Witch Chocolate Bites (BEWITCHED BY CHOCOLATE Mysteries ~ Book 4)

by H. Y. Hanna

  Conversation flowed easily as everyone began to eat, with James’s friends sharing amusing anecdotes about life in the big city. Despite having only met them earlier that afternoon, Pomona was obviously at home with the young crowd, laughing and joking along with them. Caitlyn’s natural shyness meant that she found it harder to strike up conversation with strangers and so she was glad, in a way, to be sitting next to Antoine. The Frenchman seemed only to have eyes for her, despite several of the female guests sending flirtatious glances his way, and once again, Caitlyn was flattered in spite of herself.

  She was also very aware of James at the other end of the table, with Amy sitting next to him. The sight of them talking and laughing together brought a stab of jealousy again, and when James glanced up and caught her eye, she deliberately turned to Antoine de Villiers and gave him a dazzling smile.

  She was being petty, she knew, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. There was an uncomfortable churning in the pit of her stomach and Caitlyn felt ashamed and angry and confused. She liked Amy Matthews; in fact, the young widow had been one of the first people she’d met when she arrived in Tillyhenge. They had hit it off from the start and although they hadn’t seen much of each other recently, especially with Amy spending so much time at the Manor, Caitlyn had been looking forward to renewing their friendship. Now she felt abashed at her feelings of resentment towards the other girl. If Amy had captured James’s heart, shouldn’t she have been happy for them?

  The tumult of emotions left her feeling raw and uncomfortable, and she took solace in Antoine de Villiers’s steady stream of compliments and flirting. Besides, he really was very charming company, even if his flattery was a bit overdone sometimes. Every so often, she caught Pomona frowning at her but she shrugged it off. It wasn’t her fault that she had been forced to change places.

  As dessert was being served, there was a lull in the conversation and Pomona said loudly, “James—Caitlyn said she found a weird structure in the grounds today: a sort of tower with a door and nothing inside except a spiral staircase going to the top.”

  “Oh, that’s the Folly,” said James with a smile.

  “What’s it for?”

  James chuckled. “Absolutely nothing. They’re a classic English eccentricity. As Antoine will probably tell you, the word comes from the French ‘folie’, which means ‘madness’—and that is pretty much what people thought of those who built them. A lot of follies were built in the eighteenth century, usually by the wealthy landowners of the time.”

  “But why build them?” asked Pomona. “I mean, you gotta have a reason to build something.”

  “No, that was the whole point—there was no reason,” said James. “In fact, you could say that it was a way to show the power and wealth of a person: that he could spend all this money and labour building something that had absolutely no purpose. And they were usually very whimsical or extravagant in their design too—for instance, built to look like a crumbling castle or a Greek temple… There’s even a folly in Dunmore Park in Scotland that’s in the shape of a giant pineapple.”

  “No way!” said Pomona.

  James laughed. “Yes. I’ll show you a picture of it sometime, if you like. Most of them are a variation of a tower though, like the one here on the estate.”

  “There’s a folly tower in Yorkshire called the Forgotten Folly,” one of the guests spoke up. “It was built by an eccentric Yorkshireman so that his servants could look out from the top of the tower and see their master approaching, then run down to ensure that ‘dinner was served’ as soon as he walked through the door.” She giggled. “Personally, I think it’s quite nice having such things in our history. It’s one of the quirks that makes England so unique and interesting.”

  “Mais non, there are such follies in other countries too,” Antoine said. “Several in France and Germany… and even the United States: Belvedere Castle in Central Park, in New York—that is a folly.”

  “Really?” said Pomona with interest. “I’ll need to go see it the next time I’m there.” She turned back to James. “So the one here on the estate—have you been inside it?”

  “Yes, a couple of times.”

  “What’s in the room at the top?” Caitlyn asked. “The door was locked. I couldn’t see inside.”

  “It’s not that interesting,” said James with a rueful smile. “If you’re imagining something like Bluebeard’s room, you’ll be disappointed. It’s actually just an empty space at the top, with a framework of open archways all around.”

