The Mystery of the Marsh Malaise: Wonky Inn Book 5

by Jeannie Wycherley

  “Thank you,” I said, thoroughly insulted.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I lifted my hands up into the attack stance Silvan had been drumming into me. The man irritated me beyond reason.

  “Again!” I ordered, pointing at the silk handkerchiefs. “Again!”

  Later we lay on the floor of the attic. My shoulders and thighs burned with the unaccustomed stretching, the pushing and pulling of energy around the room. Even my fingers felt stiff. I lifted my hands and examined them, palms facing and then away. The ring George had given me for my birthday glittered in the light spilling in on us from the large round window that faced out onto the gardens.

  Silvan caught my hand and studied the ring too.

  “That’s an interesting choice of adornment.” The scathing tone in his voice was unmistakeable.

  “It’s an engagement ring. George was proposing before he disappeared.”

  Silvan grunted with amusement. “Marriage.” He obviously didn’t approve. “It’s all about ownership.”

  I pulled my hand away.

  “May I see it?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

  “Take it off. Let me have a look.”

  “No!” I rolled away from him and stood up. “You’re just jealous.”

  Silvan laughed. “Jealous? Of what? That you have an expensive piece of bling on your finger, or that you’re owned by someone else?”

  I growled at him. “I am not owned by George or anyone else.”

  Silvan pushed himself up on one elbow. “But when you give yourself away to another you are no longer free.”

  “I disagree. When you’re in love it’s the greatest feeling in the world. You can do anything. You have someone watching your back, someone encouraging you, someone supporting you. Someone there for you when it all goes wrong. You feel invincible. Isn’t that something wonderful?”

  Silvan narrowed his eyes. “I’m already invincible.”

  Such confidence the man had. I admired him for that.

  “You’ve never loved?” I asked him.

  He sat up, his elbows on his knees, his hair flopping over his eyes. “Of course I have, Alfhild. And deeply. Believe it or not.” Something flickered in his eyes. I wanted to know more but didn’t feel I could pry.

  “There you are then.” I sounded like a petulant child.

  “Love makes you weak, Alfhild. It’s the thin end of a wedge that can be used to crack open the door before bludgeoning you to death.”

  “Now there’s a cheery thought,” I scolded, annoyed at his dismissal of my emotions.

  “I’m serious. Deadly serious.” He tapped the side of his head. “The Mori know you too well. They know how you react. They can force you into a situation and they will expect you to behave in predictable ways.”

  That thought drew me up short.

  “Why do they know you so well?” Silvan asked.

  “Jed.” I spat the word out with complete contempt. “When I first moved into the inn I enlisted the help of a local painter, decorator, odd-job man. He—” I took a deep breath, ashamed of how I’d been hoodwinked. “He rapidly became important to me. I thought it was…” I trailed off.

  “Love,” Silvan finished for me, the word stark, hanging in the air between us. The insinuation being that I was a weak-minded fool.

  I nodded and remained quiet.

  “You thought you loved this Jed?” Silvan’s voice was not without sympathy.

  “Yes. But he was a member of The Mori. He pulled the wool over my eyes.”

  “And then this George came along and now you think you love him too?”

  “I know I do,” I snapped.

  “In the space of twelve months, you’ve loved two men.” It was a wry observation, not meant cruelly, but it struck home. Was it so wrong to fall for them both? My eyes filled with tears.

  Silvan casually tossed the red silk handkerchief into the air. It darted away from us, skipping between the low beams above our heads. “Those rocks on your finger weigh your magick down, Alfhild,” he said, his voice gentle.

  The handkerchief rushed out into the open and I directed a beam of pure hatred its way. It burst into flames, burning for a fraction of a second with a phosphorescent sparkle until all that remained were minute ash particles floating in the air.

  “Bravo,” Silvan said, in much the same soft tone he had used before. “Now again.”

