by T. H. Hunter
Barry’s ulterior motives notwithstanding, Val and I were looking forward to the case for different reasons. With the exception of the Wycliffe case at Warklesby’s School of Magic a few months ago, we had usually stumbled upon conundrums begging to be solved either by chance or by fate. In any event, mystery had sought us.
The Pembroke case was a lot different in that regard. This was a request made by a private investigator who had been in the business for years. His reputation was on the line. And yet he had entrusted uncovering Lord Pembroke’s problem to us. As much as I had liked toying with the idea of becoming a professional in the field myself, the Pembroke affair certainly had the potential to make or break any career, not only Barry’s. And as a week of waiting drew to a close, I was increasingly hoping for the former.
***
“I just don’t see why we have to use the car again,” Barry moaned from the back seat as I was trying to navigate the traffic in the pouring rain.
“It’s our cover story, Barry,” said Val affectionately.
“Does the cover story involve getting us killed in one of these death traps? Because if it does, you can drop me off at the nearest public house.”
“Barry,” I said warningly, “alcohol is still off limits. Lord knows what the vet would say if he knew what you had been up to all this time.”
“It was perfectly safe with the spells I invented,” he said huffily.
“Right,” said Val, rolling her eyes and looking at me. “So, how much longer do we have to drive?”
“I’d say another hour,” I said, checking the satnav. “Alec’s contact, a witch called Harriet, gave me the coordinates. She said she’d be waiting outside a village called Marrowgate.”
“Is that where Lord Pembroke has his estate?” Val asked.
“I assume so,” I said. “But she didn’t say.”
“Strange place to meet if it isn’t,” said Val, frowning.
“Oh, it’s all part of the private investigator act,” said Barry acidly from the back. “Secret meetings and mysterious go-betweens. Heb phone calls between two witches and a long drive in a metal cage.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Barry,” I said. “Anyway, it’s better to be cautious. We don’t want to give anything away. If they know we’re working for Alec and Lord Pembroke, we’ll be biting on granite.”
***
An hour later, we finally arrived in the village of Marrowgate. Though it might have been the bad weather, I had the distinct feeling that this was a dreary, unwelcoming place. As we approached the village, rows and rows of identical rooftops appeared, with the same size front gardens and chimneys. It seemed mechanical, almost like an army of sorts.
The satnav directed us through the village and right out again.
“You have reached your destination,” a smooth, female voice announced.
“This is it,” I said.
“But we’re in the middle of the road,” said Barry. “This can’t be right.”
“There’s a junction over there,” said Val, squinting. “Look, over there, Amy.”
Calling it a junction was a bit of overstatement, since it was only a muddy path that crossed the main road. Nevertheless, it was the nearest thing to a meeting place as far as I could see – which, admittedly, wasn’t very far in the pouring rain. I stopped the car on the path, though I decided to keep the engine running.
Then, there was a sudden tap on my window, and a shape emerged out of nowhere. It gave me such a shock that I nearly pressed the accelerator in panic.
“It’s probably Alec’s contact,” said Val, noticing my jumpiness.
There was another tap on the window. I let it down just far enough to see who it was.
The face that greeted me was that of a slim woman with blonde hair in her early thirties. She was smartly dressed and was holding an umbrella. I couldn’t help but feel an uncomfortable pang in my stomach. Some assistant Alec had there. My mind immediately began to wonder whether she was more than just that.
“Hello,” she said, smiling. “Are you Amanda?”
“That’s right,” I said.
“I’m Harriet. So nice to meet you in person.”
“Likewise,” I said. “This is Val and this is Barry. I think you’d better get in.”
I indicated the pelting rain, which didn’t seem to bother her much.
“Thanks,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll get in the back.”
Barry, I noticed, was pointedly mute with his usual complaints. Harriet closed the umbrella and then got into the car.
“Oh, hello,” she said. “What a cute little cat you’ve got there.”
“My dear woman,” said Barry in as dignified a voice as was possible after being called ‘cute’ and ‘little’ in the same sentence, “I am the Earl of Barrington.”
“The Earl of…” she began. “Oh, yes, of course, Alec told me about you. You’re the warlock who got himself stuck in a cat’s body, aren’t you?”
“One of the many hazards of being an experimental magical therianthropist,” Barry said huffily.
Clearly, the conversation was not going at all the way Barry wanted it to.
“So, what’s the plan?” I asked, deciding to spare Barry from further humiliating inquiries into his transformation.
“Alec told me to show you the way to Lord Pembroke’s estate in person,” Harriet said.
“Is it still far away, then?” asked Val.
“Not much further,” said Harriet, “but it’s a bit tricky to find. At least when using heb roads.”
***
She directed us along a path that led into a nearby wood, which seemed to stretch for miles and miles. Progress along it was so bad that Harriet had to help the car along by magic once in a while, though luckily there were no hebs to see her do magic.
At last, we came into a clearing again. Through the heavy rain still pelting the windshield, I could make out a pair of wrought-iron gates ahead of us. Despite the miserable weather, they looked like they had been freshly polished.
