DARK, WITCH & CREAMY

by HANNA, H. Y.

  “He sounds too good to be true,” said Caitlyn dryly. “Don’t tell me—he rides and dances and speaks six languages?”

  Amy chuckled. “He does ride—he’s got this beautiful Percheron stallion—but most of the time, he doesn’t behave like a member of the aristocracy. He never throws his title around. I heard that he used to work as a foreign correspondent for the BBC and spent a lot of time overseas before he had to come home last year to take over the running of the estate, after the old Lord Fitzroy died. Maybe that’s why he acts more like ‘one of us’. It’s really endeared him to the villagers, you know. They all look up to him as the unofficial head of the village and go to him for everything. In fact, when they discovered Stan’s body, they went straight to the Manor to see James first, even before reporting it to the police.

  “And he’s been so kind to me too,” Amy continued. “We don’t own this house, of course—it belongs to the estate. James organised for us to move from our old accommodation to this side of the valley, so that we could have a bit more space than where we were living previously. I suppose with Stan dead now, I don’t really have a right to live here anymore, but James told me that I can stay here for as long as I want, and not to worry about rent either, since I’m not working.” She frowned. “But I don’t want to be beholden to him. I don’t like to take advantage of his generosity. I’m going to look for work as soon as I can.” She sighed. “It’s just hard as there’s not much in the local area. My background is in secretarial work but all the offices are in the bigger villages and towns, much farther from here.”

  “How about looking for work online?” suggested Caitlyn. “Nowadays you can often work remotely from anywhere, as long as you have an internet connection and can use email. I’m sure you could find virtual assistant work and things like that.”

  Amy gave her an ironic look. “Yeah, that would be an option—if only the internet worked properly in Tillyhenge.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Haven’t you noticed? There’s some kind of internet blackout over Tillyhenge. They’ve tried everything but there just seems to be a problem connecting to the servers from here. It works occasionally but it’s very unreliable. Mobile phones too.”

  Caitlyn pulled her mobile out of her pocket and glanced at it. Now that she thought about it, it was true—she had tried to ring Pomona before going to bed last night and had struggled to get through. She had assumed that it was a problem at Pomona’s end; her cousin was notorious for forgetting her phone and leaving it behind somewhere or not hearing it ring if she was at a noisy party. But now as she looked at her phone again, Caitlyn noticed that there was no signal.

  “Don’t worry—the landlines work. The Widow Mags should have a line installed at the chocolate shop. Or you’re welcome to come and use my phone here,” offered Amy.

  “Thanks, that’s really kind. And speaking of the chocolate shop, I’d better head back now.” Caitlyn rose and placed her mug on the table. “Thanks so much for the coffee.”

  Amy rose as well and gave her a warm smile. “It’s me who should say thank you. I don’t have many friends in the village and it’s really nice to have someone to chat to. Come back anytime,” she added shyly.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  On the way back to the chocolate shop, Caitlyn thought about the strange morning she’d had. She’d come to Tillyhenge looking for answers about her past and somehow stumbled into a murder investigation! She hoped fervently that Amy Matthews wasn’t involved. She liked the young woman; even though she had only met her that morning, Caitlyn had instinctively warmed to the gamekeeper’s wife.

  When she arrived back at the chocolate shop, Caitlyn was surprised to find that the Widow Mags was still absent. She stood in the middle of the shop area and looked around, thinking how sad and empty the room looked. It seemed wrong, when the chocolates were so delicious, that the place didn’t have more business. Her gaze scanned the bare stone walls and dark wooden shelving, which gave the room such a morbid atmosphere. Aside from the counter, there was no furniture in the store, which made the central space look even more bare and empty. Then she looked at the dusty pane of the glass counter, which didn’t do justice to the delicious chocolate truffles and bonbons displayed underneath.

