by H. Y. Hanna
Caitlyn lifted the hag stone out of Pomona’s hand and held it in her palm. It felt unusually heavy for a stone of its size. The surface of the stone was smooth, as if polished by centuries of moving water, and around the hole in the centre, there was a slight iridescent sheen. In spite of herself, Caitlyn felt a thrill at the thought that she could be holding a magical stone.
“I’m surprised James let you bring it out,” she commented, holding the stone up to the light to see it better.
“Well…” Pomona gave her a mischievous look. “Actually, James wasn’t around so I just… sorta helped myself.”
Caitlyn lowered the stone and stared at her cousin. “But… all the cabinets are locked.”
Pomona winked. “Locks are no big deal if you know how to pick them.”
“Pomie!” Caitlyn said, aghast. “That’s… that’s like stealing!”
“It’s not stealing! It’s not like I’m not gonna return it! I’m just… borrowing it for a bit. I just wanna have a chance to look at it properly. And besides—” She broke off suddenly as there was a commotion by the door.
“YAP-YAP-YAP-YAP!”
Rocco the terrier was rushing, teeth bared and fur bristling, towards a huge English mastiff who looked down at him in bewilderment. It was Bran. Behind the mastiff, two men were just entering the pub, the taller one having to duck his dark head in the low entrance. Caitlyn’s heart gave its customary jolt at the sight of James Fitzroy.
“Ah! Inspector Walsh! Lord Fitzroy!” said Terry, beaming. Then he waved a hand at the terrier, who was still dancing around the bigger dog, barking nonstop. “Oi! Rocco! Stop that!”
“YAP-YAP-YAP-YAP-YAP-YAP-YAP-YAP!”
Caitlyn winced. She couldn’t believe how one small dog could make so much noise. Terry bent down and scooped up the terrier, then carried it—still squirming and yelling threats at Bran—behind the counter and out to the back of the pub. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as the yapping was muffled behind closed doors.
Bran lumbered slowly across the room, his jowly face set in its usual placid, amiable expression. Caitlyn was pleased to see that the mastiff looked completely well. James had been with the vet longer than he’d expected that morning—in fact, he hadn’t returned until lunchtime, and Caitlyn had only caught a glimpse of his Range Rover arriving back at the Manor as she was preparing to leave with Pomona. So she hadn’t had a chance to ask him how Bran was, although she had guessed that everything was all right from the cheery wave he had given them as they’d driven past.
Now, she started to raise a hand in acknowledgement as James and the Inspector advanced into the room. But Pomona leaned across and hissed:
“Quick! Hide it! Hide it!”
Caitlyn realised that she was still holding the hag stone. Hurriedly, she shoved her hand beneath the table. But the two men hadn’t noticed them anyway; in fact, James and the inspector seemed to be only intent on the man at the table in the corner. Derek Swanes watched them nervously as they approached him and sprang to his feet as they stopped by his table, his defensive voice carrying across the pub:
“…can’t arrest me! I’ve done nothing wrong! I never saw that bloody tramp… and I didn’t touch Sir Henry either!’
“Mr Swanes, I’d just like you to answer some questions,” said Inspector Walsh. “This is not an arrest. It is not even a caution. I am simply asking you to help with an investigation.”
Swanes calmed down slightly. “Well, all right,” he said sullenly. “Just so long as you know that I’m only doing this as a helpful witness, right? Not as a suspect!”
“You can use my office, if you like, Inspector,” said Terry, who had returned to the room. “That’s nice and private.”
Everyone watched avidly as the inspector escorted Swanes out of the rear door, after the landlord. James called to Bran and was about to follow them when one of the villagers intercepted him and asked:
“Is it true, sir, that Sir Henry was poisoned?”
James hesitated, then—obviously deciding that it would be all over the village grapevine tomorrow anyway—said: “Yes, the post-mortem report has just confirmed that. He was poisoned by digitalis.”
There were gasps from various tables and a hubbub of excited whispering rose around the room.
“Was the poison in chocolates too?” someone else yelled from the back of the room.
James hesitated again. “I believe so, but I am not at liberty to discuss the details of the autopsy. I’m sure Inspector Walsh will release a statement to the press this afternoon and you’ll be able to find out more then.”
