I shook my head. “To be honest, yesterday was the first time I’ve set foot in the property so I’m probably not the best person to ask. But then again, I’m not sure who’d know. My mother’s lawyer has never been here, and I had the impression that although Hawke, Joplin and Harrow have been managing the estate, it’s all a bit hands off really.”
Gilchrist nodded. “Yes, I thought as much.”
“So you have no leads on who the man is at all?”
“Not at this time but we’ll put out a nationwide alert and see what we can discover. There is a database of missing persons, so we’ll check for matches of anyone on there, and maybe put out an appeal for information with an artist’s impression.”
“Okay,” I said, feeling sad for the old fella.
“I’d like to show you the likeness once our artist has had a chance to create if, if that’s alright with you.”
“Of course. Anything to be of assistance, although I don’t know anybody from around here at all.”
“Well, he may have been visiting. And of course, one of the angles I’ll need to look at was whether he was connected to the inn in some way.”
“Yes.” That made sense. “What was the cause of death?”
“Undetermined at the moment. Nothing obvious. The pathologist will be having a closer look this afternoon.”
“I see,” I shuddered. The dead didn’t bother me much, as a witch I naturally accepted the notion that the body is merely a husk. Death is a release and the start of something new. However, I didn’t want to dwell on what happened to the body once it was removed from the murder scene.
“For now, all that remains for me to do is to suggest you take your own safety very seriously, Ms Daemonne. Are you intending on staying here alone?”
“At the inn? Yes, it’s my home now. There is no-one else to stay with me.” I shrugged. “But don’t worry. I can take care of myself.”
“I’m guessing there’s no landline installed here yet, but I assume you have a mobile?” Gilchrist fished around in the pocket of his jacket for his card. “This is me. You can call whenever you like. But if it’s an emergency you dial 999, alright?”
“No problem,” I said. “And I do have a mobile of course.”
“Good. Text me so I can add your number.” He stood. “Right. I’d better head back to the station and see how we’re doing with identifying this guy.”
I escorted Gilchrist to the door and accepted his beaker when he returned it to me.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he said.
“I hope it was strong enough.”
“It tarred my insides, so I’d say it sufficed.” He winked. “Stay safe now, and don’t forget to text me your number.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
I followed him out and watched him drive away, then turned back to look at the inn.
My inn.
Nothing about it felt threatening. In fact, I almost imagined as I walked back inside that it sighed contentedly.
“I’m here to love you,” I said. “I’m going to restore you to your former glory and between us we are going to carve out this new life and make it work.”
With my hands on my hips I gazed around.
“But where on earth do I start?”
Six hours later, with hair like straw, I collapsed on the front step swigging from a bottle of water and wiping dust out of my eyes, trying to shift the thick ball of grit lodged in my throat. Oh to be a cat, I lamented, so I could cough up whatever was causing offence. Exhausted, I leaned against the door jamb, pondering the job ahead of me.
I recognised I needed at least one habitable space as soon as possible. Somewhere I could live, work and organise myself. A centre for operations so to speak. It therefore made sense, to start on my own quarters and make a few rooms at least vaguely habitable.
With the water on and the electricity restored, I could start cleaning, but I wanted a completely clean slate and that meant ripping up the carpets, peeling off wallpaper and removing partition walls.
I’d started with carpets. A great idea in theory, but oh! It had quickly turned into the most horrendous job. The floorcoverings were ancient. They must have been laid in the year dot. They were ingrained with dust and filth and who knows what else. It took all of my strength to tug them loose, starting in one corner and then hauling with all my might to unstick them from the floor. I’m not a slight woman, in fact there’s plenty of bulk about me, but gee, I was going to need an army of helpers if I wanted to make any headway.
That was as far as I managed to get before the surveyor turned up. A tall man in a grey suit and sporting a hard hat, he arrived in an expensive Volvo, driving too quickly for the conditions, bouncing the car over the potholes, and almost spinning out as he braked hard on the loose gravel of the drive.
“It’s the very devil to find this place,” he complained when I came out to greet him. “I’m looking for Mrs Daemonne?”
“Ms Daemonne?” I queried. “Will I do? I’m afraid my mother is recently deceased.”
He looked me up and down with some distaste, echoes of my encounter with Gladstone Talbot-Lloyd sprang to mind.
“I see,” he said, although clearly he wished I was someone older, wiser and perhaps more experienced in the ways of inn surveying. I was going to fail him on so many levels.
“Charles Pimm,” he said and offered his hand for a limp-wristed handshake. I shook it with my own grime covered sweaty paw, and hid my smirk of amusement at his evident revulsion.
There followed a dull two hours where I traipsed around after him as he shone his torch into dusty corners and ummed and ahhed with annoying regularity. I peered over his shoulder, noting the cobwebs and dead rodents in inaccessible places. We gingerly climbed the ricketiest of staircases up to the loft and I was relieved to discover that the attic was properly boarded and floored. Best of all, there was no sign of damp. The roof lining appeared to be intact and that had been my main worry.