  What this place needs is a lick of paint and a bit of sprucing up, thought Caitlyn. Maybe even a few tables and chairs arranged at one end, so people can sit and enjoy the delicious chocolate treats. If the shop was brightened up and an inviting window display set up, she was sure more people would come in off the street. And once someone had tasted the incredible chocolates, they would be sure to tell all their friends and family, and word would spread…

  Caitlyn sighed as she looked around again. It would be so wonderful to turn things around, to have the shop thriving, the room bustling with customers and people sitting down together, enjoying hot chocolate and cakes… Then she chided herself for her silly thoughts. What on earth was she thinking? It wasn’t even her shop! Why did she care if it thrived or not?

  She turned and marched into the back of the cottage, where she knocked on the door that led to the Widow Mags’s private quarters. As she had expected, she didn’t get an answer. She peeked in the kitchen and even the large pantry next to the kitchen, which was being used as a stillroom—the ceiling decorated with hanging bunches of dried leaves and flowers, and the shelves full of herbal cordials, powders, and tinctures. Nothing. No sign of the Widow Mags.

  Giving up, Caitlyn wandered out the back door of the cottage and found herself in a small herb garden. Someone had lovingly staked the plants and arranged them in rows, with little labels attached to their bases. Caitlyn walked along the rows, reading the names, some familiar, some strange. Sage, Elfwort, Poppy, Vervain, Yarrow, Mugwort, Lavender, Belladonna, Hollyhock, Basil, Mint, Foxglove…

  The path between the rows led out onto the hill and joined a trail which led up the slope, running alongside the line of trees at the edge of the woods. Caitlyn looked at the path, following its route up the hill with her eyes, and then, on an impulse, began to climb.

  If the villagers weren’t going to tell her the truth about the bonfire, then she would investigate for herself. And the first step was visiting the stone circle.

  ***

  Caitlyn climbed eagerly, relishing the exercise and enjoying the fresh air. She felt happy to be doing something proactive at last and was looking forward to seeing this mythical stone circle that was so talked about. When she reached the crest of the hill, however, she forgot about the stones for a moment as she caught her breath at the magnificent view spreading out around her.

  Behind her was the village, with the chocolate shop at the foot of the hill, and to her right, the forest sweeping up and over the hill, partially covering it like a dark green blanket. To the left, the rolling hills of the Cotswolds stretched away into the distance, whilst straight in front of her, the slope curved gently downwards onto a wide plain where a large manor house stood, surrounded by landscaped parks and gardens.

  That must have been Huntingdon Manor, the seat of Lord Fitzroy’s estate. It was an imposing eighteenth-century Georgian building, with two wings on either side of a central courtyard, beautiful classical proportions, and Palladian features. To one side was a cluster of traditional outbuildings, stables and coach house, grouped around a stable courtyard. It looked serene and majestic—the quintessential English country house.

  Caitlyn turned in a slow circle, scanning the landscape again, this time stopping when she faced the forest, which clung to one side of the hill. Her eyes widened.

  She saw them.

  Large sarsen boulders grouped in a circle, their misshapen forms resembling hunched warriors, frozen in time. One reared taller than the rest, easily towering over six feet, and the rest seemed to be twisted as if they were bowing towards it. Caitlyn approached the stones slowly and walked around the outside of the circle. Was it her imagination or did it seem to be suddenly quieter here, the air stiller�
�� almost like someone holding their breath, waiting…?

  A breeze stirred her hair and she heard something on the wind. Faint cries, high and eerie… almost like a baby crying and yet no human baby could sound like that…

  Caitlyn shivered. Unbidden, the myth of the banshee and its thin, wailing cries that heralded death came to her mind, but she banished the thought and told herself that it was probably just the sound of the wind whistling through the trees. Trying to shut her ears to the faint cries, she went forwards to examine the stones more closely. She paused by one of the boulders and hesitated, then put out a hand to touch its rough, pitted surface.

  Something sparked from her fingers, causing her to jump back with a yelp. Then she gave a self-deprecating laugh. Static electricity. That was all. Nothing spooky about that.