  The village hall, packed to the rafters, was standing room only. Fortunately Millicent had arrived ahead of me, without her dogs for once, and had bagged me a seat on the far right-hand side. I squeezed past people, waving and smiling at those I knew, and trying not to stand on anybody’s toes.

  “How’s your drilling going?” Millicent asked, as I slid into the seat next to her with a sigh of relief. All the bodies in the hall were making it very warm. I fanned myself, looking longingly at the glazed windows, set well above head height in the walls, hoping someone would open them. As usual I had been running late, so had rushed into the village and was hot and flustered as a result.

  I shook my head, a pained look on my face. “Can you believe they’re still doing it? Well not now, obviously. They clock off at five. But they’ll be back tomorrow at half eight. Honestly Millicent! Are they hoping to discover oil? What can they be doing down there?”

  “Have you been into the cellar and investigated?”

  About to blithely say ‘no, why would I have? It’s only the water board after all’, I bit back the words. No I hadn’t been down and had a look. I met Millicent’s eyes and she pulled a face. “Surely they wouldn’t be doing anything untoward down there?” I asked instead.

  Millicent nodded knowingly. “Always best to check these things out.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “But under our noses…?” I couldn’t see it myself.

  “Order, order.” The imperious figure of my old adversary Gladstone Talbot-Lloyd appeared on the raised stage at the front of the hall, and the hubbub in the room decreased noticeably.

  “What’s he doing here?” I hissed.

  Millicent giggled and leaned close to me to whisper, “I hear he’s intending to stand as the local parliamentary candidate for East Devon.”

  “No!” I was scandalised.

  “He has all the right connections and qualifications for the job.”

  “But he has no interest in the locals of Whittlecombe, let alone anyone else. Talbot-Lloyd is all about himself and the money he can make from dodgy deals.”

  Millicent laughed again, a little too loudly. “He’s the perfect candidate for Westminster then, isn’t he?”

  “Ssssssssssssh!” A woman in the row in front of us hissed, and suitably chastised, Millicent and I sat back in our seats and began to pay attention to the meeting as it got underway.

  Talbot-Lloyd was in full flow thanking the village hall committee for the loan of the hall, and to the WI for giving up the space on what would normally have been their evening. “Most of all I’d like to thank Chief Inspector Kerslake from the Devon and Cornwall Water Board for coming here this evening to give us a rundown of what’s happening.” A ripple of applause and Norbert came to the front of the stage to shake Talbot-Lloyd’s hand.

  Hmpf, I thought.

  Norbert smiled at Talbot-Lloyd, “My absolute pleasure.”

  “Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, Chief Inspector Kerslake.”

  Another smattering of applause. Beads of sweat were breaking out on my forehead. I dabbed at my face with a tissue. Behind us, somebody had closed the front doors. I was going to bake or suffocate in very short order.

  Norbert cleared his throat. “As you will all be aware, I’ve had several teams performing a great many tests on the water in and around Whittlecombe village and surrounds. I have some preliminary findings that I would very much like to share with you. Once I’ve done that, I will explain what we will be doing to improve matters, before opening the floor up for questions
and discussion.”

  A general buzz of anticipation spread throughout the hall, and Norbert looked around at the people seated in front of him with interest. We gazed back at him in anticipation.

  I waved at my face, ineffectually with my tissue. The room was completely airless. Get on with it! I screamed inwardly. Millicent shot a glance at me. I rolled my eyes.

  Norbert consulted his notes. “As suspected there has been a high level of contaminant found in the pool near Whittle Folly, and exposure to this contaminant was undoubtedly the reason that two members of the community were taken so poorly last week. This is entirely regrettable, and we wish to pass on our best wishes to the families involved, and of course we hope that both parties make a full recovery.” There were general murmurs of agreement.

  “Hear hear!” A call from the far left of the room.

  I looked over that way out of idle interest and did a double take.

  Surely it couldn’t be. Was that …? Yes.