  “You mean, like a room with no walls?” said Pomona. “Is that, like, part of the wacky folly thing too?”

  “Actually, I think this was intended to be a belfry.”

  Antoine raised his eyebrows. “A belfry?”

  “Is there a bell in there?” asked another guest.

  James shook his head. “I don’t know if there ever was one or if the belfry was never completed—but I’ve never seen a bell and I don’t think there’s any record of one in the Folly. Actually, there never used to be a door—just an open doorway at the top of the staircase, leading into the belfry chamber—but my mother found out I was playing in the Folly when I was a child and she was afraid I’d fall off the tower, so she insisted that a door be added. Probably just as well,” said James with a chuckle. “It’s very exposed up there and a long way down.”

  “This is all fascinating!” said another guest. “I’d love to see this Folly. Can we go and have a look tomorrow?”

  “Certainly. In fact, I was planning to suggest a picnic lunch and a walk around the grounds in the afternoon. We could visit the Folly and then stroll down to the lake and do some boating…”

  There were enthusiastic responses from around the table.

  “That’s great,” said James, counting the number of heads. “And we’re an even number so that’ll be easy for the boats—”

  “Ah, do not include me, mon ami,” said Antoine in a regretful tone. “I am afraid I will not be able to join you.”

  “Ohhh… why not?” asked one of the female guests, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “We’ll miss you, Monsieur de Villiers.”

  He gave her a perfunctory smile. “Please, call me Antoine,” he said smoothly. “And I, too, will miss the pleasure of your company. However, I must make a trip north tomorrow.”

  “Oh? Everything all right, Antoine?” asked James.

  His friend held a hand up. “It is a trifling business I must attend to, but it requires a trip to Birmingham. I will leave mid-morning and I do not think I shall be back in time to join the party.”

  “Oh. Shame. Well, if you do manage to get back early enough, ask one of the staff to direct you down to the lake.”

  “Merci.” The Frenchman inclined his head.

  James rose from the table. “Right. Shall we head back to the Drawing Room for tea and coffee? And chocolates provided by Bewitched by Chocolate, of course,” he said with a smile.

  They drifted back to the luxurious Drawing Room and settled on the beautiful sofa suites and plush armchairs. Caitlyn found a seat at the back of the room and watched in silent enjoyment as a box of chocolate truffles was passed around. She always loved seeing people’s faces when they tasted the Widow Mags’s chocolates for the first time.

  “Ohhh… this is absolutely delicious!”

  “Have you tasted the espresso cup with mocha ganache and dark chocolate shavings? The flavours are incredible.”

  “No, but the milk chocolate truffle with crunchy English toffee is heavenly—you’ve got to have one.”

  “Oh my God, where did you get these chocolates, James? They are divine!”

  Amy came and sat down next to Caitlyn. “It’s nice seeing people enjoy the chocolates,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

  “Yes,” Caitlyn agreed. Then, feeling guilty for her jealous thoughts earlier, she gave the other woman a big smile and said, “How have you been? I haven’t seen you around the village—you must be busy up here at the Manor.”
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  “Yes, although I’ve also been away a few times,” said Amy. “I went to visit my sister in Bath the day before yesterday—the day of the murder, actually. I only got back to Tillyhenge this morning and it was quite a shock hearing the news.”

  “Oh? So you weren’t at the Open-Air Cinema at all?”

  “I popped into the Manor late afternoon, just before I left, to check the mail, but I only stayed for half an hour. I could see them setting up on the lawn as I was leaving…” She glanced at Caitlyn curiously. “Do the police have any suspects?”

  “They think it’s someone who was a recent arrival to the village—like that new tenant, Lionel Spelling.”

  “Really? Funny, I actually saw him that afternoon.”

  Caitlyn sat up straighter. “Where?”