  She shook her head ruefully. All those legends she’d read in that book about Tillyhenge were putting ideas into her head. These were nothing more than blocks of sandstone that had somehow been left here on the landscape. There was nothing magical about them.

  Then Caitlyn saw something in the centre of the circle which made her heartbeat quicken: a shallow pit filled with black soot and the crumbling remains of burnt wood logs. So she had been right—someone had built a bonfire here last night. And she had a feeling that the villagers had known about it, in spite of their denials. So why had they been so secretive? What were they trying to hide?

  She looked around, a feeling of unease creeping over her. Then she shook it off irritably. Stop it! She was letting her imagination run away with her again! The legends and myths were stories, nothing more—made up by ignorant peasants in times past or maybe even created on purpose to give the stones a more romantic image. For example, that legend about the stones being un-countable… well, that was easy enough to disprove! And she would do it now.

  Caitlyn stepped into the centre of the circle and turned to face the stones, beginning to count them. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen… No, hang on… had she counted that one already?

  Start again. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven… No, that’s not right…

  Shaking her head in exasperation, Caitlyn took a deep breath and started again. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen… She stopped again, confused. She had tried to start counting from the tallest boulder, so that she would have that as a marker for when to stop—but it seemed like the tallest boulder wasn’t in the place she had thought it was when she came around the circle again.

  Feeling even more uneasy now but not wanting to admit it, Caitlyn marched over to the nearest stone. She would put some kind of marker on it, she decided. That way there would be no possibility of further confusion. She was just about to stoop down and find a small rock to place on the boulder when she heard a rustling come from the forest.

  She froze, her eyes riveted on the dark shadows between the trees.

  There was something moving through the woods. Coming towards her. Fast.

  She could hear it moving through the undergrowth, the twigs and leaves crackling under its weight. Some animal—not a horse, it was not the sound of hoofbeats—but something equally large and heavy. Then Caitlyn heard the sound of harsh panting, getting louder and louder…

  A dark form shot out suddenly from the forest and rushed forwards, launching itself straight at her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Caitlyn screamed and lurched backwards as a huge furry body slammed into her chest with the force of a battering ram. She felt a hot breath on her face as she toppled over, shrieking. She landed on the soft turf with a thump that knocked the breath from her body and lay for a moment, stunned.

  Then she became conscious of the heavy weight on top of her. She was being pinned down by two massive paws and panic surged through her as she struggled to get free. She looked up and saw the gleam of fangs in a cavernous mouth and she screamed again with all her might.

  The creature responded by leaning closer and, the next minute, Caitlyn felt something wet and slobbery on her terrified face, whilst her ears caught the sound of anxious whining.

  Wait a minute… Slobbery? Anxious whining?

  Slowly, Caitlyn pushed herself up on her elbows and looked at the creature before her. It was an enormous English mastiff, its saggy face and wrinkled brow furrowed in an adorable fashion as it cocked its head to one side and regarded her lovingly. Its big pink tongue was hanging out of its mouth as it panted and drooled down the front of its chest. Suddenly, Caitlyn realised that the dog had been licking her and that her face was covered in dog drool.

  “Eeuugh! Get off me!” she gasped, trying to scramble out from beneath the mastiff.

  But the huge dog simply wagged his tail and clamped a massive paw on her chest, giving her another slurp with his tongue.

  “Eeeuuuw! Stop! That’s disgusting!” cried Caitlyn, turning her face away from the big slobbery tongue. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Here she had thought that she was being attacked by some wild beast and instead it was simply an oversized lapdog!

  She noticed that the mastiff was wearing a leather collar around its massive neck but just as she was reaching out to search for a tag, she heard a deep, male voice shouting:

  “Bran! Bran, where are you?”

  The next moment, a man rushed out of the woods and into the open space beside the stone circle. He flinched when he saw the mastiff on top of Caitlyn and hurried towards them.

  “Bran! You stupid dog—what are you doing? I’m really sorry… Please excuse my dog. He’s a big buffoon but harmless really.”

