by Holly Bell
‘Not before you’ve had a rest. But if you think you could.’
‘Does it have to be today?’ Amanda was not entirely keen.
‘Do you really want to do this again?
‘Not really,’ Amanda admitted.
‘Rest, while I get us some refills,’ said Trelawney and went off to the canteen.
Amanda rested her head against the tall chair back and flopped her arm down next to her. Her hand encountered a reassuringly warm and soft surface. Tempest poked his head around the chair and jumped onto her lap. He kneaded her legs, immediately pulling her out of her dreamlike state.
‘Here! Mind my dress. Don’t you dare pull the threads with your claws. Soft paws, soft paws,’ Amanda insisted.
He grumbled and proceeded with ensuring a suitable surface on which to deposit his rear end, and walk around it until he had arranged himself in a tight spiral of cat. He ended with his nose directed toward the window and the grassy stretch, with its possibilities of rabbits, squirrels, birds and other forms of entertainment.
Chapter 20
Cat and Mouse
Trelawney, meanwhile, browsed for a snack that might help revive his time-travelling witness, and tried to slow his racing thoughts. Spell-weavers, diviners, ancient clans, giants, the secrets held by Senara Cardiubarn-Cadabra and Perran Cadabra, the mysterious Cardiubarn who had blocked his ability to see … see things others couldn’t, his father … his father alone amongst the crows, keeping his son’s secret at all costs ….
‘Yes sir?’
He looked up into the face of the young dark-haired lady on the either side of the display cabinet. She raised an eyebrow and gave him a glance out of the corners of her eyes, saying.
‘Crumpet?’
He suspected she’d said it with a saucy note, and that brought him down to earth.
‘Erm, something sweeter, if you have it,’ he replied.
‘How about a nice bit of Victoria sandwich? We’ve got dairy-free, egg-free and gluten free or ordinary, and ordinary with coconut cream.’
Thomas had a vague idea that Amanda avoided dairy. ‘Yes please, the last one and an ordinary for me, please. Also one hot chocolate with coconut milk and cream, and one Earl Grey tea with milk.’
‘Right you are, sir,’ she replied with a twinkle.
As Thomas waited then carried the refreshments back to the room, he reflected how kindly Amanda had encouraged and received his confidences. He had meant it when he’d said her grandparents had alibis, and yet, as she had no spell-weaving abilities of her own, how could she know what spellcrafting, or whatever it was called, could encompass? Who was to say they couldn’t create some sort of charm that could push a vehicle off a cliff 400 miles away? Although that seemed a bit far-fetched, even to Thomas’s imagination.
Well, at least we’re in the same boat, he thought. Both from families who are supposed to be magical and neither of us with much to show for it. Both duds. But what if … what if it didn’t always work the same way? From what Amanda had said, it seemed that it was expected to show at birth. But what if it didn’t? After all, his supernatural aura, or what-have-you, must not have been present at the moment when he was born or how could his father have kept it secret? So then, what if Amanda’s ‘gift’ hadn’t been present immediately either? What if she was a spell-weaver and didn’t know it?’ His eyes were brightening with excitement as he followed his train of thought. As he knocked on the door for Amanda to let him in, the notion came to him:
What if she did know it? What if she is …. Wouldn’t that explain how an asthmatic could cope with what would otherwise be the over-exertion of being a furniture restorer?
‘Oh thank you,’ said Amanda opening the door and seeing the tray. ‘How kind.’
He had arranged his features into relaxed amiability. ‘I thought you could do with something sweet after that.’
‘It was a bit of shock,’ Amanda admitted. ‘You know, it wasn’t the features in those portraits so much as … well, they had the look of ill-intentioned giant haddock!’
Trelawney smiled, ‘I can imagine how unnerving that would be.’
They ate and drank and talked about the natural world beyond the windows in front of them. There was a pause, and then Amanda, greatly daring, said teasingly, ‘So how does it feel to be a witch, Inspector?’
‘Great heavens! Am I?’
‘Well, the Flamgoynes are said to be a witch-clan. I’ll bet Uncle Mike told you that.’
