River of Destiny (38 page)

The figure that appeared was shorter than her husband, outlined against the first streaks of dawn light.

‘Hrotgar?’ Her anguished whisper made almost no sound.

He walked over to her and stood looking at her for a long moment. ‘I made a mistake,’ he said slowly. ‘I can’t allow you to tell Eric what has happened.’

She tried to run but there was nowhere to go. Stooping, he picked up something heavy from the hearth and raising his hand he brought it crashing down on her head.

Outside it was slowly growing light, and there was still no sign of Eric.

There was no need to spy out the land. Zeph knew every inch of the estate and the farm buildings. He had hitched a lift to Woodbridge with a carter, hiked across the fields, and spent the night in the ruins of the old church out of the worst of the wind. Just before first light he made his way cautiously down towards the barns and hid behind one of the hayricks, grateful for the shelter as he settled down to wait for the farm to spring to life. George brought two of the shire horses out first, harnessed and ready to put in the shafts of the largest wagon; he saw the older man, Robert, emerge to give him a hand, grumbling and easing his coat on more comfortably as he tested the traces and helped back the horses into place. It was full daylight before Ben appeared from his mother’s cottage up the lane, still munching on a wedge of bread. He opened the door into the forge and pushed it wide, allowing the fitful daylight to illuminate the piles of horseshoes, the anvil and the cold fire. His job was to rake out the ashes and start up the furnace. Today was going to be busy. They were going to make hinges for the new gates. There was no sign of Dan.

Zeph settled further into the back of the haystack, trying to find some warmth there. He felt in his pocket for the remains of the pasty he had bought the day before and slowly began to munch. Ben was obviously expecting Dan. His gaze moved lazily to the forge cottage, which showed no signs of life. There was no smoke coming from the chimney and the curtains in the front room were closed. He took another mouthful of the cold greasy pastry and settled back. He was in no hurry.

Dan was rubbing Susan’s back. As soon as Betsy arrived to stay with her he would get to the forge. He was late. He had made his wife a drink of raspberry leaf tea as Betsy had instructed and sat on the bed as she drank it. Her face was white with fatigue and every now and then she groaned a little. She had eaten nothing for two days. ‘There’s another pain coming,’ she whispered, her voice weak with exhaustion.

‘Don’t you fret, my girl,’ Dan whispered back. ‘Betsy will be here in a while and she said we’d send Ben for the midwife if nothing happens this morning.’

‘There’s something wrong, Dan, I know there is.’ She reached for the mug of tea. ‘The pains aren’t coming properly. They should be regular by now.’

‘Maybe the babe is just not ready to come yet. Betsy said it was early.’ He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. It was clammy and her hair was plastered to her scalp with sweat. He got up and went to the basin on the side table, rinsing out a washcloth to sponge her face and hands.

‘You’re good to me, Dan Smith.’ She smiled up at him. ‘You get you out to the forge. I’ll be fine here for a while.’

‘Are you sure?’ He stood up again with alacrity. ‘Betsy won’t be long, and Mr Turtill said Jessie would look in on you this morning as well. She’s had six of her own so she’ll know how things are with you.’ He reached his coat off the back of the door. ‘You look after yourself, my dear, and I will come in and see you a bit later.’

He walked through into the parlour, noticing how cheerless it was with the curtains still closed and no Susan to put fresh flowers in the little blue jug she kept for the purpose on the windowsill. He pulled back the curtains and looked at the dead daisies with a grimace. The water they were standing in was rank. He pulled open the front door and tossed the contents of the jug out onto the path, then he set the empty jug down on the table. He would pick her some flowers from the hedgerow when he came in to see her later in the morning.

Zeph saw the door open and he narrowed his eyes, trying to see better. It had begun to rain and he could feel the damp seeping into his jacket. He finished the last mouthful of his pasty and wiped his hands on his trousers, checking in his pocket for the snare he had brought with him. It was a piece of equipment he had often used in the fields round the hall, catching rabbits mostly, but sometimes a fox. One of them had bitten off its own paw in an attempt to free itself from the wire, but it hadn’t escaped far. He had found it nearby dead, lying in a pool of its own blood. Last night he had adapted the snare, twisting each end of the wire over a small piece of wood to help give him purchase. Anything else he might need he would find in the barn.

He watched Dan pause and glance back at the cottage, then he pulled the door shut behind him and walked quickly down the path to the forge where Ben had already started the fire. The blue fragrant smoke from the oak chippings he was using as kindling was drifting straight up into the dank still air. Dan disappeared inside and Zeph settled back. Nothing would happen until the horses had gone to the fields with George and Robert, the dairy maids had left with their buckets to see to the milking cows and the yard was deserted. Whatever was going on in the cottage would like as not distract Betsy if she came down from the farm cottages later.

The clouds were lifting a little and there was a patch or two of blue in the sky. Every now and then he heard the sound of hammering from the forge. A couple of hens were pecking round his feet; he clapped his hands at them and they flew up squawking.

