by T. H. Hunter
The Great Catsby
T.H. Hunter
The Great Catsby is the fifth book in the Cozy Conundrums series.
Copyright © 2018 T.H. Hunter
All rights reserved.
ISBN:
Dedication
To my beloved spouse, who believed in me from the start.
.
Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
I thank first and foremost my readers. It would be impossible without your support.
1
Lord Pembroke sat down for breakfast. As usual, he had arrived earlier than his good-for-nothing son, who liked to sleep well past midday. It was just as well, however, since they were barely on speaking terms. It was a testament to his sister’s persuasive powers that Lord Pembroke and his son even acknowledged one another’s existence, albeit via a brief nod of the head.
In spite – or perhaps because – of his family affairs, Lord Pembroke had always preferred to keep things as simple as possible. To get started in the morning, a cup of coffee, a croissant, and marmalade were all he required.
Carew, his long-serving butler, had placed an unusually large stack of morning post on the table. Lord Pembroke normally didn’t get many letters these days, so it was his custom to read them immediately.
His sister – who had arrived for breakfast a few minutes after him – frowned upon the practice. After the many years they had been on the estate together, she was still strangely particular about such things. She preferred to pass the morning in conversation, though there had been precious little to talk about for the last few decades at least. It was peculiar how she could keep her spirits up after such a long time. But then again, Lord Pembroke thought, her marriage had simply been one of convenience. And, as fate would have it, her husband had died rather conveniently once the marriage had broken down. Unlike him, she had never known what it was like to have lost a beloved spouse.
Fighting a sudden spasm of sorrow, Lord Pembroke took the letter opener from the table and gazed at the letters in front of him. There were so many, surely some private correspondence had to be among them. But his initial hopefulness soon turned into disappointment. The letters were bills or cleverly-disguised advertisements of some sort – nothing with a personal touch.
He fought the urge to slump in his chair. More than ever, he felt like a prisoner, albeit inside a golden cage. But then, a small, grey envelope caught his eye. He must have overlooked it earlier, which was certainly easy to do. He had no high expectations, of course. And yet, something about the format told him that this could not possibly be of an official nature.
There was only his own address on it. Had it been sent anonymously? He carefully slid the letter opener along the edge. A white, folded piece of paper fell out. He straightened it on the table and began to read silently:
Lord Pembroke,
Your lavish yet purposeless lifestyle has been well publicised in the press. We do not approve. We hold the fact that you are a parasite to society to be self-evident.
As such, we feel that it is our duty to lift you of that considerable burden. Society must no longer stand for those who feed off the poor. They will be your judge, and we shall be your executioner.
It took a moment for Lord Pembroke to take in what he had just read. He quickly scanned the contents of the letter to be sure. They will be your judge, and we shall be your executioner… Whoever had sent the letter, they certainly meant business.
But Lord Pembroke was not a man to be intimidated. And he knew just how to deal with a threat like this.
“Carew,” Lord Pembroke bellowed.
“Whatever is the matter, Alfred?” asked his sister, a bewildered look on her face.
But Lord Pembroke ignored her. He was waiting for Carew, the butler, who hurried into the room a moment later.
“Yes, sir?”
“Carew, I want you to contact the MLE.”
“Of course, sir,” he said. “May I ask for what purpose?”
“Tell them I want to speak to their best agent right away,” said Lord Pembroke, thrusting the letter at Carew. “And get this thing out of my sight.”
2
“They’ve done it again,” Barry said dismissively, lowering the Daily Warlock.
“Done what, Barry?” I said vaguely, reaching for my first coffee of the day.
“Ruining the country, of course,” he said, taking off his reading glasses.
I took a sip of coffee. For some reason, I hadn’t slept very well, so, more than usual, it felt like the breath of life.
“Who is?” I asked, putting the cup down on its saucer again.
“The government,” said Barry, in a tone that suggested that he had long ago prophesied its total and utter failure.
“Perhaps you should run for office, Barry,” said Val, patting him affectionately on the head.
Barry seemed to ponder this suggestion for a moment.
“Perhaps I will one day,” he said.
“Are cats admissible, then?” I said.
“I’m not a cat, Amanda,” Barry said, puffing up his chest proudly, “but a warlock temporarily trapped in feline form. There is a big difference, you know.”
“I’ve noticed,” I said, winking at Val.
At that moment, Mrs. Faversham bustled into the room and brought both Val and me a full English breakfast.
“There you go,” she said. “Careful, dears, the tomatoes are a little hot.”
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Faversham,” I said. “This looks delicious.”
“Not at all,” she said, smiling. “Is there anything else you would like? Oh my, what has he been doing to that newspaper again?”
Mrs. Faversham, of course, didn’t know that Barry wasn’t really a cat. And since she was not a witch, we had thought it better to keep it that way. Otherwise, there would have been a lot of explaining to do, not to mention the breaking of magical law that swore us to secrecy.
