped her bombshell as they were wandering round Hay next morning. ‘I’m so sorry, darling, but I’m going to have to go back tomorrow.’

Andy felt a lurch of disappointment. ‘Why?’ It was too soon. She had thought they would have plenty of time to talk and explore; time to settle into Sleeper’s Castle, knowing there was someone else there at night, along the landing, someone real and strong and reassuring.

‘I’ve had a text. It’s a pupil I’ve been coaching. She’s been asked to go and play as part of an interview and she’s very nervous. I promised I would help her with her party pieces.’ Nina smiled fondly.

For as long as she could remember, Andy had heard the tentative notes of the piano echoing through the house, becoming less and less tentative and more and more competent as her mother’s pupils progressed. Even better had been the occasional glorious sound of her mother playing alone in the sitting room of the cottage in the evenings, filling the place with music. Andy would turn off her radio or the TV and sit staring into space listening, transported by the beauty of the sound.

‘I’m sorry, darling.’ Nina touched her arm, sensing the wave of devastation which swept over her daughter.

‘No, don’t be silly.’ Andy shook her head fiercely. ‘That’s what is so special about you. You’re always there for people.’

‘And I wanted to be here for you.’

‘You are. You have been. After all, you can come back.’ Andy swallowed hard. ‘Perhaps we can book a nice long holiday for you to come up, when none of your pupils are likely to need you?’

Nina gave her a thoughtful glance. ‘You’re strong Andy,’ she said. ‘And I can see you’re loving it up here. Those moments of doubt will come less and less often as you get used to being without Graham. I promise you, darling.’

Nevertheless, one of those moments of doubt hit her the following day after she had waved Nina out of sight down the lane and she was once more alone. The day was cold and grey. A soft mizzle of rain lay like a damp blanket over the valley and the house felt very empty. There was no sign of Pepper when she went back inside, closed the door and headed for the kitchen; through the window the garden looked sodden and messy, the first leaves already off the trees and lying yellow on the lawns. No doubt the brook would be gathering strength to roar through the night and keep her awake. She sighed and began to gather their lunch plates and put them in the sink. She was too downhearted to do more. Wandering through the house she listened to the silence. Once she stopped and looked round. ‘Catrin?’ she called. ‘Are you there?’ But there was no answer. There wasn’t even any wind in the chimneys to drown out the sound of the steadily falling rain on the flagstones outside the windows.

Huddled under the duvet in her bedroom she put on the bedside lamp and reached for one of her favourite books. Later she would turn on the TV or perhaps start to plan a supper party to return Sian’s hospitality. Anything to distract her. She didn’t want to think about Kew. She didn’t want to think about Rhona there in her home, Graham’s home, desecrating the place, taking ownership of everything Andy treasured and loved. She didn’t want Rhona invading her memories. Better to try and forget.

But it was no good.

‘Graham,’ she whispered. ‘Where are you?’ The loneliness was unbearable.

On that last sunny day she and Graham had spent at the house in Kew before he had had his terrible life-shattering diagnosis they had wandered out onto the terrace with a jug of Pimm’s and two glasses and the Sunday papers. She was barefoot; she remembered clearly the wood of the boards warm under her feet. Graham of course would have been wearing shoes. She didn’t ever remember seeing him without shoes in the garden. In her mind she put down the paper and her glass and she walked down the steps onto the grass, which was soft and warm beneath her toes.

As she walked across the lawn the sun went in and a cloud crossed the sky, blotting out the blue. The first drops of rain began to fall.

She turned and looked back at the house. It had changed. The season had changed. It was raining hard now; Graham had gone. The table on the terrace was deserted, raindrops bouncing off its surface. Before going in he had tipped the chairs against it so the rain ran off their seats. It was the last time they had sat outside together.

Running up the steps she put out her hand to the door. ‘Let me in, Graham,’ she called. But the door was locked. There was no Graham there.