Less heartening was the amount of rubbish: boxes, steamer trunks, furniture, bedsteads, mattresses, hat boxes and suitcases were generously littered throughout the space. I don’t think I’d ever seen so much tat in one place. I stared aghast – wondering what on earth I would do with it all. I gingerly opened one suitcase to discover among the layers of old tissue paper, beautifully beaded and embroidered clothes, probably from the 1920s. It was a treasure trove to be sure, but the thought of sorting through it all didn’t fill me with delight.
Against one of the joints, I spotted a number of paintings, standing back to back and partially covered by a sheet. I leant over them and pulled the sheet back, exposing the top one, a portrait of a rather forbidding looking woman in an evening dress and tiara. Beneath her, a gentleman with a white beard. I flipped through the heavy canvases, examining each image, and wondering who they were until an impatient tut behind me interrupted my reverie.
“I’d like to look out the back now, if I may.”
Startled, I turned too quickly and smacked my head on a beam. “Out the back?” I repeated stupidly, rubbing my crown.
“Outside? The back of the inn?” He could barely hold back the contempt in his voice.
“Ah, right. That’ll be a no then,” I said.
“Because?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in disapproval.
“Because it’s a murder scene.” I explained patiently. “I found a body out the back, not even twenty-four hours ago. The police have asked me not to go out there for now, as their forensic team are still working there.” Well I assumed they were, I hadn’t taken much notice to be honest. I’d been far too busy listening to this man grunt non-committedly as I plodded after him all afternoon.
“I see.” He made a series of clicking noises with his tongue against his teeth. I had to hold myself in check, to prevent my growing urge to throttle him. “Very well then. In that case I think we’re finished here. I’ll write up my report and let you have a copy.”
“Can you share the headlin
es?” I asked and he blinked at me in confusion. “I mean, just tell me if the building is going to fall down any time soon?” I clarified.
“It will all be in my report,” he said, his tone smug.
“Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes with complete exasperation. Closing the attic door on the chaos within, I gestured for him to head down the stairs ahead of me.
I saw him out and opened a bottle of water, draining a litre in seconds flat, then made my way back upstairs to open the taps and run water into my bathtub as the first step in ensuring the inn’s pipes were clean.
Now I could think about stripping the walls in earnest.
It had been a long day on very little sleep and to say I felt daunted by the task in hand was an understatement. The more I stripped the walls, and pulled up carpets, the more apparent it became just how big an undertaking this was going to be. Dragging the carpets downstairs to throw out the front reminded me that I needed to hire in a skip. Possibly I needed to hire in a fleet of skips.
By 6 p.m. I was exhausted and kicking myself for not purchasing a bottle of wine at the shop along with all the cleaning products. It would require an impressive amount of Alf fuel to undertake a job this big. Wine, chocolate, coffee and cake were top of my list.
Sitting on my front step, I could feel the weariness sinking into my bones. I suddenly found myself longing for the tiny room in my house share in Lewisham. Just the familiarity of it. The cosiness. It had never been beautifully clean and tidy, far from it, but I’d never had to worry about it or take responsibility for it either. Now here I was, the landlord of numerous properties I hadn’t even inspected, with the mammoth task of putting the inn to work. I couldn’t help but wonder whether I’d bitten off more than I could chew.
Sighing, I was about to stand and head back inside for some more punishment, when a woman with a large hairy lurcher came up the drive. In her late fifties I would say, she was an odd sight, dressed in green Wellington boots, a shapeless knee length summer dress covered in small colourful flowers, a home knitted cardigan in an odd shade of mustard green that clashed with the wellies, and a large brown rain hat. Her outfit covered all weather eventualities.
“Hello!” she hailed me, as jolly as she looked, she sounded well-to-do. Possibly not quite of Gladstone Talbot-Lloyd’s class, but certainly only one step down on the ladder of poshness.
“Hello,” I said and smiled at the dog as he came over to sniff me and find out what I was all about.
“Hope you don’t mind Jasper, here?”
“He’s a curious fellow,” I said as he proceeded to sniff me all over.
“As all dogs are if they’re doing their jobs correctly.”
“Does Jasper have a job?” I asked, wondering whether she was one of the hunting fraternity, loved and loathed in equal measures in the English countryside.
“No, he doesn’t work in that sense. He’s just my companion.” She made a clicking noise to call him to heel, and he pattered obediently to her side, looking up, perhaps waiting for a treat. She relented and chucked him under the chin and allowed him to wander off once more. He sniffed around the front of the inn. “He’d probably make a good poacher’s dog though.”
“Are there many of those around here?” I asked.
“Oh yes,” the woman trilled cheerfully. “Are you planning on keeping hens or livestock at all?”
Her question made me think of my mother. “No, I shouldn’t have thought so.” This woman already knew I was the owner of the inn then. She had the advantage over me. “I’m Alf Daemonne.”
She stuck out her hand to give me a warm and strong handshake. “Millicent Ballicott. I knew your father.”
“You did?” I couldn’t hide my astonishment at this news. No one had ever uttered those magic words to me before.