“Oh, that’s quite alright, Mrs. Faversham,” I said, hastily grabbing the Daily Warlock. “I’ve read most of it, anyway.”
“I’ve caught him before, you know, with a book in the library,” she said with a puzzled look on her face. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was reading it.”
She chuckled.
“Funny how the imagination can play tricks on you, isn’t it?” she said. “Though he does seem to like the library best, I must say.”
“Yes,” I said uneasily. “He likes to snooze in there.”
“Do you think he would like any more tuna?” Mrs. Faversham asked.
I looked at Barry. Meowing was certainly beneath Barry’s dignity, but his unrelenting stare and the rhythmic tap of the paw clearly stated that he was still hungry.
“But perhaps it’s better he doesn’t,” Mrs. Faversham said before I could answer. “He still is on his diet, poor thing. We don’t want him to go blind again. What an awful experience that must have been for him.”
Barry – unable to speak his mind – turned his back on Mrs. Faversham, frantically making sliding motions with his paw from his throat to his stomach.
“Yes,” I said, laughing at Barry’s little pantomime, “but his eyesight has returned, thank Goodness. I think a little tuna and milk should be no problem, just this once.”
All three of us waited patiently for Mrs. Faversham to close the door behind her.
“That woman hasn’t brought me a proper helping for weeks,” Barry fumed. “On your orders, Amanda, if I might a
dd.”
“Doctor’s orders, you mean,” I said, grinning. “Anyway, it’s worked, hasn’t it? You’ve got your eyesight back.”
“Sometimes,” Barry said, theatrically putting his paw to his forehead, “I wonder whether the price wasn’t too high. Quality of life has been reduced drastically. I mean, I must preserve at least a few of my creature comforts. Otherwise, what is there really to live for?”
“Yes, Barry,” I said. “I’m sure having your own library and an entire wing of the house to yourself must be very difficult for you.”
“Amanda…” he began, but was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.
“Come in,” I said.
Mrs. Faversham appeared at the door, followed by a ruggedly handsome man with a five-o’clock shadow. He was wearing a long coat.
“Oh, hello, Alec,” I said in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting you. I thought you were up North.”
“Change of schedule,” he said, flashing a rare smile. “Thought I’d brief you in person.”
Mrs. Faversham looked suspiciously at our guest. Although he had been at Fickleton House a year ago, he had only brought trouble as far as she was concerned. I could see that her reservations about him had not changed since.
“Erm, thank you, Mrs. Faversham,” I said. “It’s quite alright.”
She gave Alec one last look that seemed to be intended as a warning.
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me, Miss Sheridan,” she said pointedly.
After she had closed the door, I offered Alec a place at the table.
“Coffee, Alec?” Val asked, wagging the pot in front of him and almost spilling the contents.
“Don’t mind if I have some,” he said gratefully, sitting down next to Barry. “Haven’t had a good cup in days. Just got back, in fact.”
“From the mission you mentioned in your letter?” Val asked excitedly.
After our last adventure at the spa, we had received an invitation from Alec, who was a private investigator, to join one of his cases. Magical Law Enforcement was understaffed as usual, so it was up to Alec alone to solve the case.
“That’s right,” he said.
There was a peculiar pause at the table as we all waited for Alec to elaborate on the case. I could tell that, by habit, he was extremely cagey. I assumed that he was more used to extracting information from others than providing it himself.
“What kind of case are we talking about?” Barry said, finally breaking the silence.
“Death threats,” he said. “MLE can’t deal with any more cases at the moment, so they’ve handed the affair over to me entirely. A free hand, as it were. And I need your help in this.”
“Of course,” I said immediately, thrilled to be included in the investigation. “What do you want us to do?”
“I need you to infiltrate the place undercover. It’s an old manor house, owned by Lord Pembroke.”
“Hang on,” said Barry. “Lord Pembroke, you say? But his entire estate is cursed, we can’t go there!”
“Is this true, Alec?” I asked.
He nodded solemnly.
“In a manner of speaking,” he said. “But it’s not dangerous to outsiders.”
“What kind of curse is it?”
Alec’s mouth twisted into a wry smile.
“Ironically,” he said, “it’s something a lot of warlocks would kill for, though I can’t say it brought them much happiness. The original inhabitants of the Pembroke estate are in something of a predicament. As long as they remain on the estate, they do not age. But once they leave the estate, they revert to their natural age. Since most of them are well over a hundred years old by now, you can understand that they’re not too keen on doing that. It would be instant suicide.”
“So they’re trapped?” I asked.
“In essence, yes,” said Alec, nodding. “But as long as they remain inside the barrier, the normal ageing process cannot touch them.”
“It must get very lonely in there,” said Val, frowning.
“Yes,” said Alec. “Especially since Lord Pembroke’s wife died many years ago. Before the barrier went up, of course. He’s never recovered from the shock.”
“But wouldn’t we be trapped on the estate as well once we set foot in it?” I asked.