Rhona shivered as she walked down the passage towards the back of the house. It was a dull wet day and the building felt empty and cold and sad. Pushing open the door and switching on the lights she walked into the kitchen and stopped short. There was a figure outside on the terrace, peering in through the glass of the French doors. Miranda. She could see her clearly. With an exclamation of utter fury she turned and ran back into the hall. With only the smallest hesitation she picked up the phone in the living room and dialled 999.

There was a clean wash of cold sunshine across the garden next morning as Andy walked into the kitchen and switched on the radio. There was no sign of Pepper but she filled his bowl with biscuits, rather hoping the familiar rattle would bring him bouncing in through the cat flap. There was still no sign so after a minute she put it on the floor anyway; he was probably celebrating the return of the sunshine and would come in later. She reached for the jar of muesli and was stooping to take the jug of milk out of the fridge when there was a knock at the back door.

The policeman was tall and fair-haired and accepted a cup of tea with alacrity. ‘I just need to establish your whereabouts last night, Miss Dysart.’ Sitting at the kitchen table he smiled at her as he reached for his notebook.

She stared at him, confused. ‘I was here. Why?’

‘Can you prove it?’

She frowned. ‘My mother was here until about four o’clock. She’d been spending the weekend with me. I saw her off down there in the lane.’ She had glanced down at the parking space when he arrived and seen the blue-and-yellow squares of the police car with the Welsh word Heddlu inscribed across the doors parked in the space where her mother’s Citroën had been.

‘And your mother could vouch for your presence here and the time she left?’

‘Yes, of course she could. Why? Is she all right? Oh my goodness, she hasn’t had an accident?’ Andy was suddenly frantic.

‘No. No. Nothing like that.’ He smiled at her reassuringly. ‘I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. It must be a case of mistaken identity. There has been a complaint that you were harassing someone in Surrey last night.’

‘Oh no. Not Rhona.’ Andy looked at him in despair. ‘Rhona Wilson? In Kew?’

‘So you do know the lady?’

Andy sighed. ‘Oh yes, I know the lady. She’s the former wife of the man I lived with for ten years. She can’t forgive him, or me, for being happy together after she left him. She’s a vindictive bitch.’ She smiled at him apologetically. ‘Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that. But really … No, I wasn’t harassing her last night. I was here. I can’t prove it, though; there wasn’t anyone else here to back me up.’

‘Your mother left at about four o’clock, you say?’

Andy nodded.

‘Well, the complaint was made at six fifteen last night. So unless that car out there is a great deal faster than it looks …’ he looked up and gave her an apologetic grin, ‘I don’t see how you could have driven to Surrey in the time. Would your mother confirm the time she left?’

Andy nodded again. ‘I’m sure she would. She’s very accurate about things like that.’

‘Perhaps you could give me her address and one of my colleagues can take a statement from her. Then we can put Mrs Wilson’s mind at rest. Have you any idea why she should think you were at her house yesterday evening?’

Andy gave a groan. ‘If anyone was being harassed it was me. She drove me away after Graham died a couple of months ago. He left me the house in his will, but the will disappeared.’ She paused. ‘I can’t prove that either. She just upped and moved in. I decided it was better I leave the area, and I was lucky that Sue, the lady who owns this place, was going away and needed a house-sitter. So I quietly faded out of Rhona’s life. Or I thought I had.’

He was staring at her, his elbows on the table, his yellow jacket crackling slightly as he lifted his mug to drink. ‘That’s Sue Macarthur? She’s gone to Australia?’

Andy nodded. ‘You know her?’

He smiled even more broadly. ‘Everyone knows everyone round here, you’ll find.’

‘Do you mind me asking how you knew where I was?’ Andy shivered. ‘Rhona was very unpleasant after Graham’s death. She rang me constantly and made life very unhappy for me. I was anxious she shouldn’t know where I was living after I came to Wales.’

He flipped the page back on his notebook. ‘Mrs Wilson said a James Allardyce would know where you were. He was contacted and he gave your address to the constable in charge of the case.’

‘James,’ Andy whispered. One of the trusted few who had sworn not to tell Rhona where she was. ‘Will the police have told her I’m here?’

He hesitated. ‘They will tell her that we have proved you couldn’t have been in her back garden. I will mention to my Surrey colleague that you want your whereabouts protected. I’m sure they would keep it confidential anyway.’

