The Reliquary at the Carmelite Convent Chester, England

It was cold and damp, but the air had a clean feel to it. An early spring breeze, she could taste and smell, it reminded her of being young and a time when she would walk with her Pa to the mill. Her location was unmistakable, as she arrived at the edge of the River Dee, but the town looked different.

She did not recognize the buildings, they were a mix of wood and stone. There, in the middle of the town was a huge amphitheater, towering above the wall. This section of the Roman wall and gates were new. Just outside the fortress eight men hung by the neck from a gallows. Ravens or crows circled above it and perched on the crossbeam was the largest crow she had ever seen.

Rose watched from across the water, downstream from the river bank of the town. She turned to continue walking to her father’s mill, recognizing she was in the field where the Temple of Minerva had stood.

She watched in bewilderment as stonemasons carved the temple from the sandstone in front of her eyes. No longer ruins, it was taking shape before her. The workers were clearly Britons, they wore trousers under their tunics, while the slaves working alongside and the Romans directing them wore knee length tunics and in the case of the Romans directing the work, woolen cloaks.

Amongst the work and activity at the site were the semitransparent forms of three women clad in modern day clothing. They were knelt working on a different looking stone of coarse grey with a spiral carved into its surface. They were ignored by those working on the temple but seemed to be burying the stone.

Rose awoke with a start, unsure of her surroundings. She wasn’t in her room at the convent or at her parent's house. She had fallen asleep in the library. Rose hurried to stow the book on the stand near the relic and quickly shoved her own collection of books into a bag. She didn’t want to answer questions from her Sisters, who might at first glance feel that what she read was blasphemous. She hurried to the chapel and stashed her bag out of sight just inside the foyer door and mixed in with the other nuns for the morning prayer. Today Rose would leave to travel to her family home. She was excited to visit the mill and see her sister.

She lined up with the others and took her assigned seat; the Sisters sat in deep nooks in the choir, so one could not see the woman next to her but could see across to the other side of the choir where another nun sat and could stare back. It was Katherine looking back at her they both mouthing the memorized prayer.

She smiled, and Katherine smiled too; it was good to have other girls from the town in the order. It made her a little less homesick. Rose was content with her decision to join the church, but sometimes she felt trapped and these visits helped.

She had taken a vow of obedience and as part of that, she was to divorce herself from her birth family and devote herself to the sisterhood and the poor; being homesick was a small price to pay to be part of the order and have all your basic needs met.

Her mind wandered back to her recent dream or was it a vision? It had been so vivid and clear, unlike a dream where on recollection the details were foggy and slipped from your grasp.

No, this was sharp, with colors and sound. She had seen details of structures and the land around them that was long gone. She thought again about that carrion crow on the gallows cawing. She had a strong feeling that she had seen it before.

* * *

11:30 AM, Chester Granary and Mill Chester, England

Rose approached the tenant house on the property of the granary and mill, her childhood home, where she was born and raised. A water-driven grain mill sat in the rear of the property off the road.

She searched for her father. He was likely up at the mill working. She could see wagons bringing grain for storage or milling. Rose walked up to the mill. It lacked the familiar sound of wood creaking and water spilling off the wheel as the water from the mill pond, fed by the River Dee, rushed down the raceway turned it.

Inside the building itself, there was normally the low rumbling sound of the wooden gearing when it was engaged to turn the runner stone against the bed stone and the grating sound from the stones themselves as they crushed the grain. The sound could be felt as much as heard. Now all was quiet and still, the wheels and gears stopped. Something was wrong.

“Pa, do you need help?” Rose yelled down into the basement where the gearing from the water driven wheel turned the cogs that led to the gears and stones above. the mill. This was an underdrift designed gristmill, rather than the overdraft configuration of a windmill.

One of the mill cats rubbed up against Rose. They didn’t name the cats, as there were so many. The prowling tabby marked felines kept the building clear of rats and pigeons.

“I could Rose. It’s hard to get good help these days,” her father exclaimed. Rose could see her father through the machinery below her. He had a big grin on his face, he appeared happy to see her.

She heard Eamon’s familiar chuckle, he laughed at her father’s oft repeated taunt. Rose knew he really wasn’t jesting and that if her father left Eamon too long on his own, the mill would fall apart around him.

