by H. Y. Hanna
Caitlyn glanced at Pomona with a smile. It was all her doing, really: her bubbly American cousin had somehow cajoled a recalcitrant Widow Mags into letting her do a “makeover” for the store and the results had been amazing. Within a day, many more tourists had started to venture down the village’s back lane into Bewitched by Chocolate, and business was growing.
If only we could say the same of the villagers, thought Caitlyn with an inward sigh. Although a few had befriended the Widow Mags, most of the local residents still viewed the old witch with fear and suspicion, and snubbed her “enchanted” chocolate shop. It made Caitlyn seethe with frustration, especially when she tasted some of the terrible chocolates on sale in shops nearby.
Still, there’s hope—even if it means winning the villagers over one at a time, thought Caitlyn as she saw six-year-old Molly Jenkins run into the shop, towing her mother behind her. Only a month ago, the little girl would never have been allowed to set foot in the shop, never mind taste any of the chocolates. But when the Widow Mags saved the little girl’s life recently, Beth, her mother, was so grateful that she put aside all her prejudices about witchcraft and magic. Since then, she had become a regular at Bewitched by Chocolate, bringing Molly to sample the delicious truffles and other chocolate candy.
“Ooh, something smells fantastic!” said Beth, inhaling appreciatively.
“We’ve just baked some chocolate soufflés,” said Caitlyn, gesturing to the tray on the counter. “Would you like one?”
“Actually, we came because Molly has been very good and I promised her I’d let her choose a chocolate treat.”
“I want that one!” cried Molly, pointing a chubby finger at a truffle with velvety chocolate ganache covered with freshly roasted, chopped hazelnuts.
“What’s the magic word?” asked Beth sternly.
Molly gave the Widow Mags a gap-toothed smile. “Please?”
The old witch looked indulgently at the little girl. “You can choose more than one.”
“Okay, I want that one too,” said Molly, pointing to a milk chocolate truffle with a salty-sweet peanut-butter centre. “And that one! With the strawberry. Please,” she added belatedly.
“And that will be quite enough,” said Beth with a smile. “Otherwise you’ll ruin your appetite.” She opened her purse, then eyed the tray of chocolate soufflés longingly. “My, those look so delicious…”
“You gotta have one!” said Pomona, picking up a ramekin and thrusting it towards the other woman.
Beth laughed weakly. “Oh, I really shouldn’t… I’m supposed to be watching the calories…” She hesitated as the rich aroma of chocolate wafted up from the ramekin. “Oh… go on, then!” she said suddenly with a chuckle. “My diet can start tomorrow.”
“What you need with that is some fresh whipped cream,” said the Widow Mags, lifting a bowl from behind the counter and spooning a generous dollop onto the soufflé. They all watched in anticipation as Beth dipped a spoon into the ramekin and took a mouthful of the dark chocolate soufflé and the snowy white cream.
“Mmm… oh, this is absolutely amazing!” she cried. “I’ve never tasted chocolate soufflé like this! It’s as if you’re eating a mouthful of cloud… and yet it has such a rich chocolatey flavour… Can I buy one to take home? It might mollify Hubby a bit,” she explained with a smile. “He’s a bit put out as me and Molly didn’t get home until very late last night. We were held up at the Manor…”
She glanced quickly at Molly to see if her daughter was listening but the little girl had wandered off with Evie to look at some chocolate sculptures on the other side of the shop.
Beth lowered her voice. “The police wanted to check everyone before they let us go home, in case we’d had some contact with the murdered man. Did you hear? They say he was killed by a vampire! There were fang marks on his neck!” She gave a delicious shudder, then looked at Caitlyn and Pomona. “You girls were there last night. Did you see the body?”
“Yes, I did,” Caitlyn admitted.
“Was there a lot of blood?”
“No, there wasn’t, actually. I didn’t see any blood.”
“Another mark of a vampire attack,” said Beth, nodding her head. “They would have sucked all the blood out, see? That’s why you couldn’t see any! I heard that the murdered man was as white as a ghost—not a drop of blood left in him!”