‘I hope so. James shouldn’t have told anyone where I was. I thought I was safe here.’

‘Mr Allardyce had no option but to tell the police,’ he replied reproachfully. ‘But I will make sure they understand the situation. They’re used to dealing with domestics.’

Andy gave a small laugh. ‘A domestic? Is that what this is?’

‘Well, I admit it is unusual. And the fact remains, if it wasn’t you banging on her kitchen door, then who was?’ He glanced up at her again. ‘Perhaps she was dreaming.’

His quick look had been casual, but she could see him trying to read her mind, double-check, form a judgement.

He pushed away his mug, standing up at last. ‘Well, I’m sorry to have disturbed you so early. I will report back and make sure they understand the situation. Obviously Mrs Wilson was mistaken. I’m sure we won’t have to bother you about this again.’

Andy watched from the window as his car reversed out of the parking space and turned down the lane. She sighed and glanced at her watch.

‘James? You swore you wouldn’t tell anyone where I was!’ She was clutching her phone as she stared out of the window a few minutes later. The watery sunlight was throwing a pale wash of colour across the garden.

‘Oh God!’ she heard James’s voice so clearly he could have been in the room. ‘I am so sorry, Andy. The police came over late last night. They insisted on knowing where you were. I gather Rhona told them I knew you and would know how to get hold of you. What’s happened? They wouldn’t tell me.’

‘She’s accused me of harassing her. A policeman has just been here to check on my whereabouts.’ Andy scowled. ‘I think Mum can give me an alibi. She’s been here for the weekend, and although she’d gone by the time Rhona thought she saw me, the policeman pointed out I couldn’t have driven from here to Kew in that time.’ She heaved a deep sigh. ‘I wish that woman would leave me alone, James. I hope to goodness the police don’t tell her where I am.’

‘I explained the situation to the chap who came here. I emphasised that she was paranoid and had threatened you,’ James said. ‘I am sorry, Andy. God, Graham would be so angry if he knew what was happening!’

Andy nodded sadly. ‘Well, thanks for making it clear what the situation was. Hopefully that will be the end of it. Come and see me, James. Bring Hilary.’

‘We might well do that, Andy.’ She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘I’m due some holiday, so perhaps we can work something out. And if we come, I promise we will drive round in circles to make sure we’re not followed.’

She stood for a while, continuing to stare out of the window after they had ended the conversation. She should have known that James would not have given her whereabouts away willingly. He and his wife Hilary were the most trustworthy people she knew and she missed them dreadfully, she realised, as she missed so much of her previous life. She sighed with a rueful smile. So, who had been looking into Rhona’s window last night? She thought back to her solitary daydream. Had Rhona been right? Was it her? She remembered the last time she had thought about the garden; Rhona’s angry shout, her pointed finger. She shivered. If Rhona could see her back there in Kew, could she also somehow see Andy here, where she was now, in Wales?

She looked round thoughtfully. This was a house of dreams. For generations it had had the reputation for being a magical place where Druids and poets dreamed of the future. Did it have the power to make dreams of the past real as well?

Slowly, carefully, Dafydd, Catrin and Edmund wound their way northwards from house to house and castle to castle, following ancient trackways and drove roads, newer cart tracks and roads. Over mountains and along river valleys they made their way from Presteigne to Bryn y Castell, near Knighton and on towards Newtown, then spent a week at the great castle at Welshpool. By the end of July they were at Oswestry then Chirk. After a discussion they decided to avoid Wrexham, where on their previous trip Dafydd had encountered the town’s resident bard who had vociferously resented their arrival. Instead they turned west towards Llangollen, where in past years they had found a far more favourable reception in the houses of one or two richer merchants and in a farmhouse on the hillside. From there they planned to travel south across the Berwyn Mountains towards Sycharth, the home of Dafydd’s most generous patron, the Lord of Glyndŵr. From there they would continue south, heading back towards home.

