by HANNA, H. Y.
She waited, half expecting him to ply her with more questions, but to her surprise, he merely nodded politely. Then she remembered the British and their habit of courteous reserve. James wouldn’t pry further unless she volunteered more information herself. Her hand crept up to the runestone necklace, tucked out of sight beneath her blouse, but she didn’t quite feel ready to show it to him. Instead, she gestured to the stone circle beside them and said:
“Do you know anything about a bonfire here?”
“A bonfire?”
“Yes, I thought I saw one from my window last night. I’m staying at the chocolate shop and my bedroom faces the hill,” she explained.
He shook his head. “I didn’t notice myself—but my bedroom faces the other way.” He glanced into the circle, narrowing his eyes as he saw the remnants of the burnt logs in the centre. “Hmm…”
“I thought maybe it was some kind of local tradition… like a pagan ritual or something…”
“And you came here to check it out yourself?” He raised his eyebrows.
Caitlyn flushed at the censure in his tone. “It’s broad daylight and perfectly safe.”
“Perhaps. But you might want to be cautious about wandering to secluded places alone.” He paused, then added, “A man was murdered here recently.”
“Yes, I know,” said Caitlyn. “I heard on the news. He worked for you, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he was my gamekeeper.” James looked at her curiously. “Why did you think of pagan rituals when you saw the bonfire?”
“Oh…” Caitlyn looked down and shuffled her feet, embarrassed. “Well, I heard some people mention witchcraft in connection with the murder and I guess the idea came into my head.”
He made a dismissive sound. “Some of the villagers have overactive imaginations. There was no witchcraft involved. Stan Matthews was poisoned, pure and simple. The post-mortem tests detected lethal levels of atropine in his system.”
“I heard some stories about the way he was found, like his eyes turning black—”
“One of the symptoms of atropine poisoning is dilation of the pupils. Matthews’s eyes were extremely dilated when we found him. It would make his previously blue eyes look black to those who only had a quick glance at him.”
“Oh.” Caitlyn digested this. “Do the police know where the atropine came from?”
James made a face. “That’s the six-million-dollar question. If they could know the answer to that, they’d probably know the identity of the killer.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, atropine can come from a variety of sources. It’s mostly used in medical applications, such as in the treatment of slow heart rates and in eye drops for ophthalmic examinations. It’s also used to treat excessive sweating. In fact, it’s even used as an antidote for other toxins. And of course, there are all the old folk remedies that use extracts of belladonna… Belladonna is a natural source of atropine,” he explained at Caitlyn’s blank look.
“Wow… you seem to know a lot about it.”
James gave her a grim smile. “I’ve made it my business to know. The murdered man was a Fitzroy employee and I take care of my people. I want to see his killer brought to justice. The police have been very good about keeping me informed on all aspects of the case.”
“So… you mean anyone with a medical connection could have got hold of the poison? Like a doctor or something?”
James nodded. “Or even anyone who is being treated for certain medical conditions. Or anyone who makes or uses herbal remedies containing belladonna. In fact, even someone who just grows belladonna in their gardens could have had access to the poison and be the killer.” He gave her a sardonic look. “As you can see, that leaves the field pretty wide open.”
Caitlyn was reminded uneasily of the gossip in the post office shop and the reports of belladonna growing in the Widow Mags’s garden. She remembered her own stroll through the backyard of the cottage earlier and the neat rows of herbs and plants, each carefully labelled. She couldn’t recall exactly but she seemed to remember seeing “Belladonna” amongst the names…
She cleared her throat. “But why would anyone want to kill your gamekeeper?”
“I don’t know but I can make a guess. Stan Matthews liked to drink and squandered most of his income at the pub. I think he might have been tempted with an offer of extra cash and got involved in something which then backfired.”
“Extra cash? You mean, he was accepting a bribe? For what?”
