Amanda Cadabra and The Hidden Depths

by Holly Bell

  ‘That’s generous of him, giving up his weekend.’

  ‘Oh, it’s all right. I think her Dad’s paying him,’ Pamela explained with guileless reassurance.

  ‘Ah, so I expect they’re studying now.’

  ‘I think so.’

  Amanda wondered if she could encourage Pamela to go and do the same but was reluctant to sound unfriendly. Suddenly the girl rushed into speech once more.

  ‘I know people think Sam is mean and selfish and manipulative and things … you know? But she does have a nice side to her. She can be funny and kind and, you know, listen.’’

  As for the first part, Amanda did indeed know. She replied vaguely, ‘Ahuh.’

  ‘So, I think it’s just because people don’t understand her. But I do, and so does Simon. I think he’s really helping.’

  The door opened and Mr Lawley appeared in person. He was on the tall side of medium height, hair the colour of walnut, framing pleasant features. One in particular struck Amanda: Simon’s brown eyes, catching the light, revealed glimpses of green, blue and amber. Their expression was warm, confiding, understanding.

  Dreamy-eyes.

  Amanda recalled Sylvia’s expression. However, she reflected, I don’t think he switches on the charm. I think he looks at everyone like that, but some people imagine that it’s just with them. Oh dear … Pamela ….

  He was coming towards her, offering his hand.

  ‘Amanda. I’m Simon.’ The voice was gentle with a hint of playfulness. ‘A pleasure to meet the rescuer of The Grange from dilapidation. What can I do to help? I have to justify my visit. There must be something I can do to assist you, Amanda.’ He spoke her name as though it was the most melodic combination of syllables in the English language.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Simon. If there is, I promise to tell you,’ she returned with a smile and practical air.

  ‘Pamela, deah!’ came Hiller’s penetrating voice from the hall.

  ‘Oh! Excuse me, Simon, Amanda.’ The girl hurried out of the room. ‘Yes, Grandmamma?’

  Simon spread his hands, ‘I’m sorry I’m not much a DIY man.’

  ‘I understand your skills lie in other areas and are quite remarkable,’ Amanda replied tactfully.

  ‘Linguistics, yes. It’s my thing. But it’s always been a natural talent, and I have to confess not something that I’ve had to work at as hard as perhaps I should,’ Simon observed ruefully.

  ‘Do you speak any obscure languages?’

  ‘One or two,’ he answered modestly. ‘For example?’

  ‘I’m Cornish by birth. A yll’ta kewsel Kernowek?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t speak any at all. To my shame. Some time ago, a Cornish work was actually passed to me, and I had to hand it on.’

  ‘No English translation was available?’ enquired Amanda intrigued.

  ‘Oh, this was a handwritten book.’

  ‘How unusual.’

  ‘I’m guessing it was a journal or diary or perhaps research notes.’

  ‘That sounds pretty personal. Didn’t the owner want it back?’

  ‘I’m afraid …. he passed away … that is … he went missing. The man who found it concluded it belonged to the owner who he thought was English. It was found in rather rugged inaccessible terrain, long after the search for man had been abandoned. My colleague was the only Englishman visiting at the time, so they gave it to him, and, back in England, he thought I might be able to decipher it.’

  ‘So, the man was English? The one who disappeared?’

  ‘Yes, well, I suppose Cornish since he wrote in that language.’

  ‘Still, at least you recognised that it was Cornish,’ Amanda encouraged him.

  ‘Actually, I thought it was Welsh!’ Simon admitted. ‘But my Brythonic isn’t up to scratch. A friend corrected me and said he’d look into when he had time.’

  ‘Ah, and has he?’

  ‘I don’t know. He moved, and you know how it is with books, they can so easily get lost in transit. ‘

  ‘True,’ Amanda agreed.

  ‘So, I hope you’ll test me on another language some time, Amanda, and I shan’t disappoint.’

  ‘My only others are French and a bit of Swedish.’

  ‘Those I can manage,’ Simon said cheerfully.

  ‘I’m sure you can!’

  He looked around the ballroom. ‘So. What’s the next job?’

