The Hunted Hare Read online

  Also by Fay Sampson

  For adults:

  The Land of Angels

  The Flight of the Sparrow

  A Casket of Earth

  The Island Pilgrimage

  The Silent Fort

  Star Dancer

  The Suzie Fewings series:

  In the Blood

  A Malignant House

  Those in Peril

  Father Unknown

  The Morgan le Fay series:

  Wise Woman’s Telling

  Nun’s Telling

  Blacksmith’s Telling

  Taliesin’s Telling

  Herself

  Daughter of Tintagel (Omnibus edition)

  For children:

  The Sorcerer’s Trap

  The Sorcerer’s Daughter

  Them

  Hard Rock

  The Pangur Ban series:

  Pangur Ban

  Finnglas of the Horses

  Finnglas and the Stones of Choosing

  Shape Shifter

  The Serpent of Senargad

  The White Horse is Running

  Non-fiction:

  Visions and Voyages: The Story of Celtic Spirituality

  Runes on the Cross: The Story of our Anglo-Saxon Heritage

  The Hunted Hare

  Fay Sampson

  The first volume in The Aidan Mysteries

  Copyright © 2012 by Fay Sampson

  The right of Fay Sampson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  First published in the UK in 2012 by Monarch Books

  (a publishing imprint of Lion Hudson plc)

  Wilkinson House, Jordan Hill Road, Oxford OX2 8DR, England

  Tel: +44 (0)1865 302750 Fax: +44 (0)1865 302757

  Email: [email protected]

  www.lionhudson.com

  ISBN 978 0 85721 204 7 (print)

  ISBN 978 0 85721 339 6 (Kindle)

  ISBN 978 0 85721 340 2 (epub)

  British Library Cataloguing Data

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  With thanks to Pollinger Limited, Authors’ Agents, www.pollingerltd.com

  Cover image: Lion Hudson

  To Jack

  Author’s Note

  All the characters in this novel are fictitious, and bear no resemblance to any real person, living or dead.

  The shrine church at Pennant Melangell and the St Melangell Centre are real, and well worth a visit. For the purposes of this novel I have added the fictional House of the Hare and Capel-y-Cwm. My apologies to local landowners, some of whose land I have appropriated for this.

  I have also invented Caradoc Lewis’s museum in Llanfyllin.

  My thanks to the priest and congregation of St Melangell’s Church and the St Melangell Centre for their welcome. The site has a special aura of holiness. My apologies for the fictional damage I have inflicted on their historic church in the course of the novel.

  I am grateful to Sergeant Darren Brown for advice on local policing.

  To Joyce Perry for her careful critique.

  And to my husband, Jack, for allowing me to drag him over steep and thorny Welsh hillsides.

  Contents

  Also by Fay Sampson

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Preview

  Chapter One

  THE BERWYN MOUNTAINS closed in around the narrow lane. Bluebells gleamed in the hedge banks. Aidan wondered whether his camera could capture the subtle blend of young green ferns and violet-blue flowers.

  The sign ahead warned them that there was no through road. They drove on.

  Two walkers with backpacks flattened themselves against the hedge. The fair young man was almost dwarfed by his rucksack, while the darker-skinned girl carried a lighter load. Aidan steered round them.

  In the rear-view mirror, he caught his daughter’s small intent face, under its mop of light-brown curls. He grinned at her.

  “When your mother and I came, that’s what we did. Walked all the way from the village. It’s the best way for pilgrims to come to Pennant Melangell. In a little while, there’s a footpath you can take over the side of the hill to the church.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m going to be holding you two back.” Jenny’s quiet voice came from beside him.

  Aidan glanced at her, guilt-stricken. The pink-and-purple scarf hid her bald head, which chemotherapy had robbed of its own unruly curls.

  “I didn’t mean…”

  “I know you didn’t.” She laid a hand on his knee. Too thin a hand. “Don’t worry. Once we’re at the House of the Hare, you two can set off wherever you like. You have to take Melangell to the waterfall.”

  “Did you call me Melangell because I was conceived here?” The child’s voice came from the back seat.

  The car swerved as Aidan started.

  “Don’t look so shocked, Daddy. Michael Jackson called his daughter Paris because that was where she began. Everybody knows that.”

  Aidan caught Jenny’s eye. “Did you know that sort of thing when you were seven?”

  She smiled. “Melangell knows a surprising number of things we didn’t.”

  She leaned over the back of the seat. “We stayed in that pub back in Llangynog last time. The one where we had lunch. There was no accommodation at Pennant Melangell then.”

  “I’m glad there is now. The House of the Hare. I like the sound of that.”