She made her way down the wood stairs to the workings below the mill stones. There, Eamon and her father were engrossed with the stone nut, the gear that connected the runner stone shaft to the wheel spur. Rose had an almost complete knowledge of the mill's workings from her youth; first from playing in the mill-house and then later helping her father with repairs.

The two men were struggling to free up the drive gear in an effort to remove it. The pinions had splintered leaving it unable to turn. From observing the stone nut, she knew what the issue was. Her father and Eamon, however, were not employing any subtlety or finesse just the application of brute strength, accompanied by the judicial use of a large mallet, together with the certainty that together they could muscle through any task.

Rose was happy to see her dad in good sorts she could recall vividly when his mood would take him to a dark place only relieved by a bout of drinking. He had never struck any of them when in his drink and it only really started after her brother died.

Rose grabbed a mallet, some lard and an iron rod then ducked under the transmission gear. It wasn’t all that fair as her dad couldn’t easily manage with the limited space. Even in her habit it was a simple task for her.

“Do you have the shaft secured, because the nut is coming off,” advised Rose.

“I do, and you best use the power of prayer on this bastard,” replied her father.

“Papa, she exclaimed in mock shock!” Rose smeared some of the lard on the iron rod then lined it up with the wooden dowels that held the stone nut in place. With two whacks of the mallet, the first dowel came free. Rose easily pulled the rod free and proceeded to do the same on the next dowel freeing the nut and again sliding out the lubricated metal rod.

Rose slid out from underneath the transmission gear and took a bow. Eamon clapped, and her father smiled.

“You better hope the nuns don’t open a gristmill John,” said Eamon.

Rose chimed in with, “If we do, it won’t be an old waterwheel, we will get one of those new steam-powered jigs like the coal miners use to pump water.”

Her father deflated.

“What did I say?” Rose asked.

“There is talk of one of those being built in Liverpool,”

“Oh, don’t worry who will haul their grain up there, Pa?”

“The railway for a start. It’s good to have you here to visit Rose, let's go up to the house,” said her father. He turned to Eamon, “can you finish up, it's not every day my eldest daughter gets to visit from the convent.”

The two walked to the house.

“You’re not really that worried about another mill, are you?”

“Times change Rose, and the power of steam has made it possible to build mills away from the rivers and the steam engine is making everywhere just a day away from anywhere else. So yes, I worry,” his concern was palpable, and Rose felt compassion. “I’ve spoken with Mrs. Culpepper about it. She thinks like you, she doesn’t see us losing business to somewhere so far away. Me, I’m not so sure!”

Rose heard her Mother say, “You didn’t come through the town, did you?”

“How else would I have gotten here, Mama?”

“Don’t give me that look, Rose.”

“You are receiving this look because I don’t know why you would ask me that, Mama. I passed through town, it’s the shortest way and I had errands for the convent,” said Rose.

“It’s the children, there is a fever being passed amongst them. The Watts girls and the Seeley boy have come down with it. I won’t let your sister out of the garden for fear of her becoming afflicted.” her mother voiced, clearly distressed.

“There was no mention of this by anyone in town.” Rose said with a frown. She gave her mother a hug and kissed her cheek. “I’ll go see her.” “Bring her in, it’s time for luncheon,” called her mother as she walked straight through the house out to the garden to see her sister. There was no mistaking the relationship, the only difference was age. Rose was always being told that she looked just like Violet at that age.

Her sister was eleven years the younger. The gap between the Caldwell sisters was also a source of concern for her mother; she had lost her middle child and only son when Rose was a young child, she could not recollect how he had died only that he was rarely mentioned. It seemed this world was always harshest on the children.

“What are you up to Violet?” asked Rose as she made her way to her sister.

“Rose!” squealed Violet running over and hugging her sister around her legs, “will you play with me, Mummy won’t let me play with my friends.”

“I heard your friends are sick,” said Rose.

“I won’t get sick, because I didn’t go in,” said the little girl in her homemade dress.

“What do you mean; go in where?”

“Into the temple. They went into the Witch temple by the river,” Violet explained.