‘Yes, but I’m a defunct one.’
‘Not necessarily. What if spells can wear off?’
‘Can they?’ He took a bold step of his own. ’You would know, Miss Cadabra, wouldn’t you?’
Amanda looked at him questioningly, exuding an air of innocence that was entirely convincing, and in which she had been trained as a child by Granny. It had its effect. It was more convincing, Thomas reflected, than he had ever encountered from anyone else, and he remembered he’d experienced that from her before …. Yes … that evening ... that evening he’d told her about what the woman had seen on that fatal road, and he had asked her if she could think of any explanation … yes … innocence ….
‘Why else,’ he continued, ‘would Mike Hogarth have said, “why don’t you ask Miss Cadabra” how I could have had my gifts suppressed?’
‘I supposed I’m the closest thing to a spell-weaving Cardiubarn now that all of the others are dead,’ Amanda returned blandly.
‘Would you tell me if I asked you … am I the only witch in this room?’ Trelawney asked lightly.
‘Witchcraft is not a crime, Inspector,’ she returned matching his tone.
‘True, not since 1956.’
‘But murder is,’ Amanda said seriously, ‘and if saying that I am a witch or my grandmother was, makes us —’
‘I would say no such thing, Miss Cadabra,’ he forestalled her. ‘You were three years old at the time, and in no way implicated, whatever your … your supernatural status, and your grandmother was here in Sunken Madley,’ he concluded firmly.
Thomas could see that this was turning into a game of cat and mouse that would get him nowhere and could only weaken the connection that was strengthening between them.
He continued carefully, ‘But I have no wish to pry. I feel, in my own case, that this is a very personal, private matter, and I appreciate the help and reassurance that you have given me. Now as to my theory. I need you to make one more trip back …’
‘Very well,’ said Amanda, relieved that he had backed off. She needed to think and to consult her grandparents before she revealed anything more to Trelawney.
Chapter 21
Theory, and Cover Story
Once more, Amanda relaxed, breathed, and, after only a few words of scene setting, lowered her eyelids and was silent. Thomas waited in stillness. Suddenly he jumped at the sound of a knock at the door, and Amanda opened her eyes.
‘Miss Cadabra?’ came an apologetic voice from outside. ‘Sorry to disturb, but it’s 3 o’clock.’
‘Oh!’ she said breathlessly. ‘Thank you! We’ll be right out!’ She looked at Trelawney. ‘Sorry Inspector.’
‘Anything?’
‘Oh, just a couple more portraits and one of a Cardiubarn who eloped with a Cadabra. By the time they were waylaid, the wife was pregnant and they were persuaded, with the assurance of every wealth and comfort for the rest of their lives, to return and bring up their family at Cardiubarn Hall. They did so. The old woman claimed that “alas, the climate did not agree with the parents and they were much mourned by their 17-year-old son,” and then … we were interrupted.’
‘Cadabra? What do you know about —’ Trelawney asked.
‘I told you. A French family who emigrated during the Revolution.’
‘So no magical …?’
‘Farmers, to the north of the Cardiubarn and Flamgoyne estates,’ replied Amanda.
They gathered their cups and plates and left the room. There was a therapist and patient waiting
nearby.
‘Sorry if we have kept you waiting,’ said Amanda courteously.
‘Hardly at all,’ they responded pleasantly.
Amanda and Trelawney took their litter to the canteen then headed, via reception, out to their cars.
‘So … your theory?’ she asked. ‘Though I think I can guess.’
‘Eugenics,’ he confirmed.
‘They were breeding for a superwitch, yes?’
‘One who had the Polgoyne control of the elements, …’ Trelawney began.
‘The Flamgoyne divination,’ Amanda added.
‘And the Cardiubarn spellcraft.’
‘But, breeding with such a limited gene pool would have meant miscarriages,’ said Amanda.
‘And stillbirths.’
‘With every live birth being another roll of the dice.’
He nodded, ‘With more and more riding on it as the clans grew fewer and fewer in number.’
‘No wonder you were so important,’ Amanda remarked.
