by Holly Bell
He paused.
‘Do you need my permission for that?’ asked Amanda, in an attempt to help him make progress.
‘Yes, but … we would need the valuation agent to have access to the property.’
‘Don’t you have the keys?’
‘Unfortunately, we have been unable to penetrate the perimeter without setting off an alarm. In spite of considerable effort, it has been impossible to enter the Hall. My, er, former partners assured me that your presence was essential to gaining entry to the house.’
‘Former partners?’
‘Mr Mortlake and Mr Dowr have, er, recently retired.’
‘Oh.’
‘On Friday to be precise. They made me a partner and, er … left … Cornwall … er, actually, the UK, I believe.’
Mortlake and Dowr had only needed the veriest whiff of the information that the Cardiubarn death certificates were being issued. The ink on them was barely dry before Mr Keast received the startling news from his senior partners.
Meredith Mortlake had said, in fact, that at his age the last thing he needed was as nasty a can of worms as could be opened. Mr Dowr had been less frank about his extreme aversion to any further involvement with Cardiubarn affairs.
He claimed that Mrs Dowr had been insisting for years that he retire. She had inherited the family home in Cyprus, and they were now finally moving out there. He protested his reluctance to leave, but explained that this was overborne by his affection for his wife and the desire to fulfil her wishes. At once.
Mr Mortlake and Mr Dowr informed the bemused Mr Keast that he would be delighted that he was now being promoted to senior partner. Ownership of the firm would be a parting gift from his soon-to-be former employers.
Miss Parch, who had run the office for the past half a century, claimed that her aged mother (who George had understood to have been deceased for a number of years) was now in urgent need of support. Miss Parch handed in her resignation, arranged for a neighbour’s hapless school-leaver daughter to take her place, and promptly vanished.
Before Mr Keast had any opportunity to calculate what other emotions were leavening his delight over his ascension to senior partner, Mortlake and Dowr had packed up and gone, carefully avoiding leaving any trace of a forwarding address.
‘So, it’s just … me,’ finished Mr Keast, smoothing down his unruly hair. ‘I hope that’s all right, Miss Cadabra.’
He looked so out of his depths, even Amanda could see it. Her own anxiety was replaced by sympathy, and a wish to reassure the rather lost young man on the other side of the wide expanse of oak desk.
‘I’m sure that together we can manage. So, you need me to visit the Hall and do what precisely?’
‘Well, I haven’t actually been able to get anyone to agree to survey the property. But if you could take —’ Mr Keast unearthed a sheaf of drawings from the pile of papers on his desk and moved it towards Amanda — ‘these. You see here on this top one … it’s a plan of the ground floor, and these others are the other floors. If you could just confirm that no alterations have been made and perhaps check for any structural decay. It doesn’t have to be exhaustive. Just enough for valuers Whathall and Dorb to set a price on it.’
‘I’m not an expert, you know, Mr Keast. Are you sure this is all …?’
‘Oh yes, quite all right. Mr Dowr did, at least, tell me that much. Can you … could you?’
‘I’ll do my best,’ she promised him. ‘Erm … when?’
Keast immediately produced a heavy bunch of keys.
‘Now … please?’ George’s eyes were full of entreaty.
‘Right now?’ Amanda asked gently.
‘If you please, Miss Cadabra. It would be awfully nice if we could get this form sent in and settle the whole disas— business as soon as possible.’
‘May I make a call first?’
He agreed and eagerly showed her into what had been Mr Mortlake’s office. This was distinguished by its absence of anything but furniture, featuring several hastily cleared out, open drawers, empty of all but dust and the occasional paperclip.
Amanda phoned the inspector. Minutes later, she was back in the Mondeo, and they were heading out of town and up ... up onto Bodmin Moor.
Chapter 52
The Return of the Native
‘This is very kind of you, Inspector. Especially as I don’t know how long it will take,’ said Amanda.
‘Not at all. How about if, once you’re inside, you text me to check there’s a signal, then I can go back to the station? When you’re done, just message me, and I’ll be right there.’
‘Perfect.’