“Witch temple? Oh you meant the old Roman temple!” said Rose. Violet nodded.

“Tommy said it’s haunted by a ghost and dared them to go in, but I didn’t, and, and now they’re sick from the ghost,” said the little girl with a sob.

Rose wanted to tell her sister to not be afraid, that there were no such things as ghosts, well maybe there was the Holy Ghost, she thought wryly. But it was her own dreams and the vision of Saint Ostric that made her hold her tongue.

“Lunch is ready girls, come in and wash your hands!” called their Mother from the house.

“Oh good“said Rose, “I’m really hungry are you?” Violet nodded, still a little upset. Rose took her sister’s small hand in her own and led her into the house.

* * *

2:00 PM, The Home of Mr. and Mrs. Seeley

After hearing about the sick children, she felt a need to visit them; partly curiosity, and in part as a caring nun ministering to her home village. Her first destination was the home of the Seeleys, whose little boy had taken sick. His mother was pleased to see Rose. The family had little money to spend on a doctor. Rose gave her some comforting words and then went to see the boy.

He was lying in his bed covered by a thin blanket, fevered and delirious, his face pale with dark circles under his eyes. Rose felt his forehead which burned with fever. She told the boy’s mother of some herbal remedies she could use and suggested more covering in an effort to break the fever. She recognized how desperate the boy’s situation was but kept the thoughts to herself.

She left the Seeleys and made her way to the home of Violets other friends affected by the fever. Mr. Watts was an older man, a local solicitor and the father of two girls. He and his young family lodged in town above his offices. It was a larger dwelling with two floors above the offices, and if his practice continued to flourish, he would likely move to a larger cottage outside of Chester. She was greeted at the door by his young wife, whose strained face had aged overnight. Rose knew her a little. She was only a few years older than her. She invited Rose into the parlor and told Rose that Doctor Belkin was with the girls.

Rose sat in the parlor with Mrs. Watts while the doctor finished his examination. She heard the slow measured footsteps on the creaking wooden staircase as the doctor made his way downstairs. Mrs. Watts stood up, as did Rose.

“Rose, I mean Sister, how nice of you to visit,” Dr. Belkin turned to Mrs. Watts, “I have known Rose since she was younger than your girls.”

“How are Anna and Penelope?” asked Mrs. Watts, almost in a whisper.

“They are resting. You can go up to see them. Keep the compresses on, and be careful to not break the blisters," said the Doctor.

“Come, Sister. Let us go pray with them,” said Mrs. Watts.

“I’ll come up after I speak with the doctor,” confirmed Rose.

Mrs. Watts made her way upstairs.

“I came to the village to visit my family and Mr. Cooper. My mother mentioned that illness had befallen the children, I took it upon myself to visit,” Rose related to the doctor.

“Thank you for coming. Your care and support of the family will be a comfort,” voiced the physician.

“I just left the Seeleys’, and the boy was fevered but had no blisters or sores,” offered Rose.

“It may be separate illnesses, coincidentally afflicting children at the same time. I had similar cases with the Pierce children just about a year past,” suggested the doctor.

Rose crossed herself and said a prayer, “I heard. What a tragic shame to lose all of your children to illness.”

“I am sure your prayers are a comfort to the family. I fear my skills are limited in these cases,” Dr. Belkin admitted, “It appears you are my spiritual counterpart seeing all of my patients today.”

Rose was not following Belkin’s comment. Her quizzical look must have betrayed her confusion.

“Mr. Cooper. Do you pray with him about his condition?” asked the doctor.

“I have been meeting with him for over a year,” said Rose. She purposely left the statement ambiguous.

“Hopefully your prayers will help the children as you have helped Mr. Cooper. His recovery is nothing short of a miracle; it is as if his tumor is being eaten away.”

“Doctor, the Pierce children, do you remember if they had been playing around the temple of Minerva?”

The physician frowned and shook his head. “I have no recollection of that I think maybe they were playing about the ruins of Saint John’s,”

“Thank you, Doctor, it’s been nice to see you again, I just wish it was under better circumstances. Now I must go and say prayers for the girls,” Rose made her way up the stairs and found Mrs. Watts speaking with the housemaid.