  “Yes, the hare was St Melangell’s animal. Even before that, it was an ancient symbol of new life. But, really, we called you Melangell because we just fell in love with the place, as soon as we got there.”

  “It’s one of those ‘thin places’,” said Aidan. “Like Iona. Where heaven and earth come close together. You can feel it.”

  “Aidan!” Jenny cried.

  He braked sharply. A large car came hurtling down the narrow lane towards them. There was no room for two vehicles to pass. At intervals along the way he had seen passing places. There was none in sight here. The black Jaguar screeched to a halt, only feet from their bumper. The horn blasted. Two faces were hardly discernible from behind the tinted windscreen.

  Aidan felt a surge of anger. Idiots!

  He took a deep breath.
He must not lose control of his temper. There were two precious lives, as well as his own, to consider.

  He reversed the car back down the road until he reached one of the indentations. He pulled over. The Jaguar shot past. Through the side window Aidan had a glimpse of pale shirt fronts and darker suits. The driver did not raise his hand in acknowledgment.

  He waited several seconds more, while his blood pressure steadied.

  “So much for the spiritual atmosphere.”

  “They didn’t look like your average pilgrim,” Jenny said.

  He pulled out on to the road again.

  “I can see it! I can see it!” Melangell bounced on the back seat.

  The low tower of the ancient chapel emerged from between the budding branches. It rose hardly taller than the slate roof, and was capped with a small latticed bell turret. Around it lay a scatter of whitewashed cottages, with their own slate roofs.

  Aidan turned off the road and drew up by the churchyard. The car had hardly come to a halt before Melangell jumped out. She was running for the gate when she stopped dead. She stared up. Her mouth fell open in awe.

  “It’s gi-normous! And that one! And those two!”

  Aidan glanced at Jenny and met her smile.

  Around the church grew five gigantic yew trees. Centuries had swelled their girth to a size Aidan could not recall having seen anywhere else. These were not the disciplined churchyard yews he was used to, clipped into neat cylinders. Their canopies were vast. Two of them had split their trunks, so that you could see the sky between the two halves. The one nearest the gate had a hollow tall and deep enough to stand inside. Melangell ran and did just that. Her elfin face peeped out at them from a doorway of hoary bark.

  Aidan swung the Nikon from his shoulder and caught the moment. The frame of his photograph held the frame of the yew tree, with his daughter captured inside both.

  “I’m the hare. I’m Melangell’s hare, hiding from the hunters under her skirt. You’re the hounds, and you can’t get me.”

  She jumped out, too excited to stay still for long. “Can we see the carvings in the church?”

  “All in good time,’ Aidan said. “Let’s find the House of the Hare first. I expect your mother could do with a rest, before we start exploring.”

  “I could murder a cup of tea,” Jenny laughed. She turned slowly, taking in the remembered circular churchyard, the long, low shrine church, the whitewashed buildings beyond.

  “The St Melangell Centre’s down that lane, isn’t it? It was the Cancer Help Centre then. Funny.” Her smile faded. “When we came here before, it never occurred to us that I…”

  He gripped her hand. “There’s a lot we didn’t know then.”

  She reached up her free hand to stroke the bark of the yew. “I seem to remember the women recovering from cancer saw these trees as part of their therapy. And it’s true. You get taxol from yews. It’s one of the best treatments for ovarian cancer. The only trouble is, if you strip too much of the bark, the tree dies.”

  Aidan was silent. They both knew that Jenny’s condition was worsening. The drugs had not done what they hoped. Jenny had been given only months to live.

  He turned his head towards the church. His heart filled with longing. If any place could work miracles, surely this was it. There was an aura of holiness about Pennant Melangell, these quiet meadows at the head of the valley, where the road ran out. Already, standing in the shadow of these yews, he could feel the stillness reaching to his heart. If they prayed here, if they really believed, could the power of this place reverse the conclusion of the oncologists?

  Jenny was looking about her, more confused now. “I can’t see anything that looks like the House of the Hare. There’s no new building. Just the cottages and the Centre, as there used to be.”

  “There are gates over there.” Melangell pointed.

  A little way along the road, before it ended at the foot of the mountains, there were indeed two stone gateposts, with circular globes on them which must be lit at night.

  Aidan got back into the car. “Come on. Let’s try it.”

  Melangell was right. A decoratively carved slab of slate bore the inscription: “The House of the Hare”. They turned into the drive. Trees screened the way ahead.

  “It’s certainly well hidden,” Jenny said. “They’ve done their best not to let it ruin the place.”

  “There must have been a house here before. These are mature trees.”

  The drive curved. Melangell gasped.

