by Holly Bell
‘And the name?’ asked Trelawney, captivated by Amanda’s tale.
‘Somehow some breath of the story escaped to the neighbouring hamlets, of the maid who sank beneath the waters of the pond. So that instead of “Monken” it came to be “Sonken”… Sunken Maid … Sunken Maidee, and, perhaps in memory of the moment of frenzy that overtook the villagers on that fateful day: Madley. Sunken Madley.’
Trelawney inhaled, opening his eyes wide for a moment. ‘My word. That’s quite a story.’
Amanda inclined her head in agreement.
He was silent for a while, then asked, ‘And am I to get to see this legendary cottage?’
Amanda stirred her tea, and then looked up at him.
‘You already have.’
‘I’ve seen it?’ he queried in surprise. ‘But I’ve only been to …’ He looked back at her.
Her heart was beating so loudly she could have sworn he must have heard it. Thomas was at a loss for words. He wanted to say something reassuring, and yet at the same time, he wanted reassurance himself. ‘I … you …’
Amanda said lightly, ‘It’s quite all right, Inspector. I’m not going to turn you into a toad. We really don’t do that sort of thing any more. It’s generally considered vulgarly exhibitionist.’
A flicker of anxiety showed for an instant on his face, then he broke into a smile and breathed.
‘Phew! Well, that’s a relief.’ He lowered his voice. ‘So you are a ... a ... witch?’
‘My grandmother was certainly a wise woman,’ Amanda answered carefully.
‘No wonder the village is so protective of you,’ Trelawney remarked.
‘To be fair, I think they are protective of me because I came here, to live, as an orphan, I am to all intents and purposes alone now, and the village has, in a sense, helped to bring me up.’
‘You are in every sense then the village witch,’ he observed.
‘No, Inspector,’ Amanda countered. ‘I’m sure no one thinks of me as a witch. Like you, I have some intuition, and a lifetime of stories of things esoteric told to me by my grandparents. The villagers do not come to me for either healing or advice, except on furniture issues. I will admit to being as a much of a witch as you will admit yourself to be.’
‘Is it the original cottage still?’
‘It’s been extended and modernised, but, yes, the heart of it is the same.’
‘Does it have anything … unusual about it?’ he asked, curiously.
‘Like, are bits of it made of gingerbread?’
He smiled. But Amanda spoke with seriousness.
‘It’s my home. It’s just my home. My life began, not when I was born, but the day that my grandparents brought me there for good and adopted me. And you can make whatever you want of this, Inspector,’ she said with increasing intensity, ‘but the day my family went over that cliff was the best possible day. Because they could never try to take me away from the only real parents I ever had, the only family that ever loved me …. Perhaps we should go.’ She began to rise, but he put out a hand her arm.
‘Please. I understand. Really I do.’ There was so much sincerity in his voice that she sat down again. ‘Your family was dangerous. Then, suddenly, that day the minibus crashed, you were safe. My family was dangerous too, and then suddenly, because something my father arranged and some good fairy did, I was safe. At least, that’s how it seems to me, in this alternate reality I seem to now inhabit,’ he said shaking his head.
Seeing his uncharacteristically lost look, Amanda softened. ‘I can see how bewildering this not so brave new world is for you.’
‘Thank you. Look. I’m not out to get you or your grandparents. How could I? They are beyond the reach of any court in which I could present any evidence against them. I just want to find out what happened that day. Don’t you?’
Amanda stared at him.
‘If it turned out that your grandparents did something to make you safe, would you really think less of them?’ he asked her earnestly.
Amanda was silent. He tried another tack. ‘Do you think less of my father for… blocking my channels or whatever they call it? For having my memory removed of my … gifts? Do you think he was a bad person for doing that?’
‘No,’ she said at once with feeling. ‘Of course not. He did what he thought was best to protect his child.’
‘Then …,’ he began.
‘Yes, yes I see,’ said Amanda, ‘But that’s different. He didn’t —’ she lowered her voice ‘— kill anyone.’