It had been a good summer. On the whole Catrin had enjoyed herself. Her father’s health had improved with good food and the stimulating company. He had blossomed and put on weight. They had visited old friends, made new ones and earned good payment; buried in the panniers on the pack mule was enough in gifts and coin to keep them over the following winter. Only their outward appearance of poverty and Edmund’s trusty sword kept them safe from being robbed, but this year they had been lucky and seen little of footpads and thieves, and those they had witnessed had been but shadows in the distance, on their way to accost other more wealthy-looking travellers.

But the time had come to think of home. It was imperative they reach the end of the journey before the weather broke and the roads became impassable. Besides, Catrin was finding it increasingly difficult to hide her dislike of Edmund from her father.

It had started with a disagreement over the places they were to visit. They were sitting beneath the shade of a copse of trees, resting the horses, and Dafydd was dozing, his back against the trunk of an ancient rowan.

‘You must wake him.’ Edmund had led each of the horses in turn down to a mountain brook and allowed them to drink. He had grown impatient, his eye on the horizon and the huge clouds piling up in the west. ‘There is a storm coming and it would be nice to be safely under cover before it breaks.’

Catrin stretched lazily. ‘Not yet. Let him sleep. He so seldom manages to find rest.’

‘He is always resting!’ Edmund snapped. ‘You wear yourself out running after him and he sits and allows you to wait on him hand and foot. You earn as much as him; you are as good a poet as him. Give yourself a little leeway for once.’

She scrambled to her feet. ‘Don’t you dare talk about him like that!’

‘Why not? It’s the truth. And you will be the first to worry and fret if he gets wet in the storm. Then it will all be “Hurry, Edmund, Tad mustn’t get soaked. Hurry, Edmund, Tad is shivering, we must find him shelter!”’ His voice slid into a falsetto parody of hers.

‘He’s right, Cat.’ Their raised voices had awoken Dafydd. He stretched and with a groan dragged himself to his feet. ‘I do not like getting soaked and that storm is obviously coming this way.’

‘I just wanted to allow you a few more moments of sleep,’ Catrin retorted.

‘And then you wake me with your shrieking,’ Dafydd grumbled. ‘Get the horses saddled, Edmund, and let’s be on our way.’

He stamped away from them and stood gazing out across the waving grasses of the sunlit moorland towards the mountains, where already they could see the occasional flash of lightning against the black of the western sky.

Catrin turned on Edmund furiously. ‘Now you’ve upset him!’ she snapped.

‘I’ve done nothing of the sort. He can see that storm as easily as I can. I’m amazed you don’t seem to understand it’s coming this way. You will be soaked too. Your cloak will be sodden. Your belongings in those bundles will be drenched as much as your father’s, and we will arrive looking like drowned rats!’ He turned away and reached for one of the saddles, humping it onto Dafydd’s horse. ‘What if your father’s books and scrolls get wet again?’ he called over his shoulder as he reached under the horse’s belly for the girth. ‘And your harp. It won’t be my fault if they are ruined one of these days!’

‘It will be your fault. It’s your job to pack them properly and look after us!’ she cried. She began to stuff all her own things into her saddlebag and turned to pick up her cloak. She had been sitting on it and it was creased and grass-stained. She shook it angrily. Edmund left Dafydd’s cob and turned to her pony. He lifted her saddle with ease, cinched it into place and then took the cloak out of her hands. ‘I’ll roll this for you and you can carry it in front of you. You will need it when it rains.’ His face was set with anger.

Her fury flared to meet his. Without giving herself time to think, she stepped away from him and turned to face the storm. A gust of wind caught her skirt and pulled it out behind her as she raised her right hand and whispered the words of command that would chase the storm away. Silently she breathed a thank you to Efa and knew that the woman would hear. It was ancient magic and powerful, invoking the gods of thunder. As she watched she saw the lightning slice across the horizon, a vicious spark, resentful of her command, but the next flash was further away. Turning back, she smiled.

Edmund had seen her. She saw the shock on his face. Weather magic was witchcraft.

She glared at him defiantly.

He said nothing.

