The Moon Spun Round (9 page)

‘All things are poisonous if misused—even water can kill you if you drink enough of it. Yes, that bottle is a liniment, for external use only. Most of the jars contain ointments. The herbs and flowers are used for making infusions. I like to keep a few items readymade for emergencies, but I find it’s better to make up prescriptions individually for each treatment. They seem to be more potent when I have the patient in mind.’

‘And what about these?’ Sally holds her hand over small baskets overflowing with what look like uncut gemstones. There’s a tingling sensation in her palm and fingertips, like a mild electrical charge. She knows instinctively not to touch.

‘You can feel the energy from them, can’t you?’ says Abbie. ‘I guessed you might. They each have a certain vibration that can heal or give protection. Go on, choose one. Let your hand guide you. Your mind and body know what you need.’

Sally allows her hand to hover over each container and, yes, perhaps she can feel a variation as she moves from the clear quartz to the amber, then on to the amethyst. She stops over a group of small, misshapen rocks. At first they appear a sort of translucent yellowy and white glass, but, picking one up between her fingers and turning it in the light, she sees it is shot through with many other colours.

‘Is this an opal?’

‘Yes, it is. Some people call it the Stone of Karma. It’s reputed to help you remember past lives.’

‘Really? You know, since I’ve been here it’s like I’ve been trying to remember something. Sometimes I think I know…’

‘What do you know?

‘I’m not sure.’ Sally shrugs. ‘I just seem to know things, that’s all.’

‘You must keep that stone, then, carry it with you. It may help to bring those things into focus. You say you’ve used Bach remedies before? You know what they are and how they work?’

‘Distilled essences of flowers, aren’t they? A sort of homeopathic remedy that works more on a psychological level. Something about getting at the underlying mental problem that’s causing the physical symptoms. Have I remembered that right?’

‘Near enough. How have you been sleeping?’

‘Fine. It was awful at first. I’d be awake all night and exhausted all day. But since I came here, all that’s changed. This last week I’ve slept better than I have for years.’

‘That’s good. You certainly look more relaxed. OK, give me a hair will you, from the crown of your head.’

Sally does as instructed, and Abbie inserts it into what looks like a wooden bob on a leather thong. She spends some time moving this over the ranks of flower remedy bottles, finally selecting two. When she turns to look at Sally, her face is clouded with concern.

‘You need pine and crab-apple, the pendulum says. Not what I would have expected.’

‘What does it mean?’

‘It suggests you feel angry with yourself and guilty, as if you’ve done something you’re ashamed of and it’s preying on your mind.’

‘Yes, that’s exactly how I feel. But I don’t know what it is I feel guilty about, or why. It’s as if there’s something just under the surface and I can’t reach it.’

‘People go through all lots of emotional turmoil when they lose someone close to them. Disbelief, resentment—it’s all part of grieving.’

‘Yes, that’s what Jonathan’s friends keep telling me. Did I tell you he was a psychotherapist? It was one of the things he did, run training courses on grief counselling. Ironic, really.’

‘Then you don’t need me to tell you the strange things bereavement does to people. And after all it’s only been a few weeks. You need to be kind to yourself.’ Abbie adds a few drops from each of the two bottles to a small phial, tops it up with water from a larger bottle, then hands it to Sally. ‘There you are. You know how to take it, don’t you? Three drops, three times a day. And carry the opal with you, near your body. In a pocket will do. Give it a few weeks and we’ll try again, see if there’s been any change.’

‘Thank you, that’s great, but you must let me pay you for this. I know those drops cost money and that opal must be worth something. What’s your usual charge?’

‘No. Actually, I owe you. Shall we say we’re even?’

‘Owe me for what?’

Abbie hesitates, then takes a deep breath. ‘I’ve been trying to find the right time to talk to you about this. There’s something you need to know. For a start, I’ve a confession to make. The thing is, I’ve been trespassing on your property. And stealing.’