‘No wonder you were so important,’ Trelawney returned.
‘No wonder my parents couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. To them I was a loss of face, a reminder of their failure,’ she said comprehendingly.
‘I can’t say I like being shoved on the family discard pile either by my grandmother and uncles, but it must have happened to other children too,’ Trelawney commented consolingly.
‘Hmm. Somehow that comforts me,’ agreed Amanda.
‘Yes, it wasn’t personal.’
‘No, quite; they were just a bunch of amoral psychopaths,’ she observed without rancour.
‘But not all surely?’ pondered Trelawney.
‘Yes,’ assented Amanda. ‘My grandmother wasn’t like that.’
‘My father wasn’t.’
‘But he was half Trelawney,’ she pointed out.
‘Yes, good guys, non-witches,’ he replied with the suggestion of a grin. ‘And in your case, surely the Cadabra blood would have leavened the Cardiubarn lump.’
‘Well, I like your theory, and I don’t feel so bad about the way my blood relatives behaved. You can’t feel offended by people who don’t know any better,’ Amanda stated equably.
‘Agreed. There was one more thing I wanted to have a brief word with you about.’
‘Ok, shall we walk up the lane a little?’ she suggested.
‘Yes, good idea.’ After a few paces he commenced, ‘You told Mike that someone let slip that you’re being watched.’
‘That’s right.’
‘He’s charged me with doing my best to discover who and why.’
He gave her the cover story.
‘Your mother’s in Crouch End though, isn’t she?’ Amanda objected. ‘I’m sure there are classes closer.’
‘Ah well,’ he said slowly, ‘here the matter becomes a little more delicate, and will require your understanding.’
‘Really?’ asked Amanda, doubtfully.
‘Yes, you see the incentive to attend this particular class would be …’
‘Would be …?’
‘Yourself,’ Trelawney finished.
‘Me?’ replied Amanda in initial bewilderment, closely followed by unwelcome comprehension. ‘Oh! Oh no!’
‘I’m afraid so. But let us make use of the kindly concern of your fellow Sunken Madleyists to see you suitably affianced, to our own ends, namely, identifying the person conducting surveillance of you and learning their reasons.’
‘Very well,’ she said resignedly.
‘Thank you.’
‘Maybe you can form an interest in someone else once you start attending the classes,’ suggested Amanda.
‘And I’m sure you have many gentlemen who already have an interest in you,’ he responded gallantly.
‘Good. Then we can just be friends,’ she said with relief.
‘Your neighbours should approve of that: getting to know one another before taking things any further,’ Trelawney commented humorously.
‘Before “walking out together” you mean?’ Amanda replied in the same vein. ‘And taking tea in the drawing-room every Sunday?’
‘Properly chaperoned, of course!’ said Trelawney thoroughly entering into the spirit of the thing.
‘I’ll be sure to arrive at the first class in lace gloves, carrying a fan and smelling salts in the event I should be overcome by the shock of being in such close proximity to so many gentlemen.’
‘A wise precaution Miss Cadabra. Shall we turn back to our respective carriages?’
‘Thank you Inspector, you are all kindness!’
‘Not at all, Miss Cadabra, your comfort is at all times of paramount concern to me.’
‘Having been entrusted with my wellbeing by the dear former chief inspector, no doubt.’
‘Just so. I shall see you on Saturday week,’ Trelawney said, as they reached their cars.
‘I shall do my best to avoid a telltale blush at your entrance,’ Amanda replied.
At that Thomas’s gravity gave way and he laughed outright.
‘Thank you, Miss Cadabra, for everything today. See you next weekend.’
Chapter 22
Truckled
‘Hello, Bernie,’ said Miss Armstrong-Witworth, her diminutive 90-something form, clad in a pale lace-trimmed, ankle length dress under a long coat of lavender, treading lightly towards her friend. Bernard Hodster was seated at one of the window tables in the big living room at Pipkin Acres Residential Home. He rose politely at her words, the sunshine catching his bald crown that was surrounded by still partly dark hair. Though of not above average height, his build still suggested the strength he had had in former years. His grey eyes crinkled merrily.
