by H. Y. Hanna
Hopkins scowled, looking taken aback. “I assume you are referring to Matthew Hopkins? As it so happens, I am descended from him.”
“No way!” Pomona stared at him. “You can’t be! Matthew Hopkins didn’t have any kids.”
“I assure you my claim is legitimate,” snapped Hopkins. “It was always assumed that Matthew died without any issue, but in actual fact he had a dalliance with a village maid and fathered a son with her. The boy grew up and took the Hopkins name.”
“No way!” said Pomona again.
Caitlyn looked from one to the other. “Who is Matthew Hopkins?” she asked, not following their conversation at all.
“He was a man who lived in the era of King James I, who called himself the Witch-Finder General, and he was, like, the worst witch hunter of them all,” Pomona explained. “He just set himself up as this big hotshot, without any authority, and started going around the villages, accusing random women of being witches. Then he would torture them and do all those stupid ‘tests’ on them, to make them confess and prove that they were guilty of witchcraft. He was, like, only witch hunting for a year, but he killed more witches in that time than any other witch hunter over the whole century! And it was all just a greedy scam too! It was just so that he could scare people into paying him lots of money for his services—”
“That is not true,” Hopkins cut in, his face flushed with angry indignation. “Matthew Hopkins performed a legitimate service and he did have authority—royal authority! In fact, he was part of—” He broke off suddenly, an expression of chagrin crossing his face, as if he had said too much.
“What royal authority?” asked Pomona, her eyes alight with curiosity.
Gerald Hopkins took a deep breath, as if getting himself back under control, then said in a repressive voice: “Cromwell may have been concerned with the English Civil War and Parliamentary tensions, but there were other, real dangers threatening Great Britain—dangers that came from beyond this world.”
Pomona stared at him. “Are you talking about magic? You are!” she squealed triumphantly. “You’re saying that Matthew Hopkins was, like, sanctioned by the British government to hunt witches because they were believed to be a threat. Man—how dumb is that!”
“It is not ‘dumb’ and you should not speak of things you have no understanding of, young lady!” said Hopkins through gritted teeth. “The forces of Dark Magic are real and dangerous; they are all around us, waiting to claim us any time, and it is vital that those who practise the dark arts are removed from society and exterminated.”
Caitlyn stared at him. She wondered if he was playing an elaborate joke on them. Did this man really believe in magic? He seemed totally serious, and yet she couldn’t believe that he’d really meant what he said... Along with discovering and accepting that she was a witch, she had also come to accept the existence of magic and of beings which once seemed to only belong in legends and fairy tales. She had even had uncomfortable brushes with the forces of Dark Magic herself. But—aside from Pomona—she was not used to others talking as if magic was possible and the Otherworld a reality.
“His methods may have been controversial, but without Matthew there would have been great evil preying on the people of England,” Hopkins was saying, still breathing hard and looking at Pomona in anger. “It is one of the great tragedies that Matthew Hopkins has been maligned and misunderstood, simply because of the covert nature of his work. If only people realised the huge debt they owe him—and his son, his grandson, all his descendants who have continued his important work in His Majesty’s service—”
“Wait a minute... wait a minute...” Pomona frowned. “Are you saying that Matthew Hopkins’s son took his father’s place and continued his work—in secrecy—and then his son and grandson and great-grandson... all the way down to you today?”
“My family has always been in the service of the Crown," said Hopkins enigmatically. He glanced at the oil portraits hanging on the wall and added, “As have other great families in England.”
Caitlyn followed his gaze, surprised. Surely he didn’t mean the Fitzroys? She turned back to him to ask more, then realised with an unpleasant jolt that Gerald Hopkins was looking at her with unusual intensity. She was suddenly glad that her blouse had a high, ruffled collar which hid her runestone from view.