In the bedroom, the two girls lay in their beds, covered by linen sheets and comforters. Both girls were sweating and feverish but were lying quieter than the boy she has just visited. Wet cloths were draped across their foreheads which were clearly helping.

Unlike the boy the girls were covered in clear liquid filled blisters and where they had broken, were red rimmed sores. Rose knelt between the two beds and placed a hand on each before bowing her head and hands together began to recite the Lord’s Prayer. The other two women got to their knees and joined her in reciting the familiar and comforting prayer. Rose finished, got to her feet and placed her hand on each girls head in turn.

“God’s blessing be on you,” she murmured each time, then turned to the women.

“Mrs. Watts, my sister told me that the girls had been playing at the old temple. Did they mention that to you?” asked Rose.

“No. Everything was fine until two nights ago at dinner. The two of them wouldn’t eat and went to bed saying they felt ill. I haven’t been able to get a word out of them since then,” explained Mrs. Watts.

“I have a strange request; would you have a candle and some matchsticks that I might have?”

“Certainly Sister, Mary fetch the Sister a candle and a box of matches,” ordered Mrs. Watts.

The housemaid returned with the requested items and passed them to Rose. She realized if she wanted to take the candle and matches away from the house she would need to come up with a convincing reason.

“I would like to light this candle and pray with each of the children then I will take the candle to the convent chapel and light it during the vigil,” Rose promised.

She would do so, but that isn’t why she wanted the candle. She wanted it for her next stop.

* * *

5:00 PM, The Temple of Minerva

Rose made her way to the field outside the town where in Roman times a temple to Minerva and other gods of the pantheon had stood.

It was here that the vision had taken place. Unlike the shrine to Minerva, carved into the face of the quarry that had provided the sandstone for much of the town’s walls and buildings, the temple was in a sorry state of disrepair.

The site had been excavated a number of times through the years, by both professional archaeologists and others who had more an eye for a monetary than historical value to any artifacts, but it was some twenty years since it was last the scene of serious work.

The columns supporting the temple had fallen or been knocked down centuries ago, blocking the hallway to the inner temple with its main shrines to the gods. It had become overgrown with brambles and other weeds and slim elder branches poked through in places.

Rose removed her cloak in an effort to squeeze in through an opening between the columns that lay like children’s pickup sticks. As a little girl, the gaps in the stone tangle seemed so big, now she worried that she would get stuck going in or worse; not be able to get out. How would she explain that to the Mother Superior? Being trapped inside an old pagan temple!

The tangle of pillars and stones was clearly worse than when she was a girl.

As she pushed her way into the ruins, she felt the pull of the thorns as she forced her way in and under a column that left a three-foot gap underneath it. Once inside, it was dark, not pitch black, there were small shafts of light coming through gaps, but they were faint as the day was fading.

She remembered the lack of light inside from when she had explored the temple as a child and had prepared for this expedition by requesting the matches and candle from Mrs. Watts. She pulled both out of the pocket underneath her tabard struck a match and lit the candle. Disliking having had to lie, even a small lie, to the mother of the girls, she wanted to see if the source of the children’s sickness could be determined. If it had truly originated in this location, then she would be able to report it to Doctor Belkin and the children’s parents and maybe God would forgive her transgression.

With the light, she could see how badly she had damaged her habit. No tears she could not mend, and she had soiled it with dirt and grass stains but explaining its state to the Mother Superior was not going to be easy.

Rose stood, extending the candle to peer into the recesses of the temple. Long ago the statuary had been stolen or removed by archaeologists, only the alcoves remained. Walking towards the back where the largest alcove was located, her foot met air not soil and she fell forward, throwing out her hands to stop her fall, the candle sputtered out as she hit the dirt floor.

The almost complete darkness made her heart thump faster as she groped for the candle. She was unsure if she had stepped into a hole or off a step, all she knew was that her right knee smarted and left ankle throbbed. Her breath was getting faster as her hands searched across the ground half fearful of what they might touch, and then they found the candle. She grasped it to her breast with a sigh of relief and took the matches from her pocket and relit it.

Once the flame was burning evenly she held the candle near the floor of the hollow in which she now knelt. Three or four flagstones had been lifted and the earth beneath excavated. It was this which had cause her fall as her foot dropped into the opening. Clearly something had been removed from the temple and recently.

