‘Mora? What happened? I know Flavius didn’t hurt him.’ She held her breath, listening. ‘He didn’t attack you, or Romanus?’ The words were no more than a whisper. ‘Mora?’
Supposing he had killed her? Supposing in his rage and frustration at somehow missing his target, he had struck out at the druid priestess. Perhaps that was why she felt the need to haunt the place where her story had unfolded. Clutching the stone, Abi rose to her feet. ‘Mora? Where are you? What happened?’ She stepped forward onto the flowerbed and rested her hand against the arch as though somehow it would connect her to the past. In the orchard a blackbird shrieked its warning and flew past her. She stared round, desperately trying to see into the shadows, trying to sense the past which must be there, just out of sight, but nothing came. She looked down at the stone in her hands. ‘Was it Kier? Has he frightened you away?’ She gave a bitter smile. Or was it the priestess of the goddess with her pretty skirts and lovely necklaces? She turned slowly looking towards the house. If Cal and Mat were home the lights would have come on in the kitchen by now and the dogs would be rushing across the lawn towards her. All was silence. The place was still deserted. With a sigh she rammed the stone into the pocket of her jacket and began to walk down through the orchard at the end of the garden.
Opening the door she made her way inside the little church and closed the door behind her. Silence enfolded her. That was why it kept drawing her back. Her own church. Her own sacred space. It was a novelty, this special feeling, this certainty that she had to come back here constantly to be safe, and that here everything would in the end begin to make sense. It was just possible to make out the aisle in the gloom and she made her way towards the chancel as for the first time she registered that there didn’t appear to be any electricity in the church. That explained the proliferation of candles. Besides those on the altar there were more on the window sills, a candelabra hanging from the ceiling on a heavy black chain, another standing at the back near the font. All the candles looked well used, half burned down, decorated with patterns of waxy drips. She sat down in one of the chairs at the front. The east window was in total darkness with no light from the eastern sky outside to illuminate the figure of Christ. It was as though he wasn’t there. Behind her a faint rosy light flooded low onto the floor as the setting sun found a momentary gap in the racing clouds. The church was cold. As was the stone in her pocket. She reached in to touch it briefly, her fingers stroking the rough surface, then she withdrew them. Perhaps she shouldn’t have brought it with her.
Slipping to her knees she folded her hands together in prayer. ‘What happened?’ she whispered. ‘Is it true? Were you here? Did what happened here become a part of your teaching?’
Somewhere in the body of the church a timber creaked as the temperature outside dropped. She shivered again. ‘Our Father…’ She paused. She could sense someone behind her. Not Kier. Surely he hadn’t followed her here. Swallowing hard she levered herself into a sitting position, straining every nerve to hear any movements in the nave behind her. There was nothing. Whoever it was, if there was anyone at all, must be holding their breath just as she was. After a minute she began to turn round, staring into the shadowy spaces of the church. Nothing moved. If there was someone there he must be deliberately hiding, down amongst the rows of chairs. Another small sound echoed into the silence. Something had dropped and rolled a little way before coming to a stop. She could feel her heart banging against her ribs. ‘Who is it? Who’s there?’ She could hear the fear in her own voice. ‘Come on. Show yourself.’ She paused for a second. There was no reply. ‘Kier, is that you?’
Nothing.
Standing up, she stepped into the aisle, straining her eyes as the light grew fainter. The pink light on the floor was beginning to fade now into the grey of evening. Taking a couple of steps towards the back of the church she paused, then she took two more. There was a box of matches lying in a saucer on a shelf near the door. With a shaking hand she lit a candle and as its faint light spread feebly into the darkness she stared round. There was no sign of anyone there. Picking up the candlestick she looked round again, not giving herself time to think. She was not going to be driven from this place of refuge. There was no-one there. It was a small church. There was nowhere to hide. No vestry, no pillars, no curtains. The noises had been natural ones, the creak of ancient timbers, the small sounds of mice or bats, the branch of a tree tapping a window. With a final look round she went back to the altar step to pray.