  ‘The piano.’ She gestured towards it.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Look under the cover,’ Amanda invited him.

  He raised the dull green dust cloth and peered at the ruin.

  ‘My word! I’m sure there must be some heavy lifting involved. That I’m good for.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Where on earth will you start?’ asked Simon, curiously.

  ‘I’ve been asking myself that. It’s not my area, but it needs to be in some sort of shape for the Spring Equinox Ball the Grange ladies are giving for the village. Unfortunately, the experts aren’t available.’

  ‘Hm.’

  ‘I shall prop it up, clamp it to death and get on with the action while I think about it.’

  ‘Action?’

  ‘The hammers, the hidden bits that make the notes sound when you press a key on the keyboard.’

  ‘It looks like so much of it is damaged.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’ve suggested replacing the entire workings, but it’s old and has been in the family for generations, and Miss de Havillande has asked me to please preserve as much as possible. So I need to assess how many new keys, key covers, hammers, tapes and strings we’ll need. I have to attempt salvage and then see what must be replaced.’

  ‘And the piano case?’

  ‘I think it will have to be a new lid but the rest, I can put inserts into, I think. It will be a big job, and I won’t do a botch.’

  ‘I’m sure you won’t. I do admire your work so far on this room. Miss Armstrong-Witworth has been telling me about it. I’m eager to pitch in, as and when. So is Samantha, of course. It’s just that she’s, er ... gone for a “mani-pedi”, I think she said.’

  ‘I expect she deserves a break after applying herself to her studies,’ Amanda observed diplomatically.

  ‘Er … yes… well, with some students, the will is there, or rather the aptitude is there, but the motivation needs a little support.’

  Amanda looked at him with what she hoped was sympathy.

  He smiled in her eyes. ‘I’m hoping that this weekend, I can work a little magic.’

  Was he trying to tell her something? There was something quite hypnotic about him. Amanda thought of the expression “falling into a person’s eyes.” It would be so easy … but of course she was far too level-headed … unless …. Was it possible that this was his gift? His more than normal gift? His … magic? Could it be that he was a wi—

  ‘Tea!’ called Miss Armstrong-Witworth from the hall. And the moment was gone.

  Chapter 11

  Perran, and Gumption

  ‘Come in, Inspector,’ Amanda invited him, gesturing over the threshold of 26 Orchard Way. ‘Grandpa’s here, arrived from the ether, and, as requested, alone.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Cadabra,’ he said formally, shaking hands with her.

  She led him into the sitting-room and there, sure enough, was Perran Cadabra looking as reassuring solid as he could make himself. In fact, so solid that Trelawney instinctively advanced with outstretched hand, before he recollected himself and realised that that would be far outside his comfort zone. He contented himself with a respectful nod and a greeting.

  ‘Sir, thank you for seeing me.’

  The older man grinned and settled himself more comfortably in his favourite armchair. Trelawney sat down in Senara’s usual seat, and as far from Tempest, curled up beside his human on the sofa, as was possible. Amanda’s feline watched, what he regarded as the pantomime of the inspector’s discomfiture, through
one slitted citrine eye. Humans, he reflected, were so easily unnerved. It was one of the few things that rendered them entertaining.

  ‘It’s still Perran, Inspector. I understand respect for the dead and all that, but I like to think we can be on easy terms still.’

  ‘Er … yes … Perran. Thank you for seeing me.’

  ‘How can I help you, Inspector?’

  ‘It’s about the letters. As you know, my remaining task on this case is to track down the sender. In the course of pursuing that enquiry, I need to look at all possible suspects.’

  ‘Aha. My wife. Yes, I do see. You want to ask, “Do I think she sent them to us and the Cardiubarns herself?” No, that wasn’t the sense I got from her at all that day when ours arrived.’

  ‘What sense did you get?’

  ‘I’m not as up with these things as a Cardiubarn or a Flamgoyne but yes, that it was enchanted ink and paper did occur to me. I’ve never seen the like or colour of either. And it … it felt wrong …’

  ‘Like the source was … bad magic?’

