Double, Double, Toil and Truffle

by H. Y. Hanna

  “What’s that amazing smell?” asked Caitlyn, sniffing and looking around the kitchen.

  “It’s the hazelnuts roasting. They should be about done now…” The Widow Mags looked around for her oven glove.

  “Here, I’ll get them,” Caitlyn offered.

  Carefully, she lifted the tray of hazelnuts out of the oven and placed it on the wooden table. A wonderful aroma of warm, roasted nuts filled the room. Following the Widow Mags’s directions, she transferred the nuts into a large linen cloth, then gathered the four ends together to form a bundle.

  “Now rub the nuts through the cloth… go on, don’t be gentle—we need the nuts to grind against each other,” instructed the Widow Mags. “That will rub their skins off.”

  When Caitlyn opened up the bundle a few minutes later, she discovered that the old witch was right: the friction had caused most of the brown skins to peel off the nuts, leaving them smooth and naked. She carefully picked the denuded nuts out of the cloth and looked around for a blender.

  “Here,” said the Widow Mags, handing her a large stone mortar and pestle.

  “You want me to crush them up by hand?” said Caitlyn in dismay. “But nobody uses a mortar and pestle these days. It’ll take forever! Wouldn’t it be easier to use a blender?”

  “I’m not having one of those newfangled gadgets in my kitchen,” growled the Widow Mags.

  Caitlyn sighed and poured the nuts into the bowl of the mortar. But before she could pick up the pestle, it rose from the table by itself and floated into the mortar. To her surprise and delight, it began bouncing up and down, twirling around the bowl, pounding and churning the hazelnuts.

  “Oh! It’s bewitched!” cried Caitlyn, laughing. “You’ve got something better than a blender.”

  The old witch gave a complacent smile and another wave of her hands, causing the pestle to pound and churn even faster, until it was just a blur of motion in the bowl. A few minutes later, the pile of hazelnuts had been reduced to a smooth, creamy paste.

  “Wow…” said Caitlyn, impressed. The hazelnut butter looked so delicious on its own that she wanted to dip a finger in to taste, but the Widow Mags gave her a knowing look and said:

  “Ah-ah… wait for the other ingredients.”

  The pestle hung motionless in the air, poised above the bowl of the mortar, as Caitlyn carefully added a small bowl of rich cocoa powder, a few tablespoons of coconut oil, some sugar, pure vanilla extract, and a pinch of sea salt to the hazelnut butter. Meanwhile, the Widow Mags melted the chunks of dark chocolate she had chopped up and then poured the thick liquid into the mortar bowl as well. The enchanted pestle got to work again, whizzing around faster than any machine could have done, and when it finally stopped, the bowl was filled with dark, glossy, chocolate hazelnut spread. Caitlyn leaned over and inhaled deeply. She didn’t think she had ever smelled anything as incredible as the rich aroma of chocolate and roasted hazelnuts that wafted from the mortar bowl.

  “Now you can taste,” said the Widow Mags with a faint smile.

  Eagerly, Caitlyn swiped up a blob of the smooth, creamy mixture from the edge of the bowl and plunged it into her mouth. Oooooh… She closed her eyes in ecstasy. It was deliciously nutty and yet full of rich chocolaty flavour at the same time, the creamy butter sliding down her throat like silk. She couldn’t believe how she could have liked those sugary, sickly-sweet commercial chocolate hazelnut spreads that she’d bought from supermarkets in the past… they just didn’t compare to the homemade version!

  “Are you going to sell jars of this in the shop?” she asked. “I’m sure people would snap it up.”

  “Perhaps,” said the Widow Mags absently, as she scooped the chocolate hazelnut butter out of the mortar and into a bowl. “I want to use this to make some more brownies… hmm… a chocolate hazelnut pear tart would be nice too, with some of my homemade vanilla ice cream… and of course, we need some more hazelnut truffles for the bonbon display—”

  “Oh, your truffles were a huge hit up at the Manor tonight!” said Caitlyn enthusiastically. “Even Gerald Hopkins couldn’t resist tasting some and couldn’t think of anything bad to say—”

  “Gerald Hopkins?” The Widow Mags looked up sharply. “He’s here?”

