Amanda Cadabra and The Hidden Depths

by Holly Bell

  Amanda returned to the sitting-room and briskly fluffed up all of the cushions on the three-piece suite.

  ‘Good,’ she said to Tempest, with a decisive nod. ‘Now we can get back to normal. There’s so much to do at The Grange before the ball, and I’m sure I’ve got a backlog building up in the workshop.’ She took up the tea tray. ‘Yes … back to normal.’

  She marched herself out to the kitchen, watched by Tempest who had observed Amanda’s brave-face performance with amusement. He was not in the least fooled.

  ***

  Trelawney, back at his mother’s house to collect his belongings, sent a text to Mike telling him what Amanda had said about the Oracle’s words. Later that day, the inspector returned to Cornwall. For the length of the journey he attempted to keep his mind on the wording of his official report. Thomas’s thoughts showed an alarming tendency to stray back to the sitting-room of the cottage and the person … the witness, of course … that he had just left.

  Left, thought Thomas. What a final-sounding word. I wish I’d said more to thank her. For all the cases she’s helped with. I wish … well, no point in … After all, this was all part of the life he’d chosen. One met people in the course of an investigation and then one moved on … After writing up the paperwork .… Now … where was he with that?

  Back in Parhayle, Trelawney, after dealing with any immediate requests from his staff, sequestered himself in his office and composed his official report. He attempted to sleep on it, but his night was a restless one. The following day, after a final re-read, he attached a covering email and sent it to Maxwell.

  ***

  Amanda had returned, with relief, to work at The Grange. Simon Lawley left to resume teaching at Chalkstable College, taking with him Pamela, who promised to come back for the Equinox Ball. Hillers and Humpy were remaining to help with preparations for the festivities. Hillers helped to heft chairs and tables in the ballroom; Humpy supplied moral support, with his cheerful manner and by sporadically breaking into song, principally that 1920s tribute to an American river: Black Bottom.

  The ball was only a matter of days away now, and Mr Frumbling had kindly offered to walk over from Pipkin Acres most days to help Amanda.

  The previous night, she had, for some reason, slept little, had finally dropped off, then overslept. There was no time for a packed lunch and so now she found herself in The Corner Shop for a sandwich and a packet of prosciutto San Daniele that had arrived for Tempest. He had, after all, saved her life, she reminded herself.

  ‘How is the piano coming on?’ asked Joan, lowering her postbag to the floor and easing her shoulders.

  ‘Not long now,’ replied Amanda with a smile.

  ‘Your inspector’ll be there, I expect,’ Sylvia remarked, with the suggestion of a wink, leaning her stop sign in a convenient corner.

  ‘He’s not … yes, I think he will be.’ Amanda hoped that this would close a subject that, for some reason, was not evoking the happiest of emotions.

  Ding!

  ‘Morning ladies.’

  ‘Morning Dennis,’ chorused the trio.

  ‘I was about to say, p’raps we’ll see the inspector on Saturday at the class,’ suggested Joan.

  Amanda shook her head. ‘I’m … not sure. His work here is really done.’

  ‘What? Discovered what happened your family, did he?’ marvelled Sylvia. ‘Well! He is a clever lad. So …?’

  ‘Yes … he was kind enough to let me know … his report … carbon monoxide poisoning,’ Amanda replied briefly.

  ‘In the van?’ asked Dennis.

  ‘Hm.’

  ‘Well now … what a thing!’ exclaimed Joan. ‘Show’s you can’t be too careful. My Jim is ever so conscientious with the car. Services it regular. But the inspector will still pop in?’

  ‘I don’t know … he has a police station in Cornwall to run, you know and erm …’ Nalini smoothly saved Amanda from her evident discomfort:

  ‘Here you are, dear. Your prosciutto. Have some yourself. I’m sure the Raj will allow you to share it with him.’ Tempest preened himself as this suitably royal reference. Amanda looked down and laughed for the first time that day.

  ‘So no more excitement, dearie,’ Sylvia remarked regretfully. ‘For now anyway. Enough with the Equinox Ball.’

  ‘Yes, agreed Amanda, rousing her enthusiasm. ‘That’s plenty.’