“No,” said Alec. “The barrier took effect only for the people who were present on the estate at that particular time. Outsiders can come and go as they please. And, as far as I know, they age quite normally during and after their visits.”
“So, are there any clues in regard to the threats? Do we have any suspects?”
“Not yet,” said Alec, producing a folded piece of paper from his inside coat pocket. “Here is the original note Lord Pembroke received. The MLE notified me immediately. I went over and had a look around the place.”
I scanned the letter as quickly as I could.
“Pretty nasty,” I said, handing it to Val. “Do you think it’s legitimate?”
“It’s difficult to say,” said Alec. “Lord Pembroke believes it is, though he refuses to have bodyguards in the house. But we’ve taken all sorts of other precautions. Lord Pembroke locks himself in his room every night. The butler checks on him regularly and tastes the food he eats. I’ve got someone guarding the grounds and monitoring the entries and exits. But as to the guilty party, we’re still very much in the dark. As you might imagine, it’s quite a tight-knit community over there. People don’t like talking, certainly not to private investigators anyway. I need someone on the inside, someone who won’t be as conspicuous. That’s where you come in.”
“Sounds intriguing,” I said. “Val, what do you think?”
“I’m in,” she said.
“Barry?”
“Since my health has recovered in full,” Barry said haughtily, “I see no reason not to give the magical community a hand in this.”
“Excellent,” Alec said.
“What’s our cover story?” I asked.
“I’ve got that all sorted out,” Alec said. “Lord Pembroke’s son hosts parties on a regular basis. Makes sense, I suppose, if you can’t go anywhere yourself. Since it’s a bit out in the sticks, up in Yorkshire, it’s not uncommon for some of the guests to arrive a few days early. I’ve arranged everything for you through a go-between of mine, but don’t mention that you know me. Otherwise, people might smell a rat. Learn as much about the family and the staff as you can.”
“Do you think someone from inside the barrier is behind it?” I asked.
“Maybe,” said Alec darkly. “It wouldn’t be the first time a close relative turned out to be the guilty party. And I’m not making that mistake twice.”
Alec was evidently thinking our very first case together, which happened over a year ago.
“More coffee?” Val asked, trying to break the rather awkward pause that followed.
“No, thanks,” said Alec, getting up from his chair. “I’d better be going.”
I felt like I still had a million questions.
“Wait,” I said, “what will you be doing?”
“I’m going to track that letter,” he said. “It came by heb mail, posted in London.”
“How… how will we be able to communicate?” I asked.
“We can’t directly,” said Alec. “Lord Pembroke has banned all magic from the estate. Anyway, we can’t risk getting caught.”
“Why has he banned magic?” Val asked.
“He thinks it might destroy the barrier,” said Alec. “And since that’s the only thing preventing him from shrivelling up into a dried fruit within a matter of seconds, I can’t say I blame him.”
He pushed his chair closer to the table.
“My contact, Harriet, will call you and give you the details. She’ll be guarding the place for the next week, too. If you really need to get in touch with me, you can give her a message. Don’t worry, she’s excellent at her job. Straight out of Merlin’s College in Oxford. Very talented. Anyway, just make sure nobody sees you.
The party’s on Friday night. I’ll meet you there.”
“You… you’ll be at the party?” I asked, having trouble picturing Alec in a smart tuxedo.
He smiled.
“That’s right,” he said. “We’ll compare notes when I get there. But don’t let on that you know me. Let them introduce us. Then we can talk.”
“OK, Alec,” I said. “We’ll see you then.”
3
The following week crawled by with little else to distract us. Unlike our previous cases, however, Barry was the driving force behind preparations. His brief stint of blindness, coupled with the humiliating plea for help in the Daily Warlock that followed it, had created a thirst to prove himself once again before the magical community.
At first, I thought that he was keen to solve the mystery of who was threatening Lord Pembroke as fast as possible. As I learned subsequently, Lord Pembroke’s predicament – being stuck behind a magical field that prevented ageing but also effectively keeping him and the members of his estate prisoner – was well-known amongst witches and warlocks. Contributing in some way to the conundrum, even finding a solution for the Pembroke family to temporarily leave the premises, therefore, would garner considerable attention.
Yet I was sure that Barry, in his own mind, was planning to fry greater fish than that. A few days after Alec’s visit, I caught him pouring over a book on protective charms entitled The Wand and the Shield. At the time, I thought nothing of it. Researching the peculiar phenomenon that enveloped the Pembroke estate seemed only natural.
Yet his keenness for the case adopted quite a different quality in the following days. Once, when I leaned over to take a closer look at what he was doing, I noticed that Barry had underlined key passages that related to the adaptation and enhancement of such charms. It was at that moment that I wondered whether he was trying to replicate the magic for his own purposes. If he was the one to mastermind how the barrier worked and how the energies could be manipulated, he would once again be seen as one of the eminent theorists of magic in the country, rather than an ancient theorist who was still suffering from the late effects of his permanent transformation into a cat.