  The house soared in front of them. Timber-sided, with huge, floor-to-ceiling windows. The roof of blue Welsh slate tilted at steep and unexpected angles. Aidan’s eye delighted in the complex planes of sunshine and shadow.

  “Wow!” he said, reaching for his camera. “I guess the planning committee took some convincing, but I bet this design knocked them sideways. It’s stunningly modern, yet everything belongs in this locality.”

  “The views from the top windows should be fantastic,” Jenny said. “I can’t wait. I’m so glad we booked here, and not back at the pub as we did before.”

  Aidan started towards the glass doors. The foyer was empty. He rang the bell on the reception desk. But as he did so, there were voices on the stairs. Down the wide sunlit flight came two people.

  The first was a large man in expensive-looking cream linen slacks and a crisp short-sleeved shirt. The white of the fabric set off the sandy brown of his skin. Close black curls topped his wide face. Dark eyes surveyed them. Then he broke into a dazzling smile.

  Behind him came an equally striking young woman in a pale green dress and a darker cardigan. Her heart-shaped face was almost white. Jet black waves of hair fell around her shoulders. Her eyes were a startling blue.

  The man reached the bottom step and held out a broad hand to them.

  “Thaddaeus Brown. Welcome to the House of the Hare.” He released Aidan’s hand and waved at the foyer around them. “I hope you’ll find everything to your liking.”

  “It looks amazing,” Jenny said. “We’re the Davisons. We’ve booked to stay for a week.”

  “Ah, yes… Sian!’ His voice boomed along the resonating wooden walls. “Guests!”

  It was not the young woman behind him he was summoning. She still stood on the lowest stair, clutching her cardigan around her, unsmiling.

  Thaddaeus Brown turned back to them.

  “I can’t tell you how excited I am. This is the fulfilment of a dream. Well, Lorna’s dream, actually.” He threw the girl behind him an affectionate smile. “People in need, able to stay here at Pennant Melangell, in the House of the Hare. We built this just for someone like you, Jenny.”

  He turned his deep brown eyes on her. The woman he had called Sian came hurrying along the corridor into the foyer, but he did not turn to her.

  He had not introduced the girl in the green dress he called Lorna. Aidan looked her way, and saw her standing a little apart, biting her lip. He could not be sure whether the pallor of her lovely face was natural, or whether she looked frightened.

  Chapter Two

  IT WAS LONG MOMENTS BEFORE Thaddaeus Brown’s dark eyes released Jenny’s. Only when he moved on towards the door did she realize that she had been holding her breath.

  The girl followed him out into the sunlight. Jenny hardly noticed her.

  She was suddenly immensely tired. She leaned against the reception desk for support.

  “Mrs Davison? Are you all right?”

  Sian the receptionist came hurrying forward. Jenny looked up with a forced smile.

  “I’m all right, thanks. Just a bit tired from the journey.”

  Aidan, always watchful, was steering a chair towards her. She sank into it thankfully. His ginger-bearded face leaned anxiously over her.

  “Sorry. I was doing fine until just now.”

  “Can I get you something? A cup of tea?” The woman’s voice had a warm Welsh lilt.

  Now that her attention steadied on Sian, Jenny thought she looked
more like a park ranger than a hotel receptionist. She wore a khaki short-sleeved shirt, khaki denim trousers and canvas boots. Her full round face was framed by fair hair. She had the kind of plumpness that bounced with health.

  Jenny was conscious anew of her own wasted frame. She looked down at her hand on her knee. Too thin, too transparent.

  She drank the offered tea and felt the glow spread through her body.

  “Who was the girl?” Aidan asked.

  “With Mr Brown? That’s Lorna, his niece.”

  “Do they live in the house?”

  “Oh, no. But this is the beginning of our first season. Thaddaeus… Mr Brown… wanted to be here to make sure it was a success. He’s so excited about it. We all are.” Her wide smile turned to include Jenny. “This is just what we hoped for. A place where people like you could come and stay. Pennant Melangell was always a healing place.”

  Jenny caught Aidan’s eye and saw the flicker of apprehension. This was dangerous ground. After the last round of chemotherapy there had been a long discussion between her oncologist and the two of them. Jenny had made her decision. No more treatment. She would conserve her energy to live the last months of her life to the full, not shuttling between home and hospital for sessions that left her weaker than before.

  But they had long known the reputation of this place. Medieval pilgrims had come to the saint’s shrine just for this. More recently, the Help Centre had offered support to women with cancer, before it extended its remit to others in need. There was still a weekly service with the laying on of hands. It lay unspoken between Jenny and Aidan, the possibility that beyond the power of medicine there might be something more.