“You...” He took a step towards her. “You say your name is Le Fey? That is a witch’s name.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CAITLYN LICKED HER lips and gave a nervous laugh. “It was my adopted mother’s stage name, actually. Her real name was Barbara Sinclair, but when she began her singing career, she changed it to ‘Barbara Le Fey’. It was catchy and whimsical, and fitted her public persona. I don’t think she picked it for its witchy connotations or anything. My adopted mother never had much interest in the occult.”
She didn’t know why she was making so much effort to explain but there was something about the old witch hunter’s words that put her on the defensive. Hopkins took another step towards her, his pale blue eyes examining her face, as he murmured:
“Nevertheless... there is something about you...”
Caitlyn had to force herself not to back away from him. She didn’t want to show fear, even though Gerald Hopkins really gave her the creeps. As if sensing her discomfort, Pomona tossed her hair back and stepped forwards to intervene. The movement caused her leather jacket to part, as it had earlier, and the light caught the sparkling black jewel at her throat. Gerald Hopkins froze. He jerked around to Pomona, his eyes riveted on the black diamond.
“Where did you get that?” he asked hoarsely.
“This? It was a gift from an admirer,” said Pomona with a grin, adding proudly, “It’s one of the lost pieces from the original Black Orlov diamond.”
“It is cursed,” said Hopkins, his eyes still on the glittering black gem.
“No, no, the curse was broken when they cut up the original stone,” Pomona assured him. “Besides, that’s probably just, like, a dumb superstition or something.”
“It is no superstition. You must remove that necklace at once.”
“What?” Pomona gave an incredulous laugh. “No way! I'm not gonna give up my favourite accessory just ’cos you think it's got bad vibes!”
“This is no laughing matter,” Hopkins insisted. “There is evil imbued in that jewel. You may not realise it but the longer that stone remains around your neck, the more it will possess your soul. The effect is slow and insidious, like a parasite that you do not notice—”
“Hey!” said Pomona, starting to look really annoyed. “Lay off, okay? This isn’t a parasite—it’s a gorgeous diamond! And if you don’t—”
They were interrupted by the sound of footsteps ringing on wood and, a minute later, James Fitzroy stepped out of the opening from the secret passage. He saw them and hurried over.
“Here you are! I was wondering—”
Gerald Hopkins stepped forwards and stuck out a hand. “James... Good to see you, my boy. It has been a long time.”
James smiled. “I believe I was still at Oxford the last time we met, sir.”
“Yes, it was your first year and you were home for the holidays.” Hopkins’s lips thinned in disapproval. “I remember being surprised that you had not chosen to read Theology, like your father did before you.”
“He did suggest it, but he left the final decision to me. He felt that it was important for me to be genuinely interested in the subject I was studying.”
Hopkins looked even more disapproving. "And you would not have been interested in Theology?”
“Well, I certainly had an interest in it—but there were other topics I wanted to study more.” James looked quizzically at him, as if wondering why the man was bringing up something from so long ago. Then he glanced from the older man to the two girls, suddenly noticing Pomona’s stormy expression and the tension in the atmosphere. “Er... I take it that you’ve been introduced to Caitlyn and Pomona?”
“We hav
e become acquainted, yes,” said Hopkins.
There was another strained silence and James looked curiously from one to the other, then said with forced cheerfulness, “Well, I had quite a surprise finding the Library empty of my guests and a big gaping hole in the panelling!”
“Didn’t you know about the passageway?” asked Caitlyn.
James shook his head. “I did discover the little space behind the fake wall when I was exploring the Manor as a boy, and I always wondered what it was for, but I had no idea that the panelling opened or that there was a secret passageway connecting the Library to the Portrait Gallery. Come to think of it, I do remember my father once telling me not to play by the wall at the back of the Library... I wonder if he knew about the passageway—he certainly never mentioned it to me.”
“There were many things your father never told you,” said Gerald Hopkins. “As for the passageway, yes, he did know about it. In fact, it was he who first showed me the concealed door in the panelling and told me about the hidden route up to this room.” He gestured to the bookcases next to him. “I hope you do not mind me looking through here—your father’s collection is impressive and I am keen to take advantage of texts and illustrations that I do not normally have access to.”