‘Ah, open the glove compartment … Yes, the mask. I grabbed this from the DIY box at my flat this morning. If the Hall hasn’t been cleaned for three decades, you may find it handy.’
‘How thoughtful! Thank you, Inspector.’
After a few moments, Amanda wound down the window and took a deep breath, looking around.
‘I know this road,’ she murmured. ‘I remember being in the back of Granny’s car … I must have been in a child-seat. I remember the back of Granny’s hair, my stiff black taffeta dress … and the scent of the Moor … how strange.’
Trelawney glanced at her. She seemed calm but distant, looking, no doubt, into the past. He left her to her thoughts and drove the remaining distance.
Having arrived, he parked and got out with Amanda and Tempest.
‘I’ll walk you to the entrance, and wait here until you’re inside.’
‘Thank you, Inspector.’
At the portal he stopped and turned to face her. ‘Miss Cadabra. This is your estate now. Own it. You’ll be fine.’
‘Yes.’ She achieved a parting smile. ‘I’ll see you later.’
So it was that Amanda née Cardiubarn, for the first time since she was three years old, approached the tall, now rusted wrought-iron entrance of her ancestral home.
She was ready with the spell, but, before she could speak the word, the gates, with a creak and a grind, slowly swung open, as though they could smell Cardiubarn blood. What they could sense of Tempest was anyone’s guess.
Amanda inhaled, raised her chin and walked resolutely through and towards the Hall. She climbed the six stone steps and stood before the great oaken double doors. Less welcoming than the gates, they awaited the key. Assuming it would be the largest, most ornate and unwieldiest, Amanda tried it. Curiously, without success. The second most sizeable key was the one that fitted. After some resistance, the tumblers fell. Pushing at the two leaves, Amanda let the late afternoon light into the entrance space beyond.
Suddenly she was back, small, holding Granny’s hand, her stomach tightening, her senses heightening.
Grown-up Amanda shook her head.
‘Well, I’m not three years old anymore,’ she muttered to Tempest. ‘I’m back … with a wand and ... you.’
The first sight within that greeted Amanda’s eyes was Senara Cadabra, sitting on a threadbare chair and flicking through a yellowing copy of British Toxicology Monthly. She looked up.
‘Well done, dear.’
‘Granny! I was hoping you’d turn up.’
‘Yes, well, now that you’re here …’
‘I have a job to do.’ Amanda waved the plans of the house.
‘Indeed. I’ve been having a look around. Of course, the last time I was here, it was a great deal more impressive. But then there was staff and lots of them. Well, don’t let me hold you up. It’s all right. I’ll be here. But really there’s nothing much to see. Except … in your Great-grandmother’s study, at the top of the grand staircase, door on the right. Yes … you may find that interesting, dear.’
Amanda sent a text to Trelawney, then decided to work from the top down. Granny had been right, the rooms, including hers, were empty of all but dust and cobwebs, damp, mould and rust. Methodically, Amanda went through, chamber by chamber, space by space. She checked it all against
the plans Mr Keast had given her and took photos on her phone, especially details of decay.
Granny had been right about something else: Great-grandmother’s study. Amanda, now masked, twitched back the dusty, dark red brocade curtains. They towered from the parquet to the ceiling, some fifteen feet above. By the afternoon light, she could see that the room had been left ... like a shrine. On the green leather-inlaid desk, reposed a blotter, pen and inkstand, a paperknife, a magnifying glass, and spectacles. The last two lay open on a blank sheet of writing-paper. Amanda walked around while Tempest seated himself in the buttoned desk chair, in leather matching the desk inlay.
‘I don’t remember this room. These books …’ High shelves had been mostly cleared, save for a section of thick Morocco-bound and embossed volumes. What titles were inscribed and visible appeared to be in Wicc’yeth, the magical language she had been taught. A particular spine caught Amanda’s eye. She reached out. Like static, a mild electric current crackled out and shocked her fingers. She gasped.