  ‘Nothing as definite as that, at the time. But so it turned out, and that’s why I don’t believe my Senara could have sent it. She would never have had something sent to me that was harmful. She couldn’t bring herself to do it.’

  ‘Not even if your contact with it was very brief?’

  ‘Even if I held it in my hands for only a moment. I know what you think, Inspector, but I know my wife. I know what she was, and I know how she changed herself. And I remember, we were in the same room when she opened hers. I’d swear she was perplexed, even suspicious.’

  ***

  Trelawney saw her name light up the screen on his phone. He took a controlled breath and answered.

  ‘Miss Cadabra. How may I assist you?’

  ‘Hello, Inspector. You left so suddenly I didn’t get a chance to tell you. John Bailey-Farrell has written a sort of my-life-so-far. The book release party is on Thursday afternoon at the library. I just thought I’d let you know, in case you’d like to come along.’

  ‘Much as I’d like to attend, I can’t justify a mid-week jaunt to Sunken Madley. There are too many things to do here in Parhayle. I doubt our missing link will be there or that it would yield any leads. See you on Saturday at the dance class. Yes, I’m still under orders to keep an eye on Ryan. We still don’t know why he’s been keeping you under surveillance.’

  ‘You could do that at the party,’ Amanda suggested.

  He found it a persuasive argument, but maintained his professional resolve. On Tuesday night ‘that Dylan Woon’ had ‘ambushed our Callum’ in the alley behind the Casino ‘on account of him stealin’ ’is girl, ’e said’. Now, according to Callum’s mother, Mrs Jade Couch, who had burst into the station in a fury of indignation ‘’is dad, —‘Cudgel Couch’ — would see right done by ’is son or else.’

  ‘Else’ referred to the resumption of the feud between the Couches and the Woons. It required careful handling, not least of all because Mrs Couch’s uncle was the newly created Bishop of Penzance.

  ‘You can do that at the party, Miss Cadabra,’ responded Trelawney. ‘Be my eyes and ears.’

  ‘That I shall,’ she agreed happily.

  ‘Ryan’ll be there?

  ‘Certainly, to support his friend. You know, I don’t have your instinct, but I don’t think Ryan is a bad person.’

  ‘I agree. My famous intuition — the gene I have to thank the Flamgoynes for, I suppose, — tells me the same thing. But he’s still involved, Miss Cadabra, in something or other shady. That’s the point.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she concurred, and then in an inexplicable afterthought, ‘I’m not going soft on him, you know.’

  Mindful of his father’s comments on his relationship with the Cadabras, Thomas replied,

  ‘It would be none of my business if you were.’

  It sounded cold, even to his own ears. He added,

  ‘And of course, you’re not.’

  ‘Thank you!’

  ‘Till, Saturday.’

  ‘Till then.’

  Amanda hung up and pondered his strange flash of ice. Had someone rapped him over the knuckles for being too something-or-other? Former Chief Inspector Hogarth? She looked at Tempest. He was regarding her with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘I can’t imagine Uncle Mike doing that. Hm. Whoever could it have been? Well never mind, there’s nothing I can do about it, and I have more important things to consider: the piano.’

  Hopefully, Pamela would be out. Amanda was torn between sympathy for the girl and the desire to get on with her work. It seemed to her that Samantha was using Pamela for her own ends. Simon was someone Pamela could talk to, but was that a two-edged sword? She did have Hillers and Humpy, her grandparents. But how well did they understand her?

  ***

  ‘It’s very kind of you, Hillers.’

  ‘Oh pish posh, Amanda, it’s light work, light work,’ insisted Hillers as she picked up the piano action and carried it to the workroom. Humpy toddled along happily in his wife’s wake bearing a small, light tray of stray piano keys and hammers. Hillers plonked down her burden and declared, ‘Must get on the pigeons! Before they colonise the entire attic!’

  Humpy stood and watched her stump off down the hall. He sighed with pride.

  ‘Wonderful, isn’t she? My Amazon!’

  Amanda looked at him in surprise.

  He returned her gaze and nodded. ‘I remember the first time I saw her. In the woods, swinging an axe.’

  ‘An axe?’