‘We don’t know that your grandparents did either,’ Trelawney replied reasonably.
‘Will you excuse me for a moment?’ asked Amanda getting up, trying to hide her agitation. She gestured towards the ladies restroom.
Oh dear, he thought, what have I done?
‘Of course,’ he said, rising politely as she left the table.
Amanda was in desperate need of a private conference with her grandparents. She did her best not to run.
Chapter 30
The Legend of St Ursula and The Bear
Mercifully the loos were empty. ‘Granny! Grandpa!’ Amanda whispered urgently. They turned up, Grandpa leaning with his back against a sink and Granny checking her hair in the makeup shelf mirror. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘Oh yes, dear,’ replied Senara calmly.
‘Well?’ asked Amanda with emphasis.
‘Well, what?’ enquired her grandmother, distracted by a loose pin.
‘Did you? Did you bump off the family?’
‘Bump them off the cliff, you mean?’ asked Perran jovially.
‘Grandpa, it’s not funny,’ his granddaughter responded severely.
‘Finding out is part of your training, dear. Think of it as a puzzle,’ said Granny encouragingly.
‘A puzzle?’ exclaimed Amanda, appalled by her grandparents’ light-hearted view of the matter.
‘Yes, dear, a team-building exercise,’ replied Senara heartily.
‘Team? What team?’
‘You and the inspector. You’re doing very well,’ Granny commended her. ‘In spite of your trust issues.’
‘Trust issues?’ protested Amanda indignantly. ‘You’re the ones who trained me to keep everything secret.’
‘Not from everyone,’ countered Grandpa.
‘Oh?’
‘I’m sure you can name at least three people with whom you can share information about your magical abilities.’
‘Well ... Aunt Amelia.’
‘Good. One,’ said Grandpa.
‘Bertil and Kerstin Bergstrom,’ finished Amanda.
‘Well done.’
‘See how much more clearly you think when you’re not getting all emotional?’ Granny pointed out.
‘So you want me to go in there and tell the inspector, `’Oh, actually I’m a levitant and a spell-weaver and … “ Hang on a minute … it was … it was … you, Granny! You put the spells on the inspector! Didn’t you?’
‘Did I?’ replied Senara blandly.
‘Didn’t you?’
‘Do you think I was the only Cardiubarn who would be prepared to help a Flamgoyne suppress his son’s powers?’
Amanda wasn’t so sure now. ‘OK. Well, do you want me to tell him I can send furniture flying around the room and —’
‘No,’ interrupted Senara. ‘That is for him to work out. He is being trained too.’
‘By whom? Ohhh, Uncle Mike? Good grief. This is an alternate reality. I know just what the inspector is going through,’ said Amanda with genuine fellow-feeling.
‘Now go back in there and play nicely with the inspector,’ Granny instructed her. ‘Stop treating him like the big bad wolf.’
Trelawney, meanwhile, ordered a hot chocolate and an orange Club biscuit, hoping to appease Miss Cadabra with a peace offering. He prepared himself at her approach. Unexpectedly, she smiled and sat down.
‘Oh, how kind! Is that hot chocolate?’
‘Yes, with coconut milk.’
‘Oo, and a Club biscuit. I’m sorry if I became somewhat ... heated,’ said Amanda, unwrapping her treat. ‘I’ve thought it over, and I agree. We should work together to discover the truth. I will help you in any way that I can.’ She held out her hand. He shook it with obvious relief. ‘Though I don’t see how I can.’
‘A trip down memory lane?’ he suggested.
‘Here? Now?’
‘No, I think today is crowded enough, don’t you? Maybe we can arrange another session in that lovely room.’
‘Don’t say that too loudly,’ she urged, dunking her biscuit in her tea, ‘it’ll be all over the village, and you’ll be forced to make an honest woman of me.’
‘Ah. A pitchfork wedding?’
‘Or shotgun. Miss de Havillande has a licensed rifle.’