“Yes, when we were young children. We played together. He grew into a lovely man. Very generous.” She scrutinized me through pale blue eyes. “You have a look of him about you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You have his colouring and chin. You must have your mother’s eyes though.” Millicent looked at me intently for a few moments longer as though trying to read my mind. I could see a question half-formed on her face. She evidently knew about my family’s odd heritage.
“You don’t use the craft,” she said finally.
“No,” I responded, and for the first time in many years I saw myself the way others of my kind might. Millicent was disappointed. She peered at me, down her nose, the same way my mother and her friends had always done, with a slight furrowing of the brow.
“Why?” she asked, and although she kept her tone light, the weight of the subject hung heavily between us.
I shrugged. “It isn’t for me. I have no need of it.”
Millicent looked knowingly at me and smiled. “You mean you haven’t had need of it, yet.” She emphasised the last word.
I didn’t reply, reluctant as ever to discuss my reasons for not choosing to use my skills as a witch. Instead I allowed my attention to drift back to Jasper.
“Better not let him go around the back,” I said. He appeared to be heading that way, following a scent he’d picked out.
“Ah yes. Your murder,” Millicent said and whistled for Jasper to return. He came back happily enough and headed for the trees leading back down the lane, intent on sniffing for squirrels.
“Yes.”
“Any word on who the victim was?”
“No, not yet. Nor how he died.”
“You found the body I heard?” I nodded. “Did you not have any inkling at all?”
Puzzled, I shook my head. What did she mean? “Of how he died? No. Why would I? I’m not a doctor.”
“Well …” she began to answer but hesitated. “Never mind.” She checked on Jasper, then turned back to me. “You’re intent on making a go of the inn?”
“If I can.” I could hear the lack of excitement in my own voice. “I wanted to. Was determined to even, but now …”
“Now?” Millicent asked, her expression kind.
“Maybe I’ll never be able to find people who’d want stay here. What with the murder and all. And the inn is old. Plus … The Hay Loft is so close. Perhaps I’d be wiser just to sell the inn and land and move on with my life.”
“Sell it to Gladstone Talbot-Lloyd?”
“He seems to want it. How did you know that?”
“It’s no secret. He’s been after this old place for years. Since your father inherited it, and maybe even before that.”
“I wasn’t aware of that.”
“Everyone in the village knows about his lust for this land. He’s a foul man, that Talbot-Lloyd. Don’t let him bully you into doing anything you don’t want to.”
“But the murder? Maybe it’s a bad omen?”
Millicent clucked and looked annoyed. “Alfhild. You’re named after your father’s grandmother. She was a spectacular witch, but I don’t see much of her backbone in you. Maybe the murder is a bad omen. But equally, maybe you’re supposed to think that way.”
I pondered on what she was saying. “You think someone is out to get me?”
“It’s probably nothing personal. But look at you.” She gestured at me. “You’re so young, and you’re a woman on your own. In some people’s eyes that makes you an easy target. A little bit of pressure and you’ll take off, back to where you came from, with your tail between your legs.”
I started to protest, but of course, not ten minutes before that was exactly what I was considering doing.
“Selling the land would be an easy and somewhat attractive proposition for you, I’m sure. Retire on the proceeds. Live like a queen. You’d never have to worry about money again.” Millicent stepped closer, her eyes twinkling at me. “But if you’re anything like your grandmother, I’m guessing that an easy life is not for you. Sure you’ll want adventures, but by the same token you want a life that challenges you. This inn is that challenge. You’ll have to be canny. But you can do it.
Ready it for the right clientele.”
Her words were a salve on my soul. Something heavy, that had been weighing me down all day, seemed to lift from my shoulders. Her words chimed with what Rhona had said about finding the right customers. Not that I had any idea who they might be yet.
“But, there’s so much to do,” I said. My token and final protest.
“You need help. I know just the person. I’ll send him along tomorrow.”
Once Millicent had strolled off in the direction of the village with Jasper in tow, I decided to go for a walk myself. It was time to familiarise myself with Speckled Wood, lying at the edge of the grounds behind the inn. I was probably dehydrated and I was certainly tired. The clean air would soothe my aching head and with any luck help me sleep.
Birds twittered in the trees as I skirted the police cordon, Police – Do Not Cross, emblazoned in blue on white tape. There had been no activity here since this morning, and there were no signs of an ongoing investigation. With any luck the police would release the yard and the kitchen back to me in the morning.
I nodded at the space where the body had been, in tribute to a life lost. Perhaps he had been a passing itinerant, or maybe he had been hanging out in the woods. Whatever, it was a sad start to my tenure.
As I’d hoped, the forest air was clean and clear, the air vibrating with life itself and lifting my solemn mood. The trees sang to me as I walked among them. You don’t need to be a witch, even one as reluctant as I, to appreciate nature, but it certainly helps. Every bud, every leaf, every fern, every beetle—they called to me as I walked among them. I basked in the energy of the wood, breathed deeply and reinvigorated each cell within my body, stretching my spine and my tired muscles until I felt refreshed and calm once more. I stopped occasionally to gaze in wonder at a section of bark, or a clump of roots. I dragged my fingers over ridges, or pulled branches close to my nose to inhale the fresh scent of Mother Earth and all her bounty.
The Wonkiest Witch Page 4