  “He arrived at Huntingdon Manor this evening,” said Caitlyn. She gave her grandmother a curious look. “Do you know him?”

  The old witch didn’t reply for a moment. At last, she said: “It was a long time ago.”

  Caitlyn waited but the Widow Mags didn’t say anything more.

  “He… he seemed to know you,” she ventured. “He’s got some terrible prejudices about witches, though,” she added, shaking her head at the memory of Gerald Hopkins’s words. “I mean, seriously medieval stuff! He thinks that witch trials should be brought back! Can you believe it?”

  “I see that Gerald hasn’t changed his tune much,” said the Widow Mags dryly.

  “He seemed really surprised that you were living in Tillyhenge—I mean, not surprised, as such, because he knew that you were here, but rather… well, he seemed to think that the old Lord Fitzroy shouldn’t have accepted you living here, so close...?” Caitlyn looked at her grandmother in enquiry.

  “That is between the old Lord Fitzroy and myself,” said the Widow Mags shortly.

  “But, Grandma… it’s true that you’re the only person in Tillyhenge who owns your own property. You’re not a tenant of the estate. Why is that?”

  The old witch hesitated, then said, “The cottage and gardens were given to me in thanks.”

  Caitlyn furrowed her brow. “You mean… James’s father gifted you the property as a thank you? But to thank you for what?”

  “For saving a life.”

  “Whose life?”

  “A life that was precious to him. And that’s all you need to know,” snapped the Widow Mags, turning away.

  “But…” Caitlyn swallowed a sigh of frustration.

  Ever since arriving in Tillyhenge and learning the truth about her identity, she had tried many times to ask her grandmother about the past and especially about her mother. But each time, it had been like banging her head against a brick wall. The Widow Mags had warned Caitlyn, when she first arrived, that while she would receive all the teaching and guidance she needed in the craft of magic, she would not get any answers to the questions she wanted to ask. Caitlyn had hoped that with time and patience, her grandmother would soften and open up at last, but so far, the old witch had remained unyielding.

  I’ve got to find Viktor and speak to him, she thought. Then I might get some answers at last.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  It felt to Caitlyn like her head had barely touched the pillow before she was struggling to rise again and heading back to the Manor—this time to pick up Nibs and catch a lift with James to the veterinary clinic.

  Huntingdon Manor was already a hive of activity, even this early in the morning. Although the immediate vicinity of the icehouse was still roped off as a crime scene, the police had released most of the area around the other outbuildings. Work had already resumed and the place was crawling with builders, carpenters, interior decorators, and catering staff, all busily assembling furniture, installing fittings, carrying equipment into the large converted kitchen, and generally preparing for the coach house restaurant’s grand opening.

  Caitlyn paused and looked around, searching for James, but she couldn't see his tall figure anywhere. She couldn’t see Nibs or Bran either. She did, however, see someone she recognised: the new maid Hattie. The girl had a pile of linen in her arms and was hurrying past when she spotted Caitlyn. She paused, a smile lighting up her face.

  “Hello, miss—how nice to see you!”

  “Oh please—do call me Caitlyn.” Caitlyn returned her smile. “That’s a pretty dress.”

  Hattie glanced down at the simple black dress with the wide sleeves and lace-up collar she was wearing. “Oh yeah, it’s the new uniform for the coach house restaurant. It’s so much nicer than th
e usual waitress uniforms, isn’t it?” She indicated the lace-up collar, with the long leather ties, at her throat. “It’s got all these cute little medieval details…” She looked up again. “Anyway, was there something I could help you with?”

  “I was just wondering if you knew where James—I mean, Lord Fitzroy—might be?”

  “I think I saw him with his estate manager by the new staff accommodation.” At Caitlyn’s puzzled look, Hattie pointed to one of the larger outbuildings in the distance. “See that small barn there? It’s been converted to studio flats.”