“He was pale, but I don’t think it was any different from a ‘normal’ dead person,” protested Caitlyn. She was starting to get annoyed at the way things were twisted and exaggerated by the rumour mill.
“Oh no, it wasn’t normal,” Beth insisted. “Anyway, I heard that they might have got the murderer! The police have him locked up in a cell down at the station. Some nasty old man… strange, I never thought vampires were old men…” She gave another exaggerated shudder. “I do hope it’s him—otherwise it means there’s still a vampire killer running loose!”
“What a load o’ crock,” came a new voice and they looked up to see a tall wiry man with greying hair and a good-looking, weather-beaten face come into the store. It was Jeremy Bottom, one of the local farmers who ran a small organic dairy farm. He stomped up to the counter in his heavy rubber boots and grinned at the assembled women.
“You’re not believing all that talk, Beth? You sound like my sister, Vera,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. “Spending all her time with the village gossips down at the post office shop… Like I keep telling her, there’s no vampire killer on the loose.”
“How do you explain the puncture marks on the dead man’s neck then?” Beth demanded. “Those are obviously made by fangs!”
Jeremy shrugged. “Maybe it was an animal. Or maybe ’twas a weapon sharpened to look like fangs. I’m glad Inspector Walsh is a sensible man and doesn’t listen to all this hysterical speculation. I saw him this morning by the village pub and he reckons it’s someone pretending to be a vampire.”
Beth looked unconvinced. “Why would anyone want to pretend to be a vampire?”
Jeremy shrugged again. “Who knows how them criminal minds work…?” He paused, then added with a dark look, “If you ask me, the police should be questioning that young chap who’s moved into one o’ those workers’ cottages—you know, the ones that have just been done up.”
“The English teacher?” said Beth, frowning. “Yes, he is very odd, isn’t he?”
“What do you mean?” asked Caitlyn.
Beth made a face. “He always wears black—even his lips are painted black! And his skin is so pale… I wondered if he was ill or something. Yesterday, I saw him in the village and he was wearing a weird black leather vest with buckles all over it… And he’s got an earring,” she added, as if that cinched it.
“Sounds like he’s kinda got a Goth thing going,” said Pomona with a grin. “Lots of people dress like that. It’s just, like, a fashion statement, you know.”
“Well, he’s not very friendly either,” complained Beth. “When I saw him yesterday, it was in the village post shop and everyone was trying to be friendly-like, but he hardly said a word!”
Caitlyn wasn’t sure she could blame Lionel Spelling. She could remember her own experience of going into the village post office shop for the first time. Like any small village, Tillyhenge thrived on gossip and the locals’ curiosity towards newcomers could be overwhelming. She could just imagine the resident old ladies pouncing on the hapless young teacher and trying to pump him for information.
“Maybe he’s just shy,” she suggested.
Beth snorted. “Not likely! I think he’s hiding something.”
Jeremy nodded his agreement. “There’s something very dodgy about that Spelling chap. Wouldn’t be surprised if he was mixed up in this murder—”
He broke off suddenly as a young man walked into the shop and Caitlyn realised that it was the very person they had been talking about: Lionel Spelling.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The young English teacher really was very pale—like someone who h
adn’t seen the sun for months—although this might have partly been due to the fact that his hair had been dyed very, very black, which contrasted sharply—and unflatteringly—with his milky white complexion. Despite the heat of the summer’s day, he was wearing a black long-sleeved silk shirt with a ruffled collar, and black leather trousers with buckles down the side seams. He looked slightly ridiculous, like he had come off the set of a fantasy movie, and Caitlyn had to make an effort not to stare.
He hesitated on the threshold as he saw them all standing around the counter and looked as if he would turn around again and leave, but Pomona sprang forwards.
“Hi! You’re new to the village, aren’t you? I’m Pomona,” she said, giving him a dazzling smile.
The young man blinked and Caitlyn chuckled to herself. When Pomona turned on the charm, most men were putty in her hands and it looked like Lionel Spelling was no exception.
“Ramona?” he said.
