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

watch. You know what she is, don’t you?’ She pulled the newspaper cuttings out of her bag. ‘Look at this! I’ve always thought there was something odd about her.’ She lowered her voice, leaning forward slightly. ‘She’s a strange woman. I can’t think what a lovely man like the canon sees in her.’

Heather scanned the cuttings swiftly, then went back to contemplating the display of flowers in the border near their seats. ‘If that’s true, and to be honest I don’t see what makes you think that’s Bea in the photos, she seems to know what she is doing, so there would be nothing to worry about.’

‘But I do worry. That’s why I brought these with me. As the dean isn’t interested, I thought I would speak to the bishop. Show them to him.’

Heather sighed. ‘Can I suggest you leave it for now? And please, don’t bother the bishop with this. You probably wouldn’t get past his chaplain anyway. Don’t do anything. It would be truly terrible to mention this to anyone when you don’t really have anything to go on.’

‘But the evil spirit—’

‘I doubt there is an evil spirit anywhere in this cathedral, Sandra,’ Heather cut her off sternly. ‘This is a holy place.’

‘But there was no one else in the chantry.’ Sandra wasn’t going to give up that easily. ‘I told you! And when I went in there, there was the strangest atmosphere. You know when you walk into a room where two people have just had a row and you can sense it? Like that. It was electric.’

Heather brought her attention back to Sandra’s face. ‘It sounds to me as if you have magic powers yourself. Are you sure you’re not the one who is practising mediumistic arts?’

Sandra stared at her, appalled. ‘Don’t even joke about it!’

‘I wasn’t joking. Most people don’t sense things like that, dear.’

‘But I don’t. I’m not. I can’t be!’ Sandra looked as though she was about to cry.’

‘I know you think you’ve seen and heard things which at first glance seem strange, but they may not be.’ Heather put in firmly. ‘And it’s not really our business, is it, to interfere with other people’s affairs and perhaps beliefs. All you saw was the canon’s wife praying. And if she spoke to God out loud, so do we all sometimes when we’re upset and anxious. After all, that’s what He’s there for! And you should not have been listening.’ She fixed Sandra with a fierce gaze.

Sandra coloured slightly. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she said reluctantly.

Heather stood up. ‘I know I’m right. Now, I must get back to the shop. We are very busy at the moment.’

Sandra watched her thread her way between the tables and disappear through the door. She had thought Heather would be a staunch ally. She turned her attention to the flower bed beside her and watched a bee foraging amongst the blooms. Perhaps Heather was right and she should leave it, but then, what was that adage: the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. Or women. It was going to be up to her to sort this out.

Bea had spent the morning with Emma; a brief lesson on chakras and energy points had given way to a trip into town to visit the shops. Bea had taken on board the extent of Emma’s attention span, plus the need to go slowly with her lessons. She had also ascertained that Emma was no longer worrying about the ghost of King Ethelbert. ‘No,’ she had said airily when Bea enquired if he had appeared to her again. ‘He belongs in his church. I know what to do now if he appears again, but he won’t. Not to me. Eadburh doesn’t even know he exists.’

Bea froze. ‘What do you mean?’

‘In my dream, we were carefree, young. Full of hopes. Father hadn’t even thought about a husband for Alfrida!’ The coquettish gleam in her eye filled Bea with misgivings. Was that Emma or someone else lurking in there?

‘This is when you went to the little church to wait for him?’

Emma nodded, then she sighed. ‘I’m talking rubbish, aren’t I?’

‘No, but you must be careful to keep a grip on reality.’

Emma giggled. ‘Says you!’ She was herself again.

Bea laughed. ‘Point taken. So, we need some grounding. What about lunch?’

They agreed that Mark would drop Emma back at the cottage in the early afternoon on his way to visit the ailing priest in his hospice. Emma would practise all she had learnt so far and they would resume lessons the following day.

The moment they left, Bea went upstairs.

Nesta’s herbs, still carefully stored, were lying on the shelf in her room where she had left them and she shook them out of their paper bags. They were wilting badly now. Still careful not to touch them, she reached for her touchstone and dropped it gently onto the pile. ‘Where are you, Nesta?’ she whispered. ‘You and I must talk.’

For a long time nothing happened, then at last she sensed a change in the room, a slight movement of the air around her and in the distance she heard the deep echoing croak of a raven.

Nesta was sitting on a fallen tree on the edge of the forest. She was wrapped in a dark woollen cloak, the hood pulled up over her hair, and at her feet there was a bundle. At her girdle Bea could see the silver chain with the little crystal ball and the small sharp knife, a tiny leather wallet and a silver box suspended from a ring; the tools of her trade, all half hidden in the deep folds of her skirt.

‘Did Eadburh not think to give you her protection and take you with her?’ Bea asked.

The other woman smiled bleakly. ‘She gave me not a second thought, nor did I expect her to. It was never in her nature to be generous. She would have been happy to let me die as the