DARK, WITCH & CREAMY

by HANNA, H. Y.

  The old woman didn’t answer, but nodded again towards the display. Caitlyn began selecting various pieces at random and popping them in her mouth, sighing with pleasure as the rich creamy flavours melted on her tongue.

  There was a velvety chocolate ganache with freshly-roasted, chopped hazelnuts, covered in a crisp milk chocolate coating… a dark chocolate truffle cup infused with fragrant Madagascar vanilla… a cluster of crunchy English toffee dipped in hand-made dark chocolate… a creamy milk chocolate shell with a salty-sweet peanut butter centre… a refreshing white chocolate truffle with a zesty lemon ganache centre topped with a candied lemon slice… followed by an intense espresso truffle cup filled with mocha ganache and decorated with dark chocolate shavings…

  Her appetite was going to be completely ruined for dinner but Caitlyn didn’t care. She felt like her head was swimming with the amazingly rich, intense flavours of the chocolates that she had eaten.

  “How many is that?” she asked at last. So far, she had picked every single one she had tasted.

  “Twelve,” said the Widow Mags.

  “Okay, I’ll take two of each and make up a box of twenty-four. Pomie’s going to go mad for these.”

  As the Widow Mags began filling up a shallow box, Caitlyn heard a step behind her and turned to see two figures hovering in the doorway of the chocolate shop. She recognised them as a couple of tourists she had seen earlier on the village green. They were peering into the dim interior, looking uncertainly around.

  Impulsively, Caitlyn stepped forward and gave them a warm smile. “Come in! Come in and have a look around.”

  The couple came in, responding to her smile with ones of their own.

  “My wife and I were wandering through the village and came down this lane. We could smell this wonderful—”

  “Oh, you must try some of these chocolates!” said Caitlyn, grabbing the half-filled box of chocolates out of the Widow Mags’s hands and thrusting them in front of the tourists. The man and his wife looked down at the truffles, their faces brightening. They each selected one and Caitlyn watched their eyes glaze over as the delicious flavours hit them.

  “Oh, these are absolutely divine!” cried the wife. “Ralph, we’ve got to get some for the girls!”

  “How much are they?” asked the husband, greedily helping himself to another.

  Caitlyn threw a glance at the Widow Mags who was looking dumbfounded, and blurted, “We’re doing a special at the moment. Three for the price of two.”

  “That sounds like a great deal,” said the husband. “We’ll take six boxes.”

  Caitlyn glanced at the Widow Mags again. The old woman was staring, open-mouthed. Hastily, Caitlyn slipped behind the counter herself and took the tongs from the old woman’s nerveless fingers. Quickly, she filled up six boxes of chocolates, while the couple browsed around the shop. By the time they left, they’d also bought several chocolate bars, a bag of chocolate-dipped strawberries, and a jar of decadent chocolate sauce.

  Caitlyn felt a ridiculous sense of pride watching them carry their purchases out of the shop, then she remembered belatedly that it wasn’t her store. She looked uncertainly at the old woman.

  “Er… I hope I didn’t step out of line, offering that special deal. I know you didn’t really have one but I just thought—”

  “That was more money than I’ve made all week,” murmured the Widow Mags, looking gobsmacked. Then she added quickly, “But you must take half of it for your efforts—”

  “No!” said Caitlyn, taking a step backwards. “No, no, I won’t accept anything. It was no big deal and it was fun." She gave the old woman a smile. “I’ve… uh… never really had a job and it’s nice to… well, to feel a sense of achievement.” She paused, then hurried on, “But there is something you could do for me in return, if you really want to thank me.”

  The Widow Mags looked at her questioningly.

  “I’m looking for somewhere to stay and your daughter, Bertha, told me that you might have a room to rent?”

  The old woman scowled. “That Bertha. Meddling in my business again. Always fussing over me and worrying about me. I told her I was managing fine—I didn’t need her to pay my last electric bill! And now she’s going around touting my home out like a bloody bed and breakfast. Humph!”