It took only minutes to put the three of them on the road once more, the two riders following Edmund as he led the mule down the steep track. Catrin did not glance over her shoulder towards the retreating storm. Somehow it seemed important not to acknowledge its existence.

Andy hadn’t wanted to wake up. She had lain still, her eyes tight shut, grasping for the dream, but it had gone. With a sigh she went downstairs into the living room, and stood there looking at her piles of books. Her head was resonating with the story. So was it the house itself which was the custodian of Catrin’s narrative? And perhaps Rhona’s as well. If so, how? The idea was too exciting to ignore. House as an echo chamber. House as receiver of messages. House as medium for contact, not only with the past, but with parallel present existences.

Sitting cross-legged on the rug on the floor in front of her book collection, Andy began to shuffle through them, pausing every now and then to greet an old favourite, sorting them into different categories, discarding a few as not relevant to her present sphere of interest, piling others closer to read again soon. She had forgotten so much of this stuff, the fascination of combining serious scientific theory with the completely subjective nature of the actual experience.

What she needed was a couple of notebooks to start writing down the experiences so as not to lose the freshness of describing the moment. Even the best scientist must find it hard sometimes to resist the urge to improve on an account of things that had come up in the course of an experiment. She wanted to keep her record accurate.

She sat back at last, pushed her hair out of her eyes, then scrambled to her feet. Scooping up an armful of books, she carried them back to the kitchen and stacked them on the table. She was tempted to go down to Hay now, to buy a notebook. She eyed her car keys, lying on the dresser.

But she was desperate to go back and see what happened to Catrin and Edmund. They were so real in her head. That spark of anger between them had been so spontaneous, his shock as she murmured that spell to divert the thunderstorm so obvious she couldn’t bear to leave them like that, on the road in the middle of nowhere. Where were they going? What happened next? She had to find out and maybe she had had a long enough break to be able to go back to sleep?

But, did she have to be asleep? Could she just retreat into some sort of meditative state as she did when she visited Kew? This was what her books could tell her. Or her father. It was the sort of thing he would probably know. She reached for the phone.

‘How are you, pet?’ Her father’s second wife, Sandy, was a lovely Northumbrian woman who had taken Andy to her heart. ‘When are you going to come and see us?’

Her father it appeared was away at a conference. Sandy promised to make sure he rang as soon as he got back. They chatted for a while and Andy found herself immersed in news of her half-brothers’ school exploits, the adventures of their two border terriers and Sandy’s mother’s operation. When at last she laid down the phone she stared at it sadly, astonished at how lost and lonely she felt.

She sighed. They were far away and part of another life and Catrin was here, waiting for her. Without her father’s help it was up to her to work out a way of travelling back to that thundery Welsh mountain.

Aware that Pepper was sitting on the windowsill watching her with apparent interest, his paws tucked sleepily into his chest, she sat down and closed her eyes.

And found herself in the kitchen of her old home. The room was tidy, the only sign of occupation a carefully rinsed mug upside down in the draining rack beside the sink. She stared at it with a painful pang of nostalgia. It was a mug Graham had bought for her when they visited Chartres Cathedral together. It was decorated with the pellucid blues and reds of the beautiful medieval windows.

Looking down at it, Andy was overcome with anger. She reached out to the mug, intending to throw it on the floor and smash it; it was then she realised that she couldn’t see her hands. She tried to pick up the mug but nothing happened. Her hand, if it was there at all, made no contact with the cold china. Her anger was replaced by irritation and then by a strangely analytical sensation of interest.

Rhona was sitting on the sofa in the living room going through yet another box of papers. Andy’s papers. She looked up with a start as she found herself staring at Andy. For a split second the two women remained unmoving, holding one another’s gaze, then the vision was gone. In the silence of the room someone screamed.

Andy jerked back to reality. Pepper had vanished through the cat flap. Moments later there was a knock at the door. ‘Are you OK?’ Bryn opened it without waiting to be invited. He glanced round. ‘I heard you scream.’

Andy stared at him, confused. ‘I didn’t. At least, I don’t think I did.’

‘Then who was it?’ He closed the door behind him. ‘I saw Pepper running through the garden as though the hounds of hell were after him.’