He had barely disappeared through the rear door, with the mastiff at his heels, when someone hissed loudly:
“I knew it! I knew those chocolates were to blame!”
Caitlyn stiffened as she recognised the voice. It was Mrs Gibbs. She turned to see the belligerent woman standing up at her table, addressing the rest of the room.
“I was at the dinner party with Sir Henry on the night he died,” said Mrs Gibbs, her chest swelling with importance. “And I saw him eating chocolates with my own eyes—chocolates provided by the Widow Mags!” Her voice turned shrill and accusatory as she looked around the tables. Everyone’s attention was riveted on her and she flushed with pleasure. “Ohhh yes, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you about the chocolates made by that witch! They are full of dark magic, bewitched to tempt you and seduce you and… and make you feel all manner of sinful things when you taste them! Of course, I didn’t touch them,” she added self-righteously. “I was strong and resisted, despite the heavy pressure from my companions to corrupt me.”
Pomona spluttered with indignation and started to say something, but Mrs Gibbs continued dramatically:
“And little did I know what a lucky escape I had… Even I, in my worst imaginings, did not think the chocolates could be imbued with POISON!” She gave a mock shudder. “To think that I too could have been murdered by that evil witch—”
Caitlyn felt her temper flare again, but before she could say anything, Pomona sprang up.
“That’s such a loada crap!” she yelled. “I was there too that night and I ate some chocolates. We all did: me and Caitlyn and James and his friend, Nathan, and Sir Henry and his wife… so if those chocolates were poisoned, how come the rest of us haven’t died?”
“Well, I…” Mrs Gibbs stammered. “I… I… wouldn’t know how a witch’s mind works! You should go and ask the Widow Mags yourself. She… she must have hexed them so that they affected Sir Henry only,” she said, finishing triumphantly.
“Aww, for cryin’ out loud!” said Pomona in disgust. “You’re just prejudiced against her and making stuff up!”
“I am speaking the truth as I see it,” said Mrs Gibbs, pulling herself to her full height.
The door to the pub swung open again and Caitlyn heard gasps across the room as a hunched old woman with fierce eyebrows, a hooked nose, and wild grey hair stepped in. The Widow Mags!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The old witch was accompanied by a good-looking man with a weather-beaten face, dressed in typical farmer’s gear of overalls and green rubber boots, who Caitlyn recognised as local dairy farmer, Jeremy Bottom. He was smiling and saying:
“…no, no, I have to buy you a drink—it’s the least I can do to say thank you for that brilliant chocolate sculpture of Ferdinand. That’s going to go down a real treat on the Open Day, I can tell you—” He broke off as he became aware of the unnatural silence that he had stepped into.
Everyone in the pub had stopped talking and was staring at the new arrivals, many of them with fear in their eyes. This was partly because of what Mrs Gibbs had been saying but also partly because the Widow Mags hardly ever ventured out into the village. She grew much of her food in her own cottage garden and vegetable patch, and relied on Bertha to bring the rest of the supplies. Once in a while, she was reluctantly persuaded to leave the chocolate shop for a physiotherapist appointment in the nearest town, but other than t
hat, the old witch remained ensconced in her chocolate shop. So while everyone in the village knew of her and talked about her and maybe had even glimpsed her at a distance, few had been brave enough to venture into Bewitched by Chocolate and so most had never met her in person.
Now, they were staring at her with fear and fascination. The Widow Mags looked around, her gaze proud and unflinching, then—ignoring the stares—she hobbled slowly across the room. After a moment’s hesitation, Jeremy followed her. They were met at the bar by Terry, who had returned from the back room. Caitlyn held her breath, watching to see what the landlord would do. She knew that a lot of the people—especially Mrs Gibbs’s table—were hoping that he would refuse to serve the old woman.
“Ah, Widow Mags… haven’t seen you in a while,” said Terry with an easy smile. “How’s the chocolate-making going?”
Caitlyn felt some of the tension leave her shoulders and she heard an uneasy murmur of conversation start up again around her. But before she could relax completely, a shrill voice rang out across the room.