  “But it does seem silly to waste the chance of earning some money when you’re not using the room anyway,” Caitlyn pointed out. Then she remembered the old woman’s pride and added quickly, “And it would be doing me a big favour…?” She trailed off hopefully.

  “It’s very basic. Nothing fancy,” the Widow Mags growled.

  She led Caitlyn through a doorway behind the counter and into a small hallway behind the main shop area, with three doors leading off in different directions. Straight in front was an open doorway to an enormous kitchen; to the left a closed door led to what was obviously the Widow Mags’s private quarters; and on the right, another open doorway showed a narrow spiral staircase curving upwards. The Widow Mags pointed to this:

  “Up the spiral staircase. Take a look yourself.”

  Caitlyn climbed the circling steps and found herself on a small landing which led into an attic bedroom with sloping ceilings and a tiny dormer window. A single brass bed stood in one corner, next to an old chest of drawers with a chipped washbasin and old-fashioned water jug stacked on the end. A wooden chair with crooked legs was the only other furniture in the room.

  A door on the landing opposite the bedroom led into a cramped bathroom. Caitlyn turned the taps at the cracked porcelain sink. Rusty brown water gushed out, taking several minutes to run clear. She tested it with her fingers. The water was icy cold. She swallowed and shut the taps, then went back to survey the room. “Basic” was right. She had never stayed anywhere as rustic as this—but she wasn’t going to allow herself to be daunted. A bit of dust and cold water never hurt anyone, right?

  She walked over to the window, opened it, and looked out. The room faced the back of the shop, with a view of the empty expanse of hill behind the cottage. A stretch of forest hugged one side of the hill, starting from the edge of the cottage backyard and following the slope upwards until it reached the top of the hill, where the slope met the horizon.

  Caitlyn took a deep breath of the fresh country air and smiled to herself. Rough and basic as it was, there was something homely about the room and she found herself feeling strangely at peace. Giving the view a last look, she turned and headed back down to tell the Widow Mags that she had a new lodger.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Caitlyn moaned in her sleep and moved restlessly. The air was hot and stifling, and her legs tangled in the blankets as she thrashed around in the bed.

  Then suddenly, she was awake. She sat up, breathing quickly. She had been dreaming of fire: vivid orange flames crackling with heat and licking their way towards her, threatening to engulf her…

  Caitlyn gave her head a sharp shake. It was a dream, that was all. Probably the result of eating too much chocolate, she thought with a wry smile. She lifted the blankets away, grimacing slightly. She was drenched in sweat. Sighing, she pushed back the covers, then made as if to lie down again. But her gaze went to the open window. She could see light flickering on the bedroom wall next to the window and realised that the source was coming from outside.

  Curious, Caitlyn padded over to the window and peered out. She had left it open before going to bed, because of the warm night, and now she leaned out as far as she dared to look around. She could see nothing in the dark shadows around the back of the cottage, but in the distance, at the top of the hill, was an orange-crimson glow which lit up the night sky.

  Caitlyn frowned. Someone had built a fire on the hill—and not just any small campfire either. No, that kind of glow had to be coming from a huge bonfire. She glanced at the clock on the wall behind her. It was just past midnight. Who on earth was out there in the Cotswolds hills, building a bonfire in the middle of the night?

  A breath of air came th
rough the window, bringing with it a faint smell of smoke. And was that music she could hear, almost imperceptibly, on the wind? Caitlyn strained her ears. No, perhaps it had been her imagination. She stared at the glow on the horizon for a moment longer—it seemed to be ebbing now; the fire was dying, perhaps it had been put out—then she eased herself back into the room and shut the window firmly behind her. It would be hotter and more airless without the window open but she felt better having some sort of barrier between herself and the dark wilderness outside.

