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

could have been an awful lot worse. Your daughter didn’t do it deliberately. She seems confused and distressed, but she was sensible. She stayed where we could find her. She’s told us, she didn’t realise how long it would take to walk to the church or how quickly the darkness can fall in the mountains. But she’s safe now, that’s the main thing.’

Early in the morning though it was, they were taken in by the lady who ran the B & B where Dai had dropped Emma off all those hours before. ‘I was too worried about the girl to sleep much and I saw the mountain rescue people heading into the car park so I had to come and see she was all right. Come you in and welcome. Emma can have a warm bath and I will make you both a nice cooked breakfast, then she can have a sleep upstairs. You can go up to the church later.’ The woman, whose name was Helen Jones, directed Simon where to park his car and then ushered them up the steps to her house.

She sat Simon down by the fire in her dining room then took Emma upstairs, ran a bath for her and provided her with a pile of fluffy towels. ‘Now shout if you want anything.’ Simon heard her strict instructions floating down the stairs as he huddled close to the fire. He could smell the scented bath oil and he smiled.

‘The police came yesterday looking for her,’ she explained when she came back downstairs. ‘Poor old Dai was distraught about what happened. I’ll give him a ring now and let him know Emma is safe. He’ll be so thankful.’ She gave Simon a searching look. ‘You look as though you could do with a hot bath as well.’

He smiled. ‘That’s a kind thought, but I’ll be fine. All I needed was to find her safe.’

She nodded. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to ring your wife while I cook breakfast. I’ll run up and check Emma is all right. We don’t want her falling asleep in the bath. I’ve a bedroom made up upstairs, so once she’s eaten something she can go up to bed for a couple of hours.’

Simon was swept away on the tide of her kindness.

With a smile he picked up his phone. Val was so relieved at the news she forgot to be furious. He could hear her voice trembling. He cut short her stammered demand to speak to Emma. ‘She’s still in the bath. No, it’s not too hot. The doctor told us what to do. She’s fine. Tell Felix he saved his sister’s life,’ he added before he ended the call. He was fending off waves of exhaustion himself and he hoped he could stay awake long enough to eat breakfast.

It was not until after lunch, rested and revived, that Simon drove Emma towards the little church. In daylight he stared up at the precipitous sides of the valley rising above them with increasing horror as they drove slowly down the winding single-tracked road. The mountains were utterly beautiful but deadly, he could see that now. Outcrops of slate, high cliffs, old quarries, at least one still operational as far as he could see, thick forestry and wild woodland on the sides of the valley and behind, the high peaks of the moorland, with disused mineshafts lost in the heather, rising in austere beauty under a clear blue sky.

There were no other cars parked outside the church and Simon stood back as they climbed out. ‘Do you want to go in alone?’

Emma nodded. ‘Thanks, Dad. But before I do,’ she groped in her pocket, ‘I want to show you something.’

He looked down at the little cross in her hand. It was obviously gold, intricately engraved and set with garnets and it was bent, damaged, engrained with dirt. ‘That lady I told you about? She gave it to me.’ Emma looked at him and bit her lip. ‘It’s very old, isn’t it?’

Simon caught his breath. He picked it up off her palm and held it up to the sunlight. ‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘I would say so.’

He put the cross back in her hand and she slipped it into her jeans pocket. Then she grinned at him. ‘If it’s Anglo-Saxon, it’s probably worth millions.’

He smiled back. ‘Well thousands, perhaps. What makes you think it’s Anglo-Saxon?’

‘Duh!’ It was the reply her brother would have made. She had bounced back as though nothing untoward had happened, revived, Simon thought to himself, like a drooping flower put into fresh water.

He watched as she walked away from him, through the lychgate under the yew tree that had sheltered him the night before, up the path and into the church.

Sandra crept into the cathedral, holding her breath, peering round her apprehensively as though she expected to be zapped from on high. Tiptoeing, she made her way to the back of the nave and sat down. She still loved this place, she realised. And it was still here for her, whatever she had done. She leant back, staring fixedly in front of her up towards the great gilt crown hanging above the crossing beneath the tower. Her mind was a blank; she had no idea what to do next. Everything had fallen apart. She had had complete and utter faith in herself and her own judgement. Certainty. It had stayed with her unwaveringly ever since she had walked away from the church. But she had upset and perhaps nearly killed people she respected and looked up to and in trying to do the right thing she had exposed them all deliberately and intentionally to the most terrible danger. Weird, unbelievable danger.

She would stay for evensong, then she would go home. Perhaps God would speak to her during the service. Reassure her. Tell her how she could make it all better.

Eadburh was exhausted but with gritted teeth she walked on in the young man’s shadow. He strode ahead with an easy