“This is it,” Harriet said cheerfully. “That’s the entrance to the Pembroke estate.”
“Good thing you came along,” said Val. “I don’t think we would have found it, would we, Amy?”
“No,” I admitted grudgingly, “probably not.”
“Glad to have helped,” said Harriet pleasantly. “Well, I’d better get going.”
“Aren’t you coming to the estate?” asked Val.
“No, not today,” she said. “Lord Pembroke knows I’m working for Alec. I’m on guard duty for another week. It would give the whole game away if they saw us arrive together. I’ll be at the house on Friday, though.”
“But how can you guard the whole place on your own?” asked Val. “I can’t even see the house from here...”
“Air patrol,” she said, grinning. “My umbrella serves as a broom, too, you see. Well, I’ll see you in a few days.”
All three of us chanted a goodbye in return, and Harriet ventured out into the pouring rain again. She drew out her wand and tapped her umbrella three times. It gave a small shudder, hovering next to her in mid-air. The spell looked simple enough, though I knew from experience that it was quite tricky to handle.
Harriet mounted the umbrella-turned-broom carefully and kicked off from the ground. The wind almost instantly blew her off course, though she managed to steady the umbrella before flying out of sight.
“What ghastly weather to fly in,” Barry exclaimed from the back seat.
“Bit flashy, if you ask me,” I said testily.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Val.
“She could just use a proper broom like a normal witch,” I said.
“What’s got into you, Amy?” asked Val. “You’re grumpier than Barry before he’s had his second helping.”
“I beg your pardon?” came Barry’s voice from the back.
“It’s nothing,” I lied.
“Ever since that woman got into the car, you’ve been ac
ting very strange,” said Val. “You know, Amy, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re jealous.”
“Me?” I said. “Jealous of whom?”
“Her,” said Val, a sly grin on her face. “I think you’re feeling threatened.”
“By Harriet?” I said, blinking. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Oh, no,” said Barry sarcastically, “she’s just a bombshell who ditched her supermodel career to use her exceptional magical abilities as a private investigator. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Yeah, thanks for the support, Barry,” I said.
“Anytime.”
“You don’t know whether they’re together, Amy,” said Val soothingly.
“Let’s end the therapy session, shall we?” I said moodily. “And let’s get on with the job.”
4
Carew, Lord Pembroke’s butler, was already waiting in the rain in order to carry our bags. He was a sombre, rather quiet man preserved by the magical field in his late sixties, though I assumed his real age was at least double that. After some brief introductions, he opened the gates for us.
“Welcome to the Pembroke estate,” he said in a hoarse voice. “I hope your stay will be very pleasant here.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Where, erm, exactly is the barrier?”
“You are standing right in front of it,” Carew said.
“I can’t see anything,” Val said, bewildered.
“The barrier is only visible to those who are affected by it,” he said.
“Right,” I said, “I’ll just get the bags, then.”
I took out my wand, planning to levitate the luggage to the main house.
“Please, Miss Sheridan,” he wheezed, “the master does not approve of any kind of magic. He is quite strict on the matter.”
“Oh, terribly sorry,” I said, pocketing the wand again.
“This way, please,” said Carew.
“Come on, Val. We’ll do it the old-fashioned way.”
“But I thought…”
“The bags, Val,” I insisted.
Grudgingly, she picked up the nearest bag.
“How far is it to the house?” she asked Carew.
“Just under a mile,” he said.
“A mile?” spluttered Val. “I can’t carry these bags that far.”
“I can have the horse and cart brought down if you wish, madam,” Carew said drily.
“That’s not a bad idea,” said Barry, lazily gazing around the grounds.
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” I said, staring pointedly at Val and Barry. “We don’t want to cause a nuisance, do we?”
“Most gratifying, Miss Sheridan,” Carew said, smiling weakly. “Let me close the gate behind you.”
Luckily, the heavy rain had petered out and had been replaced by a mere drizzle. Crossing the invisible threshold, we lugged the bags along the gravel path that Carew had indicated. Barry trotted idly behind us, whistling tunelessly, clearly lost in thought. Val, however, wasn’t happy.
“He’s the butler,” she whispered indignantly. “Why doesn’t he carry anything?”
“He might be trapped in time, Val, but he’s not immortal. A few yards with your makeup bag and he’ll get a heart attack or something from overexertion. We’re supposed to keep a low profile, you know. And killing the butler five minutes into the job isn’t part of the plan.”
“Oh, alright,” she said. “But it’d better be worth it. I’m hungry.”
Though I was admittedly spoilt since my inheritance, I had spent enough years in drab, soulless apartment blocks to appreciate a beautiful building when I saw it. And Lord Pembroke’s manor was certainly a sight to behold. It was larger and older than Fickleton House, and the grounds around it were extensive and beautifully kept.
When we had finally reached the entrance, we waited patiently for Carew, the butler, to catch up. He ascended the steps and opened the front doors with as much of a flourish as he could muster.
