house is not called Sleeper’s Castle for nothing, as Roy told you. People do dream here.’
‘Did Sue ever mention it to you?’
‘I think she had nightmares occasionally.’ Sian’s reply was cautious.
‘About Catrin?’
‘Who’s Catrin?’
‘A woman who I think might have lived here once. I’ve heard her name in my dreams.’
‘I don’t remember Sue telling me what the dreams were about.’ Sian frowned. ‘She just shrugged them off. Are you telling me you’re dreaming about a ghost?’
‘No.’ Andy reached for her coat. ‘No, not a ghost. It doesn’t matter. You know how some dreams linger. And I don’t think I’m sleeping very well, if I’m honest. It’s odd, but I suppose I’ll get used to the silence. The brook is a strange bedfellow. I’m beginning to see how it works. Now it’s raining it will start to roar over the rocks again; when the weather has been dry for a day or two, the roar will subside to a pleasant ripple. I like it.’
‘Good.’ Sian looked round. ‘I love this house. Sue was so lucky to find it. It belonged to an old man who lived here for years and years. He had a bit of a reputation as an oddball – a bit fey, you know? Local girls used to come up and ask him to do magic spells for him to make sure they caught the lad of their dreams.’
‘You’re joking!’
‘No. I know one of the guys at an estate agent in Hay and he told me there was a problem with the house after the old man died because no one knew who had inherited it. For ages they thought he had no relations, then at last someone turned up, a great-nephew, I think, who had been living in Canada. He wanted nothing to do with the place luckily, so it went on the market and they rang Sue who had been hunting for a cottage for a few months and she came down and bought it within days. Well, I expect you know that.’
‘She told me about it at the time. The house was in an awful state, as I remember.’
Sian nodded. ‘He was old and living on his own. But he was completely sane, and he had designed the herb garden. He must have been nearing one hundred when he died and he had never been to a doctor in his life. He used the herbs as taught to him by his granny.’
‘He didn’t have the services of Bryn, I take it.’
There was something in her tone that made Sian smile. ‘You’ve met him then.’
‘Not so as one would notice. He grunted at me and more or less told me to mind my own business – in fact I got the impression he would prefer it if I kept out of the garden altogether.’
‘That sounds like Bryn.’
‘It’s not just me then?’
Sian hesitated. ‘Let’s say he seems to take a while to get to know people.’ She headed towards the door. ‘Give him time. Come on, let’s go and see if Meryn is at home. If nothing else it will get you out in the fresh air.’
Thick cloud lay low over the mountains. As Sian drove up the steep winding lane, crossed a cattle grid and forked onto an even narrower road, the visibility narrowed to a white wall around the car. From time to time she braked and steered round a sheep sitting at the edge of the road, seeking the comparative warmth of the tarmac. The animals gazed at them with blank yellow eyes, expressionless in the rain. ‘They hate this weather, poor things,’ Sian commented as they stopped for the fourth time.
‘Does he really live right up here?’ Andy was vainly peering through the windscreen hoping to be able to see where they were going.
‘It seems a bit bleak now,’ Sian answered. ‘But it’s beyond beautiful when you can see the view. We’re right up below Hay Bluff here. One can see several counties spread out below.’
They came to another fork in the road and she swung the car onto an even narrower track, which after a few hundred yards disappeared beneath a swiftly running ford, then reappeared to climb steeply again. Abruptly the mist began to thin and there were glimpses of blue in the sky ahead. ‘We’ve climbed above the cloud,’ Sian said. She changed down into second gear.
They turned through an open gate, passed a sheltered stand of thorn trees and then they were there. A white-painted stone cottage appeared at the top of the track, its garden surrounded by a thorn hedge. There was no sign of a car outside.
Sian turned off the engine and opened her door. The blast of cold air almost took Andy’s breath away as she followed suit, pulling up the hood of her jacket.
She hadn’t expected Sian to head round to the shed at the back of the cottage and push open the door. She re-emerged with two parcels and a key. ‘I’m afraid he is still away. These have been here a while. They’re quite damp. The postman leaves them for him on a special shelf.’ She led the way back to the front door and inserted the key. The door was swollen and she struggled before pushing it open, leading the way into the cold dark interior. It smelt of long-ago apple logs and stone.
‘I take it he doesn’t mind people coming up here?’ Andy asked cautiously. ‘It feels wrong coming in when he’s not at home.’
‘He has let a few people know where he keeps the key,’ Sian said cheerfully. ‘That way if any of us are up on the mountain we can pop in and make sure everything is all right. No one seems to have been here for a while though.’ She put the two parcels down on the table. ‘I’ll check if there are any clues as to when he’s coming back.’ She disappeared through a door in the back wall.
Andy stood where she was, looking round. She could sense the man who lived here very strongly. It was as though a part of him was still here, watching them. She bit her lip, remembering her own strange new ability to daydream herself back to the house in Kew. That had been such a powerful experience it was as though it was real, as though if anyone had looked through the window of the house into the moonlit garden they would have seen her standing there. She took a deep breath as the thought of Rhona calling out to her in the darkness came back to her. From what she had heard of the man who lived here, he would be more than capable of watching her from afar. Hastily she followed Sian through the door and found herself in a small neat kitchen. ‘He’s turned off the water,’ Sian announced, spinning the cold tap in the sink. ‘That’s ominous. He wasn’t expecting to come back before the deep frosts.’
‘Pity.’ Andy was feeling more and more uncomfortable. It was silly to feel him watching them; it had to be her imagination. Just as it must have been her imagination thinking Rhona was watching her that night in Kew.
She shivered. ‘It’s cold in here.’
Sian gave another quick glance round the room and then headed back into the living room. ‘I’ll leave him a note. He’s bound to come back sooner or later.’
Walking over to the table by the window she found a spiral-top pad and reached for a pen. As she was writing there was a sudden bang outside. They both looked up. ‘What was that?’ Sian exclaimed.
‘It sounded like a door banging,’ Andy said nervously. ‘Perhaps you didn’t shut the shed properly.’
‘I’ll check before we leave.’ Sian tore off her note and left it prominently on the centre of the table.
Andy
