‘He’s still asleep.’
‘Goodness, he must have been tired.’ Rosemary glanced at her wristwatch. ‘Listen, my dear, I don’t want to hurry you, but Jim and Dottie are coming over in a minute. To talk about this path across the field. We want to try and find a way of persuading Turtill to give in without turning this into a fuss.’
‘But what is so important about that particular path? Why does it have to be a fuss at all? I still don’t get it.’ Zoë spoke before she could stop herself. She shook her head. ‘No, forget I said that. I know it’s important to you.’
‘It is. It is a matter of precedent; of national policy.’ Rosemary gave her a small tight smile. ‘I know you don’t understand. That is why it is better left to those of us who do.’
Zoë opened her mouth to make a retort, then changed the subject instead. ‘One thing I wanted to ask you – I went over to see Leo but he’s not there and the child Jade was there in his house. Apparently she has a key. Is that OK, do you think?’
Rosemary sighed impatiently. ‘I don’t understand that man at all. But I know he’s fond of Jade and I suppose if he thinks he can trust her, then that’s up to him.’
‘She was telling me a ghost story. About a woman with long white hair who appears before someone is going to die. Have you heard that one?’
Rosemary hesitated. ‘I have, yes.’
‘Is it some ancient legend?’
‘My dear, you must have realised by now that this place is full of stories and legends and history. There is a ghost at every corner. Ignore it. I expect Jade was trying to scare you off.’
There was a knock from the front door. ‘Forgive me, dear, but that will be the Salcombes. Can you find your own way out?’
Zoë gave a wry smile. As she was standing less than six feet from the back door it was hardly likely that she would get lost.
A couple of days later Leo reappeared. He knocked on the door while Ken was in Woodbridge. ‘I hear you have had a run-in with my security company.’ He grinned.
Zoë felt a wave of embarrassment sweep over her. ‘I am afraid she caught me inside. I was worried when I found the door unlocked.’
He gave her a quizzical glance. ‘I trust Jade. She’s a good girl.’
A good girl who had told him that she had found Zoë in his bedroom. She could feel a blush spreading up her neck. ‘I am sorry. I will leave it to her in future.’
‘She told me she had scared you with her story of the ghostly blonde.’ He chuckled. ‘She is a little devil!’
‘But is it true?’
‘True?’ He shook his head. ‘I should be so lucky! It’s a story. One of those tales that gets embroidered and improves with every telling. Don’t give it a thought. I don’t.’
She led the way into the great room and went to stand by the window. ‘Did you hear about Ken sleepwalking?’
He nodded. ‘Rosemary told me this morning. I met her as I was driving in. I swear that woman has this place staked out.’
Zoë was staring down at the river. ‘Ken really scared me. We still don’t know where exactly he went. Somewhere up in the fields.’
‘But he hasn’t done it again?’
She shook her head.
‘Well, perhaps he won’t. Perhaps whatever he’s worrying about has been resolved.’
‘I don’t know what it is he is worrying about. He won’t tell me. Or at least he says there is nothing, he loves it here and he enjoys his work.
He studied her back, noting the tenseness in her shoulders. ‘He’s not worried about your ghostly visitations or the kids next door, I trust.’
‘I doubt it. He doesn’t want to believe in the ghosts. It’s far simpler to blame the kids and they would hardly drive him to sleepwalking. Anyway, they have gone.’
‘All except Jackson and Jade.’
‘Yes, Jade,’ she echoed. She turned to face him. ‘I’m the one who is frightened of the ghosts.’
‘Don’t be. They do no harm.’
‘Except your beautiful blonde lady who foretells a death.’
‘My Anglo-Saxon beautiful blonde lady, judging by her costume.’ He smiled at her. ‘She is my problem. She comes with the forge.’
‘But you haven’t seen her yourself.’
He hesitated.
‘Oh, Leo! When? I thought Jade said she only appears to women.’