‘No sign of Abi?’ Mat walked into the kitchen and looked round. He had brought in an armful of logs and he let them fall into the hearth.
‘Her car was there.’ Cal followed him in. ‘I hope she didn’t mind us going off so early. We should really have spoken to her before we left.’
‘I should think Abi welcomed some time to herself,’ he said cheerfully. ‘It was worth it though, wasn’t it!’ He smiled at her suddenly. The trip to Taunton had been to discuss a new job for Mat; or to be strictly accurate, an old one. A follow up for one of his previous clients. Nothing large or permanent, but a huge help financially in the short term. ‘Abi will be fine. You don’t have to watch over her the whole time. Unless – you don’t think the ghastly Kieran was here again?’
Cal shook her head. ‘His car isn’t here. I expect she is out viewing the ghosts in the ruins.’ She went over to the window and looked out at the rapidly darkening garden.
‘What do you think is actually going on there?’ Mat stooped to pile the logs over some kindling and struck a match.
‘Not sure. They may be our ghosts technically, if one can have ownership of ghosts, but she is obviously connected in some way.’
‘And rapidly becoming obsessive. Ben is worried.’
‘I’m sure he is.’
‘As is the ghastly Kier. The man is genuinely concerned. I know Abi is furious and resentful, and even frightened of him but he does have a point.’
Cal made a face. ‘Don’t let Abi hear you say that.’
The phone began to ring.
‘Heaven forbid.’ He walked over to answer it, listening for a few seconds before replying. ‘She’s not here, Athena. We were just wondering where she was ourselves. We’ve only just got in. OK. I’ll get her to call you.’
He put down the phone and turned to Cal. ‘They went up the Tor this afternoon.’ He walked over to the door and opened it. ‘Go on, dogs, have a scout round. Where is Abi? Find her!’
They watched as the dogs streaked off into the darkness, barking. ‘Do you think they know who you mean?’ Cal grinned.
‘Of course they do!’
‘OK. Let’s see how long it takes them to come back.’
‘Are you sure Romanus went with his uncle?’ Lydia had found Sorcha in the byre. She had taken an empty jug outside to the girl who milked the goats, dipping it into one of the cool clay storage bowls and had stayed to gossip.
Sorcha nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. They went off together early. Romanus was running behind his horse.’
‘And do you know where they were going?’
‘Flavius had heard that Mora had been called to visit someone who had had an accident up in the gorge. He was sure the Galilean would have gone with her.’
‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’ Lydia’s voice was frozen with horror.
‘I’ve only just found out where they were going,’ Sorcha said defensively. She glanced at the milkmaid. ‘Rhiannon has just told me.’
Lydia turned to the girl who had gone as white as the milk in her pail. ‘Who told you this?’
‘The lad who brought the fish, ma’am. He heard it from the woodman’s daughter who had told his brother to fetch the lady Mora from the island. The lord Flavius had offered good coins to anyone who could give him information about where she was going and why. I’m sorry. Was it wrong?’
‘No.’ Lydia shook her head impatiently. ‘You weren’t to know. None of you was.’ She stared out across the palisade, down the fields, towards the island. Darkness had come early, a white mist hanging over the water of the mere. ‘They should be back by now, surely.’ It wasn’t just that she was worried about Romanus. Petra’s pain had worsened sharply and she had retired to her bed, feverish, trying to suppress the agonised sobs which she knew so upset her mother. Lydia needed Mora to come back with the stronger medicine she had mentioned.
‘Romanus will be all right,’ Sorcha said reassuringly. ‘Flavius will look after him.’
‘You think so?’ Lydia turned on her. ‘The man is a professional killer.’
There was a shocked silence behind her. She turned and surveyed the two young women. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s true. He is not to be trusted. I told Romanus!’