It was a long time before Dan appeared in the doorway and headed towards the barn, as Zeph had known he would. There were always things to be mended, harness to be reinforced, tools to be reforged, and George often left the items to be seen to stacked just inside the doorway. It had been during those visits to the barn that Dan had taken the opportunity to stroke Bella and murmur in her ear, giving her a handful of oats. There was always the chance that he might have sent Ben to collect the repair jobs, but Zeph knew his man. Dan was methodical, doing things in the right order, and in the same way each day. He would have bet good money on the fact that Dan would come himself while the fire was steadily building its heat, and he was right. Silent as a shadow Zeph slipped from behind his hayrick and headed for the side door to the barn, groping in his pocket as he did so until his fingers closed around the wire.

Zoë woke with a start. She was clutching her stomach, groaning in agony as she ran towards the bathroom, leaving Ken sitting up sleepily staring after her. He lay back as she disappeared inside and slammed the door and reached for the pillow, clutching it over his head, not wanting to hear the sounds of her vomiting, but there was a long silence, followed at last by the splash of the shower.

She stared at herself in the mirror over the wash basin for a long time, waiting to see if she was going to be sick, until it dawned on her that there was nothing wrong. The stomach pains which had woken her had vanished. They were part of her dream.

She had straightened up at last and pushed her hair back from her forehead. Then she tore off her nightdress and headed into the shower. She was bathed in sweat and exhausted. In her dream she had been in labour and she had known she was going to die.

When at last she emerged from the bathroom Ken had disappeared. He had left a note on the kitchen worktop:
Sorry you’re not well. Maybe you should call the doctor? I have to be in Ipswich by nine but I will ring later to see how you are
.

She screwed up the note and threw it in the bin.

Leo put two slices of toast under the grill for her and pushed down the filter in the coffee jug. ‘You dreamed you were having a baby?’ He had been working in his garden when she arrived. With one look at her face he had thrust his spade into the earth and abandoned it. Within seconds of them going inside a robin had appropriated the handle as a perch.

She nodded. ‘It was awful, Leo. There was something wrong and there were people all round and they knew it was all going terribly badly and there was no doctor and the midwife was useless. She knew next to nothing. My neighbour knew more than she did.’ She grabbed the cup of coffee he poured her. ‘I woke up in such agony I couldn’t believe it.’

‘That must have scared Ken,’ he observed dryly.

‘Ken didn’t hang around to find out what was wrong. When I got out of the shower he had gone. He left a note telling me to call the doctor.’

‘Sympathetic chap.’

She took a deep breath. ‘I’m still a bit shaky, if I’m honest.’

‘Have something to eat and you’ll feel better. It’s an odd thing to dream. But of course we were talking about kids yesterday.’ He glanced at her as he shoved a pot of marmalade towards her on the work surface, pushing aside a sketchbook and pencils as he did so. She put her hand on his arm to stop him and flipped open the cover of the book. Inside on the front page there were several small sketches of a heron. She looked at them closely. ‘These are lovely. Harnsers.’ She remembered the word. ‘Did you do them?’

He gave a resigned nod, removed the book from her hands and tossed it behind him onto the table. ‘Eat.’

‘You have so many hidden talents.’

He grinned. ‘Maybe. You concentrate on the talents you know about.’

‘OK. But first tell me something. When I said I dreamed I was pregnant you didn’t seem surprised.’

He shook his head, suddenly sober. ‘There seems to be a pattern emerging. I didn’t want to say anything to you in case it upset you and I suppose I wanted to see what happened.’ He stared down at the table for a moment, deep in thought. ‘Eat your breakfast, then we’ll talk about it. First I want to find one or two books to show you.’

In spite of herself she was hungry. As she ate the toast she looked at his sketchbook while he was out of the room. It was full of pencil drawings of birds. On the bookshelf behind the table she found a stack of other sketchbooks. All birds, some pen and ink, some watercolour, some with notes in small cramped writing of details of plumage and where he had seen them. There were, she noticed, small paintboxes and bottles of ink on the windowsill between the pot plants.

On the corner of the table was a jam jar containing brushes and pencils. She just had time to replace the sketchbooks on the shelf when she heard him coming back. Under his arm there were three old volumes with torn dust jackets. He grinned at her. ‘As you have probably guessed my current assignment is a birdbook.’ He had seen her looking at them. ‘I sometimes think I have managed to move sideways into the most wonderful job in the world. Now,’ he put the books down on the table, ‘as you know I’ve read a bit about the history of this estate; and I’ve collected a few books about it when I’ve found them in second-hand bookshops and car boot sales. It’s fascinating. One of the things that intrigues me is the number of times the ghosts are mentioned.’

Zoë closed her eyes in a gesture of denial. ‘Tell me,’ she said resignedly.

‘You already know about your house – The Old Barn. Then there are supposed to be ghosts here in the forge, and down at the water’s edge, and in the Hall itself. There isn’t much more to tell. No details.’ He hesitated. ‘There is something else, though. People have nightmares here.’

‘Great!’ She shuddered. ‘You mean, not just us. Sometimes I think I’m beginning to hate this place!’

‘Aren’t you even a little bit intrigued?’

‘No. I’m scared.’

‘No, you’re not. Not my Zoë. You are a brave lady with an enquiring mind. What you want to know is how and why it happens. So, I think you should know, for what it’s worth, that it is one of the things that tipped your predecessors over into leaving. Sarah was pregnant when they left. She kept on having dreams like the one you described. Everyone thought it was because she was scared of being pregnant. Her sister had died in childbirth and she had said she would never have children herself. Then it happened. She was quite pleased at first, then the dreams started and she became more and more freaked out by them.’