  Gwyn was standing on the far side, among the crowd who didn’t have seats. Could I be imagining things? I had never known Gwyn venture out of the inn, although she did have a tendency to disappear for long periods of time and I could never be sure where she had gone.

  But here she was, dressed in her blue velvet finery, a little translucent, and solemn-faced.

  What had brought her here?

  Norbert began speaking again. “Now we had anticipated that whatever caused the contamination in the pool at the Folly location would be contained.” Norbert glanced down at his notes once more, and then back up. The audience stared back at him, eager for more details. You didn’t have to be a psychic to anticipate what he was going to say next.

  “Unfortunately, this hasn’t been the case.”

  As one, people began turning to their neighbours exclaiming at the news.

  “We’ve found traces of the same contaminant in all the standing water around Whittlecombe.”

  “Everywhere?” Someone in the audience called.

  Norbert nodded, looking gravely down at the man who had interrupted. “So far, yes. Every marsh area in the woods, every pool and pond—including the village pond—and in every well.”

  I sat up straight. In every well? Including the wells at Whittle Inn?

  “What about the water supply to our houses?” A woman asked, a note of hysteria creeping in.

  Norbert held his hands up. “One thing at a time, please.”

  “I have kids!” The woman retorted angrily, and a brief look of irritation passed across Norbert’s face.

  “I appreciate that, Madam,” he retorted.

  “Answer the question,” another woman called out. The threat of pandemonium hung in the air. I glanced around. You couldn’t blame people for worrying, especially those mothers with young cubs to look after. I could see a few of those in the crowd.

  “Order!” Talbot-Lloyd called officiously, no doubt enjoying his role in the meeting immensely. He was the man wielding all the power.

  “Very well,” Norbert held his hands up in a placating gesture. “At this time, we believe that the water supplied directly from the Water Board is not a cause for concern.” This statement was met with a wave of relief. “However, we intend to take precautions,” Norbert continued, and the audience grew still again. “We’ll be bringing in our own standpipe system and tankers full of water. We would encourage you to make use of our provision rather than use your own water until further notice. The resources will be refreshed daily for the foreseeable future.”

  People began talking among themselves again. There was an air of excitement in the air, probably because this was something new for the village.

  “I’ll take questions now.” Norbert smiled serenely.

  Talbot-Lloyd quickly joined the inspector at the front of the stage and clapped his hands to garner everyone’s attention. “Shall we go through the chair?” he asked. “Yes, you Sir, in the checked shirt. What’s your question?”

  “Can you say what the contamination actually is?” Rob Parker, sausage seller extraordinaire asked.

  “And how dangerous is it?” yelled a female voice from somewhere behind me.

  “Order!” Talbot-Lloyd interjected forcefully.

  Norbert consulted his notes. “To answer both of these questions… let me see. Yes.” He looked up. “All I can tell you at this stage is that it is a chemical contaminant. Something rather nasty. We haven’t been able to isolate the exact components of that, but we will be making that a top priority in our labs over the next few days and coming weeks, if need be.” That didn’t sound good. Chemicals in the water. I guessed it could have come from some pesticide spill on a farm, maybe.

  “As for how dangerous it is, well, you probably all know that two members of the community are being cared for in intensive care at the Royal Devon and Exeter Hospital, so we are aware that this is a very serious threat to public health and that’s why we’re taking it seriously.”

  “What happens if it spreads further?” An older man asked.

  “How much further could it spread?” his neighbour argued. “It’s already in all the marshes and ponds. That’s what the man said.”

  The older man flushed. “I mean, could it get into the pipes?”

  Norbert nodded round at everyone, his face extremely serious “That’s always a possibility. Once these things leech into the water table they can be difficult to get to grips with, but obviously we are doing everything in our power to contain this spillage.”

  “How on earth has this come about?” A vocal man in the front row asked.

  “Where did it start?”

  “Who’s responsible?”