“Oh, naturally—you’re very welcome to make use of whatever resources you’d like during your stay. You can take the books to your room, if it is more convenient,” James offered. He turned to Caitlyn and smiled, saying, “Mosley showed me the box of chocolate hazelnut brownies and other treats you’d brought. I’m looking forward to trying the Widow Mags’s new hazelnut truffles.”
Gerald Hopkins’s ears pricked up. “The Widow Mags?”
“She is Caitlyn’s grandmother,” James explained. “She resides in the village and owns a chocolate shop."
At the mention of Bewitched by Chocolate, the lines around Hopkins’s mouth deepened.
“Yes, I know about that chocolate shop,” he said harshly. “I never understood how your father allowed that. His leniency in that area was reprehensible.”
James looked at him in puzzlement. “Do you mean the terms of occupancy? Yes, it’s true that the Widow Mags owns her cottage and garden outright, unlike most of the village, who are tenants of the estate. I believe my father had a different arrangement with her—”
“He should never have negotiated anything with that woman!” snapped Gerald Hopkins. “I don’t know what he was thinking. He should have remembered his position, his duty to his country—” He broke off abruptly, then wagged a finger in James’s face and said, “I warned your father that no good would come of harbouring a witch on his doorstep, but he would not listen to me. And look what happened—look how quickly death claimed him.”
James cleared his throat. “Er... well, actually, my father had a known heart condition for quite some time. His heart attack was sudden but not wholly unexpected. And as for the Widow Mags... She is a skilled chocolatier and a valued member of the village. I personally have great respect for her. Perhaps if you got to know her better—”
“Oh, I know her, boy. Far better than you think,” said Hopkins with a dark look. “She is not what you think she is. She is an evil witch with the ability to summon spells and curses—”
James laughed. “The Widow Mags is not an evil witch! That is nothing more than village gossip and empty rumour, perpetuated by a group of silly, ignorant people who should really know better! It is ludicrous, in this day and age, that they should still believe in those sorts of superstitions.”
Gerald Hopkins gave him a hard look. “Are you telling me that you do not believe in the existence of witches?”
James hesitated, his eyes sliding to Caitlyn for a second before he said, “I believe that most of the women who were hunted down as witches were guilty of nothing more than being old, living on their own, and maybe owning a cat.”
“You are wrong, boy,” growled Hopkins. “They may have looked like harmless women but that is because most people cannot see their true natures. It takes those trained in fighting Dark Magic to identify and expose them. And do not think that they are gone. Witches are still in England everywhere, and without the trials and witch hunts to expose them, they are free to perpetuate their evil practices.” He shook his head grimly. “It was a dark day when the original Witchcraft Act was repealed and witchcraft was no longer a crime punishable by death.”
James laughed weakly. “You are joking, aren't you?”
Gerald Hopkins gave him a cold look. “No.”
Caitlyn caught her breath. She had come across a lot of anti-witch sentiment since she’d arrived in Tillyhenge, but even Vera Bottom’s venomous outbursts didn’t match this man’s intense hostility. She’d never met such naked hatred and prejudice before.
James gave another forced laugh. “Come on, sir—I can’t believe you’re serious! One would think that you are suggesting we return to the Dark Ages. The witch trials were a terrible time in English history. It’s a relief that they have been abolished and people are no longer persecuted for their beliefs.” He made a determined effort to change the topic. “Anyway... I hope you have worked up a good appetite from your journey. My cook, Mrs Pruett, is preparing a great autumn feast. I believe she has even ordered in a pheasant especially. Perhaps we should make our way down to the Dining Room now?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DINNER WAS A STRAINED affair and Caitlyn was relieved when it was over, and she and Pomona could excuse themselves and leave. Pomona was still seething and exploded into a rant about Gerald Hopkins as soon as they were in the car.
