Joss put the book down, tears in her eyes. She shivered. So her mother had known only too well the nature of the dangers at Belheddon and had felt guilty enough after all, about leaving the house to her, to have thought of changing the will. She sighed. But if she had done that, there would have been no story, no family, no home; once Luke’s business had folded, no cars, no money. She frowned, brushing away the tears. There was so much that was wonderful at Belheddon.
Surely – surely there must be a way of removing the danger. She sighed. At least the children were safe. There was no possibility of them going back to Belheddon until the problems had been resolved.
She picked up the diary again, turning almost fearfully to the last pages.
The pain grows worse each day. Soon I shall not be able to hide it from Paul and I shall have to stop my writing. I must burn this and all the rest before I grow too weak or silly to do it.
Joss paused. So, she had never meant anyone to read all this. For a moment she felt guilty, but she read on.
One of my fears is that he – Edward – will be waiting for me when I die. But, how can he if he is earthbound? Will Philip be there, and my boys? Or are they too trapped at Belheddon?
So, had she and David been right? It was Edward. Was it Edward IV of England, and had she inadvertently named her younger son after him? Shuddering, Joss skipped on. There were several more pages of closely written script, the writing growing more and more illegible as the days passed. Then came the last page.
So. I am accepted into the Catholic church and Paul and I are married at last. I have done all I can for the safety of my soul.
There was a trail of ink across the page as though her hand was too tired to hold the pen properly any more, then the writing resumed.
I was so sure she could not cross water.
Katherine
my nemesis …
That was all. Joss rested the book on her knee and stared into the flames.
Katherine.
The name that echoed through her head and through the his tory of the house. I was so sure she could not cross water. What did that mean? That she had come to France? Followed Laura here?
What was the significance of crossing water? Witches couldn’t cross water; wasn’t that a part of the tradition? But it was Katherine’s mother who was the witch. And why should Katherine come here? What was Laura to her?
Her head was throbbing. She rested it wearily on her knees as the book slid to the floor and lay face down on the carpet. She could hear the ticking of the long case clock in the hall, slow, hypnotic; reassuring. In the hearth the logs burned with an occasional quiet hiss throwing a wonderful fragrant warmth around her. Closing her eyes she laid her head back against the cushions.
Come back to me, Katherine, love of my life and my destiny …
The cry wrenched her back from sleep with a leap of fear. It had been too loud; too desperate.
It was a dream; nothing more. A nightmare sparked off by reading the diaries. She picked up the book and clutched it against her chest. Poor Laura. Did she have any peace at all before she died? She had died here, in this house, Paul had said, attended by a full-time nurse over the last few days. The end had been quiet, he said, although she had said she wanted no more drugs. He had been sitting with her, her hand in his, and she had smiled at him, perfectly lucid, before closing her eyes for the last time. If she had cried out the names of any strangers he had not mentioned it.
Trying to shake off her melancholy she drew the small leather jewel box towards her and opened the latch on the flap which fastened it. Inside cushioned in faded blue velvet lay several very beautiful pieces – a string of pearls, some lapis beads, several brooches and half a dozen rings.
It was growing dark when Paul and Luke returned, hearty, glowing with cold and eager they had already laughingly agreed for an English cup of tea. Standing in the doorway Paul looked down at Joss near the fire. He could hardly see her in the dusk of the room. ‘Ma chère Jocelyn, I’m sorry. Were you asleep?’
For a moment she closed her eyes, trying to compose herself then with a smile she scrambled to her feet. ‘No. Only dreaming and perhaps a little sad.’
‘Ah. Perhaps we should have given you longer to look at your treasures.’ He came over and put his arm round her, giving her shoulder a squeeze. ‘Laura would not have wanted you to be sad, Jocelyn. She was happy in France.’
‘Was she?’ Joss hadn’t meant it to come out that way – as an accusation. ‘Are you sure? Are you sure she didn’t bring her demons with her?’ She brushed her eyes with the back of her hand.
‘Demons?’ he echoed.
She gestured at the notebook on the carpet. ‘Did you read her diaries?’
For a moment he looked shocked then slowly he sat down. ‘Jocelyn, it may surprise you to know that I never did. Laura asked me to burn them, and I meant to. I put all her things in that box to take them outside to the garden and put them on the fire, but I couldn’t bear to do it. In the end I put the whole box away – perhaps in a strange way to wait for you to make the decision if you ever came,’ he shrugged, ‘I don’t know. But for whatever reason the things were there for you. But they were not mine to read.’
‘But you were her husband.’
‘Yes.’ He gave a grave smile.
Joss looked up at him. ‘You were only married at the very end.’
He nodded. ‘So, she wrote about that.’