Sleeper’s Castle

  ‘I heard,’ Sian said slowly.

  ‘The thing is, I don’t want to drop Andy in it. I know she’s in a difficult situation, but then I need the money. And she hasn’t actually got an official tenancy agreement. Do you know how things are with her by any chance? Has she got her act together yet? I know I gave her the option of staying there for a year, give or take, but obviously things have changed.’

  ‘Obviously.’ Sian was reeling with the effort of trying to get her head around all this. ‘Sue, can you leave this with me for a day or two? Let me speak to her.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘It’s a bit of a shock!’

  ‘For me too!’

  ‘We’ll miss you.’ Sian took a deep breath. ‘Sue, what about Pepper?’

  There was another silence. When Sue spoke again it was with a slight catch in her voice. ‘Don’t ask me, Sian. I can’t bear it. I’m going to have to find him a home. I can’t make him come all the way over here, it wouldn’t be fair. I thought I’d ask Bryn. If he can’t have him then maybe he can think of someone who would. He knows so many people.’

  ‘And the herb garden?’

  ‘Sleeper’s Castle has survived hundreds of years without me, Sian. It will manage.’

  Sian put down the phone, went into the sitting room and sank into a chair, staring into space. Both dogs followed her anxiously. They sat down, one on either side of her.

  Andy, Roy, Rhona and now this. She held out her hands and two warm muzzles pushed into them comfortingly. ‘What on earth am I going to do, boys?’ she asked.

  When she climbed into her car half an hour later the two dogs were in the back.

  She headed up to Meryn’s house and drew up beside his car. Her dogs were first in through his door.

  ‘Did you hear about Roy?’ she asked. Meryn kept a tin of dog treats on his windowsill. Both dogs sat pointing at it expectantly while she threw herself into the chair by the fire. Suitably rewarded, the dogs lay down to bask in its heat.

  Meryn nodded. ‘I found him.’

  ‘I just spoke to Ella. He’s in surgery. Do you know who did it?’

  ‘It appears he took a photo of her as she jumped him. It was Rhona.’

  ‘Oh God.’ Sian slumped back in her chair. ‘Does Andy know?’

  ‘Yes. Bryn’s with her. They’re locked in, I trust, until the police find the woman.’

  Sian sighed. ‘This is just awful. Meryn, something else has happened.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I have just spoken to Sue on the phone. You remember that guy Joe we were talking about? He’s gone out to Australia after her and they’re getting married out there and not coming back.’ She rubbed her face hard with her hands. ‘She’s going to sell Sleeper’s Castle and find a home for Pepper. She wants me to tell Andy.’

  Meryn whistled. ‘I certainly wasn’t expecting that.’

  ‘No.’

  They both sat in silence for a while, staring into the fire.

  ‘I suppose Andy is secure. It looks as though she will get her house in Kew back. She won’t be homeless. Maybe she would take Pepper with her?’ Sian said at last.

  ‘He couldn’t live in a town. He’s a country cat, used to his own acres.’ Meryn smiled fondly. ‘I wish I could have him. The trouble is I’m away such a lot.’

  ‘I hoped Andy would stay,’ Sian wailed suddenly. ‘I like her so much. We don’t want a stranger at Sleeper’s.’

  Meryn leant back in the chair and stretched out his legs. ‘I like her too, but we have to acknowledge that she may not want to stay, Sian, after everything that has happened. She’s had a pretty rough ride. Maybe it would be better if someone came to live there who was impervious to the other dimensions.’

  ‘Like me.’

  ‘Like you, dear.’ He smiled fondly.

  ‘I wish I was pervious.’

  ‘No, you don’t. Look at the pain and confusion it causes people.’ He sighed. It seemed only a few hours ago that Andy had told him that she would buy Sleeper’s Castle ‘if Sue wants to sell’ and now, as if on cue, Sue had made her decision. Andy loved the house, of that there was no doubt – look how she had refused again and again to leave even for one night – but she had made that one telling proviso: ‘only if you can sort out Dafydd’. He stood up. ‘Right, my car is outside and all mended, so why don’t we drive down the hill together and see how Andy and Bryn are getting on.’

  They piled into Meryn’s Fourtrak, with the dogs in the back barking happily as they bumped down the track and onto the mountain road.