  “As I was driving out of the parklands—he was walking along the edge of the driveway, you know, just by the turn-off that leads to the old farmyard and the workers’ cottages around the back of the Manor. I suppose he must have been returning home.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “Hmm… actually, there was someone walking a few yards behind him. I’m not sure if they were together.”

  “Was it a man or a woman? Did you recognise them?”

  Amy frowned. “It wasn’t anyone I knew. An older man. Very dapper, in a tweed jacket with a red kerchief in the pocket—”

  “That sounds like Pierre Rochat!”

  Amy looked stunned. “The man who was murdered?”

  “Have you told the police about this yet?” Caitlyn asked urgently.

  Amy shook her head. “They didn’t ask to question me. I suppose because I’d left Tillyhenge before the murder happened and—”

  “You must speak to Inspector Walsh tomorrow and tell him what you saw.”

  Before Amy could reply, James called out from the other side of the room. He was crouched next to a large antique bureau, rummaging in the bottom compartment.

  “Amy—do you know where the board games are? They don’t seem to be where they’re normally stashed. The chaps are asking for a game of Charades.”

  Several of James’s friend gave a cheer. “Hurrah! Charades!”

  “Oh, I think they were moved to that cupboard…” said Amy, rising and excusing herself to Caitlyn.

  She crossed to the other side of the room and produced the board game, which the rest of the group fell on with another cheer. When she tried to return to Caitlyn’s side, however, one of James’s male friends grabbed her arm and pulled her down next to him. Soon they were boisterously acting out the first card whilst the others shouted guesses.

  Caitlyn watched them contentedly from her quiet corner. A bottle of port had been passed around and she had accepted a generous glass. Now she leaned back against the cushions and sipped the sweet dessert wine. Soon, she felt hot and flushed—what with the champagne before dinner, the wine during dinner, and now the port, she had consumed far more alcohol than she was used to and felt her head swimming slightly. Getting up quietly, she walked to the back of the room, where French doors led out onto the terrace, and wondered if she should open one to let in a bit of fresh air.

  “It is very warm, mademoiselle, is it not?” said a silky voice beside her.

  She turned to see Antoine de Villiers smiling at her. He gestured towards the terrace outside. “I was thinking of taking a stroll—perhaps you’d like to join me?”

  Caitlyn hesitated, glancing back into the room. The group was getting quite rowdy. She saw Amy clutching James’s arm and laughing as they performed some challenge together.

  She turned back to the handsome Frenchman and gave him a bright smile. “Yes, thanks—a walk sounds lovely.”

  He turned the handle and opened the door, sweeping a hand in front of her. “After you, mademoiselle.”

  Caitlyn threw a last look over her shoulder, then turned and stepped out into the darkness.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Light shone out of the French windows, casting squares of gold along the flagstones. Beyond the terrace, a full moon glowed softly, painting everything in shades of grey and indigo. Caitlyn breathed deeply, enjoying the scent of honeysuckle in the balmy night air as they walked down the terrace and around the Manor. The sounds of talking and laughter became fainter and fainter as they walked farther away, and soon they were deep in the shadows on one side of the house. Here, the temperature was much cooler and Caitlyn shivered as goosebumps rose on her skin.

  “You are cold, cherie,” said Antoine, sliding an arm around her shoulders. The weight of his hand made Caitlyn uncomfortable and she wriggled quickly away.

  “I’m all right. Maybe we should go back,” she said, turning around.

  “Un moment, mademoiselle,” murmured the Frenchman, walking farther on and looking up at the building next to them. “I have not been to this side of the Manor…”

  Caitlyn followed his gaze and recognised the familiar façade. She had been here recently, rescuing a naughty black kitten from a tree.

  “This is the back wing of the Manor,” she told him. “It’s not really used and the Portrait Gallery isn’t open to the public.”

  “Ah… yes, I remember James speaking of the gallery when we were at Oxford… But why is it not part of the tour? I would have thought that it would be of great interest to visitors.”

  “James didn’t seem to think so. He said none of the paintings were by Old Masters or particularly valuable. And besides, I think he wasn’t keen for the public to see his father’s collection.”

