And the voice was gone.

Only the sound of the shift and suck of the tide on the beach and the cry of gulls broke the cold silence of the dawn.

19

When Toby and Phyllis and Serena arrived it had been full daylight for a while. Anna was sitting on the sea wall, her hands in her pockets, her coat collar turned up around her neck. The tide was at its height, gentler now, lapping at the seaweed and shells which marked its highest point. Soon it would start its retreat and draw back across the beach, leaving it sparkling and clean.

Anna looked up as they approached. She smiled wearily. ‘It’s all over. The bottle has gone.’

They stopped in their tracks. ‘Are you sure?’ It was Toby who voiced the thought they all shared.

She nodded. ‘I smashed it.’

‘And what happened?’

‘Nothing! The tears of Isis had evaporated. All there was left inside were a few grains of sand.’

‘And Carstairs?’ Toby scanned her face anxiously.

She frowned. ‘Carstairs has gone too.’ Stiffly she rose to her feet. ‘He left you a message before he went.’

Toby frowned. He braced himself visibly. ‘What was it?’

‘He seemed to think you and I had a future together.’ She reached out and took his hand. ‘He gave us his blessing; he said he thought a Shelley woman could make a man of you!’

‘What?’ For a moment his face was a picture of indignation. Then it relaxed and he reached out towards her and drew her into his arms. ‘She might at that,’ he said softly. ‘She just might, if she could ever grow to trust me again.’

She smiled. ‘I trust you, Toby.’

As they kissed in the ice cold wind Serena and Phyllis exchanged glances.

‘Yes!’ Phyllis raised her thumb in triumph.

Nestling into Toby’s arms Anna clung to him tightly. The rest of Lord Carstairs’ final message she would keep to herself.

The Storyteller

I am a storyteller.

I sit by the fire

With the night at my back

And wait for you to come.

I am a storyteller.

One by one you draw near

And sit down in the shadows

Silently

To wait

For the weaving of words.

I am a storyteller.

I paint pictures in your head

Which dance and spin and live

And change the world into mirrored glass.

I am a storyteller.

I conjure the sea

And juggle the stars.

I deal the cards

I cut the pack.

And captive, with a shiver,

You glance over your shoulder

Into the night.

I am a storyteller.

I hold the strings in my hand.

I command your tears and I let you laugh

And you hold your breath as I weave my

tale.

I am a storyteller.

Silent. Alone, I watch others play.

From the shadows

I peer into warm lighted windows

Unnoticed. Outside. On my own.

I am a storyteller.

I hold the reins.

I knit with emotion

At the foot of the blade.

Splashed by your blood

I tell them your history.

Then I turn back again

Into anonymity and silence.

I am a storyteller.

You must listen with care.

I can banish your boredom

And teach you to listen.

But when I finish

I will no longer be there.

I am a storyteller.

When the fire flames die

At last I am quiet.

You go back to your houses;

To the lights and the noise.

And I fade back

Into the dark.

About the Author

Barbara Erskine is the author of Lady of Hay, which has sold well over a million copies worldwide, Kingdom of Shadows, Encounters and Child of the Phoenix, which was based on the story of one of her own ancestors. Midnight is a Lonely Place and House of Echoes were short- listed for the W H Smith Thumping Good Read awards of 1995 and 1997 respectively and were followed by Distant Voices and On the Edge of Darkness. Her most recent novels, Whispers in the Sand and Hiding From the Light were both Sunday Times top ten bestsellers. Barbara Erskine’s novels have been translated into thirty languages.