“No, Pomona… like the Roman goddess of fruits.” She grinned and waved an airy hand. “Yeah. It’s different. My mom was, like, going through this mythology phase. Anyway, what’s your name?”
“Um… Lionel… Lionel Spelling,” he mumbled. He had an unusually high-pitched, feminine voice. He glanced at the group gathered around the counter again, especially at Beth and Jeremy, who were eyeing him suspiciously, and shifted uncomfortably. “I… I think I’d better go—”
Pomona reached out and fingered the fabric of his sleeve. “That’s a cool outfit! Is it from Camden Market in London? I had this friend who was really into Goth fashion and she used to get the best stuff from there.”
“Yes, it is, actually,” he said, a note of pleasant surprise in his voice. He relaxed slightly. “I get a lot of my clothes from there. Well, not my work clothes, of course,” he said, flushing slightly. “I don’t dress like this when I’m teaching.”
“Sure,” said Pomona. “But school’s over and it’s the summer vacation, right? So it’s your personal time now—you know, let your hair down a bit.” She grinned and looked at his longish haircut. “Literally.”
Lionel Spelling grinned as well, thawing even more. “Yes, it’s nice to not have to worry about setting an example all the time. As a teacher, you get a lot of that, you know.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet! People are, like, so judgemental, aren’t they? They judge you based on the clothes you wear and the hairstyle you have and the car you drive and the movies you watch… speaking of which,” said Pomona smoothly. “Can you believe what happened at the Open-Air Cinema last night?”
Lionel Spelling stiffened. “The cinema? No, I… I mean, I wasn’t there. I stayed in my cottage all night. I only heard about the murder this morning.”
Pomona made a face of exaggerated surprise. “You didn’t go? Why not? Everyone at the village was there!”
“I just… I fancied staying in last night.”
Pomona gave him an arch look. “Ooh… snuggling with a girlfriend?”
The young teacher flushed again. “No, I was alone.” He shifted uncomfortably and said, “Look, it’s been nice chatting to you but I’d better go now—”
“Oh, but aren’t you gonna get any chocolates?” said Pomona.
“Maybe some other time,” said Lionel Spelling. Then, before Pomona could say another word, he turned and hurried out of the shop, disappearing down the lane.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Jeremy Bottom exclaimed, “There! What did I tell you? Guilty as sin, he is!”
“What do you mean?” asked Caitlyn.
“He said he was alone, which means he doesn’t have one o’ them things—you know, ‘alibis’. He could have been anywhere last night… like sneaking through the forest, looking for his next victim!”
Beth realised suddenly that Molly had come back and was now standing, wide-eyed, listening to the adults’ conversation. Quickly, she said, “But that’s just in the storybook, isn’t it, Jeremy? I’m sure they all lived happily ever after. Anyway, we’d best be off now. Say thank you for the chocolates,” she instructed her daughter.
“Thank you!” said Molly, clutching her treats and beaming at the Widow Mags. Then, impulsively, she threw her arms around the old woman’s waist and gave her a hug. “You’re my favouritest witch!”
The Widow Mags looked speechless and the rest of the group didn’t know whether to laugh or pretend politely that they hadn’t heard.
“You’re welcome… Come back any time,” said the old witch gruffly, clearing her throat.
“I’d better be going too,” said Jeremy Bottom as the mother and daughter left the shop. “I only came in to get some o’ those…” He pointed to a bag of chocolate-covered raisins and grinned. “Got a bit of an addiction to ’em. And that son o’ mine likes ’em too. By the way, Evie…” He turned to the teenage girl who had been standing quietly in the background. “I’ve been wanting to thank you for helping Chris.”
“M-me?” said Evie.
“Yes, the poor lad was suffering from hayfever something chronic… but ever since he saw you at your mother’s herbal store a couple o’ weeks ago, he’s been completely cured. Whatever you did to him, it’s worked a treat.” He beamed at her.
Evie had gone bright red. “Oh… er… I’m… I’m glad.”