  Walking back to the bed, Caitlyn stripped off the blankets and lay down on top of the sheets. She closed her eyes, although she didn’t think she’d be able to go back to sleep. In her mind’s eye, she kept seeing that orange glow on the horizon, flickering and shifting like a living thing. Who would build a bonfire in the middle of the night and why? Was it some kind of gathering? She couldn’t help remembering Pomona’s words about Tillyhenge and the strange rumours surrounding this village. It was just the kind of place where she could imagine pagan rituals still taking place…

  The next time Caitlyn opened her eyes, it was morning. She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes, surprised that she had fallen asleep again after all. Her gaze went to the window and she got up and flung it open. What she saw was a perfectly normal view of the English countryside, with everything looking just the way it had when she first looked out yesterday. An early morning breeze rustled through the trees and she heard cows mooing softly in the distance.

  Caitlyn scanned the horizon. There was nothing—no wisps of smoke or any other sign of a fire. She rubbed her eyes again. Had she dreamt the whole thing? Feeling slightly silly, Caitlyn retreated from the window. She washed as thoroughly as she could in the tiny bathroom, gasping as the icy water stung her skin, then she put on fresh clothes and hurried downstairs. The chocolate store was still closed, and when she knocked on the door leading to the Widow Mags’s private quarters, she got no answer.

  Caitlyn hesitated, then wandered into the kitchen. She noticed that the rear door was unlocked—perhaps the Widow Mags had gone out for a walk in the woods behind the cottage? Anyway, she could find the old woman later. For now, she wanted to get some breakfast. Making up her mind, she turned and went out the front of the chocolate shop. She would head to the village green and hunt down the local bakery. Her stomach was rumbling and she couldn’t have chocolate for breakfast—although she was sorely tempted!

  The first store Caitlyn encountered was the village post shop, a few doors down from the pub. She stepped inside and found that it was filled with a large group of middle-aged women gathered around the postmistress, who was standing behind the counter by the cash register. They had their heads together, obviously busily gossiping.

  “… it’s Matthews’s wife, I’m sure it is,” said the postmistress, nodding knowledgeably.

  “Amy Matthews? She’s a little mouse! I can’t imagine her killing her husband!” a woman with a purple rinse cried.

  The postmistress shook her head. “It’s the quiet ones that are the worst.”

  A large woman with an ample bosom put a hand on her hips. “Well, I, for one, wouldn’t be surprised if his wife murdered him. Did you know that he was beating her? I saw her the other day, with a bruise the size of Africa on one side of her face. Tried to tell me she walked into a door—hah! I know the signs of domestic abuse when I see it. Matthews had a foul temper when he was drunk.”

  “They think he was poisoned, don’t they? She could have slipped something in his supper—”

  “Where would she have got the poison, though? It was an extract from a herb, wasn’t it?”

  “Belladonna, they call it. Grows really easily around here.”

  The postmistress nodded. “Yes, and I’ve seen it growing in one particular garden.”

  “You have?”

  “Where?”

  “Down behind the chocolate shop.”

  Gasps. “The chocolate shop! You mean, the Widow Mags?”

  “I always knew there was something evil about that woman,” said the woman with the purple rinse.

  “Yes, me too! They say she’s a witch—she and that batty daughter and granddaughter of hers, who run the herbal store.”

  “We ought to tell the police.”

  “What, tell the police that she’s a witch? They’d never believe us. They think she’s just a harmless old woman.”

  “Harmless old woman? Have you seen those chocolates of hers? Enchanted by the devil, they are!” said the woman with the large bosom.

  More gasps. “Really? How do you know?”

  “I tasted them, didn’t I? There’s no way on earth they could taste that good, not unless there’s magic in ’em. Dark magic, if you ask me.”

  “Oh my goodness, yes, I had some once too and they made me feel… oh, I can’t describe it but it was downright sinful!”

  The postmistress leaned forwards. “Well, like I said, I’ve gone into the cottage garden a few times when no one was looking—not that I was sneaking around or anything, of course—and I saw, with my own eyes, belladonna plants growing there, bold as you please! And I’ll tell you something else. I saw Amy Matthews down at the chocolate shop several times in the last month. Thick as thieves, those two are. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Widow Mags is involved…”

  “Do you think she cast a spell on him?”