“That man is a total jackass! Stupid, arrogant, narrow-minded bigot! Who does he think he is? I wanted to punch him in the face! If it wasn’t ’cos I really like James and didn’t wanna make things awkward for him... Did you hear what Hopkins said? Omigod, I can’t believe that he seriously wants to bring witch trials back! Is the man, like, insane?”
“Calm down, Pomie,” said Caitlyn, taking her eyes off the road to glance sideways at her cousin. Pomona was so angry, she looked almost comical. “You’re going to burst a blood vessel at this rate.”
“How can you take it so calmly, Caitlyn?” Pomona demanded. “I mean, you’re a witch and the man was talking about making executing witches legal again!”
“Well, I—”
“And why was he picking on my necklace? Evil jewel... my ass! The only thing evil at dinner tonight was him! No, I’m serious. Listen—I think Gerald Hopkins murdered Minerva Chattox!”
“What?”
“Yeah, think about it—it all makes sense! The man hates witches and thinks they should all be executed, right? And here’s Minerva going around, like, bragging about her magical powers and stuff... Well, maybe he decided to deal out some ‘old-fashioned’ justice! I mean, she was tied to a chair and then thrown into the water. That was exactly the method used to test if a woman was a witch—and Gerald Hopkins would have been the perfect person to know that!”
“But he didn’t arrive until after the murder,” Caitlyn pointed out.
“That’s what he says—but who knows if it’s true?” said Pomona. “I mean, Minerva was killed yesterday morning and Hopkins arrived at the Manor last night... He could have arrived in the area much earlier and, like, just didn’t show up at the Manor until evening. No one would have known. He could have been hiding in the forest, waiting for her—”
“But... how would he have even known that Minerva was in Tillyhenge?” asked Caitlyn.
“Maybe he followed her here. You said she’d been going around different towns, advertising her services, right? Well, if he really does think of himself as a ‘witch hunter’, then maybe he’d been tracking her and followed her here... Do you really think it’s a coincidence that he decides to come and visit James the same week that Minerva shows up?”
Caitlyn was silent, thinking. Now that Pomona had put it like that, it did all seem to fit. Was Gerald Hopkins the man she had overheard in the woods, threatening Minerva? S
he tried to recall the exact words she had overheard: “I've made it my mission in life to seek out scum like you, and you have no idea what I’m capable of... I will do whatever is necessary, whatever it takes, to destroy you. I will make sure that you are gone, witch...” She frowned. The words could certainly fit in the context of Hopkins’s crusade against witches...
“You gotta tell Inspector Walsh tomorrow,” said Pomona.
“Maybe I should speak to James about it first,” said Caitlyn uneasily. “I mean, Gerald Hopkins is an old family friend. He knew James as a boy. It seems wrong to accuse him behind James’s back.”
Pomona shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose so. But you gotta speak to him about it first thing, okay?”
By the time she had dropped Pomona off at Bertha’s place, parked her car in the village green, and walked back to the chocolate shop, Caitlyn was exhausted and ready to fall into bed. She had expected to find the cottage dark and the Widow Mags gone to sleep, but to her surprise, she found her grandmother still in the kitchen.
“I thought you would have gone to bed already,” she said as she joined the old witch at the large wooden table in the centre of the kitchen.
“Want to finish the last batch...” the Widow Mags muttered, busily chopping up a slab of couverture dark chocolate into little chunks.
“What’s that amazing smell?” asked Caitlyn, sniffing and looking around the kitchen.
“It’s the hazelnuts roasting. They should be about done now...” The Widow Mags looked around for her oven glove.
“Here, I’ll get them,” Caitlyn offered.
Carefully, she lifted the tray of hazelnuts out of the oven and placed it on the wooden table. A wonderful aroma of warm, roasted nuts filled the room. Following the Widow Mags’s directions, she transferred the nuts into a large linen cloth, then gathered the four ends together to form a bundle.
“Now rub the nuts through the cloth... go on, don’t be gentle—we need the nuts to grind against each other,” instructed the Widow Mags. “That will rub their skins off.”
