He was sitting at an untidy desk, staring out of the window, but he climbed wearily to his feet as she came in. ‘Come and sit by the fire, Abi.’ Sweet scented logs were roaring happily in the hearth, obviously newly lit and still fed by firelighters, she noted as she took one of the squashy armchairs. They were upholstered in blue patterned chintz which seemed somewhat incongruous in the distinctly masculine surroundings of Ben’s study. Very comfortable though. She noticed the discreet box of Kleenex on the small table at her elbow. The window looked out over the front drive where she had left her battered green car parked under a field maple. The leaves were turning the most stunning shades of scarlet and ochre.

‘I’m seeing ghosts, Ben.’ She hadn’t even waited for him to sit down opposite her as she blurted out her confession.

Deciding to remain standing, he arranged himself comfortably with his back to the fire. ‘Tell me about them.’

‘Aren’t you shocked?’

He shook his head. ‘David told me all about your experiences in Cambridge and Mat and Cal said you’d already seen our own domestic crew.’ He smiled.

‘It doesn’t worry you?’

‘Not if it doesn’t worry you.’

She paused, thinking about that one. She was worried, obviously, otherwise why would she have come to see him. But about what? She had prayed for a long time the night before and this morning, in the cold light of dawn as the sun rose over the Mendips she realised what it was that had alarmed her so much. Mora had followed her inside, had appeared while she was talking about being a healer and then, and this was what had scared her, had made eye contact. This was not like a film, watching a bunch of people in another dimension somehow going about their daily lives and allowing her to watch. Or being completely unaware that she was watching. Nor was it some kind of eternally playing record, etched onto the Woodley atmosphere. This was one of their number, a druid priestess, by all accounts, trying to contact her.

Ben listened to her halting description of what had happened.

‘And Cal didn’t see her too?’

Abi shook her head.

‘Or the dogs. Dogs often see ghosts in my experience.’ He smiled.

‘The dogs were out with Mat.’

Abandoning the fire he threw himself down in the armchair facing hers, steepling his fingers over his knees thoughtfully as he stared down at the carpet between them. ‘You have prayed, of course.’

She nodded. ‘Kier rang me yesterday, Ben,’ she went on suddenly. ‘David has suspended him.’

Ben waited for her to say something else. When she lapsed into silence he glanced up. ‘I can see this has upset you,’ he said cautiously.

‘He had the phone number of the house. He knows where I am. He is still accusing me of witchcraft.’ She gave a shrill laugh. ‘I know it’s stupid, Ben, but it frightened me. He sounded so vicious.’ She bit her lip. ‘And what if he’s right? What if I am possessed in some way? What if seeing Mora, contacting her, is exactly that. Witchcraft.’

‘Abi, you have not contacted this,’ he hesitated, seeking the right word, ‘this entity, this woman, deliberately. You have not performed rites or spells or conjured her intentionally. You have prayed for help. And you have come to me for advice, so get the idea of your being a witch right out of your head. Kieran Scott is at the moment a disturbed and angry man with his own problems. He is not thinking rationally and he is looking for excuses for his own bad behaviour. Leave him to David. He is not your concern.’ He paused for a moment, deep in thought.

Abi watched him. He had a gentle, intelligent face, not unlike his two brothers, but older, more lined, his hair already white. There was wisdom and reassurance in this man. Instinctively she liked and trusted him. ‘I did contact her deliberately,’ she said softly. She glanced up at him. His eyes were fixed on the tips of his fingers, on his knees. ‘Not at first, of course, but once I discovered how easy it was, I couldn’t resist trying to do it again.’

He said nothing. She hesitated, then went on. ‘It was the crystal ball my mother gave me. Not a round shiny thing, like you see in jokes about fortune tellers. No, this is a lump of unpolished rock crystal, dredged out of a mountain or a river somewhere. It is a wild crystal, still encased in its bedrock.’ She smiled at this description. Athena would approve. ‘Somehow it acts as a key. It has switched me on to see and hear and know things I didn’t know before. I only have to think about them and I seem to be there. It is an heirloom. It seems to have been passed down my mother’s family and it has enabled the women in the family to tune in to the unseen.’ She stood up and took a short turn round the room, moving in short agitated steps towards the fireplace and then back to her chair. Throwing herself down again she shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it’s evil. It’s not witchcraft, is it! It sounds as though it is, but I am not conjuring spirits. I can’t be. Those spirits have always been there. They are your family’s ghosts, not mine!’ The words came out as a wail of despair. ‘Ben, my mother left it to me as a sacred trust. I mustn’t get rid of it; I can’t drop it into a lake. I can’t lose it or give it away except to my own daughter.’ She rubbed her hands down her face and looked up again in despair. ‘My mother told me it would destroy my Christian faith.’