  And it was, she told herself. Of course it was.

  ***

  Late afternoon, Trelawney visited Hogarth to bring him the truth in person, and the report in printout.

  ‘So … it’s done,’ concluded Thomas.

  ‘Hm … we shall see,’ replied Mike, enigmatically. ‘Yes, this closes the case. Now, we must ensure Amanda inherits the Cardiubarn estate before any remaining wolves gather.’

  ‘Surely Miss Cadabra’s right to inherit is undisputed?’

  ‘Oh, she may take the castle. But can she hold it? Never mind. With Amanda’s permission, now that death certificates have been issued for the Cardiubarns, I’ve set the official wheels in motion.’

  ‘I see. Yes, of course … But … my work in Sunken Madley is finished.’ As Hogarth made no immediate reply, Thomas asked, ‘Is it not?’

  ‘Let’s have some tea, shall we, lad?’

  Chapter 48

  The Job Offer

  ‘The powers that be,’ said Hogarth, stretching out his long, brown-corduroy-covered legs before the fire and stirring his after-dinner tea with apparent nonchalance, ‘are impressed by your report. All of your reports, in fact. You show a rare talent for taking an old magical pitted stone wall, filling in the holes, applying a fresh, modern coat of render and finishing it all off with a nice new mundane coat of white-wash.’

  ‘Eye-wash,’ remarked Trelawney.

  ‘Hogwash even, some might say. All managing to put Sunken Madley back on its normal, quaint, sleepy country village shelf.’

  ‘Well … I’m glad they’re pleased,’ he returned noncommittally.

  ‘You have done a good job. A unique job, in a unique set of circumstances, Thomas. And I believe you’ve even enjoyed it.’

  Trelawney smiled at that. ‘I won’t say it hasn’t been trying. But yes, it’s certainly allowed me to push the envelope, in ways I would never have imagined.’ He took a bite of shortcake.

  ‘Hm. You know, Thomas, Sunken Madley isn’t going to go away. It’s clearly the epicentre of something. Or things. Long-buried perhaps and now, for some reason, surfacing.’ Hogarth waited while Trelawney finished his biscuit. Finally, Thomas asked,

  ‘Are you saying, Mike, that more awkward bits of mystical wall are likely to reveal themselves?’

  ‘Not just likely; certain. Especially in the light of the Oracle’s words about the riddle of Sunken Madley.’

  Thomas was now very still, regarding his friend steadily, suspecting what was coming.

  ‘Three deaths in Sunken Madley in less than a year,’ continued Hogarth, ‘and the Cardiubarn case’s connection to the village. And at the heart of the village: the witch, Amanda Cadabra, with still very limited experience of dealing with the past, the clans, with murder most foul. Even with magic outside of her small workshop world. She has done most extraordinarily well.’

  ‘She has indeed,’ agreed Thomas wholeheartedly.

  ‘But. She is not a professional. And the presence of a professional is what is felt is needed.’

  ‘I’m only a few hours away.’

  ‘After the event, though. The boot is going to drop again. It is only a matter of time. Maybe on the next occasion, a professional may be able to see it coming. If not, see the link to the riddle.’

  Trelawney frowned and leaned forward in his armchair, cupping his mug. ‘Am I being transferred?’

  ‘No. This is an offer, an opportunity, being extended to you, Thomas. You are under no obligation. Happy to hear me out?’

  The inspector put down his tea and relaxed back,
while looking intently at his friend. ‘Yes, of course.’

  Five minutes later found Trelawney pacing around Mike’s sitting-room. He was awash with a heady mixture of excitement, perturbation, and oddly … joy. The latter set off a faint alarm bell for caution.

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘You don’t have to say anything immediately,’ Hogarth laughed. ‘Take some time. Although the sooner you could start …’

  ‘So, I’d be answerable to Maxwell, even though he’s moving up?’

  ‘To some extent. Ultimately you’d continue to be accountable to someone far more intimidating.’

  ‘Good grief. The Home Secretary?’

  ‘Me,’ replied Mike, with a chuckle. ‘In short, business as usual, only with a different base for you.’

  This somehow eased Thomas’s tension, and he sat down again.