He shook his head. ‘She’s no sexist. But I don’t believe in omens and I don’t believe in her. I tell myself she’s just a trick of the light, no more, and I can see why people think she is a woman. The sun shines in obliquely into my bedroom. The windows are at a strange angle. Perhaps you noticed.’ He gave a mischievous smile. ‘And the reflection on the wall can look like a woman’s figure. I greet her and we go our separate ways.’
‘And you’re not afraid?’ She refused to rise to the dig about being in his bedroom.
‘I have already looked death in the face, Zoë.’ He touched his scars briefly. ‘I’m not afraid of anything any more.’
She shuddered. ‘You are a brave man then. I am.’ She shook her head. She was afraid of so much, but it was none of his business why she was afraid and of what apart from the ghostly noises in the house.
It was ten o’clock next morning that Ken came into the kitchen looking furious. ‘You won’t believe what that bloody woman is doing.’
‘What bloody woman?’ Zoë rinsed her hands and hung up the dishcloth.
She’s only got an army of her walking mates out there, ready to trespass on Bill’s field.’ He went across to the phone. ‘I’m going to call him. I bet he doesn’t know.’
‘Ken! Should you interfere?’
‘Probably not, but she irritates the hell out of me with her smug self-righteousness, and this is the poor guy’s living. He has to make money out of that farm. Having those people trotting up and down his fields telling him where and why he can’t plough his own land is not on.’
Zoë went to the window but whatever was happening outside Rosemary’s house was invisible from there. She heard Ken explaining what was happening to Penny Turtill and she heard Penny’s voice rising in anger. Ken put the phone down looking satisfied. ‘She’s going to call Bill on his mobile. He will go straight down there.’
‘Are you going too?’
He shook his head. ‘Best not.’
‘How many people are there?’
‘A couple of dozen. Let’s go down to the boat. We can see the field from there.’
‘Ken!’
‘I know. I’m being suburban. But I would love to see her trounced!’
The river was dark green and sluggish beneath the mist but the fields on the south-facing side were slowly emerging into golden sunlight as the party of figures began slowly to walk across the stubble towards the centre of the field. Ken passed Zoë his binoculars. ‘Look. She’s in front.’
Zoë focused on the group. ‘They look very fierce. They’ve got sticks.’
‘Walking poles,’ Ken said. ‘I don’t suppose they are planning to hit anyone. I doubt any of them is aged under sixty-five!’ He took the glasses from her and swept the shore again. ‘Here’s Bill. And there are several people with him. Including,’ he twisted the focus knob, ‘yes, including our Jade and her big brother. They are shaking their fists.’ He grinned and handed back the glasses to his wife.
Zoë watched the scene for a moment. ‘I don’t understand it. I really don’t. Why on earth would she want to make such a fuss about this path? Why is it so special? Oh, look. There is Lesley from the Hall. She is confronting Rosemary.’
Beside her Ken shivered. It was strange sitting on the boat in the cold mist while above them the action was taking place in the spotlight of a patch of autumn sunshine. He glanced over his shoulder into the mist. And heard himself give a gasp of fear.
‘Zo.’
She was riveted by the scene playing out in the field and didn’t hear him.
‘Zo!’ This time his voice registered.
‘What is it?’ She lowered the glasses and turned towards him. ‘Oh my God!’
In the distance, barely visible in the fog above the river she could see the sail, the gentle swell of the fabric, the grinning face of the great animal which was painted on it, the curved shape of the prow silently cutting through the water. The glasses fell from her hands into the bottom of the boat with a clatter. ‘Ken!’ she whispered. She was paralysed with terror. Had they heard the noise of the glasses falling on the bottom boards. ‘Can they see us?’
‘I hope not.’ His whisper was so quiet she barely heard it. ’Don’t move.’
‘Can you see anyone?’
He shook his head. Slowly, hardly moving, he bent to retrieve the binoculars and trained them on the ship. He swore silently and lowered them, wiping the lenses. ‘I can’t see anything.’ He tried again. ‘No. Nothing. You look.’ He passed them to her. Zoë ignored him. She was too scared to move, to breathe. Her eyes were straining against the mist, but the shape of the great ship was fading. In seconds it had gone.