  ‘Felling the Christmas tree. Family tradition. Her grandmother was a lumberjill during the war, you know. For the Forestry Commission. Girls with just hand tools.’

  ‘I didn’t know about that,’ said Amanda, fascinated.

  ‘Oh yes. So there was Hillers, swinging away and then she looked round and saw me, and called out, “Hand me my canteen, there’s a good chap.” It was her father’s, from his exploration kit. I walked up, and she grinned, all fresh and flushed. I knew at once, don’t you know? At once.’

  Amanda was delighted. ‘That’s a charming story, Humpy. And Hillers? Did she feel the same way?’

  ‘Never thought I’d have a chance with her, weedy chap like me, not a bit athletic, pale, bookish. But she chose me. And we’ve been wonderfully happy ever since. Hillers says she’s the brawn and I’m the brains!’

  ‘I guess it’s true that opposites attract, then,’ Amanda remarked.

  ‘Well, I think it’s that we complement one another, like two halves of a sixpence. I think it was meant; we were meant. Not much of a walker but I was out with the dogs because everyone was so busy with Christmas day, y’see.’

  ‘Ah yes.’

  ‘You know, she’s awfully fond of you, Amanda. They all are.’

  Amanda was pleased but taken aback. ‘But Hillers hardly knows me.’

  ‘All the same, says you’re her sort of gel.’

  ‘I am? But I’m asthmatic, and feeble by her standards.’

  ‘Gumption. You’ve got gumption, she says. And that’s what counts.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad Hillers feels that way. Thank you, Humpy,’ replied Amanda, turning quite pink with pleasure at so unexpected a tribute.

  ‘Not at all. Thanks for listening to Pammy, by the way. She’s crossing some heavy ground at the moment. Wish I knew how to help. What to say.’

  Amanda had an idea.

  ‘Tell her your story. Of you and her grandmother.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  Humpy gave a decisive nod. ‘All right. I shall.’ After a thoughtful pause, he asked, ‘What about you, Amanda. Has anyone found you yet?’

  She was thrown into confusion. ‘I – I don’t know … I don’t think ... it’s complicated. I … no… No, not the right person.’

  ‘They will, you’ll see. I’ll pop orf now. Holler if you want a hand.’ With a grin, he
was gone.

  If pushed to express an opinion, Amanda would have put Humpy down as a bit of a featherbrain. But now, suddenly, she saw what Hillers saw, had always seen since that first day they met. Hidden depths. So … that was the real Humpy.

  Just when you thought you had someone summed up, they surprised you.

  Chapter 12

  Dinner, and Party Planning

  ‘There now, little lad,’ Clemo Trelawney advised his six-foot grandson, indicating the chair next to his at the scrubbed wooden table. ‘Just you sit down.’

  ‘Are you sure Gran Flossie doesn’t want some help?’ asked Thomas, looking towards the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, she don’t like people fussin’ around her when she’s cookin’, you know that,’ said Clemo, seating his equally tall but somewhat broader frame. It was topped with a short white beard and matching hair, contrasting with the deep tan of his weathered complexion.

  As if on cue, Gran Flossie, brown eyes a-twinkle emerged into the dining-room, bearing two loaded plates, in comfortably muscled arms. Thomas, unable to help himself, got up and went to fetch his grandmother’s dinner from the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, you are a proper gent, our Tom,’ she chuckled. And they set to on squab pie, made with pork and apples, and all of her grandson’s favourite accompaniments.

  ‘Roast potatoes, parsnips and peas. Gran, you always remember.’

  ‘So I should hope. It was decided as soon as we heard you were comin’ over.’

  ‘You’re very kind, Gran. How was the catch today?’

  ‘Fair to middlin’. The fish wasn’t leapin’ into the nets, but good enough.’

  ‘Oh ah, good enough,’ agreed Clemo.

  Thomas marvelled that his grandmother could still put in a full day out on the fishing boats with her family and still have the energy to cook up a full-scale treat like the one before him. He said so.

  ‘Sea air, good Cornish genes, and a bit of romance,’ she replied, with a wink at her husband.