  They didn’t recognise the mud-splashed silver Honda Civic parked in the field gate a hundred yards up from Sleeper’s Castle.

  Rhona had pressed herself flat against the wall beside the window as Bryn appeared and looked out. He was silhouetted against the lights for a brief moment, then he had drawn the heavy curtains across, leaving her in total darkness. Temporarily blinded she had virtually fallen over the cat who had let out a terrifying screech before fleeing into the darkness. She swore under her breath and waited. The curtains didn’t move. Either they hadn’t heard or they didn’t care. She smiled. Finding a way of getting into the house was a challenge, but it was the sort of challenge she enjoyed and tonight she had no reason to leave at any particular time. She hadn’t checked in to a hotel or B & B, and the car was tucked away discreetly where no one would find it even if it had by now been reported missing. She had all the time in the world. She had her knife. She had matches.

  ‘Bryn? Are you asleep?’ Andy touched his shoulder. She piled another couple of logs on the fire and sat down beside him to find he had dozed off again. He had spent a long time in the garden calling Pepper, but there had been no sign of him anywhere and eventually he had given up and let himself back into the house, locking the door behind him again.

  Rhona had watched from a safe distance, a grim smile on her face. So, the cat was called Pepper. If she came across it again she would deal with it as well.

  ‘He’ll turn up.’ Andy had tried to comfort him. ‘He’s a feisty animal. I’m sure he wouldn’t have let Rhona get near him.’

  They sat down together near the fire, all the curtains drawn, both doors securely locked and Andy had pulled the rug over her knees, but for the first time in a long time sleep had eluded her. She lay back with her eyes closed, listening to the crackle of the logs. It was some time later that she noticed Bryn had dozed off. She stood looking down at him, her back to the fire.

  ‘Are you with them?’ she asked softly. ‘There in the Golden Valley?’

  There was no reply.

  They loaded the mule at dawn and began the last long trek downhill towards their destination. Edmund still hadn’t told Catrin where they were going and she grew nervous as they approached the lower slopes where sheep grazed and the field strips had been tilled. They saw people more often now and had to duck down behind stone walls and into woods several times as they saw men working in the farmsteads.

  Their destination was a fortified manor house in a lush valley below Garway Hill not far from the village of Ewyas Harold. They stood in front of the gatehouse and looked up the broad driveway.

  ‘You mean we’re going in?’ Catrin was nervous.

  ‘We are expected.’ Edmund put his arm round her shoulder and led her forward, the mule plodding on its long leading rein behind them.

  The place was busy; servants and estate workers were coming and going, but no one paid them any attention. They stopped outside the entrance and only then did a stable boy come to take the rein from Edmund’s hand to lead the mule away round the back. The door opened and a woman stood there, her face wreathed in smiles. ‘Catrin! Edmund! Welcome to Kentchurch.’

  It was Alys, the daughter of Owain Glyndŵr.

  The knock on the back door woke Bryn. He sat up with a start. ‘Who is it?’

  Andy sighed. ‘I don’t know. I am sorry it woke you.’ They went through into the kitchen and tiptoed towards the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ Bryn called again.


  ‘Meryn and Sian.’

  They all went back to sit around the fire. ‘I take it there have been no further sightings of Rhona?’ Meryn said as he leant against the cushions.

  ‘Not a word,’ Bryn replied.

  ‘And Catrin?’ Meryn smiled at Andy. ‘How are things with her?’

  Andy shook her head sadly. ‘She left Sleeper’s Castle in ruins. Someone had tried to burn the house down and her father’s body was inside. There was nothing for her here. So, after they buried him in the garden, she went with Edmund.’

  ‘The archer?’

  She nodded. ‘He seemed to have been reconciled with his family.’

  ‘And?’

  Bryn put in. ‘And, we don’t know what happened next.’

  ‘So there’s another dream pending?’

  ‘You could put it that way, I suppose.’ He glanced at Andy. ‘It seems I’ve joined in the dream fest. I’ve had two dreams about Edmund. Or at least, taken the story on from Edmund’s point of view.’

  ‘Because Catrin herself didn’t know what happened while she was imprisoned in Hay Castle,’ Andy added.