‘Gulp.’
‘Although Miss Armstrong-Witworth is accredited the better shot,’ added Amanda, fast regaining her sense of humour.
He grinned.
Amanda finished her biscuit with relish. ‘Shall we go?’ she asked cordially.
‘Yes, I’d like more tour.’
They left the pub and, companionably, walked back along the High Street.
‘Salon,’ Trelawney repeated his lesson. ‘Leo and Donna.’
‘Good.’
‘Chemist, Mr Sharma. Alexander and Julian’s The Big Tease, yonder, I already know. Ah, the Sinner’s Rue, and over there where Orchard Way turns off the High Street, is the corner shop and post office, Mrs Sharma. And here we have the church, and that shelter is … ?’
‘The little covered market for market days.’
‘When is market day?
'Well, we don’t actually have one, but it’s good for people to stand under if they get caught in the rain, and we do use it for the Feast sometimes.’
‘It’s the thought that counts,’ said Trelawney charitably.
‘We think so,’ agreed Amanda with a twinkle.
‘That, I imagine, is the rectory.’
‘Yes, our rector is The Reverend Jane Waygood, who is the model of kindness, goodness and diplomacy. She’s like you: keeps the peace.’
‘Oh really? Between …?’
‘Mainly between Miss de Havillande’s Land Rover and Dennis Hanley-Page’s selection of vintage, classic and veteran vehicles, in which he pushes the envelope of their capabilities and the speed limit. Except we don’t actually have one of the those.’
‘Sunken Madley has no speed limit?’
‘What I mean is, it has no urban speed limit. The 70 miles per hour limit on the A1000 somehow continues to apply.’
Trelawney mentally reviewed the route in the village. ‘You’re right. There’s no 30 or 40 miles per hour sign between here and well … Barnet.’
‘Quite.’
‘Good grief.’
‘Yes, Inspector, you're in the badlands now.’
‘So I see. Illegal wood-burning, delinquent drivers, a village with a homicidal history, whatever shall I find next?’
‘Time will tell,’ replied Amanda.
‘May I ask another question?’
‘Please do,’ Amanda invited him cordially.
‘The Feast of St Ursula of the Apples?’
‘And right on cue, we arrive at the church, where the story shall be revealed unto you,’ she answered portentously.
It was empty of people but abundant in foliage. Holly berries, ivy, and pots of Michaelmas daisies adorned the ends of the pews and the chancel.
‘Splendid,’ remarked Trelawney, looking around. Amanda led him to in front of the altar.
‘Are we allowed to be here?’ he asked.
‘Of course. Now, behold.’ She gestured upward to the stained glass window rising above them.
‘Impressive …. The young girl is …?’ asked Trelawney.
‘St Ursula.’
‘Somehow I imagined an older lady.’
‘Oh no, when she performed her miracle she was accounted little more than a child.’
‘Is that the bear?’
‘It is.’
‘And a bag or basket of apples. How does all of this fit together?’
‘Well,’ said Amanda, leading the way to the front pew, ‘if you’re sitting comfortably …?’
‘Do begin,’ he requested eagerly.
‘Once upon a time, back in the wild days of the Dark Ages, there was a hamlet surrounded by orchards. The apples were its prosperity and its sign of blessedness and abundance. However, they were also the envy of a neighbouring tribe that set its sights, not so much on acquiring the land but, on destroying its pride and joy. And so the jealous rival tribe prepared. Gathering torches, they planned to attack at dawn and burn every tree to the ground.’
‘How dreadful,’ remarked Trelawney.
‘Indeed. However, as the sun was rising, a young girl, Ursula, whose task it was to feed the geese first thing in the morning, was greeting the dawn from the window of her sleeping place at the top of the house. From there she espied a strange and wondrous site. For at that moment, a troupe of mummers, having made an early start on the road to London, were upon the way with their cart and trappings. And one of them was leading a creature such as Ursula had never laid eyes upon before.’
‘Aha,’ said Trelawney, making a guess at what it might be.
