Lady of Hay: An enduring classic – gripping, atmospheric and utterly compelling. Barbara Erskine
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the chapter on the reign of King Henry II and there are pictures, so I even know roughly about her clothes.’
Jo laughed. ‘You’ve done more research than me, then. Once I knew she was real, and what happened to her –’ She shivered. ‘I suppose I was more interested with the technicalities of regression originally and I never considered that it would really happen to me. Or how I would feel if it did. But now that it has, it’s so strange. It’s an invasion of my privacy, and I’m conscious all the time that there is someone else there in my head. Or was. I’m not sure I like the feeling.’
‘I can’t say I’m surprised. People react in different ways. Interest, fear, resentment, complete disbelief, mild amusement. By far the most common reaction is to refuse to have anything more to do with regression.’
‘For fear of becoming involved,’ Jo nodded almost absently. ‘But I am involved. Not only professionally, but, somehow, inside myself. Because I’ve shared such intimate emotions with her. Fear … pain … horror … love.’ She shook her head deprecatingly. ‘Am I being very gullible?’
‘No,’ Bennet smiled. ‘You are sensitive. You empathise with the personality.’
‘To the extent where I develop the symptoms I’m describing.’ Jo bit her lip. ‘But then while it’s happening I am Matilda, aren’t I?’ She paused again. ‘I don’t understand about my throat, but after Friday’s regression …’ She stopped in mid-sentence. If she told Bennet about Sam’s warning, he might refuse to risk hypnotising her again, and she did want very much to go back to Matilda’s life. She wanted to know what happened.
‘You’ve had other symptoms?’ Bennet persisted quietly.
She looked away. ‘My fingers were very bruised. I hurt them on the stones of the castle wall, watching William kill those men …’ Her voice died away. ‘But they only felt bruised. There was nothing to see.’
He nodded. ‘Anything else?’ She could feel his eyes on her face as she took her coffee from Sarah and sipped it. Did the ability to hypnotise her mean he could read her thoughts as well? She bit her lip, deliberately trying to focus her attention elsewhere. ‘Only stray shivers and echoes. Nothing to worry about.’ She grinned at him sheepishly. ‘Nothing to put me off, I assure you. I would like to go back. Amongst other things I want to find out how she met Richard de Clare. Is it possible to be that specific in your questions?’ Had he guessed, she wondered, just how much, secretly, she longed to see Richard again?
Bennet shrugged. ‘We’ll see. Why don’t we start and find out?’
He watched as she took out her tape recorder and set it on the ground beside her as she had done before, the microphone in her lap. She switched on the recorder then at last she lay back on the long leather sofa and closed her eyes. Every muscle was tense.
She was hiding something from him. He knew that much. And more than that understandable desire to see Richard again. But what? He thought once again about the phone call he had had from Samuel Franklyn and he frowned. The call had come on Monday morning before Sarah had arrived and Sarah knew nothing about it. He had not allowed Franklyn to say much, but there had been enough to know that there was some kind of problem.
He looked at his secretary, who had seated herself quietly once more in her corner, then he turned back to Jo. He licked his lips in concentration and taking a deep breath he began to talk.
Jo listened intently. He was talking about the sun again. Today it was shining and the sky was clear and uncomplicated after the weekend of storms. But there was no light behind her eyelids now. Nothing.
Her eyes flew open in a panic. ‘Nothing is happening,’ she said. ‘It isn’t going to work again. You’re not going to be able to do it!’
She pushed herself up against the slippery leather back of the sofa. The palms of her hands were damp.
Bennet smiled calmly. ‘You’re trying too hard, Jo. You mustn’t try at all, my dear. Come, why not sit over here by the window?’ He pulled a chair forward from the wall and twisted it so that it had its back to the light. ‘Fine, now, we’ll do some little experiments on you to see how quick your eyes are. There’s no hurry. We have plenty of time. We might even decide to leave the regression until another day.’ He smiled as he felt under his desk for a switch which turned on a spotlight in the corner of the room. Automatically Jo’s eyes went towards it, but he had seen already that her knuckles on the arm of the chair were less white.
‘Is she as deeply under as before?’ Sarah’s cautious question some ten minutes later broke into a long silence.
Bennet nodded. ‘She was afraid this time. She was subconsciously fighting me, every inch of the way. I wish I knew why.’ He looked at the list of questions in his hand, then he put it down on his desk. ‘Perhaps we’ll discover eventually. But now it just remains to find out if we can re-establish contact with the same personality at all! So often one can’t, the second time around.’ He chewed his lip for a second, eyeing Jo’s face. Then he took a deep breath.
‘Matilda,’ he said softly. ‘Matilda, my child. There are some things I want you to tell me about yourself.’
The candle on the table beside his bed was guttering as Reginald de St Valerie lay back against his pillow and began to cough again. His eyes, sunk in the pallid hollows of his face, were fixed anxiously on the door as he pulled another rug round his thin shoulders. But it made no difference. He knew it was only a matter of time now before the creeping chill in his bones reached his heart, and then he would shiver no more.
His face lightened a little as the door was pushed open and a girl peered round it.
‘Are you asleep, Father?’
‘No, my darling. Come in.’ Cursing the weakness which seemed to have spread even to his voice, Reginald watched her close the heavy door carefully and come towards him. Involuntarily he smiled. She was so lovely, this daughter of his; his only child. She was tall, taller than average. She had grown this last year, until she was a span at least higher even than he, with her dark auburn hair spread thickly on her shoulders and down her back and the strange green eyes flecked with gold which she had from her dead mother. She was all he had left, this tall graceful girl. And he was all she had, and soon … He shrugged. He had made provision long ago for the future when he had betrothed her to William de Braose. And now the time had come.
‘Sit here, Matilda. I must talk to you.’ Feebly he patted the rugs which covered him and the lines of his face softened as she took his hand, curling up beside him, tucking her long legs under her.
‘Will you eat something today, Father? If I prepare it myself and help you with the spoon?’ she coaxed, nestling close. ‘Please?’ She could feel the new inexorable cold in his hand and it frightened her. Gently she pressed it to her cheek.
‘I’ll try, Matilda, I’ll try.’ He pushed himself a little further up on the pillows with an effort. ‘But listen, sweetheart, there is something I must tell you first.’ He swallowed, trying to collect his thoughts as he gazed sadly into her anxious face. So often he had hoped this moment would never come. That somehow, something would happen to prevent it.
‘I have written to Bramber, Matilda. Sir William de Braose has agreed that it is time the marriage took place. His son could have married long since, but he has waited until you were of age. You must go to him now.’ He tried not to see the sudden anguish on her face.
‘But Father, I can’t leave you, I won’t.’ She sat up straight, her eyes bright with tears. ‘Nothing will make me leave you. Ever.’
He groped for her hand again, and held it gently. ‘Sweetheart. It is I who must leave you, don’t you see? And I couldn’t die happy without knowing that you were wed. Please. To please me, go to him. Make him an obedient wife.’
He