  “Oh yes… I walked past it the other day…” Caitlyn looked at the old stone structure again. “I didn’t think it looked big enough—”

  “Well, the rooms aren’t very big an’ we have to share a bathroom, but it’s real cosy and it’s nice to have a space o’ my own,” said Hattie with a smile. “Lord Fitzroy wanted to have some temporary accommodation that any member of staff could stay in for free, ’specially if they’re new, so they don’t have to worry while getting themselves sorted. That’s real kind of him, isn’t it? Like me—I’d have to go back to Banbury every day if I didn’t have a place to stay here, an’ there’s no direct train, you know, so that would mean bus transfers an’ a two-hour commute every morning and evening! Plus, my father’s in a nursing home near here so it’s easier for me to visit him.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry—I didn’t realise your father was ill,” said Caitlyn.

  Hattie’s face clouded over. “Yes. He… he had a nervous breakdown last year an’ had to move into a nursing home. My mum died when I was young, so it’s jus’ been me and him, an’ we’re very close. It was one reason I was so keen to get a job in this area, so I could be closer to him an’ could see him more often. This job was like a dream come true, ’specially as it came with free accommodation. It’s supposed to be jus’ temporary, of course, until you find your own place, but Lord Fitzroy told me that I can stay as long as I like, rent-free.”

  Caitlyn smiled, thinking again how wonderfully kind and generous James Fitzroy was. Then she said impulsively:

  “Listen, Hattie—does your father like chocolates?”

  “Chocolates? Yeah, he loves them.”

  “Well, before you go to visit him next time, stop by the chocolate shop in the village—do you know the one I mean? It’s called Bewitched by Chocolate. It’s my grandmother’s place and she makes the most amazing, mouth-watering chocolates you’ve ever tasted. I’ll put aside a box especially for you to take to your father.”

  “Oh! Ta, miss, that’s really kind of you…” She hesitated, looking embarrassed. “Um… I… er… they… they told me in the village to keep away from that chocolate shop an’ never eat anything from there.”

  Caitlyn felt a surge of annoyance. She had a feeling she knew who “they” were. Taking a deep breath, she said evenly:

  “Yes, I know about the rumours in the village—they say that my grandmother’s a witch; they even think that I’m one.” She forced a laugh. “Hattie, I can’t tell you what to believe, but I can promise you that the chocolates are not bewitched by black magic or whatever else they’re saying. They’re perfectly safe to eat. In fact, James—Lord Fitzroy—is planning to serve them to customers in the coach house restaurant. Now, he wouldn’t do that if they were dangerous, would he?”

  The girl relaxed slightly and looked shamefaced. “No, of course not. I’m sorry… I know it’s silly. It’s jus’ that Louise says—”

  “Louise?”

  “She’s the other girl who’s been taken on to work in the restaurant. We’ve got rooms together in the staff accommodation.”

  “Oh, yes…” Caitlyn recalled the young woman who had hitched a lift with her and the vet from Jeremy Bottom’s farm. “So what does she say?”

  “N-nothing,” Hattie mumbled, looking down and fumbling with the leather ties of her lace-up collar. She untied and retied them repeatedly, her fingers making nervous, intricate knots as she said in an embarrassed tone, “Jus’ something stupid about witches an’ black magic. Louise spends a lot o’ time with Vera Bottom an’ her friends; she… she likes to talk an’ she repeats stuff…” She trailed off, then took a deep breath and looked up again with a smile. “Anyway, thank you very much for the offer o’ the chocolates. I’d love to take some for my father.”

  Caitlyn left the girl and made her way to the building that Hattie had pointed out, still feeling a bit miffed by the recent conversation. Pomona might have thought that Gerald Hopkins was the murderer, but personally, she was more inclined to point a finger at Vera Bottom! If anyone had it in for witches, it was Jeremy Bottom’s sour-tempered sister. It made her furious to think of the woman badmouthing the Widow Mags’s chocolates to all who would listen—and then silly girls like Louise repeating the slander. It was no wonder Bewitched by Chocolate struggled to get customers!

  Caitlyn arrived at the converted barn to find no sign of James Fitzroy or his estate manager anywhere. She hesitated, then knocked on the door. There was no answer but she thought she heard voices inside, so she tried the door. It was open and she found herself in a short hallway, with two doors leading off on either side and another door at the end. The last must have been the bathroom and the doors on either side were probably the bedrooms. One of the bedroom doors was slightly ajar and the voices were coming from there.