  ‘All right. Tell me again how this would work.’

  ‘It would be Maxwell you’d send your official reports into. Carefully doctored, of course. His exact words were:

  “We need Trelawney in there, Hogarth, dealing with this supernatural business and making sure I don’t have to. Or anyone else for that matter, except you. On paper, he’d work for the Met. Be on call for Barnet Hill station except when he’s investigating that wretched hamlet he seems to have successfully infiltrated. Can’t force him, but if you can convince him, the sooner it’s all off my plate and onto his the better.”’

  Thomas could not help but chuckle at Mike’s accurate imitation of Maxwell’s bluff manner.

  ‘Hm … I suppose … I could … Parhayle?’

  ‘Parhayle still remains within your remit, if you want it,’ replied Mike.

  ‘My sergeant is extremely able. He and Nancarrow have certainly shown themselves equal to the task of day-to-day running. In fact, in my frequent absences, they have excelled themselves.’

  ‘But no one else can settle a long-running Parhayle feud like Inspector Trelawney.’

  ‘I suppose when it comes to homicides in the past year, Sunken Madley does rather outstrip my little town … Where would I be based exactly?’

  ‘We’d like you on-site.’

  ‘In the village?’

  ‘Preferably.’

  Thomas thought for a few moments then shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Mike … it’s a big responsibility. This magical stuff … I’m only just dipping my toe into it … I ...’

  ‘In short,’ Hogarth responded, ‘you’ve done exceptionally well, but you’re not a professional.’

  Thomas stopped and eyed his friend askance.

  ‘What are you saying …?’ he asked suspiciously.

  ‘What you need is a professional. A professional witch. What you need is … Amanda Cadabra.’

  ‘Hold on. How? She’s not a member of the police.’

  ‘No, she’s not. She could be a civilian consultant. If you so choose.’

  Thomas did not reply. Instead, he stood up again, mug in hand, and asked,

  ‘More tea?’

  ‘Thank you lad,’ Mike said, handing over his cup. ‘There’s a Victoria sandwich in the fridge if you want to bring that in.’

  It was a while before Thomas returned with the top-ups and cake. He put the tray on the table, as Hogarth observed,

  ‘On second thoughts, I think you could do with something stronger, lad.’

  ‘I think you’re right, Mike.’

  Hogarth chortled sympathetically.

  ‘You know where the drinks are.’

  Chapter 49

  Concerns and Trust

  ‘Hello, you two,’ Miss Armstrong-Witworth entered the ballroom and approached Amanda and Mr Frumbling, standing surveying their handiwork.

  ‘Gwennie, come and look,’ he called to her.

  ‘Oh I say, you’ve both been working hard. It looks like it’ll be finished in time.’

  ‘Thanks to Mr Frumbling,’ responded Amanda.

  ‘And a very able student! Yes, we’ll be done by the ball. Just clocking off now,’ he added.

  ‘I’m sure you’ve both earned your tea.’

  ‘Well that’s very nice of you, Gwennie, but if you don’t mind, I’ll pop back to Pipkin for mine.’ A telltale blush infused his cheeks and brightened his blue eyes.

  ‘Really?’ Miss Armstrong-Witworth returned roguishly. ‘Is there something special happening there.’

  ‘Well, if you must know, we’ve had a new addition. Dulcie by name and just as sweet by nature. Oh, I know she’s only 79, and it’s a big age gap but … well … see how it goes!’

  ‘Indeed, Ronnie. Don’t let us keep you from your lady.’

  A few minutes later, out of her overalls, Amanda sat with Gwendolen in the small salon. They were enjoying tea and Moffat’s own homemade gingernuts, baked especially for Amanda, when Miss Armstrong-Witworth observed,

  ‘So, it’s all over. The Cardiubarn case finally closes.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hm … and how does that feel?'’

  ‘I don’t know, to be honest.’ Amanda pondered. ‘So many different things.’

  ‘Have you given any thought to your inheritance?’

  Amanda picked up a biscuit. ‘That’s not something I’ll have to deal with for ages, surely? Won’t it take something like … a year to get probate?’