  A chorus of voices demanded answers that Norbert could not possibly have the answers to, and yet he chose that moment to look directly at me, and all of a sudden my stomach flipped over. Up until then, I hadn’t been aware he had even noticed I was here, but that glance was meaningful. He had singled me out.

  “We believe the source is from a spring that starts at the north end of Speckled Wood, on land belonging to Whittle Inn.”

  For a second you could have heard a pin drop in the hall. Then people were shouting, and chairs were being scraped back. Angry faces looked my way, fingers were pointed accusingly. I sat where I was, mute with shock.

  “That’s absurd!” Millicent was on her feet. “You can’t possibly know that’s the case.”

  People shouted over her, drowning out her protestations. On the stage Talbot-Lloyd had stepped back into the shadows. He wasn’t calling the meeting to order now. Far from it. He was allowing the mob to be fuelled by fire. Norbert had lit the touch paper and now he and Talbot-Lloyd would stand well back while my reputation burned.

  Here, if the village needed it, was yet one more reason for them to hate Whittle Inn and its inhabitants. The clarity of my next thought startled me.

  “It’s a lie,” I said, not loud enough for anyone else to hear. “I’ve been set up.”

  I remembered the empty bags I’d seen when I was being held at Piddlecombe Farm. George had told me they contained chemicals. The same chemicals that had previously been stored in the shed at Derek Pearce’s allotment. There was no doubt in my mind that those chemicals had been used by The Mori to contaminate the water around Whittle Inn.

  Somebody behind me jostled my shoulder, not in a nice way. Someone else caught at my hair. Schoolground bullying. Pathetic and I didn’t need to rise to it, but the embers of my hatred for The Mori had been properly stoked.

  I stood, drawing myself up, casting a sideways glance at Gwyn. She looked back at me, her face equally grim. I could tell she knew I wanted to lash out. She shook her head, a minute movement that stalled any intention I might have had to create a scene.

  She drew a wand out of a small velvet pouch she was carrying in lieu of a handbag. I’d never seen her with a wand before. In fact I’d never seen Gwyn perform magick. Until that moment I hadn’t been aware that it was possible for ghosts to do so. She po
inted it towards the top of the walls nearest her and flicked the tip. Every window suddenly burst outward, glass shattering, wood splintering, latches and metal stays ricocheting back and forth.

  There was pandemonium. People shrieked and screamed, ducked, or threw themselves to the floor. As a flood of fresh air flooded the hall and provided much needed relief, some of the gathered crowd fled through the front doors and out into the street beyond.

  Gwyn nodded at me… and disappeared.

  On the stage, Talbot-Lloyd was trying to call the room to order, but that particular horse had bolted. I stared at him, with steely concentration, until he met my gaze. “Game on,” I mouthed at him and he curled his lip into a sneer.

  Millicent pulled at my arm. “Let’s get out of here,” she said, and reluctantly I followed her, pushing my way through the crowds of people.

  Passing through the front door, I found myself pelted with small stones. One hit me squarely on the forehead, and I ducked in surprise. I put my fingers up to where it was smarting and found blood. Turning angrily, I came face to face with Grace Gretchen.

  “Witch,” she hissed.

  Is this what we’d come to? It was like the seventeenth century all over again.

  Millicent, Charity, and I huddled at the kitchen table, whilst Gwyn—I’d like to say paced, but given her status as a ghost—floated backwards and forwards around the kitchen in an unusual display of agitation. Millicent for her part was furious. And while I found myself disturbed by the events that had unfolded in the village, I needed some time to ruminate of them too, so I held my tongue and simply thought about it all.

  “It’s quite obvious what they’re trying to do,” Charity was saying. “We have to set the record straight somehow, Alf.”

  “They’re out-manoeuvring us at every turn,” Gwyn said.

  Charity ran her hands through her hair, currently coloured bright orange. “Do you think Chief Inspector Kerslake was in on this the whole time?”

  I frowned at the sound of the odious little man’s name. “Almost definitely,” I answered through gritted teeth. I’d been a fool not to see through him.