  No, not voices—just one voice, Caitlyn realised. And it wasn’t the sound of someone talking; it was the sound of someone crying. It was such a heart-wrenching sound that before she realised what she was doing, Caitlyn had pushed the door open and rushed in. She stopped in surprise at the sight of the young woman sitting hunched at the edge of the bed, sobbing whilst attempting to open a box of tissues.

  “Louise!” cried Caitlyn. Her previous irritation at the woman forgotten, she hurried over and sat down on the bed next to her. “What’s wrong?”

  The girl started and looked up. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and her face horribly blotchy. She looked mortified and hastily yanked some tissues out of the box to wipe her face.

  “N-nothin’…” she gulped, sniffing hard and dashing tears from her eyes.

  It was obvious that she was lying; it was also obvious that she was terribly embarrassed and wanted Caitlyn to follow her lead and pretend that nothing was the matter. But the memory of those anguished sobs made Caitlyn reluctant to just sweep things under the carpet.

  “Louise…” Caitlyn put a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

  The girl gave her a watery smile and said, “Of course… why wouldn't it be?”

  “Well, it’s just… you’re crying—”

  “Oh! No, this is just… um… I… I got somethin’ in my eye. Must’ve been a speck of dirt or somethin’.” She gave a forced laugh. “Eyes are a real pain, aren’t they? You get stuff in them and they get irritated and suddenly you’re gushin’ tears everywhere.”

  Caitlyn persisted. “If you’re in some kind of trouble… well, sometimes it helps to have someone to talk to.”

  The girl hesitated and, for a moment, Caitlyn thought that she was going to confide in her, then Louise straightened her shoulders and said airily, “Trouble? Why would I be in any kind of trouble? I told you, there ain’t nothin’ wrong.” She stood up nervously. “I… I’m just poppin’ to the loo for a moment.”

  Caitlyn watched with troubled eyes as the other girl hurried out of the room, and she heard the bathroom door down the hall click shut. She sighed, wishing that Louise would let her help. Maybe when she’s had some time to calm down and collect herself, she might be more willing to talk, thought Caitlyn, looking idly around the small bedroom. She got up and wandered over to a small bookshelf on the opposite wall, her innate bookworm making it impossible to resist the temptation to check out the titles on the spines. There were a few romances, a thriller, a dictionary, a book of recipes, and a travel guide on the Cotswolds region. She started to pull the last one out, then realised that there was an
other book tucked behind the ones at the front of the shelf. It had been slid into the space behind the row of books, flat against the wall and well hidden from view. Caitlyn pulled it out curiously and saw to her surprise that it was a book on the history of witches and witchcraft in England.

  She flipped it open; the pages were yellowed and faded, and someone had gone through and marked certain passages in the text. Caitlyn’s eyes widened as she realised the highlighted sections were about Matthew Hopkins, the Witch-Finder General, and his infamous witch trials:

  “…the most infamous of these was the ‘swimming test’ where accused witches were dragged to the nearest body of water, stripped to their undergarments, bound to a chair, and then tossed in to see if they would sink or float. As witches were believed to have spurned the sacrament of baptism, it was thought that their body would be rejected by the water and thereby prevent them from submerging. Thus, an innocent person would sink like a stone, but a witch would remain on the surface…”

  Footsteps sounded outside the door. Caitlyn slammed the book shut and shoved it back on the shelf, then turned just as Louise came back into the room. The other girl had obviously splashed water on her face and she looked a great deal calmer. She also looked terribly embarrassed and bundled Caitlyn unceremoniously out of the room as fast as possible.

  “…I’m sure you don’t want to stay here… much more comfortable in the Manor…” babbled Louise as she hustled Caitlyn out of the converted barn and shut the door behind them. “Oh, you’re lookin’ for Lord Fitzroy? Yeah, he was here with the estate manager but he’s probably gone down to the icehouse with Inspector Walsh… anyway, they should be back soon… why don’t you wait in the house and I’ll come and get you when he returns, okay?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  James was tied up with Inspector Walsh for much longer than expected and it was mid-morning before he was ready to leave for the veterinary clinic.