Ben didn’t move, still intent on studying his fingertips. When at last he spoke, it was without looking up at her. ‘This must terrify you, Abi.’

For a moment she considered. Then she shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. Not terrify. That’s not the right word. What is happening is odd and disconcerting. Unsettling. But not terrifying.’

He thought for a moment. ‘Do you still believe in the power of prayer?’

‘Of course I do.’ She stood up again, pushing her hair back off her face. ‘This hasn’t destroyed my faith in God, just in myself as a priest.’

‘Then why don’t we pray together.’ He looked up at last. ‘Sit down and take a moment to compose yourself. Push away your doubts and fears. Still your mind.’

Behind him a log shifted in the fire. She reached into her pocket for a tissue and sat miserably twisting it between her fingers as she stared down at the carpet. Ben stood up. Stepping forward he removed it gently from her hands and turning, threw it on the fire. Then he went back to his chair. After a moment he began to say the Lord’s Prayer. Abi closed her eyes. When he had finished they both sat quietly for several minutes.

‘“My daughter, in time of illness do not be remiss, but pray to the Lord and he will heal you. Keep clear of wrong-doing, amend your ways, And cleanse your heart from all sin.”’

Ben raised his eyes and looked at her. ‘You know the passage from Ecclesiasticus?’

She nodded dumbly. ‘Am I committing a sin?’

‘Only God can know that. You aren’t happy about what is happening or you wouldn’t have come to me about it, would you. You feel uncomfortable. You are uncertain. I can only suggest you pray. Surround yourself with the love of God. If you feel you shouldn’t be doing this, Abi, stop.’ He fixed his gaze on her. ‘Recite the Breastplate. “Christ in quiet, Christ in danger, Christ in mouth of friend and stranger”, remember? If the crystal frightens you, hide it. Put it away. Give it to someone to look after it for you. Don’t think about it. Don’t let it have power over you. The fact that it came from your mother is incidental. Don’t allow your loyalty or your grief to sway you into doing something you wouldn’t do normally.’

Abi was thoughtful. ‘It has passed through generations of women in my family,’ she said after another silence. ‘I wondered if Lydia or Petronilla might be my ancestor.’ As soon as she said the words her eyes flew up to meet his. ‘Oh, my God, Ben! I don’t know why I said that. And it’s ludicrous. Woodley is your family home, not mine.’

‘Though your mother came from not far away.’ He smiled. ‘It might be true but I doubt if you can ever prove it.’

‘What if the crystal was Mora’s? What if she knows it is telling her story? What if it has come down through her descendents from mother to daughter all those generations?’

Ben looked sceptical. ‘I hardly think that is likely or even possible. If these people are Romans and druids, you are talking about nearly a couple of thousand years, Abi!’

‘But it makes sense of what is happening to me.’ Suddenly she was excited.

‘Does it?’ He held her gaze. ‘Are you sure?’

She looked away, deflated, and shrugged. ‘I still don’t know what to do.’

He grinned affably. ‘So, you’re not going to stop?’

‘I’m not sure I can. Not because I’m not capable of saying no, but because I’m not always sure when it is going to happen or how or why.’ She stood up. ‘I don’t have to be holding the stone. It has happened more often without it than with! Spontaneously. Without me doing anything to initiate it.’

‘Then, whoever she is for now, we must hope she means you well.’

‘So, taking all that into account, do you think Kieran is right and I’m some sort of witch?’

Ben laughed. ‘Is that what is really worrying you? Not that what you are doing might be in some way wrong, but that it might be seen as witchcraft? What is witchcraft, Abi? How do you see witches?’

‘Isn’t it more about how he sees them? For him I am the impersonation of the female half of the evil zeitgeist.’

Ben raised an eyebrow. ‘And do you feel this describes you at all?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Then forget witchcraft.’ He stepped forward and took her hand. ‘Go home, Abi. Relax. Rest. Pray. Spend time in St Mary’s. That is what you are here for. Try to resist the urge to conjure spirits. If they come anyway, watch, but stay uninvolved. We will talk again in a day or two.’