The Dream Weavers by Barbara Erskine (books you have to read txt) 📕

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 hours.’

‘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.’

Val gave a snort of disgust. ‘I will find someone in London. And I’m taking Emma back today.’

Simon frowned. ‘I don’t think you’re fit to drive anywhere today, Val. You can’t do that journey twice in one day. At least stay the night and take her tomorrow. Then we will all have the chance to talk this over first. Calmly,’ he added as he saw Val draw breath.

To his surprise, she subsided. She took another sip of coffee. ‘I’m not sleeping here.’

‘Well, I’m sure you will be able to find somewhere in a B & B. Or you can go to a hotel in Hereford.’

‘Leaving Emma here to disappear again?’

‘I’m not keeping her here against her wishes, Val. You can take her with you. If she’ll go.’

Abruptly Val pushed back her chair and stood up. Simon stayed where he was as she disappeared into the sitting room and he heard her steps as she climbed the stairs.

It was five minutes before she reappeared. She had washed her face and combed her hair. ‘She’s fast asleep,’ she said.

‘Let’s leave her then. At least for a bit. Felix must have told you how stressed the poor girl has been. Please, Val, let’s have something to eat together and talk quietly. If we take the time to discuss this situation, however oddly it strikes you, perhaps we can sort out a solution between us.’

‘Are you going to suggest we invite the charismatic Bea to join us?’

The remark was deliberately waspish. Simon flinched but didn’t rise to the bait. ‘I don’t think so. She has done her best and she is there if Emma needs her.’

In the forest, Bea was sitting on the fallen log, deep in thought. Her attention had moved from Nesta to Emma and Eadburh, and now she was thinking about Sandra. Why hadn’t she realised what a serious player Sandra was? Nesta had warned her and she had ignored the warning. It was obvious now. The woman was transparent, her motivation clear, her malice tangible in an aura that she had dragged after her through incarnation after incarnation. She was an observer, her self-appointed job was to incite others to violence and to mockery, to get enjoyment from watching others’ pain. In life after life she had been dismissed and ignored, a watcher not an instigator, but somewhere along the way she had learned lessons and now she had become dangerous.

Bea closed her eyes, trying to set her thoughts in order, trying to summon the strength she needed. But the need for sleep was powerful. Sitting above her in the tree canopy the robin cocked its head to one side, bright-eyed, then seeing no sign of crumbs, it flew away. In the convent, the soul that would one day emerge as Sandra Bedford had brought the abbess a pot of new tapers, bowed deeply, and left, closing the door behind her. Bea dozed once more.

The lamp in the corner