“Hi!” Cleo, the night owl, answered straight away. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Lucy had decided that she didn’t actually want to confide in Cleo over the phone as it would be almost impossible to explain things easily. “I just wondered whether you’d be around tomorrow if I came over for a few hours? Sorry it’s such late notice.”

“That would be lovely,” Cleo said warmly. Lucy heard voices in the background and then Cleo added: “Sam says why not come for dinner? It’s ages since she’s seen you. And we could meet up for coffee in the morning if you like, as Sam and Dean are doing the first shift in the shop tomorrow.”

“I would like that, thanks,” Lucy said, “if you’re sure it’s convenient? I... There’s something I’d like to chat about.”

“Oh?” Cleo sounded curious.

“It can wait until tomorrow though,” Lucy said. “See you soon.”

She put the phone down and the silence flowed back through the house. It was very peaceful. Nothing ambushed her out of the darkness. She checked that the door was bolted as well as locked and, yawning, went up the stairs and took a shower, then fell into bed with a sigh of pleasure, allowing sleep to take her. It felt as though she was almost waiting for the dream to come, waiting for Catherine. Her heart felt light; she was happy.

Catherine was happy too. As soon as Lucy slid into the dream, she knew it. Catherine was excited and joyful and so in love it felt as though she was about to burst. Lucy experienced her happiness as a huge bubble trapped in her chest, so huge it was almost painful.

Catherine was standing on the terrace at Gunpowder Hall. Lucy stood beside her. Behind them she could see the knot garden and the back of the house, so much grander and larger than the current cottage.

“So many blessings,” Lucy heard Catherine whisper, and she saw her hand rest on the curve of her belly and knew that Catherine was expecting a child.

“Catherine,” she said. Was she the ghost in Catherine’s world rather than the other way around? She did not know. Catherine turned her head as though she had heard Lucy’s voice, but she looked through her. Then Lucy realized that there was someone else coming, a man striding across the terrace toward them. Robert Catesby. She knew it was him because she sensed Catherine’s reaction to seeing him, the pleasure and excitement in her. She could hear the crunch of gravel beneath his boots, saw the breeze tousle his dark hair and catch the edge of his cloak. He was smiling and he caught Catherine in his arms and swung her around.

“You are well, beloved?” He kissed her, and Catherine put a hand on the nape of his neck to draw him closer.

“I am very well,” she whispered against his lips and he smiled and kissed her again.

Lucy was so close to them that Catesby’s cloak brushed against her and she smelled the scent of his skin mixed with leather and horses. She was filled with the blissful sense of love that was emanating from Catherine, so heady it almost swept her away. And then she was tumbling over through the darkness and it was Finn she was dreaming about, holding her close and kissing her, and she woke up with a start alone in her bedroom, feeling disappointed and bereft.