Did the children discover something that carried an illness or disease?

She lifted the candle to look around her, and painfully got to her feet in order see further into the temple. She could not see anything else that had been disturbed on the ground or in the walls. She looked down at the hole and felt the hair on the back of her neck rise as she remembered her dream from the night before. The workers and masons creating the temple around her, the shadowy shapes of the three women burying a stone….

Here, it was here, the three women had buried the stone in this spot and now someone had dug it up and children were ill. It couldn’t be coincidence, her lucid dream of the construction of the temple with the shadow women overlaid on that work. Her little sister’s talk of ghosts and curses at the temple and the ill children. It was as if she had been led or directed to come here.

Rose felt it in her heart that she was involved in some way that led back to her visions of the wolf and St Ostric and Ariel. Should she share this with the Mother Superior and seek her help and guidance? Would she assist and guide her or take her to task for disobedience in so many ways and her involvement in pagan matters.

* * *

8:40 PM, Cooper’s Book & Print, Chester England

Mr. Cooper was gently brushing the threadbare carpet running the length of the shop as the bell above the door announced Rose’s entrance. He looked up and his face showed surprise then consternation at her appearance.

“God preserve us, Sister. Are you alright? Have you fallen or been attacked?”

“What? No, — well yes.” She caught the alarm in his face. “No, no, I wasn’t attacked! I had a — fall, well tripped actually.” She brushed at her habit trying to remove some of the dirt and checked her wimple was still on her head. I was trying to find the reason for those poor children’s fever. You have heard about the fever? I was following clues that took me to the Temple of Minerva.”

“Aye, terrible thing, a sick child. The temple, you say?”

“Yes, I learned that the children who have become ill were playing in the ruined temple. I had a hunch they might have snuck into the old building the way I did as a little girl. Once inside I discovered something had been dug up. Now, I wonder if they have become afflicted by what they found in that old temple,” mused Rose.

“You were climbing about inside the temple? Youngsters have been sneaking into that place since the Romans built it; but this is the first I’ve heard of a nun sneaking in or it or causing anyone harm beyond getting scraped or scratched,” noted Cooper with a raised eyebrow.

“I know. I’m too old to be crawling through bramble patches and under rocks, but I was pleased that I could still get in,” Rose replied, looking down at her soiled clothing. “Quite how I am going to explain it when I get back to the convent I haven’t quite worked out yet

The young nun thought for a moment and couldn’t keep it inside any longer. She needed to share the mounting fears and concerns that either reality was influencing her dreams, or figure out if her dreams were somehow tied to events that were unfolding. Mr. Cooper was her friend as well as a confidant and teacher. Without him she would still be struggling to read Latin and old English. She had nothing to lose in sharing what was going on with him. Worse case he would assume she was losing her mind and Rose felt she had more than one foot in that camp already. “I need to talk to you in confidence,” she said diffidently.

“Shouldn’t you speak with a priest?” replied Cooper.

“No, she sighed, that could… no would, make matters worse. Maybe it’s all this reading but of late I find I have been having unusual dreams. I’ve experienced lucid, colorful, realistic and sometimes scary dreams ever since I was a little girl, but recently they have become more vivid, and I hesitate to say prophetic,” said Rose.

“What do you mean prophetic?” said Cooper. He pushed the pile of dust into a dustpan.

“Last night the Temple of Minerva was in my dream. Just last night. Then today I go to visit my parents and I hear the children had fallen ill. Here is the strange thing. My sister told me that the children had been playing in the Temple of Minerva,”

“Tell me more about this dream?”

“Mr. Cooper, I think this is more my fanciful nature and my vivid imagination. I have always been a dreamer. That’s why I needed the discipline of the Church to get my head out of the clouds. In the dream, I was here, but it was a long time ago. Everyone was helping build the temple. Not just the Romans but Celts, the Britons,” said Rose.

“This town was originally a Roman fortress, built to hold back the clans,” said Mr. Cooper.

Rose nodded in acknowledgement. Everyone knew Chester was situated inside ancient Roman ruins that were once part of a fortress. The city was dotted with remnants of the Romans such as the temple, and where the east side of the race course met the city walls.