‘Really? Stealing what?’

‘Water.’

‘Water? Oh, for heaven’s sake. You are joking, aren’t you?’ But Abbie looks too serious. ‘I don’t believe this.’

‘There’s a natural spring on your land. The water’s very pure and I’ve been using it for my medicinal work. And, er…’

‘How much water are we talking about?’

‘Oh, only a few bottles a year.’

‘So, what’s the problem? I don’t—’

‘But, the thing is…I’m not the only one.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Sally is thoughtful for a moment. ‘That might explain something. I told you I’ve been sleeping well, and I have. Up until last night. Something woke me, though I don’t know what exactly. Don’t worry, it was long after your party had finished. But there was this woman. Cat was with her and she came out of the trees and across the lawn. She was carrying what looked like a water jar.’

‘I’m sorry, we should have told you before.’

‘We? Who’s “we”?’

‘There’s a few of us who go to the spring. I don’t know all of them, I don’t think anyone does. No one goes there very often, and we never take much,
only what we can carry away and never more than we need.’

‘I found the spring this morning, and the pool, on the shortcut through the trees. And there are things under the water. Lots of old things, like jewellery.’

‘It’s a sort of tradition, a gift for the Goddess. It’s a way of saying thank you for…Look, this must sound really crazy. It all started a very long time ago. You have to understand that this village is old, built over and over again on the same site. It goes back centuries. The spring has always been there and people have always believed the water is somehow special. More than that, they believed that it has certain properties and that it is looked after by a guardian spirit.’

‘What, like a sort of sacred grove?’

‘Something like that. This whole area used to be forest, you see. Gradually the land was cleared for farming, especially around the time the manor house was built. That’s this place, of course, though, like your cottage, the original building was much older. But the area of trees around the spring was always preserved. At some time someone put a house there. Probably just a one-room shelter, but it got altered over time. That’s how it got its name, Stonewater Cottage—from the spring. Anyway, the woods gradually retreated down towards the river and the stream still runs through what’s left of it. But you would know that: you said you’d taken the walk across the fields and through the woods to the bridge.’

‘Yes, the first time I came. The day of the accident.’

‘Well, anyway, that’s how your cottage and land became separated, like a sort of island among the manor farmlands. It was for the women of the village, you see, they still needed the water. And the place itself, it has its own power, not only in the water. I’m not explaining this very well.’

‘Are you trying to tell me that I own some sort of shrine?’

‘Yes, you could put it like that.’

‘What, like the one at Glastonbury or something? Does this mean I’m going to get coach parties arriving in the summer, trippers wanting cream teas and bottles of holy water?’

Abbie smiles. ‘Oh, no, no. Nothing like that, I promise you. In fact we’ve always been careful to keep it a secret. There are only a few women who know about it. Only those who
need
it.’

‘And do I get any say in the matter?’ Sally sounds concerned.

‘Of course. It’s your land, everyone respects that. I promise there won’t be any problem for you. As I say, the women are very discreet, they’ll come and go without you even noticing.’

‘You said something before about this village always being a place for women. What sort of women?’

‘Healers, like myself, seers, women who work with natural energies.’

‘Witches?’

‘Yes, some may have been called witches, wise women, those who understood the wisdom of the Earth.’

‘And where do I fit into all this?’

‘Maybe that’s one of the things you’re trying to remember. Perhaps the water itself may help you—’

There are sounds from the stables beyond the office partition. Wilson is suddenly restless, shifting in his stall, the weight of his body falling against the gate. He lets out a cry, a sharp-edged whinny, agitated. Abbie goes to the door and Sally follows, her head spinning, trying to make sense of what she has been told. She wants to find out more, but Abbie is now onto other matters.

‘What’s up, boy? Something upset you? Oh, I see.’ She points at something near the main door: a small grey shadow that darts away and out into the yard. ‘A visitor. Your cat, I think.’

‘She must have followed me over here. I thought I’d left her in the trees.’