“For access to hunting. Gamekeepers are supposed to guard against poachers—that’s one of the key roles of their job. But they are also perfectly placed to cover up any illegal hunting activity.”
“You think Matthews was being paid off by poachers?”
“Yes.”
Caitlyn gestured around them. “But… what would they be poaching?”
“There’s a herd of deer on the estate. They live mostly in the forest and they are protected. But they would be an attractive target for poachers, especially if—” He broke off.
Caitlyn looked at him curiously. “Especially if what?”
James hesitated, then said reluctantly, “There are stories going back several generations about the White Stag and how it’s been spotted in these woods.”
“The White Stag?”
“It’s a mythical creature,” said James, looking slightly sheepish. “It’s believed to be a messenger from the Otherworld and they say it appears to those who are about to set off on a new journey. It’s supposed to signal a time of change and new beginnings.”
“But that’s just a myth, right?”
“Oh yes—I’m not suggesting that there really is a mythical White Stag in these woods,” said James hastily. “But there really are red deer stags that are born white. It’s very rare but they do exist and they are highly valued by poachers. There was a tragedy a few years ago when a ‘white stag’ on the Devon-Cornwall border was found shot and beheaded. Its carcass had been left behind but the head was gone.”
“That’s awful!” cried Caitlyn. “Why would they do that?”
“The head, with the antlers, is worth a lot. It could be mounted as a trophy and sold for thousands of pounds. That’s why the locals had kept the white stag’s existence a secret for ages, because they knew how prized he was by hunters.”
“So you think people might be looking for a ‘white stag’ in your woods?”
“It’s possible, especially if Stan Matthews had been talking it up,” said James. “I’ve heard from my other staff that he liked bragging, especially when he got drunk. I wouldn’t be surprised if he exaggerated things a bit—pretended that he had proof of a ‘white stag’ being found in these woods—and even accepting money to show someone where to find it.”
He hesitated, then added, “The police have a few suspects on their list and one of them is a Dutch South African gentleman who arrived in the village just before Matthews’s murder. His name is Hans van Driesen and he’s a big game hunter. He’s exactly the sort of man who would see the head of a ‘white stag’ as the ultimate trophy.”
“Have the police questioned him?” asked Caitlyn eagerly.
“Yes, but they have no evidence to tie him to the murder… yet.”
“Well, I think that—Listen! D’you hear that?” Caitlyn caught his arm.
“Hear what?” James frowned.
“The cries… Can’t you hear them?” Caitlyn turned towards the forest. “I heard them earlier; I kept thinking it was my imagination… but now I can hear them again.”
And this time, there was no question of banshees or some other fanciful explanation. No, these were obviously from an animal—an animal in terrible distress. The cries tore at Caitlyn’s heart. She had to help.
She turned and rushed into the forest.
CHAPTER NINE
Something thundered next to Caitlyn and she realised that it was Bran the mastiff lumbering beside her, his big tongue hanging out and his jowls flapping up an
d down as he ran. Behind them, she could hear James’s voice sounding annoyed and bewildered.
“Wait! Caitlyn! Where’re you going—? Bran, come back!”
Caitlyn ran faster, racing around the bend of the path and coming suddenly into a clearing in the woods. There was a large pool in the centre of the clearing with edges that looked too sharply hewn to be natural. It was a disused quarry, she realised. Probably once used by the residents of the villages nearby to supply the stones for building their cottages. It had long been abandoned, however, and had filled up with rainwater, so that it was now a stagnant pool of milky green.
And in the middle, mewing and paddling frantically, was a tiny black kitten.
It was barely keeping its head above water as it tried to swim to the edge of the pool but seemed to only go around in circles instead. Caitlyn realised that she must have heard it mewing earlier, when she had first noticed the faint cries. It must have been wandering in the forest then, lost and calling for its mother, and its cries of loneliness had turned into shrill calls for help when it had fallen into the water.
“Hang on! I’m coming!” shouted Caitlyn, rushing to the edge of the pool.