“You have some nerve, coming in here like this.” Mrs Gibbs had taken a few steps towards the bar and was standing with her arms akimbo, staring at the Widow Mags, her chin thrust out out aggressively.
“Now, now…” said Jeremy hastily. “I invited the Widow Mags in here to buy her a drink—”
“Jeremy, how could you do that?” hissed another woman at Mrs Gibbs’s table—a thin, sour-faced woman with a vague resemblance to the good-looking farmer. “I told you never to associate with that woman! It’s bad enough that Chris has to mix with that scatty granddaughter of hers at school, without you encouraging her to come into the village as well!”
“And I told you that I’m not listening to your superstitious nonsense, Vera,” said Jeremy. “The Widow Mags has just as much right to come into the village as anyone else—”
“Not if she’s a murderer!” hissed Mrs Gibbs. “No one is safe in Tillyhenge while we let a witch practise black magic here. She ought to be locked up and the rest of her heathen family too! That Bertha—how do you know what evil potions she’s concocting in her herbal shop? And the granddaughters… including that one there!” She whirled and pointed a finger at Caitlyn.
“You leave my granddaughters out of it,” the Widow Mags growled.
But Mrs Gibbs ignored her. Jabbing a finger at Caitlyn, she continued in an accusing voice: “This girl seems to have an unholy influence over Lord Fitzroy—how do we know what she’s done to him?”
“Yes!” cried another voice. A tall, attractive woman in her early thirties with an upturned nose and brassy blonde hair rose from another table. Caitlyn’s heart sank as she recognised Angela Skinner, the owner of a dress boutique in the village, who had made no secret of her contempt for the Widow Mags. Angela had been badly humiliated when she had tried to vandalise the chocolate shop a few months ago and had been even more furious when a cruel prank she’d tried to play on Caitlyn had backfired on her. She had been quiet lately, but Caitlyn knew that the other woman was just biding her time, hoping for any chance to get back at her. Now, she narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger at Caitlyn, saying:
“Yes, that girl is a witch too! James—I mean, Lord Fitzroy has been completely different ever since she arrived in Tillyhenge. She must have bewitched him, cast some kind of evil spell on him, and—”
“I… I didn’t do anything of the kind!” cried Caitlyn, furious and indignant.
“Oh no?” Mrs Gibbs asked. “I was at that dinner and I saw how Lord Fitzroy looked at you. No man could be enthralled like that by natural means. You have used black magic to possess his mind and bind him to you—”
“Aww, for crying out loud—that’s not black magic, you stupid woman!” shouted Pomona. “It’s called love! Haven’t you ever heard of people falling in love?”
Oh God. Caitlyn blushed furiously, squirming with embarrassment. She knew that Pomona was only trying to help, but this was almost worse than being accused of malevolent witchcraft. Her feelings for James were intensely private—she didn’t even like discussing them with her cousin—and now their relationship was being dissected in front of the whole village…
“Love?” Angela gave a scornful laugh. “Lord Fitzroy’s got his pick of beautiful, sophisticated girls from all over England. Why would he fall for a fat little frump like her?” She gestured to Caitlyn. “Look at her! With a bum like that?”
Caitlyn flushed even brighter red and had to resist the urge to sit down quickly, so that the table could hide her hips.
Pomona glared at the other woman. “You got a problem with hips? Why don’t you get your skinny ass over here and I’ll show you what real booty looks like!”
Several people tittered and Caitlyn squirmed even more. The whole thing was turning into a nightmare, like one of those awful daytime TV talk shows with cheesy melodrama galore.
“Pomona… forget it…” she said weakly, trying to tug her cousin’s hand. But the American girl ignored her. She was livid now and begging for a fight. Before she could speak again, however, Mrs Gibbs hissed:
“That’s not love! At least not wholesome, natural love.” She turned to Caitlyn and jabbed a finger in her face. “You can’t hide what you’re doing, you trollop—employing the dark arts to seduce Lord Fitzroy so you can use him to protect you and your grandmother. That’s what you did the other day, wasn’t it? You bewitched him to defend you and humiliate me in the village green! But I know your game! I’m not afraid of you! A righteous woman like me will always win over sluts like you…!”
