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

didn’t get Simon’s call. I left my phone on charge.’ It was still there plugged in on the dresser. She dragged her attention back to the present with an effort. ‘I haven’t met his children.’

She did so next day as she followed Mark into the Chapter House garden behind the cathedral café. They found them seated at a table, Simon with a cup of black coffee, Felix and Emma with bottles of juice, both young people looking a little self-conscious. Introductions made, Mark and Bea sat down with them.

‘So, you’re a real ghost hunter.’ Felix obviously did not believe in the subtle approach. He fixed Bea with a stare that was half admiring, half accusatory.

With a quick apologetic glance at Mark, she gave a small nod. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t pick up your calls yesterday,’ she said to Simon. She had switched on her phone at last, her eye as always automatically scanning down the list of missed calls in case there was something from Anna or Petra, then skipping on to play back with increasing concern Simon’s series of messages. He had obviously been very worried about his daughter. Emma was sitting at the table now, studying her drink with exaggerated care. ‘Can you tell me what you saw?’ Bea asked.

Emma shrugged her shoulders. ‘The king.’

‘With his head on,’ put in her brother with a grin.

‘When you’re ready, we can go to the shrine.’ Mark was wearing his dog collar, from time to time acknowledging the greetings of people walking past.

Emma looked scared at the prospect. ‘What do we have to do?’

‘You don’t have to do anything, Emma. It’s up to you.’ He waited for a response, then when she didn’t look at him, stood up. ‘Shall we go and see?’

He led the way back into the cathedral and towards the Lady Chapel where the brightly coloured pillar shrine to Ethelbert, king and martyr, stood in the middle of the floor, surrounded by a swirl of tourists. Emma stared at it and he saw the dismay on her face.

‘I thought it would be old, with ancient carved stone.’

‘I’m afraid not,’ Mark sighed.

‘What happened to the original one?’

‘I expect Henry VIII had it demolished,’ her brother put in. ‘Remember the Reformation?’

‘It’s too modern,’ she said at last. ‘I wanted to light a candle. I wanted to pray for him quietly.’

Bea traded glances with Mark, then stepped forward and touched Emma’s arm. ‘Come with me.’

The chantry chapel was empty of people, two votive candles already lit on the shelf beside the altar. ‘This is one of the places set aside for private prayer,’ Bea whispered. ‘I’ll wait for you outside.’ There was no sign of her priest in the shadowed corner where he so often sat. Pulling the heavy door with its ancient grille half closed behind her, she tiptoed out, leaving Emma alone.

‘I’m not sure I know what I was expecting a shrine to look like,’ Simon said later when they returned to the café for lunch, carrying their trays back into the garden. ‘But not that. I understand it’s a memorial and modern and tells the story of the poor man’s murder, but I agree with Em, it’s not a place designed to encourage you to contemplate and pray for his soul.’

‘Different times,’ Bea said apologetically.

‘And our main shrine these days is to St Thomas Cantilupe,’ Mark put in. ‘In medieval times his name became more famous than that of St Ethelbert, I’m afraid, and although the cathedral is still dedicated to St Ethelbert, Thomas has rather taken over. There is a splendid shrine to him over there in the north transept with a place to light a candle to his memory and to pray.’ Mark stood up. ‘Forgive me, folks, but I have things to do. I’ll leave Bea to look after you and show you Thomas’s shrine, and perhaps some of our other treasures. The Mappa Mundi and the chained library are world famous.’

‘Nice guy,’ Felix commented as Mark made his way out of the café.

Bea smiled. ‘I’m glad you approve.’

‘Talking of the library, I haven’t told you yet about that wonderful old book I went to see,’ Simon put in. It took some time. As she listened, Bea watched the interaction of Simon with his two offspring, both of whom seemed fully engaged with his enthusiasm.

As the story unfolded between elaborate explanations from Felix about multispectral imaging techniques and the possibilities of finding an infra-red microscope, she began to feel a whisper of unease.

‘You say the house was down a long drive; the library was on the ground floor?’

He nodded.

‘This house. I know you have to keep its whereabouts secret, but it isn’t by any chance called Coedmawr, is it?’

The shock on his face confirmed it without him having to say anything else. ‘You know it? You know Phil and Kate?’

‘I don’t know them, no, but I went there once, a while ago. There was an elderly couple living there. The Huttons. They were tenants.’

‘Ah, before Kate’s aunt died and Kate inherited.’ He gave an abrupt laugh. ‘Jane asked me if I thought it was haunted and I said no. But what do I know?’

‘And you were right. It isn’t any more.’ Bea shivered.

Felix looked up eagerly. ‘You went there to deal with a ghost?’

‘I went there to deal with a poltergeist.’

‘Oh good grief!’ Simon glared at his son. ‘Well thank God Kate and Phil don’t know about it. At least they’ve never mentioned it.’

‘And we won’t mention it either.’ She waved her hand dismissively. ‘We’ll talk about it some other time. Go on about the chronicle.’ The chronicle which was perhaps one of the books Ken Hutton had threatened to burn. She had begged him not to. Perhaps she had saved the library with that last impassioned plea.

She listened enthralled as Simon related the local version of St Ethelbert’s demise, and the amazing relics that were destined to lie for a while under the roof of the local priory.

‘So, Offa admitted the murder and repented?’