  He shoved the mastiff off and helped Caitlyn gently to her feet.

  “I’m sorry. Did he frighten you? He’s really very well trained… but… uh… suffers occasional lapses sometimes. Bran loves people and I’m afraid that he labours under the misapprehension that everyone is waiting for him to charge up and say hello.”

  He held a large hand out to her and gave her a lopsided smile. “My name’s James. James Fitzroy.”

  Caitlyn stood and gawped at him. Tall, dark, and handsome didn’t even come close to describing him. The man was like Mr Darcy and James Bond all rolled into one, and with the sexiest British accent to boot. He stood well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders outlined by the fine cotton of his classic polo shirt, worn over beige breeches tucked into black riding boots. Dark unruly hair swept across his forehead, in a way that Byron would have envied, and his face was defined by dark eyebrows over humorous grey eyes. His nose was slightly large but it suited him, offsetting the strong line of his jaw, which showed a hint of dark stubble. The hand he held out to her had long tapered fingers but the roughened skin on his fingertips and the bulge of muscles beneath his shirt showed that he was no mincing aristocratic fop. This was a man who was used to physical exertion and the great outdoors.

  Suddenly, Caitlyn realised that she was still standing there, staring at him, open-mouthed. Hurriedly, she shut her mouth and put her hand in his.

  “Uh… h-hi.”

  She was intensely conscious of the fact that she was covered in bits of mud and grass, with a film of dried dog drool clinging to her chin. Why-oh-why hadn’t she listened to her cousin when Pomona wanted to give her a makeover? Then maybe she could have presented a more glamorous image now, instead of facing James Fitzroy in her oldest jeans and a billowing peasant-style blouse that probably piled on extra pounds—not to mention her face bare of make-up and her red hair pulled back anyhow in a messy ponytail! Caitlyn began making a desperate attempt to brush herself off and straighten her hair.

  James winced as he watched her. “I’m sorry—Bran doesn’t know his own strength sometimes. I hope your clothes haven’t been damaged? I’d be happy to pay for any replacements.”

  “Um… no, it’s okay… these are old things anyway,” murmured Caitlyn. She rubbed her cheek, hoping to get the dog slobber off.

  “Her
e…” said James, handing her a crisp white handkerchief.

  “Thanks.” Caitlyn flushed slightly as she took it.

  “I’m afraid some of it has gone into your hair as well…” said James, his eyes going to her forehead. He lifted his hand and gently brushed back a few strands of her hair.

  Caitlyn caught her breath, feeling goosebumps erupt all over her skin. Hurriedly, she took a step back and babbled, “How… how come he was running loose anyway? Shouldn’t he be on a leash? I thought there was a law in England where all dogs had to be on a leash in public places?"

  “They do.” He looked amused. “But this isn’t a public place. This hill and these woods are part of the Fitzroy family estate—so this is my land.”

  “Oh.” Caitlyn gulped. “Er… does that mean I’m trespassing?”

  His lips quirked in a smile. “Yes. But I’ll forgive you—on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You tell me your name. You know mine—but I haven’t had the pleasure of learning yours.”

  Caitlyn felt herself swoon slightly. Oh my goodness, the man even talked like someone in a Jane Austen novel!

  “My name’s Caitlyn… Caitlyn Le Fey,” she added after a moment’s hesitation.

  “Le Fey?” He frowned. “Any connection to the singer, Barbara Le Fey?”

  “She was my mother… adoptive mother, actually. But I would appreciate it if you kept that to yourself,” she added quickly. “I’m… er… sort of in Tillyhenge incognito and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Incognito?” He arched an eyebrow. “That sounds intriguing. May I ask why?”

  “Um… I’m… I’m searching for some answers… about my past…” Caitlyn trailed off, wondering why she had blurted that out. She hadn’t revealed her real reasons for coming to Tillyhenge to anyone else, so why was she suddenly telling James Fitzroy? And yet… there was something about him that made her trust him, that made her feel like she could tell him anything…