Rose hesitated. Was she ready to reveal her secret? She looked Mr. Cooper in the eyes. They were kindly and full of warmth. He had helped her so much, helped her to achieve her ambitions of reading the books at the convent. He would surely understand and be less inclined to think she was mad.

“I have… I have had dreams since I was very little, of a wolf, a raven and a horse. There were also three women at times usually old women but the faces changes sometimes. Sometimes they were looking into a cauldron they had been stirring I was pulled to the cauldron and down into it, but last night I had a different scene in my dream of the temple. Then I visit my family to learn of children becoming in after visiting that same temple,”

“And the dream that haunts you, what does it tell you?” asked Cooper.

It begins with an army standing in a field at dawn. The men, they were Celts. I saw them standing in the temple field facing where the walls are now. I first saw them through the eyes of a wolf. Then I was one of them, and there facing us was a man, a single man and then the earth opened up in front of us, swallowing men, the flames of hell it seemed billowing from the ground, the screams were so dreadful…… I fled with their screams in my ears and the roar of the flames and the ground shrieking as it split open. Then in front of us floating in the air, a woman, clad in grey clothes that streamed behind her as she flew towards us.” Rose paused her narration, her eyes wide with remembered fear, “She opened her mouth so wide and her scream….” she tailed off.

“The Bian sidhe, a Banshee, a Celtic ghost whose call or scream kills her enemies.” interrupted Rose’s mentor.

“Mmmm, I found her in a small book on Celtic Mythology, but there’s another thing, I recently had a waking vision”, she confessed, her eyes downcast.

“A vision?”

“I should have told you sooner, but I was afraid you’d think I was delusional or worse mad. There was more to my desire to read the manuscripts and books, and that one about St Ostric in particular than curiosity. I needed to understand but I’m not sure I do. I caught my finger on the skull in the reliquary, just a small cut, but as I put my finger to my mouth,” she stopped for a moment this was where her life could alter if she wasn’t believed.

“I felt faint and my legs grew weak, and then there was a monk, I think it might have been Saint Ostric who caught me and held me up. He spoke to me and he was nothing like he was described and then a lion appeared and transformed into an angel who spoke to me. The monk told me what he said as I couldn’t understand the angel,” she finished in a rush and bowed her head waiting for him to show her the door.

Cooper moved past her and her heart beat faster as he went to the door. To her surprise he did not open it and tell her to go and get help. Instead he bolted the door and returned to her.

“Come through to the back-room Sister” He led the way behind the counter and through a curtained doorway to a small room with a desk and filing cabinet and two chairs. “Please sit down,” he indicated one of the chairs and sat down in the other. He watched her with a thoughtful gaze as she sat and settled herself.

“Sister, there is A long tradition of pagan rites and worship in these parts. Celtic Clans ruled here before the Romans and the Saxons. To this day, there are Welsh and English who still practice those old ways. This is border country, this was as far east as the Romans pushed, it has many legends, curses and myths from those times and before. Magic winds through those tales and this land.

“I do not consider myself a superstitious man I treat these tales as just that, tales handed down from person to person through the years. Yet there may be a kernel of truth in them.

Saint Ostric was a real person, who stood against the pagans and their conjurations.”

“I don’t yet understand your connection Rose. You seem to be linked to something bigger than just your dreams. Please, tell me, is there more?”

“These dreams have always troubled and frightened me but now I am older they are beginning to make some sense. No, that’s not true! They still make no real sense, but they have some connection to each other and now to the physical world.”

"Rose, growing up you must have heard of the Westfield Witches?" asked Cooper.

“My mother used to threaten to sell me to them when I misbehaved, but they are a tale to frighten children, said Rose.”

“I fear they are far more than that Sister. The Norsemen called them Norns, three sisters, Dvalin’s daughters. The Romans called them Parcae. They are described in the Welsh Triads by Geraint the Blue Bard, as three crones who travelled about as or could summon spirits in the shape of a wolf, a raven and a horse.

He sighed and shook his head then continued.