“Caitlyn! Wait!” A strong masculine hand reached out and caught her wrist, yanking her back from the edge.
“There have been several drownings in this pool,” said James urgently. “It’s much deeper than you think and the water is treacherous—once you’re in, it’s very hard to get out because the sides are so steep.”
“But the kitten—!” Caitlyn threw an agonised look over her shoulder just in time to see the kitten go under, then resurface, coughing and spluttering and mewing pitifully.
“We need to find a branch and extend it so that the kitten can climb—”
“There’s no time!” cried Caitlyn. “By the time you find a branch, the kitten will have drowned. Let me go!”
Jerking her wrist free, she turned and launched herself off the edge of the pool, landing with a huge splash in the water. Green murkiness enveloped her for a second, then she burst to the surface, shaking her hair out of her eyes. The water was cold and unpleasantly slimy, but she barely noticed as she began swimming towards the struggling kitten.
“It’s all right… I’m coming…” she spluttered, pulling strongly through the water.
The kitten was failing now, its efforts to paddle getting weaker and weaker and its head sinking lower and lower into the water.
“Me-e-ew… Me-e…”
“Got you!”
Caitlyn caught the little black kitten by the scruff of its neck and lifted it out of the water. She propped it on her shoulders, hoping that it would have enough strength to hang on, then turned and began swimming back towards the edge of the quarry pool. She got there to find James looking down at her with a mixture of relief and exasperation.
He reached down and helped pull her out of the pool. Caitlyn wouldn’t have admitted it out loud but he was right: the sides were very steep and slippery, and extended several feet above her head, making it almost impossible to find a handhold to pull herself out. She could see just how easily one could drown in that pool, just searching for a way to climb out and becoming exhausted in the deep water.
“That was an incredibly stupid thing to do!” snapped James, looking at her angrily. “You could have drowned!”
“I’m a good swimmer,” said Caitlyn, stung. She staggered to her feet, dripping water everywhere. “I’ve swum in seas all over the world and I know what I’m doing.”
“You may be a good swimmer but even the best swimmers would exhaust themselves if they had to tread water forever. If I hadn’t been here, how would you have got out of the pool?”
Caitlyn opened her mouth, then shut it again. He was right. And she was annoyed that he was right.
“I would have figured out a way,” she muttered.
“Do you always do this? Rush into things without thinking?”
“It’s none of your business if I do!” Caitlyn retorted.
She was being rude and ungrateful, she knew, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She felt really disgusting now: the cold slimy water was dripping off her hair and running in rivulets down her face and back, her clothes were plastered to her body, and her feet squelched in her sandals.
“Meewww…”
“Oh, the kitten!” Caitlyn reached up and gently lifted the kitten from where it was still clinging to her shoulders. It was tiny—no more than six weeks old—and sooty black all over, except for a pair of big yellow eyes. Caitlyn could feel its little body shivering against her.
“Oh heavens, I hope it’s going to be okay? It’s so small! And so skinny! I wonder how long it’s been in the water? What if it dies of hypothermia or water inhalation or—”
“The first thing to do is to get it warm and dry.” James’s calm voice cut through her panicked babbling. “I can take it back and get my stable manager to have a look. He’s not a vet but he’s got years of experience looking after the horses and other animals on my estate. There’s no local vet in Tillyhenge—you’d have to go to one of the local towns and the delay could be fatal.” He reached out large capable hands. “Will you entrust the kitten to me?”
Caitlyn looked up at him, their recent argument forgotten. She nodded and handed the kitten to him, watching as he folded it gently into the crook of his arm and tucked it close to his body. Then he looked up at her and frowned.