‘Well, if it isn’t Gwen, looking lovely as ever. You keeping well?’
‘Very well, thank you, Bernie. I’ve brought a young friend of mine to meet you. May I introduce her?’
‘Please do.’
‘This is Amanda Cadabra. Amanda, this is Mr Bernard Hodster.’
‘Cadabra? Not Perran’s granddaughter, are you?’ he asked with eyes alight.
Amanda smiled at that. ‘The very same, Mr Hodster. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
‘And you too, dear. A lovely man your grandpa, always a pleasure to work in the same ‘ouse as him. Sit down, the tea trolley will be here in a minute. Tell me what I can do for you.’
‘Well, it’s about the old church hall,’ said Amanda.
‘Ah, that. Hm. A bad business, but it was always just a matter o’ time. Ever since the place was built!’
‘There’s something wrong with the building?’
‘Something? Everything I should say. I can remember, to this day, what my granddad used to say about it. He quoted for it, to build it, you know. Hodsters and Sons were the best builders in Hertfordshire back in those days. But the project was “truckled” as they used to say.’
‘Truckled?’ asked Amanda.
‘Miss Truckle, as was,’ Mr Hodster began. ‘She married the rector. He was a Dunkley, the family that owned Sunken Madley Manor for hundreds of years, where the Poveys are now. But of course, you know that, havin’ done the job there not long ago. Anyway, the rector was a Dunkley, though not a main line of descent Dunkley, you understand, but he had the name. All class and no brass. That was the trouble. Then young Dunkley meets Josiah Truckle who was a warm man — oh I mean by that, wealthy — but come up through business, hard graft, and wanting to settle his daughter Lavinia higher up in life than his own working-class roots.’
‘So the match was made?’
‘Yes, and very happy they both were with it, Granddad said,’ answered Mr Hodster. ‘Dunkley was pleased as punch with his smart new wife all tricked out in the latest fashion, and full of ideas for the parish, if you please,’ he added disapprovingly, ‘and her come from all the way over in Warwickshire, knowing what-all about Hertfordshire ways.’
‘Really?’
‘I should say. My dad, he could remember that Lavinia, always with �
�er ‘at full ‘o ostrich feathers. Well, The Great War was on, see? And she sees how many great ladies was opening their big houses up for the wounded, and she sees herself just like them. But she and her ‘usband, they has only the rectory. And she was a great one for the amateur theatricals, with herself always the star of the show, you understand.’
‘Oh dear,’ remarked Amanda.
‘So,’ continued Mr Hodster, ‘she has this idea to build a church hall. Big, with a stage, and lots of space in the cellar for props and suchlike. I don’t know as how she put it to ‘im, but she got Josiah, ‘er dad, to be more than willing to stump up the readies and no mistake. Good as gave ‘er a blank cheque. Then she goes and takes on the whole project.’
‘Was Lavinia’s family in the building trade?’ enquired Amanda.
‘No, dear, not a whit. Josiah Truckle was in bicycles. Bi-truckles, the company was called. And very well he did. Whole ones and parts.’
‘So how did she manage a construction project?’
‘Got an architect, but boasted as how she sketched out the design with her own hand. So then she starts getting estimates, and my granddad — too old for the War, you understand, and my dad too young, in case you was wondering — puts in his figure for building the hall, and well spoken for he and my great uncle and so on were by all around. But then —’
‘Afternoon lidies and gintelmen. Sorry to interrupt, but may I serve you tea?’ came an Australian lilt behind them.
They looked up into the comely and kindly face of Megan, one of the residents’ favourite staff members.
‘Ah, here she is, our peerless angel,’ proclaimed Mr Hodster.
‘Hillo, Bernie. Why it’s Amenda, isn’t it? And Gwindolen.’ They returned her greeting warmly.
‘You two do git about. What can I give you? No need to ask Bernie here: builder’s tea, right?’
‘If you please.’
‘I’ll take Lapsing Souchong, if I might, dear,’ requested Miss Armstrong-Witworth. ‘You brew it so well here.’
