The Silver Witch

‘A witch, we think, don’t we?’


‘So you’re saying I could be like that? Do stuff to hurt people? Terrify people the way that ghost does?’

‘Whoa! No, of course not.’

‘Because sometimes it does feel as if when people are around me … bad things happen.’ She had said it without thinking. Without realizing that she was talking about Mat as well as Dylan. And that he didn’t see that. How could he?

‘That’s rubbish,’ he said.

‘You don’t understand. It’s not just you. My husband, Mat … the way he died, in an accident…’

‘Tilda, an accident is nobody’s fault.’

‘But, perhaps … if there’s something bad in me…’

He put his hands firmly on her shoulders. ‘Listen to me. Lots of people feel guilty when someone they love dies. It’s a natural reaction, but of course it wasn’t your fault. And it … your husband’s death, it has nothing to do with what happened at the dig, Okay? Bad things happen to good people, that’s all.’

‘You can’t know how much I need to believe that. I don’t feel anything … bad.’ She hesitated, still unsure how much she wanted to share with him. Still aware, even with what he has witnessed, of how crazy it would all sound. ‘What I felt when I put the torc on my arm … that time in here with you … What I’m saying is, it wasn’t bad. Scary, yes, a bit, and weird, God knows, but not bad. Do you understand?’

He nodded slowly. ‘There is nothing bad in you, Tilda. If you’ve found some, I dunno, let’s call it magic in that bracelet, that torc, then it stands to reason it would be something … wonderful. Like you.’ He paused, then went on, ‘You must miss him very much. Mat. It can’t have been easy for you, starting a new life here without him.’

‘It wasn’t. It took me a long time to feel … right. But, you know, I do think I belong. I always thought that. And now it makes more sense. And…’

He waited, watching, and she could sense how much what she was saying mattered to him.

‘… and it is getting easier,’ she told him, with a faltering smile. ‘I do feel differently now.’

Later, in the quiet watches of the night, she had thought about how deeply she had come to care about Dylan, and how much the fact that he tried to understand meant to her. She had at last begun to let go of Mat, and it was Dylan who had helped her do that. She decided that it was up to her to act. To protect them both. She knew he would want to help, but she knew also that she was not going to put him in danger. Being close to her put him at risk, the falling lights had shown her that.

Once downstairs she hesitates, but there is no decision to be made. She knows what she has to do. Tomorrow Lucas will resume the dig and remove the body. She has to act now. She slips the gold torc into her fleece pocket and jams on her beanie. Thistle stretches elaborately and stands wagging at the back door.

‘Okay, you can come, but it’s been thawing, there’s not much snow left to play in,’ Tilda warns her. She crouches down and hugs the dog. ‘You know what? I could do with a bit of help today.’

Outside, the snow has shriveled off the tarmac of the lane, but remains in slushy lumps on the fields and paths. By the time they reach the track around the lake, a steady drizzle has begun. Tilda regrets not putting on a waterproof jacket, but knows her fleece will keep out the wet for the hour or so she plans to be out, and she can move faster like this. If Thistle minds the rain she doesn’t show it, but bounds happily along beside her mistress.

It is so good to be running again! Come on, fleet, old feet. Pace, push, breathe. Pace, push, breathe. One step at a time. That’s how to tackle stuff. One thing at a time.

She runs on. The countryside looks drab as the snow is melted by the rain, turning the scenery from white to gray. On the lake, geese take to the deeper water, grateful for the thaw, untroubled by the lack of sparkle or sunshine. A long-legged heron prods around in the shallows. Tilda allows herself to revisit what she’s learned over the last couple of days. Seren did not survive the attack; she has to accept that was what she was shown in the vision in the museum. She had a baby daughter, and that child was taken prisoner, and later sent to live in Wessex.