The woman’s hateful voice filled her head. Caitlyn stood trembling, the blood pounding in her ears, but she was so angry she found that she couldn’t speak. Her hands curled into fists and she felt something hard dig into her palm. It was the hag stone. Suddenly, she wished fervently that the stone’s powers were real, that it really could be used to repel negative forces. Even as the thought formed in her mind, something burned her hands and she flinched and jerked backwards, dropping the hag stone on the table. She saw it glow iridescent green for a moment, then fade back to normal. It all happened so quickly, she wondered if she had imagined it.
Caitlyn glanced up, wondering if anyone else had seen it, but it looked like everyone’s attention was still fixed on Mrs Gibbs and Pomona, who were yelling at each other like two demented fishwives.
“…then I’ll tell all the papers—see if I don’t!” Mrs Gibbs waved a fist.
“Ahh, SHUT UP!” yelled Pomona.
“—and she won’t be able to hide then or run to Lord Fitzroy for protection because I’ll make sure that everyon-mm-mmm… mm-mmm… mmm-mm… mmm!”
Mrs Gibbs’s eyes bulged as her lips suddenly clamped shut, sealing her mouth and preventing her from saying anything other than: “Mm-mmm-mmmmm-mm!”
Everyone in the room stared. A few got up and came closer, peering at her curiously. Several people started talking at once in hushed, scared tones.
“What’s happened to her?”
“Is she having a seizure?”
“Somebody call Inspector Walsh!”
“Oh my God, her mouth’s been glued shut.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! How can anyone’s mouth be glued shut?”
“Well, look at her! Isn’t that what it looks like?”
“I had a cousin who got this kind of skin tumour—dermatofibromas, it was called—when your skin doesn’t stop growing. Maybe it’s something like that.”
“No tumour grows that fast!”
“I think it’s black magic… I think she’s been hexed!”
Several heads turned to look at the Widow Mags but at that moment, Inspector Walsh rushed into the room, followed by James and the villager who had gone to call them.
“What’s going on? Where’s the emergency?” asked the detective.
Mrs Gibbs staggered up to him and began gesticulating wildly while making hysterical muffled noises through her lips.
“Mm…mmm! Mm… mmm… m
mmmmm… mm!”
Inspector Walsh frowned at her. “I’m afraid I can’t understand you, Mrs Gibbs. You’ll have to speak clearer.”
“Mmmm… mm… mm…mmmm! Mm! Mm!”
The detective looked at her irritably. “Madam, is this some kind of a joke?”
Mrs Gibbs’s face went crimson and she began hopping up and down with frustration. “Mm… mmm! Mm… mmm… MMMM… MM… MM!”
“Sir, it’s the witch! She’s put a hex on Mrs Gibbs and sealed her lips,” shouted one of the villagers.
“What nonsense!” said the inspector. “If this is all part of some elaborate prank, I am not amused and I will be arresting all those involved!”
“No, sir, it’s the truth! Ask anyone here—we all saw it happen! Mrs Gibbs was talking and then…”
Unnoticed by the rest of the crowd, the Widow Mags hobbled quietly over to where Caitlyn and Pomona were standing.
“What have you girls done?” she demanded in an urgent undertone.
“Huh?” Pomona said blankly.
The Widow Mags gestured to Mrs Gibbs. “That woman—what have you done to her?”
“What do you mean? We haven’t done any—”
The Widow Mags cut her off. “Where did you get this?” she asked harshly, pointing to the table.
Pomona followed her gaze. “That? Oh, it’s a hag stone” Her eyes widened. “Omigod… are you saying that the hag stone is doing that to Mrs Gibbs?” She whooped. “That is so cool!”
“Pomona!” said Caitlyn, slightly shocked.
“Hey, the stupid woman had it coming to her. She deserved it.”
“Hag stone magic is not something to be played with lightly,” said the Widow Mags. “There is great power imbued in those stones, which could cause terrible harm if unleashed with the wrong intentions.” She reached for the stone. “We must break this spell.”
“Aww… do we have to?” said Pomona, glancing back at Mrs Gibbs, who was still dancing around in front of an increasingly irate Inspector Walsh. “This is so much fun to watch.”