  “But why? What is in this collection?”

  “I don’t know… I think the old Lord Fitzroy had a strong interest in magic and witchcraft, but I didn’t really see anything when I was in the room. Most of the display cases were covered with white sheets.”

  “Are you not curious, mademoiselle?” asked Antoine with a playful gleam in his eyes.

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Is there a way into the Manor from this side?”

  “Yes, there’s a door behind that bush, there…” She pointed.

  Antoine walked over and Caitlyn followed reluctantly. She was sure the door would be locked but, to her surprise, the handle turned easily under the Frenchman’s hand. The door opened, showing a darkened passageway beyond. He gave her a mocking bow and swept a hand in front of her.

  “Ladies first.”

  Caitlyn held back. “I don’t think this is a good idea—”

  “Come, come, mademoiselle—where is your sense of adventure? Or are you afraid of coming into the dark with me?” Antoine raised a teasing eyebrow.

  Caitlyn lifted her chin. “Of course I’m not afraid of you.”

  She hesitated, then stepped through the doorway. She found herself in a familiar stairwell, with a flight of stairs zigzagging upwards. Antoine swept his hand mockingly in front of her again and she led the way up the stairs, stopping at last in front of a thick wooden door decorated with ornate ironwork. The last time she had faced this door, it had been locked and she’d had to use a spell to open it, but she was certainly not going to do that in front of Antoine de Villiers.

  But again, to her surprise, the door opened smoothly under his touch; a moment later, they were standing inside, surveying the dusty room. It looked just as she remembered, with a row of oil paintings along one long wall, facing the windows, and various items of furniture scattered around the edges, mostly covered in white sheets.

  Antoine walked slowly down the length of the room, looking up at each portrait. “Alors, James is not here?”

  Caitlyn followed behind him. “No… he said his father wanted him to get a portrait done but he wasn’t keen.”

  Antoine chuckled. “Yes, my friend is very different from his father, n’est-ce pas? The old Lord Fitzroy was a slave to tradition whereas James… he favours the modern thinking… and I am in much agreement with him. One can cling to the old ways for too long. Sometimes, one must embrace new methods, new solutions to a problem...”

&nbs
p; He was walking slowly as he talked, lifting a sheet every so often to peer beneath, and Caitlyn watched uneasily.

  “Maybe we should go,” she said. “James and the others must be missing us and—” She broke off as she saw him approach a small painting hanging on a wall at the back of the room. Almost against her will, she went over to join him and looked up at the picture in the antique gilt frame. It depicted four men riding on horses in a bleak landscape. Each horse was a different colour: black, red, white, and pale green, and the men had cruel, stern expressions—all except the last, whose face was hidden by a hood.

  “It is an interesting painting, this,” Antoine commented. “Do you know who they are?”

  “Yes, James told me. They are the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The red one is War, the white one is Plague, the black one is Famine, and that pale green one is Death.”

  “Très bien! Yes, they are the harbingers of the Apocalypse—the end of all time.”

  “But that’s just a legend, isn’t it?” said Caitlyn, attempting a light laugh. “They’re not real.”

  “The same way that witches and vampires are not real?”

  Caitlyn stared at him.

  Antoine turned back to the painting. “It is a curious thing—the legend of the Four Horsemen is familiar around the world, and yet so few details are known. Their names, for instance—nothing is known about the riders’ real names… except for the last one.” He nodded at the figure with the hood. “The rider of the Pale Horse. His name is known as ‘Thanatos’—the Ancient Greek word for ‘Death’.”

  Caitlyn shivered. “You seem to know a lot about them.”

  Antoine shrugged. “It is only what I read, like everyone else… There is not much information to be found about the Four Horsemen and many have made up their own versions of the truth. This painting is very old… and with such a unique subject matter… I would assume that it is very valuable…” His eyes sharpened and he leaned closer to the painting—so close that his nose was almost touching the oiled surface. “Diable!” he murmured. “Can it be…?”