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

romantic ending we would all love so much, it doesn’t make it right, does it. I suppose she is at best in purgatory. Did the Anglo-Saxons believe in purgatory?’

‘I’m not sure I know. I suppose so. They were good Christians by this time.’

‘Then perhaps you should light a candle for her too, Dad. Every candle must help her journey onwards towards the light.’

Simon didn’t argue. He stood up and reached up to the basket on the windowsill for a tea light and a lighter. He touched the flame to the wick and bowed his head. ‘God bless you, Eadburh,’ he whispered, ‘and may you rest in peace.’

They bought a guidebook and some postcards and Simon found her a little statue of a hare, leaving the money in the box provided, and then at last, reluctantly, they wandered outside. ‘It’s a long drive back to the cottage,’ he said as they climbed back into the car. ‘We’ll find somewhere nice for supper and then you can sleep on the way.’

He gave her a quick look as she was fastening her seat belt. She was thoughtful. As he reached forward to start the engine he wondered if she was thinking, as he was, that this was not the end of the story. Eadburh was not at rest.

49

Bea was looking out of the window. Across the grass of the Close the cathedral was a huge black silhouette crouching against the clear dawn sky. At this hour there were no people about. She had crept out of bed without waking Mark and headed down to the kitchen. Only then did she check her phone. There was a text from Simon: Emma safe. We are back at the cottage. Will phone you tomorrow.

The text had been sent just before midnight.

‘Thank God,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you, Nesta.’

She had watched Eadburh, her Eadburh, weary from her long walk across the empire of Charlemagne and then on across the kingdoms of England and across Offa’s Dyke into Powys, standing at last on the hillside high above the little stone church, heard her cry of distress echo down the centuries, seen Nesta, leaning on a tall staff, her hair blowing in the wind, standing behind her. She had watched as Eadburh stood up, her eyes blind with tears, and reached out to the woman. Briefly they stood there together, hands clasped, then Nesta had left her and walked alone up the mountainside and across the moorland, her skirts dragging in the heather. There was another younger, more naïve Eadburh there now, the version of Eadburh from the woman’s own dreams, Emma, lost there in the twenty-first century in the darkness of the mountains, who was, without knowing it, looking towards the distant grave.

Nesta approached the girl and put her arm around her shoulders and Bea, watching from unimaginable distances, saw the woman press something into the girl’s hand. From the safety of the future she saw the wolves prowling the high moors, knew there were wild boar in the remote forests on the steep hillsides, saw a herd of wild cattle plodding slowly along the shadowy valley floor. None of them came near the girl. Only a lone hare stood up amongst the tall grasses and watched over her with huge unblinking eyes.

‘Bea?’ Mark’s voice made her jump. ‘You were up early.’

She smiled. ‘I was thinking.’

‘Any news of Emma?’

‘Simon texted me. She’s safe. He’s taken her back to the cottage.’

Mark came to stand beside her. ‘Thank God for thati’ he said fervently. He stood silently for a while beside her, looking out into the garden. ‘I wonder what they’ll do,’ he said at last. ‘Will she go back to finish her exams, d’you think?’

‘He said he would phone me later.’

‘Good … I’m off to morning service. I’ll be back for breakfast.’ He bent to drop a kiss on the top of her head. ‘I’m so glad he found her.’

She turned to him with a smile. ‘Scrambled eggs for brekkie?’

He laughed. ‘That would be perfect.’

When he came back later, he had news. ‘Sandra was at the service. You are not going to believe this. She admitted that she had dabbled in the occult, but she knew now it wasn’t real. She confessed, more or less, there and then, that she realised it had all been her imagination. So, she has decided to go on a pilgrimage. She said it would give her a chance to rethink her life and to make up for the awful things she might have done.’

Bea had been stirring the eggs. She spooned the mixture onto their plates and put toast and coffee on the table before she sat down opposite him. ‘You have got to be joking!’

‘No. She cornered me and I was all set to give her a not-too-gentle ticking off when she burst into tears and begged my forgiveness. What else could I do? It was then she blurted out her news.’

‘So, where is she going on this pilgrimage?’

‘The Camino.’

‘She stared at him. ‘In Spain?’ She was incredulous.

He nodded. ‘She came to evensong last night, apparently, and had some kind of revelation. She said she thought about it all night and then looked it all up on the internet. She’s going to fly out to France and join a group there, and do the whole thing, over the Pyrenees, along northern Spain, and walk the whole way, with the last bit to St Iago de Compostela barefoot.’

Bea sat back in her chair. Words had failed her.

‘I told her I thought she was being extremely brave and that it would be a wonderful thing to do.’ He grinned as he picked up his knife and fork. ‘And do you know, I almost envy her.’

But it was real. What she did was real. She had real power. And what about what she did to me?

Bea wanted to say it out loud, but somehow she prevented herself. She had, after all, done the unforgivable and retaliated. She thought guiltily about her