  A new woman spoke up in the group: “My nephew went up with the other men of the village to help bring the body back. He told me that Stan Matthews was stiff as a board, with his body all contorted and his fingers curled up like claws. And his eyes! They were open and staring and black as night. Stan Matthews had blue eyes—but when they found him, his eyes were black.”

  Gasps and shudders all around the circle.

  “Witchcraft! It has to be!”

  “Oh my…”

  “Fair gives you the shivers, it does!”

  “I heard that—” the postmistress broke off as she looked up and saw Caitlyn. “Oh, hullo, miss! What can I do for you?”

  The talking ceased as everyone turned to look at Caitlyn. She flushed slightly under their unabashed stares. She knew that life in these small villages revolved around finding fodder for gossip and, as a newcomer, she was “fresh meat” for all those poking noses and wagging tongues.

  “Oh… um… I was hoping to pick up some breakfast…”

  “The bakery’s just around the corner,” said the postmistress. “I’m afraid we don’t stock any fresh baking here. We do have milk and you can buy a bottle and have it with some cereal, if you like. All the cereals and biscuits are down there.” She indicated the aisle next to the counter.

  “Thanks… I think I’ll get something from the bakery. But while I’m here, I might take a look around…” Caitlyn wandered down the aisle, marvelling at the range of things on the shelves. Like many village post shops, the place was tiny and yet crammed with goods, selling everything from postcards to pasta, toothpaste to wine, USB sticks, gardening gloves, local cheeses, dry-cleaning, fresh flowers, maps…

  “Are you looking for something in particular, miss?” asked the postmistress, leaning over the counter to watch her.

  Caitlyn smiled. “Oh, no… not really. I’m just browsing.”

  “You American, miss?” one of the women spoke up.

  Caitlyn hesitated. She didn’t feel like giving the long answer. “Um… yes, sort of.”

  The other women pressed forwards eagerly, questions tumbling out of their mouths.

  “Which part of America, miss?”

  “Er… my mother’s from California. But I… I didn’t really live there much myself.”

  “Where did you live?” another asked.

  “Um… all over the world really. My… um… my family moved around a lot.”

  “Got brothers and sisters, have you?”

  “No, I’m an only child.”

  Several women shook their heads, clucking their tongues. “Aww… now that’s a shame. Must have been lon
ely growing up.”

  Caitlyn smiled wanly. “I managed okay. I have a cousin that I’m really close to.”

  “You travelling alone, then? No nice young man?” One woman gave her a coy look.

  “No,” said Caitlyn, slightly taken aback at her nosiness.

  “Well, plenty of time for that. Maybe you’ll find a nice British chap.” Another coy look.

  “Er…”

  “You sure you’re American?” said the postmistress with a chuckle. “Funny—you don’t sound like the other American tourists. Your accent... it sounds a bit English to my ears, although you say some words the American way…”

  “Oh, I had a British nanny growing up—I was home-schooled and I spent most of my time with her. I guess I picked up her accent.” Caitlyn hesitated, then taking a deep breath, she added, “And actually, I was born in England. In this area.”

  “In the Cotswolds?” Several eyebrows shot up. Caitlyn saw the women practically perk up their ears, like foxhounds who had scented a rabbit. They all eyed her with avid curiosity.

  Caitlyn nodded, then she added casually, “By the way, I’ve been hearing a lot about a stone circle near the village?”

  The postmistress nodded. “One of our local attractions, it is.”

  “I’d love to see it—is it easy to get to?” asked Caitlyn.

  “It’s up the hill at the south end of the village, miss,” said the postmistress. “You go down the lane by the water pump and when you get to the bottom, you’ll see a chocolate shop. Go round that and up the hill behind it. The stones are at the top of that hill, just on the edge of the woods.”

  “Oh!” Caitlyn stared at her. “I think I know—in fact, I think someone was lighting a bonfire there last night.”

  The women went still. The atmosphere in the room changed.

  Caitlyn looked at them curiously. “Did any of you see it?”

  “A fire, you say?” said the postmistress with forced indifference. “Can’t say I’ve heard anything about it. Are you sure you weren’t mistaken?”