“I am most concerned, Sister that you should be having such dreams, but your vision gives me hope. If it was a true vision, then I think you are destined to take up the battle against evil just as Ostric did. When he saved King Aethelred and defeated the demon,” mused Cooper.

“It is said that the witches had their lair in Potter’s End, over by the Westfield Gate, hence their name. They have been said to have been seen there in one guise or another for many centuries, there’s a very ancient grove of trees there.”

“Matthew Hopkins, the self-proclaimed Witch Finder General was summoned here to Chester in the June of 1647 to find the witches. He ‘discovered’ a coven or so he claimed, led by three hags who held sway over the others. He had them all burnt at the stake after he ‘swam’ all of them and for some time the ‘Witches of Westfield’ were not seen, but they cursed him as they died. It is interesting that Hopkins himself died in the August of that year.

The witches have reappeared again and again, and always there have been deaths amongst the children and disappearances.

Now it seems they may have gathered again, and you have seen them at some evil work. I think maybe you should speak to the Mother Superior or the police on the matter. The equinox is upon us, and all hallows is fast approaching, the most important night of the calendar for the devil and his followers.”

Coopers words gave Rose pause. The situation was becoming more serious than she had previously thought. If as her mentor suggested the three witches of legend had indeed returned in corporeal form or had taken over the bodies of some local women, then it was her duty to go to the Mother Superior.

She bit her lip in thought, if she did that then the ensuing hue and cry would be beyond imagining. That is if she was believed in the first place. They were just as likely to lock her in her cell and feed her through the keyhole!

“I need to give this careful thought Mr. Cooper,” she said slowly, “after all it has no basis in reality, just my dreams and visions.”

The old man grunted agreement then got up and Rose noticed him wince as he made his way to a small kitchen nook at the back of the room.

“Mr. Cooper, pardon me for intruding into your private business, but I had the occasion to speak with Dr. Belkin. He was at the Watt’s house and mentioned that you are under his care,” Rose said with concern.

Mr. Cooper sighed and turned to Rose, an old battered flask in his hand. “Tea?” he asked before suddenly and surprisingly beginning to curse.

“Damn that fool of a Doctor, may he be tormented in hell by imps with pitch forks!” He guiltily looked at Rose. “Forgive me Sister, I asked him to keep my illness confidential and no one knows, not even my family, what else did he tell you? Did he tell you I have a growth, a tumor in my abdomen? No? Or that I am the youngest of seven and my father and many of my brothers have had these types of growths,” Cooper growled, as he rubbed his belly.

This was the first time Rose had seen the man angry and her fears for him grew. As she thought how much she had learnt and come to understand under his tutelage, her eyes began to fill with tears at the prospect she might lose him.

“Don’t you worry about me, I have conferred with specialists and expect a full recovery. Already we have seen the growth eaten away,” he said as he turned back to the alcove.

“Now then did you say yes to tea?”

Rose nodded in agreement.

“Good I feel I could use a cup.” He poured from the flask into two slightly battered mugs, brought them over and placed one in front of Rose.

He took a sip from the other.”Aah that’s better, now let me think. Where did I… yes there…” He pulled a, thick leather-bound volume from a high shelf and handed it to Rose.

“This is Roger Bacon’s Epistola de Secretis Operibus Artis et Naturae et de Nullitate Magiae written in the 13th Century. It was used as a source by many of the alchemists including Dee and Kelly,” said Cooper. “I got many a strange look when I collected that from my dealer friend in London,” he added.

Rose took the book and held it gently, running her fingers over the title. “I have read about Bacon of course, and this will help me so much to understand Kelly’s words. I cannot thank you enough, but I cannot take it I do not have the money to buy it.”

“It is yours Rose,” for the first time Cooper used her given name instead of Sister. “You have become like a daughter to me. I am proud to see how you have embraced the written word. I must tell you that your book selections are now getting beyond what I can access here in Chester.

We are too far from the center of things here, London, Oxford, Cambridge or even Ross on Wye would be a better source for you”.

Rose gave Cooper a smile and took the book, “Thank you James. Your tutelage and friendship has meant so much to me and I cherish our time together.”

“As do I,” Cooper smiled and added,” worry not, Sister Rose, I plan to be around for quite some time; watching you devour these books and becoming the smartest nun in England.”