Jeremy made a puzzled face. “Only funny thing is, he’s developed a real liking for carrots—keeps munching ’em all the time now—we’re going through kilos o’ the stuff! And he always used to hate ’em. Don’t suppose you know why? Is it like a side-effect o’ the stuff you gave him?”
“I… um…” Evie looked slightly panicked. “I’m not sure…”
Caitlyn came to her rescue. “How’s Ferdinand?” she asked loudly.
The farmer’s face creased into a smile at the mention of his bull. “Oh, he’s doing great! Still sweet as ever, of course, and loves a bit o’ a cuddle… but he’s so much happier now, spending his time with the herd.” He scratched his head. “Still don’t understand how the girls just took to him like that, all of a sudden, when they wouldn’t even look at him before. Nature’s a mystery, eh?” He gave a good-natured shrug. “Anyway, it’s been great for me and the growth o’ the farm, I can tell you. In fact, the vet’s just been out this week and he reckons there’s a good chance we’ll have some ‘Ferdinand babies’ in spring next year,” he chuckled.
Pomona squealed. “Ooh, baby cows! I can’t wait to see them!”
CHAPTER NINE
The chocolate soufflés were a huge hit, and within an hour they were all sold out. The Widow Mags retreated to the kitchen to make more, leaving Caitlyn and Pomona to look after the shop whilst Evie took on the task of ferrying each batch of freshly baked soufflés from the kitchen. The girls were surprised to find that business was brisk—it seemed that visitors who had come to Tillyhenge for the cinema last night had also heard about its unusual chocolate shop, and curiosity had prompted many to return.
“Jeez, people are so nosy,” said Pomona as she finished serving a customer. “Did you hear that guy? He wanted to know if I saw the body last night and if there was, like, blood everywhere. And he wasn’t even there himself—he lives in Cheltenham and just came to Tillyhenge today ’cos he heard all the gossip about the murder.” She picked up the empty soufflé tray and headed towards the door connecting the shop to the back of the cottage. “I’m gonna get some more soufflés—I hope they’ve got some ready.”
She had barely disappeared when a new customer entered Bewitched by Chocolate. Caitlyn felt a flash of delight as she recognised Antoine de Villiers. The handsome Frenchman sauntered up to the counter, his eyes lighting up as he saw Caitlyn.
“Quelle surprise! Caitlyn—” he pronounced it “Kat-lan” in his charming French accent, “—this is an unexpected pleasure! I had not realised that you worked in this chocolaterie?”
Caitlyn smiled. “Well, I don’t really… it belongs to my grandmother and I’m just helping out.”
His eyes fell on the tray of soufflés on the
counter and he gave another exclamation.
“Ah, bon! You have made the chocolate soufflé—the classic dessert of France. It is a special welcome for me, is it not?” He gave her saucy smile.
Caitlyn laughed. “No, I’m afraid it had nothing to do with you. My grandmother just decided to try out a new chocolate treat to sell in the shop.”
“Alors, they are magnifique,” said Antoine, looking at the soufflés with admiration. “It is not easy to make the perfect chocolate soufflé; they must be rich and creamy but also light and full of air. Hence the name: from the French verb souffler—‘to puff up’, you know? But it is something even the best restaurants often struggle with, a Holy Grail for many chefs… Your grand-mère must have great skill, eh?”
Caitlyn smiled. “Yes, she has a way with chocolate. Would you like one?”
He raised a teasing eyebrow. “With such beautiful eyes looking at me, mademoiselle, how can I say no?”
It was so ridiculous and over-the-top that Caitlyn laughed.
“You have a very lovely laugh,” he said. “It is like the sound of bells ringing on a spring morning.”
She didn’t know whether to laugh even more at his flowery language or be touched by his poetic description. Okay, so it was cheesy—but she had to admit that a part of her quite liked it. She’d never been the object of such blatant admiration from a man before. And she was also enjoying the fact that—unlike with James Fitzroy—she didn’t get horribly tongue-tied and self-conscious. In fact, she even felt brave enough to flirt a little in return. They were still laughing, leaning comfortably together against the counter, when Pomona came back from the kitchen. She stopped short at the sight of them.