They looked at each other. ‘We didn’t imagine that, did we?’
Ken shook his head. ‘It’s almost like a projection on the mist. Is it possible, do you think? Is someone on the shore doing this, as a joke?’
He turned and looked back up through the trees towards the field but the mist had thickened there as well and he could see nothing.
Zoë shook her head. ‘No, it’s not a joke. How could it be when people have been seeing it for years – for centuries? Can’t you feel it? It is there, from the past.’ She shuddered violently. ‘Let’s get off the boat, Ken. I want to go home.’ She couldn’t stop her hands from shaking.
He didn’t argue. It took no time at all to pull the dinghy alongside and slip silently into it, both of them watching over their shoulders. Zoë’s knuckles were white as she clutched the gunwale, feeling the cold water splashing off the oars. She was listening for that other ship but she could hear nothing but the slop of water against the landing stage as Ken pulled against it and grabbed at one of the rope fenders. ‘Go on,’ he whispered. ‘Climb up.’ He was staring out into the fairway. ‘Hurry.’
She stood up shakily and reached up, her whole body trembling with fear. Somewhere out of sight a gull began to call, its loud laughing cry echoing in amongst the trees.
Side by side on the landing stage they stood for a moment staring back at the river. The mist was getting thicker.
‘I don’t like it here, Ken,’ Zoë said suddenly. ‘I want to move.’
‘Move?’ He stared at her.
She nodded. ‘I want to move. Back to London. I hate this place.’
‘Nonsense. You said you loved it. You did love it. It’s just now, in the fog. Wait till the sun comes out.’
‘No, Ken it’s not just now. There are ghosts everywhere. It is lonely and inconvenient and it scares me. It all scares me. I don’t want to stay here a moment longer.’
Turning, she began to run up the path.
Dan had taken Bella out to the orchard behind the barns and left her there for the morning to enjoy the sunlight and find herself a few leftover windfalls. He spent a few moments rubbing her soft nose and murmuring to her before taking off her head collar and turning her loose. He walked slowly back towards the farmyard and on impulse diverted slightly towards the top of the woods to stand for a few moments and look down towards the river. The warm autumn sunshine beat down on his face as he stood there gazing at the water. It was misty down there, a slight haze drifting between the trees, and he could see the faint outline of a sail coming up-river on the tide. He watched it idly for a few minutes, then he took a few steps forward, screwing up his eyes to see better. The craft had a strange cross-rigged sail and on it he could see the outline of a huge animal head. He moved forward some more, slithering on the soft loam of needles beneath the pines, and paused again, leaning against the trunk of one of the trees, staring at the ship. He watched it for what seemed like a long time, then it headed again into a patch of mist. The sail grew hazy, and after a few seconds it disappeared. He waited for it to reappear as it went round the point and headed up into the reach below the farm. The water there was sparkling in a patch of sunlight. It never came. A breeze got up after a while and the mist disappeared. There was no sign of the ship.
Puzzled, Dan walked back towards the yard. He told George what he had seen and the older man shook his head. ‘My God! Don’t you tell my missus about that, boy,’ he said. ‘Don’t you know what that is?’
Dan stared at him, puzzled.
‘That’s the ghost ship, that is.’
Dan’s eyes widened. ‘You’re having me on.’
George shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You must know about it. Your family has been here as long as time! You ask Fred Turtill. His grandfather saw it that time before they had that outbreak of sickness in the village. Five people died and it was said the ship brought the death with it. Don’t you go blathering about this to Susan, now. She’s distressed enough as it is what with the ghost in the cottage and all.’ Shaking his head he walked away towards the hay barn. Dan stood staring after him, then he glanced at the cottage. Why hadn’t he heard the story before? He shuddered. His ma, that was why. She forbad talk of that kind of thing in the house.