  ‘But they both ended up free.’ Meryn leant forward, looking from one to the other. His arms were folded across his knees.

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘And you’re feeling more relaxed about the whole story of Sleeper’s Castle now?’

  Andy was staring into the fire. ‘There is still Dafydd.’ She shuddered. ‘He’s still here, Meryn.’

  Bryn cleared his throat. ‘We thought’ – he glanced at Andy – ‘that perhaps we should dig and see if Dafydd is still buried out there in the garden. Might he not rest more easily if he had a proper Christian burial, somewhere away from here?’

  The question seemed to hang in the room. If they were hoping for an answer, none came.

  ‘I think it would be the right thing to do,’ Andy went on quietly, ‘if this house is ever to be at peace.’

  She and Bryn had talked as the logs had blazed and then burnt down to ash; their antagonism too had died as quickly as it had flared. On the subject of Dafydd’s reburial they agreed totally. He caught her eye and smiled.

  She stared at Meryn. ‘What?’ She had intercepted the glance he had exchanged with Sian.

  ‘I think that’s a very good idea,’ Sian said. ‘Andy, we’ve got some rather unexpected news,’ she added. ‘I had a call from Sue a few hours ago.’

  Sian and Meryn left at last. Rhona watched them make their way round the side of the house and disappear down the steps. Meryn had offered to drive Sian and the dogs back to his cottage to pick up her car, then he was going to return.

  Rhona was perched on the outspread branch of the old rowan tree at the back of the house, swaying perilously amongst the rustling leaves. The berries had been stripped bare by the birds and the leaves were dried now and scattering below the tree at every gust of wind. Neither Meryn nor Sian had glanced up as they walked beneath her unsteady hiding place. She smiled to herself, exhilarated by the feel of the wind and the rain spattering her cheeks in the dark. She had spotted the open window as she crept around the outside of the house and noted the tree, conveniently close.

  It was all too easy. Perhaps in her next life she would be a cat burglar. She leant forward, for a second her full bodyweight suspended in mid-air, and clutched at the windowsill. The shot of terror that poured through her was magnificent. She gripped the sill, swung forward and managed to grab at the open window frame. Half the windows in the house still had their old mullions, which she would have found hard to squeeze through, but this window was square and, mercifully, open. It took only a moment to jiggle the stay off its hook, pull the casement fully open, wriggle through and jump to the floor.

  She found herself standing in a bedroom. Neat, tidy, attractive, with a double bed but no personal effects. Obviously a spare room. It was very quiet after the roar of the wind in the leaves and the rush of the water in the brook outside. She could feel the house holding its breath. The atmosphere was electric. She crept across to the door and opened it a crack.

  Her heart was thumping and her hands sore from the tree branches. She was a bit old for this kind of malarkey, she thought, gleefully pleased with herself as she put her ear to the gap and listened. There was no sound from outside on the landing. Bryn and Miranda must be downstairs.

  She tiptoed to the next door. It stood half open, the room beyond it dark. She pushed the door back against the wall and waited for a few seconds before turning on the light. This was clearly Miranda’s bedroom. It smelt curiously pungent, not unpleasant but spicy, even herbal. She spotted some sprigs of rosemary lying on the bed which explained it. Rhona looked round curiously. The woman’s belongings were scattered over every surface. There was a photograph of Graham on the dressing table and she picked it up, surveying it critically. It must have been taken relatively recently. He looked much older than she remembered him and disgustingly healthy, considering he must have been near to death. She let out a small spiteful cry and threw it down on the bed. She continued her tour of the room keeping half an ear open for sounds behind her in the rest of the house.

  There were cosmetics on the chest of drawers, with a hair brush, a box of sticking plasters, several pencils, a small sketchbook and a couple of history books on the bedside table and two books on herbs on the windowsill. Miranda’s clothes were mostly in the cupboard – the door was hanging open and she pulled it wide to have a look. What a supremely unglamorous woman she was. Nothing here but sweaters and jeans and shirts. Socks, for goodness’ sake! She pulled a face and went on with her tour. There were bloodstains on the carpet; at least she thought they were bloodstains. Perhaps that was why she needed the plasters.

