Sleeper’s Castle: An epic historical romance from the Sunday Times bestseller. Barbara Erskine
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certainty that someone was out there, watching them.
Andy stretched out and slowly she opened her eyes. She had been afraid of going to bed, of falling asleep and dreaming, but now she was reluctant to let go of the dream. It had been exciting, fascinating. She had been on horseback with Catrin and Catrin’s father, hacking through the wooded hills. She could picture the trees, the sunlight shining down through the branches, smell the fresh scent of leaves and loam and grasses and even more immediate the rich savoury aroma of horse, a smell that took her back to her childhood. She raised her fingers to her nose, almost expecting to smell the horse sweat on them, the warm damp feel of the animal’s neck under the coarse hair of its mane. There was nothing. She could still smell faintly the shower gel on her hands from the night before.
She pushed back the covers, swung her legs over the side of the bed and was about to stand up when she heard the voice again in her head.
Blood. Fire. Death.
She sank back with a shiver. Not all of the dream had been pleasant. She remembered now. Dafydd had had a nightmare, Dafydd the prophet. And that was what the old bards did, didn’t they? They prophesied, be it glory or doom and destruction. Somehow they knew the future. She stood up, raising her hands to push her hair off her face, then groaned unexpectedly. She was aching all over. Her legs were in agony, her shoulders stiff. It was as if – she couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge the fact – it was as if she had been on a long ride.
She stood for a long time under the shower, trying to ease the ache from her shoulders, then she went downstairs. Opening the back door she looked out into a garden wet with rain and smelling of autumn. Behind her Pepper was sitting by his empty bowl looking faintly reproving. Having fed him, she found a few scraps of paper in Sue’s desk. While she made toast for breakfast she started to make notes about her experiences of the night before.
Dreams could be vivid. Dreams could seem very real. Dreams could leave you exhausted. All those things were well-known facts. Nothing to get excited about; nothing out of the ordinary. But definitely something to think about.
Another well-known fact: the more one recalled one’s dreams, the more one could recall. It was a matter of practice. And it was important to write it all down at once. If possible, without thinking. Too much thinking and one’s recall began to shift. A dedicated notebook began to look more and more imperative.
Another well-known fact: bits of paper got lost and out of order.
Andy ran into Ella Pascoe in the paper shop as she stacked two notebooks and a pack of pens onto the counter and fished for her purse. ‘So, how are things?’ Ella asked as they walked out of the shop together.
‘OK.’ Andy grinned at her. ‘I’m being drawn into the history of the house. I would love to know a bit more about it some time when you’ve both got time.’
‘I’m not the expert, that’s Roy,’ Ella replied. ‘But if you’ve got a bit of time now, d’you fancy a coffee?’ She had a newspaper under her arm. ‘Roy and I take turns to take an hour off in the morning to read the paper. Coffee and cake is the order of the day, at least for me. A shocking and unhealthy habit, but I enjoy it. I would much rather talk to you and leave the paper until later.’
Andy led the way round the corner and into Shepherds overlooking the Cheese Market and the castle square. By the time they had collected their drinks and in her case a flapjack and in Ella’s a piece of carrot cake, she had made up her mind to confide in her about her dreams.
They found themselves a table in the window. Ella rested her elbows on the table and scrutinised her face with interest as she listened.
‘Is this delighting you or frightening you?’ she said.
Andy smiled. ‘Mostly delight. But a few of the dreams are quite violent.’
Ella looked shocked. ‘Violent as in …?’
‘They’re about war and the fear of war.’ Andy leaned forward. Ella said nothing, waiting for her to go on.
‘The latest dream was about a journey they’re making on horseback up through the border March. It’s all so real, so detailed; I woke thinking I must check out the facts to see if they are facts.’ She paused, watching Ella cut her slice of cake into quarters. Absent-mindedly she gathered up the crumbs into a little pile, pressed her finger onto the pile, then licked it.
‘Do you know what date you’re dreaming about?’
Andy hesitated. ‘I don’t think they’ve mentioned any specific dates.’ She kept her answer deliberately vague. ‘They set off in the early summer.’
‘Which any traveller would if they were planning a long journey on horseback.’ Ella put one of her squares of cake delicately into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. ‘This sounds very intriguing. Do I gather you honestly think you’re dreaming about something which might have actually happened?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t see how I could be,’ Andy conceded.
‘Maybe you’re reliving a novel you’ve read or a TV programme or a film?’
Andy gave a rueful nod. ‘I suppose that’s one explanation.’
‘So, are you dreaming in episodes, like a serial? Does the story pick up where you left off each time you dream?’ Ella went on, obviously intrigued.
‘Pretty much. I came into town to buy a couple of notebooks so I could write down everything I could remember.’ Andy pointed at her bag, sitting on the floor beside her chair, her purchases sticking out of the top.
‘Sensible.’ Ella smiled. She paused, looking out of the window up towards the castle, where its jagged silhouette rose black against the sky. A flock of jackdaws was swirling above it, noisily squabbling over the best perches on the bare branches of the surrounding trees. ‘Have you seen Hay Castle in the dream?’
She shook her head. ‘They’ve been to a lot of castles on their journey, but not Hay. The last one was called Ruthin.’
Ella put down her fork and stared at Andy. ‘Ruthin? In the Vale of Clwyd? Are you sure? That’s way up north of here. There’s a hotel there. Perhaps you’ve stayed there? I’m sure one can find photos of it online.’ She nibbled another square of cake. ‘Are these the only dreams you have? About Catrin and her family? You don’t dream about anything else?’
Andy paused for a fraction of a second. ‘No.’
Andy saw Ella glance up at her hesitation, but she said nothing and Andy wasn’t going to enlighten her. Her other dreams were her business alone. She wasn’t ready to share information about her visits to Kew. She wasn’t even sure they counted as dreams.
‘Another coffee?’ Ella’s voice broke into her thoughts.
‘That would be nice.’ Andy was enjoying the other woman’s company. She was lonely, she realised. It was a relief to sit in a warm, crowded little coffee shop with someone to talk to.
It took Ella several minutes to queue at the counter. When she returned Andy had taken out one of her new notebooks and begun to scribble in it. ‘I’m going to make a note of anything I can remember. I don’t think the dreams come from something I’ve read or watched. I’ve got a good memory, I would know,’ she said firmly. ‘I wonder if I’ve in some way plugged into these people’s lives through the house. It all seems to fit, at least at the beginning it did.’ She ignored the thoughtful expression on Ella’s face. ‘But now I wonder if Catrin or her father are driving the dreams?’ She meant it as a serious question.
‘You think Catrin is trying to tell you something?’
‘Perhaps she is,’ Andy said. She stared down into her cup. ‘I think I may have seen her – or perhaps sensed her is a better word – in the house, when I was awake.’
‘Not a ghost!’ Ella sounded excited.
Andy smiled. ‘I have always been interested in