Susan was in the dairy with Betsy. Making up his mind, he walked into their cottage and, rummaging around on the sideboard he found a notebook which one of Susan’s aunts had given her. She had laboriously copied a few recipes in the front but most of it was empty. Carefully Dan tore out a page from the back. He sat down at the table and began to draw. Good to get it down on paper while the memory was fresh. As to the ship of death story, that was a load of rubbish. He was not a superstitious man.
9
Edith had swept the house, and hung their bedding out to air. Her pots and pans were scrubbed and shining, and Eric’s clothes had been brushed and mended. She was waiting for him when he returned from the hall, her long hair hanging loose down her back, combed and scented with the herbs that hung in bunches from the rafters. Tonight she would tell him that she was with child.
When he came at last he was full of excitement and desire. He fell on her with a mock growl, his arms embracing her, his mouth on hers, his happiness overwhelming. He had thrown the leather bag of coins on the table. Later they would count them but for now all he wanted was to make love to his beautiful wife.
Outside, the village was in a state of excitement. The Lord Egbert was to hold a feast. People were running to and fro, meat was cooking on the spits, the women from the village were helping with the baking, the men practising for a tournament of sword play and mock fighting. The lord’s brother, Oswald, was coming back from King Edmund’s court and it was to celebrate his arrival that Egbert had decreed that it was time for feasting and fun. Winter would soon be upon the land, and in the spring the village would be denuded of its men as the call went out that the fyrd was to prepare for war.
Deep in their pillows Eric and Edith snuggled together, oblivious of the bustle outside. Only one man knew where they were and was watching their door. Hrotgar had walked down from the hall to seek out the swordsmith, but the closed door which greeted him made him fall back. He scowled. He would wait.
It was long dark by the time the door opened again. Eric walked out stretching and whistling, reached for the water scoop beside the barrel outside their door. He was the happiest man alive. Edith had told him that he was to be a father at last. After all these years of waiting. As he poured some water over his head Hrotgar came forward.
‘You are to go back to the hall.’
‘Why?’ Eric started. He had not seen the man arrive. ‘My job is done. The sword is finished.’
Hrotgar shrugged. ‘Perhaps to acknowledge the plaudits of the company. The Lord Egbert has sent for you. I’ve waited here for you long enough, my friend. We should go now. Put on some clothes and follow me.’
Edith waited until they were out of sight, then, f
ollowing them, she too made her way up the hill. The air was rich with the smell of roasting meat, thick with the blue smoke from the fat as it splattered onto the cooking fires. The sound of music and merriment could be heard clear down to the river.
The hall was packed, the long tables buckling under the weight of great platters of food. As Eric and Hrotgar went in a singer was picking up his lyre. Almost at once the noise began to die away and as soon as he started his song there was silence in the great room. Edith made her way in amongst the women who were helping to serve the food and peered round. There was no sign of the Lord Egbert. In his place in the seat of honour was a younger man, his brother. So where were his two sons? Had they stayed in Thetford with the king? She felt the sting of smoke in her eyes and turned back towards the door as Hrotgar threaded his way towards the high table with Eric behind him.
She was hesitating, not knowing whether to wait or go, when suddenly she found herself facing a stranger. She knew without being told this was the heathen sorcerer, Anlaf, from the forest. A space was opening round him in the crowd, people falling back on every side to get away from him as he stood in the entrance to the hall, but she found herself unable to move. He was staring at her, holding her gaze with fierce brown eyes, his wild hair blowing in the wind which was tearing into the hall through the open doors. Two servants rushed forward to push them shut and drop the heavy bar in place to hold them closed. They saw him, stopped and backed away. He gave a humourless smile, ignoring them. ‘Come.’ He beckoned Edith. ‘Follow me.’
She was frozen to the spot with fear, her hands protectively folded over her belly but somehow she couldn’t disobey him. As he turned and made his way through the hall she followed, as if mesmerised.
They were halfway up to the high table when the singer finished his song and bowed to the tumultuous applause. As he sat down Oswald, the Lord Egbert’s brother, stood up and banged his knife hilt on the table, calling for silence.
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