  There was a creak from the landing and the door moved slightly. Rhona swung round. The cat was standing there, glaring at her. It must have followed her in up the tree and through the window. She felt in her pocket for her knife and opened it. She had a score to settle with that animal. It eyed her disdainfully and then turned and fled down the stairs. She gave a silent humourless laugh. Give her time and she would deal with everyone in this house, cat included. The handle of the knife settled comfortably against her palm. It was warm, solid, the kind of knife that vicious old man would have relished. Her fist tightened round it.

  She followed the cat out of the room and cautiously made her way down the curved stone staircase after it, finding herself in a large living room at the bottom. A fire was burning gently in the hearth; the room was in shadow, lit only by one table lamp in the corner. Several doors led off it. She tiptoed across the room and pushed the first. A small sitting room, as far as she could see in the dark. Another door opened onto yet another living room, which, judging by the table and chairs, was an unused dining room. Beyond that she came to the front door, heavily curtained against the draughts. She lifted the curtain and looked at the ancient oak door. It boasted a huge rather crude iron lock, a heavy circular door handle and two antique bolts, both of which had been shot home. She dropped the curtain quietly and continued her tour to the far side of the room. The door there led to a passageway and signs of life. At the end of it there was a closed door, the shape outlined by the bright lights behind it, and now she could hear the sound of voices. She tiptoed down the passage. Like the large room behind her, it was paved with uneven flagstones. Pushing gently, she opened the door a crack.

  There was a movement beside her as the cat flew past her, hurled itself at the door and disappeared into the kitchen.

  ‘Pepper!’ It was Miranda’s voice. ‘Where have you been?’ Rhona heard the sound of a scuffle and the rattle of the cat flap, then Miranda’s voice again. ‘What was the matter with him? He was terrified.’

  There was a moment’s silence. Rhona could imagine her staring towards the door. Then she heard a chair leg scraping on the floor. ‘Stay where you are, Andy. There’s something wrong.’ It was the gardener’s voice.

  Rhona smiled. So the moment had com
e at last. She pushed open the door and stood there looking at them, her knife ready in her hand. Miranda was seated at the kitchen table, Bryn standing opposite her. They were both looking straight at her as she appeared. To her delight she saw Miranda blanch. She was not so delighted to see that she had a mobile phone in her hand. ‘I thought we got rid of that thing,’ she commented acidly.

  ‘I got a new one,’ Andy replied. ‘And I have just pushed the button that connects us directly to the police. They will be here in less than ten minutes.’

  Rhona gave a snort of laughter. ‘It won’t take me ten minutes to do what I’ve come to do.’

  ‘And what’s that?’ Bryn put in.

  ‘Kill.’ Rhona sounded almost smug. ‘You’ve left me no choice.’

  Bryn laughed. ‘Oh, you have plenty of choices, Mrs Wilson. Are you sure this is the path you want to take? Remember, in Sleeper’s Castle there are so many people watching you.’

  She hesitated. ‘There is nobody else here. I checked.’

  Bryn hadn’t moved or taken his eyes from her face. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. Dafydd ap Hywell ap Gruffydd is here, and his daughter Catrin, and Joan and Betsi and Peter. And there are others outside. Killers, far more accomplished than yourself.’ His voice had taken on a soft, hypnotic lilt as he recited the names.

  He could see her hesitating. Andy stayed completely silent. ‘You can feel them, can’t you?’ he went on, his tone conversational. ‘Clever lady like you. You know I’m telling the truth.’

  ‘You mean the ghosts!’ She managed a sneer. ‘That old man!’

  ‘Ah, so you have met him.’ Bryn nodded, satisfied. ‘Dafydd. A more experienced purveyor of evil than you, Rhona. And he’s not alone. There are others here. Many others.’ He was silent for a fraction of a second, then went on, holding her attention, his voice even and thoughtful: ‘You probably don’t know this, but I used to practise as a criminal psychologist. I was in the States when you were there. I recognised you immediately, of course, from the mugshots.’ It wasn’t true, but she wasn’t to know that. He was watching her carefully. She didn’t move. ‘I emailed a friend of mine over there to say you’d turned up this side of the pond. They’re arranging an extradition order as we speak. I don’t fancy your chances over there, Rhona. They still have the death penalty.’