‘To her gaze, at first, it had the aspect of a monster. But then, as the mummers came closer to the village, Ursula perceived that it was a young animal. It was, although the name was unknown to her …’
‘A bear?’
‘Just so; a baby bear. Seeing it led by a rope around its neck, Ursula’s tender heart went out to what she thought to be a mistreated orphan. However, at that very moment, the wind changed, and the faint smell of smoke assailed her nostrils. She looked over to the north, and there, her young keen eyes detected the flicker of flame. At once, Ursula slipped down and out of the cottage, darting between the trees until she could see the army massed against her little kingdom.’ Amanda paused for dramatic effect.
‘So what happened next?’ asked Trelawney.
‘Without hesitation, she ran to the mummers, grabbed the rope and ran with the little bear towards the line of enemies now coming toward the precious orchards, and took off its leash. The bear did not run but stayed at Ursula's side and roared at the flames and the would-be assailants. The enemy, believing the creature to be a demon from the Netherworld, dropped their torches and fled in terror, never to return to the land guarded by the creature from Beyond.’
Trelawney applauded.
‘And so,’ Amanda continued, ‘Ursula saved her village and the orchard. She encouraged the bear to roam freely but he chose to remain with her, sensing her kind heart, and they remained friends for the rest of their days. And in death they were not divided, for here, beneath our feet, they are entombed in the crypt, side by side.’
‘And here in this window they are commemorated,’ added Trelawney. ‘St Ursula. Ursa: bear, Ursula: little bear. But what a delightful story. Do you think there is any truth in it?’
‘Well, this stained glass window is hundreds of years old, and the tombs are there. Perhaps her name wasn’t Ursula, but she was so named after the event. Nevertheless, truth or legend, it is our legend and our feast. To which visitors are welcome,’ Amanda added with a smile.
‘I expect everyone prepares something, do they?’ asked Trelawney.
‘Yes. It’s not obligatory by any means. The pubs and The Big Tease contribute, and people who like baking and cooking and brewing make cakes and pies and cider and scrumpy and pork and apple stew. There’ll be plenty to eat, you’ll see. It starts after the service. Well, it’s more of a short talk, by the rector.’
‘It’s not exactly biblical,’ Trelawney observed.
‘Oh no, my goodness, it’s as pagan as they come. But this is old land, old bones, the old religion is deep in its roots. The trees, the water, the wind, the spirit of the orchard.’
‘Erm, how does the rector get permission to er
…?’
‘It’s a community thing. And community is good,’ explained Amanda. ‘It is like an embrace of the village holding it close to the land.’
‘What will the talk be about?’
‘The story I’ve just told you. Reminding us who we are, what makes us special, what our story is.’
Trelawney frowned in confusion. ‘You say we, our, and yet … you are a Cornishwoman, are you not?’
‘True,’ she agreed, ‘but anyone who lives here is part of the “us”. And it is the only story that is, in some way, related to me that I know. My grandparents never told me of who I was in Cornish terms. To protect me, I suppose.’
‘Maybe one day you’ll find out,’ he said gently.
‘I know as much about the Cardiubarns as I want to know,’ Amanda countered wholeheartedly.
‘The Cadabras then. You said they were, are still, I suppose, farming folk from the north of the Moor.’
‘Yes.’
‘Perhaps eventually you’ll visit,’ Trelawney suggested.
Amanda shook her head. Her immediate rejection of the idea surprised him.
‘Why not?’ he asked.
Amanda saw Grandpa appear beside her. ‘You can tell the inspector,’ he said.
‘You can tell me,’ said Trelawney, echoing the words that sounded in his head.
‘Granny and Grandpa made me promise never to cross the Tamar without them. I swore a binding oath.’
‘Perhaps in time you will feel that that embargo is lifted.’ A few weeks ago Amanda herself had resolved that one day she would take the road over the river that divides Cornwall from the rest of England, and visit to the land of her birth and her inheritance.