  ‘You didn’t handle any of that with your grandparents, dear?’

  ‘No. Grandpa handled the will and probate for Granny, and then he set it all up so that for him, all I had to do was sign something.’

  Miss Armstrong-Witworth sampled her own gingernut. ‘Hmmm, these are rather good, aren’t they? You know, I tend to think that the Cardiubarn estate is going to be rather more complicated.’

  ‘Won’t the family solicitors deal with that?’ asked Amanda confidently, and took a sip of tea.

  ‘Do you know who they are?’

  Amanda shrugged. ‘Er … I expect there’ll be something among Granny’s papers.’

  ‘Hm. Have you thought about inheritance tax?’

  ‘I’d assumed that there must be assets to sell to cover that. No?’

  ‘There could be. What about the Hall itself?’

  Amanda put down her cup and saucer and sighed.

  ‘To be honest, Gwendolen, I haven’t thought about it because I haven’t wanted to think about it. Oh, in the beginning, when the inspector kept visiting and asking questions, I just wanted the case solved so he … it would go away. And then … I suppose I got caught up in enjoying the journey … to the solution … and now …’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘In a way, I wish the inheritance would go away, except …’

  ‘There are questions about your past that might be answered only there, within the walls of Cardiubarn Hall?’

  Amanda shivered. Gwendolen immediately deposited her own cup and saucer on the table and put her arm around her young friend.

  ‘Now, my dear. I don’t mean to ask you things that will upset you. Perhaps you’re right. And it will be months before you need to be involved at all.’

  ‘Oh, Gwendolen, the truth is that I have had thoughts. Troubled thoughts about it all. Over the years, from time to time, I have wondered what it would be like to go back to Cornwall. Experience what I’ve only ever seen in photographs or in films, you know?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But now … once I cross the Tamar …’ Amanda’s heretofore securely dammed anxiety began to leak out and flow. ‘What if I bump into one of the Cadabras and they won’t talk to me? Because of Grandpa eloping with a Cardiubarn and me being half Cardiubarn. And then what if there are still Flamgoynes hiding who will be out for blood, for revenge? And what if there are Cardiubarns left who want to bump me off to get the inheritance? Wouldn’t it be better if I just don’t go to Cornwall?’

  Gwendolen patted her hand. ‘My dear, those are rational concerns. Have you expressed them to the inspector?’
/>
  Amanda shook her head as though this was a new thought. ‘Well… no… it’s not his job … the case is solved … hes got a life in Cornwall to go back to now. I couldn’t … I mean, he’s not my bodyguard. I wouldn’t want him to think I’m helpless and can’t look after myself.’ A defiant note entered her voice. ‘If I have to go there, I shall, and I’m sure it will all be fine. But this is just speculation. I won’t have to do anything for months and months, and I may not have to go there at all.’

  ‘Indeed. It’s up to you, naturally. But I would, at least, mention your concerns to him. I’m sure you can trust him to offer you some reassurance and sound advice. You’ll see him at the ball. Or perhaps you could call Michael Hogarth?’

  ‘I’ll see,’ replied Amanda, having restored herself to her usual sense of calm. She picked up her cup and saucer with a steady hand. ‘There’s really no need to bother him — them. Not for a long time.’

  Later, at home, Amanda kept up her resolve not to think about it. She made toad-in-the-hole, the most comforting comfort food available to one with sausages in the fridge and batter mix in the cupboard. Together with Tempest, who had deigned to join her in consuming the animal protein component of the meal, Amanda sat on the sofa and did her best to enjoy The Ladykillers.

  At about the same time that the film was rolling the end credits, Trelawney was taking a refreshing sip of Hogarth’s Aardberg ten-year-old single malt. He sat, slowly turning the tumbler in his hands. Finally,

  ‘All right, Mike. Let’s say this is a good idea.’

  ‘Yes, let’s.’

  ‘How would it work with … Miss Cadabra?’

  ‘You would, of course, no longer be in the detective-witness holding pattern. You would be colleagues, partners.’

  ‘Just the two of us?’

  ‘You would also be able to call on Baker and Nikolaides. You seem to work well with them, and by all accounts, they actually enjoy working with you!’