Sleeper’s Castle: An epic historical romance from the Sunday Times bestseller. Barbara Erskine
again, her breathing slow and regular. Once more Catrin approached and cautiously stretching out her hand she touched the corner of the table with the tips of her fingers. The table was plain scrubbed pine. The table in Catrin’s kitchen, the table where Joan prepared their meals, was made from a huge chunk of solid oak, criss-crossed with cuts from her cleaver as she prepared their meat and vegetables. Catrin stood still, holding her breath, then she turned and tiptoed back out of the kitchen.
Andy didn’t stir but somehow she was aware of the shadowy figure, seeing it cross the great hall and walk slowly up the stairs. In her dream Catrin climbed slowly back into bed and lay down. As she snuggled once more onto her pillow she gave a small sigh. The room was Andy’s room, the bed in the corner where Andy’s bed stood, the window the window Andy looked out of down to the moonlit garden below. She could see the mullions, trace the lines of the stone, the smooth curve of the chisel, the rough edges where the man who made them had drained his tankard of ale, smacked his lips and returned to work slightly the worse for wear.
Andy woke suddenly and sat upright, staring towards the window. There was a faint glimmer of daylight filtering into the room. There were curtains now, but the mullions were the same.
She had staggered up to bed only four hours ago after waking to find herself in the kitchen, her head cushioned on her arms. There had been no sign of Pepper and her neck was agonisingly stiff. She had forced herself to stand up, turn off the lights and head next door towards the stairs, then she had stopped, aware of a presence in the house. Her mother. Of course, her mother was asleep upstairs in Sue’s room.
She paused on the landing, listening. There was no sound from the other bedroom. Making her way to her own bed she slipped off her shoes and lay down under the duvet fully dressed. In seconds she was asleep.
She remembered the dream after a shower and a change of clothes next morning. The Catrin of her dreams had been standing staring down at Andy as she was asleep in the kitchen. She could see herself, unconscious, vulnerable, unaware, the young woman creeping towards her, extending her hand as if to touch her, then gently stroking the corner of the table instead. It had been so real. Catrin was younger than she had realised, perhaps seventeen or eighteen. She was slim beneath the bulky clothes, with rich chestnut hair slipping from beneath her linen coif and gentle concerned eyes.
‘You’re up early.’ Nina was already in the kitchen when she went downstairs. She was listening to the Today programme as she made breakfast. The table was laid. Pepper was sitting on the windowsill watching the proceedings with what looked suspiciously like approval.
Andy approached the table and held out her hand to touch it, stroking the corner lightly with her fingertips.
Nina turned off the radio. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I dreamt there was a woman in here. I fell asleep where I was last night after you went to bed and she was standing watching me. She reached out to touch the table near my hand.’ Andy shivered. ‘It was strange. Very real. It was as if she was studying me; watching me. She’s called Catrin.’
Nina put the coffee pot on the table. ‘Get some of that down you. You were so exhausted last night I’m not surprised you dreamt vividly.’
‘I can’t help wondering if I was actually awake.’ Andy reached for the coffee.
‘Dreams can be incredibly real sometimes.’ Her mother produced two slices of warm toast and put butter and marmalade on the table.
‘I know. I’ve been having some truly violent dreams since I arrived here. Battles.’
‘That sounds like stress and exhaustion to me.’ Nina sat down opposite her. She surveyed her daughter’s face. ‘You don’t have to stay here, darling. I’ve told you before, you can always come home with me.’
‘No! No, I love it here!’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely sure.’ Andy hesitated. ‘It never even occurred to me that the house might be haunted until someone mentioned ghosts at a supper party I went to last week. Even then, I wasn’t worried. You know me.’ She smiled at her mother. ‘Catrin is part of my dreams, but I think she is a ghost as well.’ She paused. ‘If she is, if there are ghosts here, it’s interesting. It doesn’t bother me.’
‘You’re sure it doesn’t frighten you?’
‘No, it doesn’t.’
Nina screwed up her face. ‘As I reminded you, darling, this is not my department. I am impervious to ghosts. If you want to discuss it, you should ring your father. But my instinct is to leave well alone. Living up here completely alone is going to be quite enough of a challenge, I would have thought, especially as winter sets in. Have you thought about that? What you will do when it snows?’
Andy smiled, glad of the change of subject. ‘Sue left me a book of instructions. She has actually been a bit more organised than I thought. I suspect she wrote it all out when she first decided to let the house. She left it in the drawer with the cat food. She talks about stocking the freezer, getting an extra couple of months’ supply of logs, contacting the farmer who lives up the lane and who will plough it through with his tractor if it gets closed with snow. It all seems very efficient, and if dear old Sue, whose natural habitat is Bondi Beach, can hack it here, so can I.’
‘That all sounds very organised, as you say,’ Nina said, reassured. She leant forward purposefully. ‘Now, talking of being organised, what have you done about your job?’
Andy reached for a slice of toast. ‘Nothing.’
‘Why not?’
‘In case you hadn’t noticed, Mum, Graham is dead.’ Andy gripped her mug tightly with her fingers.
Nina ignored the comment. ‘You didn’t always work exclusively for Graham,’ she said crisply. ‘There are plenty of other people out there who would love you to illustrate their books. Thank God that’s a job you can do, even out here. Have you been in touch with Krista?’
Andy shook her head wordlessly. Speaking to her agent was something that hadn’t even crossed her mind.
‘God, Andy! You need a kick up the backside, darling.’ Her mother was incredulous. ‘Money doesn’t grow on trees. You’re going to have to live. I bet Sue isn’t paying the bills for this house. Even if you’re getting it rent-free – you are getting it rent-free, aren’t you?’ – she barely waited for Andy to nod before proceeding – ‘you’re going to have to pay the bills, pay for food, petrol, everything. And if necessary a solicitor. No!’ she raised her hand as Andy opened her mouth to protest. ‘You are not going to let that dreadful Rhona woman ride roughshod over you. You’ve had a couple of months to get over Graham’s death, and I know you feel you never will, but you have to pick yourself up and dust yourself off.’ She stopped. ‘Did you ever hear such a string of clichés! But I’ve always found that clichés are what people need when they’re in crisis. That is what they are for. One hasn’t time to think of bons mots. One needs a good cliché.’
Andy managed a laugh. ‘If anyone is riding roughshod, Mum it might be you.’
‘That’s what I’m here for. And is that your gardener outside? Who’s paying for him?’
‘Gardener?’ Andy looked, startled, at the window.
‘Tall, devilishly attractive man, carrying a spade over his shoulder.’
Andy suppressed a smile. ‘Bryn. That’s him.’
‘So, you had noticed he’s attractive?’ Her mother raised a quirky eyebrow.
‘Not till you said it just now,’ Andy protested. ‘I actually find him rude and unpleasant. He doesn’t like the look of me either, so I’m avoiding him.’ She bit her lip. ‘And you’re parked in his space so he’ll be even more rude and unpleasant. I wonder where he’s left his van. I don’t suppose there’s room for three out there.’
‘Perhaps he walked.