‘Well, one hound, perhaps,’ Andy muttered sourly. ‘Or if we want to be technical, a bitch.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

She shook her head. ‘Sorry. It must have been me, mustn’t it? I must have been the one who screamed. There’s no one else here. I must have been dreaming. I’ve not been sleeping well and I fell asleep.’ She was embarrassed at her stammered explanation and found herself avoiding his gaze. She could feel him studying her.

‘Well, if you’re sure you’re OK,’ he said at last.

‘Yes, I’m OK.’ She gave a weak smile. ‘But thank you for looking out for me.’

He hesitated for a few seconds more, then without a word he turned and let himself out into the garden.

Andy’s mobile rang. She picked it up. The phone had recognised the number. It was her old number. Graham’s number. Kew’s number.

Rhona’s number.

She sat staring at the screen, her heart thudding, then she laid the phone down on the table before reaching out and switching it off. She sat without moving, waiting dry-mouthed for it to ring again. It didn’t.

Andy was furious with herself. She hadn’t intended to go back to Kew. Rhona had caused her enough embarrassment and misery to last a lifetime without aggravating the situation. She had wanted to see what happened to Catrin, not stir up a hornet’s nest.

It wasn’t until later, after she noticed that Bryn had gone home, that Andy realised she hadn’t seen Pepper since his swift exit out of the cat flap. Anxious, she went out into the garden and began to call. There was no sign of him anywhere. The evening was soft with low slanting sunlight and, sure for once that she had the place to herself, she wandered out towards the far end of the garden. It was an irregular shape, roughly trapezoid, one side defined by the brook, the other by the ruins of the old wall and beyond them a high bank topped with wild hedgerows strung with hips and haws and sloes. At the far end of the garden there was an orchard of old gnarled trees, still laden with apples, some already standing over a carpet of windfalls. Behind that was an acre or so of wild meadow, which she was sure would be rich in herbs. The far corner above the brook was a rocky area that climbed steeply into something which would qualify, she reckoned, as a small cliff. She wandered towards it, still calling. She had realised almost at once that she would not be able to find Pepper unless he wanted to be found. This was his home. Hopefully, in spite of whatever eldritch screams had startled him, he would find his way back before too long.

She followed a narrow path towards the cliff, noticing an abundance of unusual plants on either side, thinking how much Graham had loved this place; would have loved to explore it now, at leisure, with her. No wonder he and Sue had been friends. The low sun was throwing deep shadows across the rock face, giving it a texture and shape that she found herself longing to paint. As she drew near she spotted a large fissure in the rock. Intrigued, she crept closer. It was broad and deep enough to allow her to edge sideways into the dark crack in the rock. At once she found herself in a small cave, faintly lit by the last rays of the setting sun. Pepper was sitting on the stony floor, washing his face. He paused in his ablutions for a full second, scanning her carefully, then he went on washing.

‘I don’t suppose you heard me calling,’ Andy commented. She crept further into the cave. It was small, barely a foot above her head in height and perhaps ten feet across, but the far end was out of sight in the darkness and she found herself curiously reluctant to make her way further in to find out how far it went. She glanced up, expecting to see bats hanging from the ceiling. If there were any, would they still be there with Pepper sitting below them? She didn’t know. She couldn’t see well enough to tell. The cave had a strange silence, an atmosphere all of its own which was both intriguing and slightly unnerving. As she stood there it was growing darker as outside the sun sank lower into the haze. Turning, she retraced her steps. The sun was almost gone now behind the hills and as the sky flushed crimson, a line of dark shadow crept across the garden. With a shiver she made her way back towards the house. At least now she knew the dimensions of the estate and she had discovered Pepper’s secret retreat. She let herself back into the kitchen and turned on all the lights. She glanced at the phone. No more missed calls.

Making her way to the desk in the living room she stood studying the watercolour sketch she had been working on: delicate fronds of fern, threaded with small pink heads of cranesbill. Sitting down, she picked up her brush.

Suddenly she didn’t want to risk falling asleep again. It was too uncontrollable, too full on, too frightening.