“Will you be all right getting back yourself? I would have liked to escort you—”
“Oh, no need to worry about me!” said Caitlyn quickly. “I’ll be fine. It’s only a short walk down the hill back to the chocolate shop.” She hesitated. “Are you sure about the kitten? I mean, it’s really not your problem and I was the one who rescued it…”
He gave her a smile, making her heart skip a beat. “If you put it like that, the kitten was found on my estate—so it is my business. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’ll probably see you around—Tillyhenge is a small place—but feel free to come up to the Manor anytime if you want to check on it. I’ll let my housekeeper know to expect you.”
“Oh… um… thanks,” Caitlyn stammered.
He gave her a nod, then turned and began to stride away through the forest.
“Come, Bran!” he called to the mastiff, who was still standing at the edge of the pool, staring quizzically into the water. The entire rescue seemed to have gone over the big dog’s head and he was still sniffing the edge of the water, a baffled expression on his face.
“Bran! Come on, you dolt! The kitten’s over here!” James waved impatiently.
The mastiff looked up, his wrinkled face brightening, and lumbered happily after his master.
Caitlyn watched them until they disappeared from sight, her heart full of something she couldn’t define, then she began making her own way back towards the chocolate shop.
CHAPTER TEN
Caitlyn got back to Bewitched by Chocolate and hurried upstairs to change into dry clothes. When she returned downstairs, she was surprised to find someone in the chocolate shop: a young man in a cheap suit who was facing the old woman across the counter, holding a brochure nervously in his hands.
“…so you see, it would really be a v-very good deal for you, ma’am,” he stammered. “My company, Blackmort Enterprises, would compensate you handsomely for your property. S-such an opportunity might not come again—”
“And what are you going to do with my house?” the Widow Mags demanded.
“Oh… er… well, the cottage itself isn’t worth much,” the young man said apologetically. “It’s the land it’s sitting on, really. You see, this is a fantastic location with the views and the easy access to the countryside—and the proximity to the railway. A lot of people in the cities are wanting to move out to the countryside now and the Cotswolds is one of the top destinations. And your parcel of land is quite large, which means that there would be enough space for sub-development—”
“You mea
n you’re going to knock my cottage down and put some ugly concrete boxes in its place?”
“N-no, ma’am,” said the young man. “Er… I mean… they will be concrete but they will follow the finest modern design principles. We have top architects working for us at Blackmort Enterprises and—”
“What about me?” the Widow Mags cut in. “What am I going to do while you’re faffing around with your ‘modern design principles’?”
“Oh, I’m so glad you mentioned that,” the young man said eagerly. He held out the brochure. “You see, Blackmort Enterprises also manages several nursing homes and aged care communities. As I said, you will be compensated handsomely for your property. Very handsomely. So you will have a lump sum to invest and you won’t have to worry about working anymore. You could simply enjoy your retirement in one of these luxurious properties—see?” He turned the pages of the brochure proudly. “Each unit is extremely comfortable and spacious, with its own courtyard or balcony, and you would have access to twenty-four-hour security and monitoring, as well as physiotherapists and nurses on site.” He turned more pages. “And there are numerous amenities, such as bowling greens and a gym and indoor heated pool…” He glanced around the chocolate shop. “Wouldn’t you rather live somewhere modern and comfortable, with someone taking care of all your needs?”
“No,” the Widow Mags snapped. “I’m not so in my dotage that I need someone to wipe my bum for me.”
The young man flushed. “Oh, er… th-that’s not what I meant… Naturally, you still look like you’re very much in your prime…” He flushed again under the Widow Mags’s sardonic gaze. “Uh… I-I mean, maybe not your prime exactly but very w-well-preserved for someone of your advanced years… er, I mean, senior citizen… that is…”
Caitlyn felt slightly sorry for him. She didn’t like salespeople in general but this young man was different. With his light brown hair and mild brown eyes, he looked a bit like a timid rabbit. He also looked very young. She wondered if this was his first job—he looked like someone who was keen to make a good impression with the boss. He’d probably volunteered to come and see the Widow Mags and was realising now that he had bitten off far more than he could chew!