‘Oh, she comes over quite often now. It started before you moved in, when I was feeding her.’

‘Is that all right? She won’t frighten the horses, will she?’

‘I was rather hoping she’d frighten the mice.’

There are shouts and giggles and yaps from the hall. Two Jack Russell terriers, out earlier with George and Philip, cannot believe their luck when they are leashed again for an after-lunch walk down to the pub. The four young people are going for a pint and a game of snooker. The front door bangs behind them and the house sinks into a comfortable silence. Sally, Abbie and George savour it for a few moments. Sally’s mind is still in Abbie’s office with its cupboard full of mysteries. She is aware of the roughly formed opal in the depths of her pocket, along with the little bottle of Bach remedy. That must be one of the things Abbie uses the spring water for. She’s also aware of George sitting opposite her at the table, and knows that this isn’t a good time to talk about it.

George and Philip had returned from whatever they were doing to the tractor, both claiming starvation. Despite the lavish meal, they had dined comfortably in the kitchen, all seated around the huge table. The oversized hunk of beef was quickly reduced to a few scraps, and Philip, as eldest son, claimed his right to the last roast potato. The table now lies in a chaos of empty platters and wine glasses.

‘You sure you’ve had enough, Sally? The swarm of locusts has left us a little of the dessert. I’m glad they made two apple pies. Look, there’s barely a quarter of one left.’

‘You must be kidding! I don’t think I’ll need to eat again for a fortnight. Where did all that food go?’

‘Growing boys,’ says George. ‘Never ceases to amaze me how much they can pack away. Thank God we only have to feed them at weekends, eh love?’

Sally liked George instantly, but can well believe his intolerance of Abbie’s interest in alternative medicine. He’s a solid man, the cornerstone of this family. There’s a kind edge to his firmness of speech, and his judgements are tempered with fairness. If I were ever in trouble with the law, she thinks, I’d know exactly who to go to; just don’t mention UFO sightings or crop circles. Obviously, the family is genetically divided down the centre. If Daniel is his mother’s son, then Philip is the product of his father: dark hair, dark eyes, solid, dependable. Philip has inherited his father’s love of horses; but in Daniel, as in Abbie, it’s more of a soul-bonding with the creatures. And it doesn’t stop there.

‘Tell me,’ says Sally, ‘what’s all this about Daniel and the elephants?’

‘Oh, that. It started when he was about four.’ George looks to Abbie for confirmation. ‘We took him to Colchester Zoo. As soon as he saw the elephants, he was sold. Spent the whole day by their enclosure, wouldn’t look at anything else. It’s been a passion with him ever since. We went to Africa when he was, what, twelve? Safari holiday. That sealed his future.’

‘So he wants to work with elephants?’

‘Yes, but we’re not sure if it will be veterinary college or zoology. At the moment he’s filling in at the polytechnic, doing a two-year foundation course in animal welfare while he makes up his mind.’

‘And Philip’s up at Cambridge reading history, isn’t he? What does he want to do?’

‘He’s not really sure yet. He’s always been interested in local history. Queen Boudicca, the Iceni tribes and all that.’

‘I was watching something on TV last night about ancient bones being found near here. Sabre-toothed tigers. Boudicca came from round this way, too, didn’t she?’

‘Yes, towards Ely anyway. This whole area has a very colourful history. And of course this part of Suffolk is Matthew Hopkins country.’

‘I’m sorry, who’s Matthew Hopkins?’

‘He was more recent, the 1600s. The Witchfinder General.’

Abbie stands up. ‘Sally, you’d like some coffee, wouldn’t you?’

‘Love some, but you must let me help wash up.’

‘No need,’ says George, ‘we’ve got a machine does that. Tell you what, you clear the table, Sally, and I’ll load the dishwasher while Abbie makes the coffee. That’s right, just pile them on the workbench. And what about you, Sally, what do you do for a living? Abbie said something about putting you in touch with prospective clients.’