“The house has three main wings,” Carew said in a monotone, as though he had uttered the words many times before. “The master’s quarters are located in the West wing. Family members and close friends stay in the East wing. You will be staying in the North wing, along with most of the guests who are attending the ball.”
“The ball?” Val mouthed.
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Alec said it was just a party,” whispered Val. “Now I wish I had brought more clothes along.”
“You’ll be fine, Val,” I said. “Anyway, we would have needed an oxen to carry your bags.”
“Very funny, Amy,” she said, grimacing.
But Val seemed to have cheered up a little as a result of our banter. Barry, meanwhile, was still in his dream world. For a change, however, that meant that his sarcastic comments were limited to a bare minimum.
Carew led us into a large hallway. The wooden staircase and banisters leading upward were beautifully kept, as were the huge portraits adorning the walls – presumably of previous lords of the Pembroke estate.
Carew headed across the marble floor and through a small door tucked into a corner. On entering the house, the butler seemed to have gained his second wind. He certainly looked a lot less frail as he navigated the many corridors and doors along our path. Perhaps, I thought, his body had strengthened since moving away from the barrier’s edge.
Finally, we found ourselves in a small room with wooden panelling all around it. Carew disappeared behind a desk, while we placed our luggage on the ground in order to catch our breath.
“Now, let me see,” said Carew, brandishing a large folder entitled ‘reservations’. “Sheridan. Ah, yes, here we are. You’ve booked for five nights, I see. Until Sunday. Here are the keys to your room. Unfortunately, we don’t have a room with a cat flap, as you requested. But in case you come again, we can see what we can do.”
Alec had obviously had some fun with the reservation. Barry scowled, but decided not to dignify the joke at his expense with a retort.
Carew, meanwhile, was running his finger in a horizontal line across the page in front of him.
“And you’re in the… ah yes, the suite, an excellent choice. And it’s already paid for,” he said, closing the folder with a sudden snap.
Pocketing the keys, Val and I bent down to pick up our luggage again.
“Please, just leave them there,” Carew said, smiling weakly. “We’ll have someone carry them up to your room for you. In the meantime, I’ll show you to the dining area. All meals are served there. I hope you will find it to your liking.”
Carew exited his little booth and glided through the nearest door and along another corridor. Val, Barry, and I followed him. After a minute or so, we entered a large hall with a high ceiling.
There was one very long table with what had to be at least fifty chairs on either side. At the far end, a single chair – which resembled a wooden throne – headed the table. Above it was a massive portrait of a grey-haired, rather severe-looking man with an old-fashioned pencil moustache.
“That is Lord Pembroke’s father,” Carew said, indicating the portrait. “A great man. It is a pity that he didn’t live to see his life’s work realised.”
“You mean, the barrier protecting the people here from ageing?” I asked.
“That is correct,” Carew said. “It was Lord Pembroke’s father who began the experiments that Lord Pembroke eventually completed.”
Carew looked at the grandfather clock in the corner.
“It is soon time for dinner,” he said. “You are very welcome to stay here while we make the preparations. Your room is on the first floor of the North wing, at the end of the corridor. If there is anything I can help you with, don’t hesitate to ask me. Meanwhile, I wish you a very pleasant stay here.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m sure it will be.”
Carew smiled mechanically, then bowed slightly before vanishing through yet another door that I suspected led to the ki
tchens.
“Impressive,” said Val, whistling softly. “They must have a lot of people here during their balls.”
“Yes,” I said, gazing around. “Could get a bit creepy if you’re eating supper here all on your own, though.”
“I don’t think you’re ever really alone,” said Barry, smirking. “Not with big brother up there.”
He pointed to the oversized portrait on the wall with his paw. I could certainly see what Barry meant. Dining daily under the stern gaze of Lord Pembroke’s father was not my idea of a relaxing lunch. One could never quite shake off the feeling that one was being watched.
“I’m afraid you are under a misapprehension,” a voice sounded from across the room.
Val, Barry, and I turned around in surprise. It was a young man, in his late twenties perhaps, dressed in an elegant suit. He smiled, which seemed to come easily to him, and approached us.
“The old man wasn’t that bad,” he said. “It’s my father you should be watching out for.”
“Your… your father?” I asked, perplexed.
“Lord Pembroke,” he said. “But I’m forgetting my manners. I’m Lord Pembroke’s son, but please just call me Steven.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I said, smiling. “This is Val and this is Barry, otherwise known as the Earl of Barrington.”
“Oh, yes,” Steven said enthusiastically. “I remember reading about you in the paper quite a while back. How’s the retransformation going?”
“It’s work in progress,” said Barry.
Val caught my eye and giggled.
We both knew that it was very much an exaggeration, since I knew that Barry was nowhere near a breakthrough. Barry, however, didn’t twitch so much as a whisker.
“Mind you,” Lord Pembroke’s son continued jovially, “I wouldn’t complain if I could be a cat for a day or two myself.”