‘Good grief.’ Amanda sniffed and looked for the source of a smell of singeing. The sun, in a fit of pre-spring fervour, was penetrating the gloom. Using the lens of the late Lady Cardiubarn’s magnifying glass, it had focused its efforts on the desiccated paper that was now turning suspiciously brown.
‘Oops!’ Amanda hastily closed the curtains. ‘I’ve seen enough. Let’s go, Tempest.’
Finally, with the ground floor, they ended their tour of inspection and returned to the entrance hall.
Senara had now moved on to a faded copy of Vintage Blades Quarterly.
‘You haven’t finished,’ she remarked, without looking up.
‘This is all that the plans show,’ replied her granddaughter.
‘You know there’s more, Ammee.’
At once, Amanda flashed back. Down the stone steps ... Great-grandmother’s hand holding her own …
‘There’s a cellar … crypt …,’ murmured Amanda.
‘Good,’ Granny commended her. ‘Now where is the door to it?’
Amanda looked at the grand staircase, went up a few steps then faced down again.
‘I remember coming down here.’ She suited the action to the word. ‘Then here at the bottom, we went around again.’
She went to the space behind the stairs, and there was panelling … Just panelling. Unless … another memory … unless you knew where a hole was … for a key. It had been above little Amanda’s head height and now, ‘Nothing there … Great-grandmother said something … a word. I wonder …’ She took out her mini-wand and spoke the spell: ‘Onlideskovra.’
It was as if the knot in the wood had always been there. But it was too dark to blend in and definitely lock-shaped. ‘Aha! Now which key?’ asked Amanda rhetorically. ‘Hm … how about … no … Oh, it’s the simplest on the bunch. As you might expect for just a cupboard under the stairs, I suppose.’ She inserted and turned the key. The panel swung open into the hall, but the sight that yielded to the light was disappointing. Cobweb-strewn brooms, mops and disintegrating wooden crates were all that met her eyes.
Amanda stood back in surprise. ‘Oh … No. Wait. This is wrong.’
Granny remained silent, watching carefully from her chair.
‘No …’ said Amanda, then carefully stretched her hand out towards the interior of the cupboard. Sure enough, her hand met a barrier at the threshold. ‘It’s an illusion, Granny!’ she cried with glee. ‘Onlideskovra portow.’ The door within revealed itself: predictably dark oak, double-leaved. The key to this was more ornate. Now the stone stairs of Amanda’s troubled dreams and visions showed themselves.
She looked at her grandmother. ‘At last.’
‘Ready, dear? Do you want me to come with you? If not, I’ll take a look at the bramble festival that used to be the kitchen garden.’
‘Thank you, Granny. I’ll be fine. Now it comes to it, and I’m here, I’m not afraid. Memories can’t hurt me … and maybe they’ll help me.’
‘That’s my girl,’ Senara approved, putting aside her magazine and standing up.
The light dimming with each step, Amanda stopped and switched on the torch app on her phone. Descending ... gloomier ... it was growing unnaturally cold. Suddenly she wished she had asked Granny to stay with her.
Down the steps …
Back in her three-year-old body. Down, round and round and down and down … to a door … a door of adamant … This had the lock for the largest, most intricate key on the bunch, the one Amanda had thought was for the front door. Of course, this was the most important in the house. The most secret.
She felt the door free but not open.
‘Agertyn,’ she pronounced, and it yielded. Breathless with anticipation, Amanda pushed it open. She stepped over the threshold, and the phone light went out.
Chapter 53
Total Recall
The darkness was absolute. And so cold Amanda would have sworn she could have seen her own breath if only there was …
The phone was dead. But then, of course it was, she thought. There was a magical dampening field here.
‘Golow,’ she instructed her mini-wand. Amanda exhaled and looked down at the warm furry shadow, rubbing at her left ankle comfortingly. She reached down and stroked him. ‘Ah Tempest, I’m glad you’re here.’
He looked up at her, livid eyes a-glitter, scenting the trace of old, dark sorcery.
In a sconce by the door, Amanda found a candle and matches. The flame was enough by which to see something of the room. She toured the perimeter of the large round space, lighting each of the candles set at intervals in iron holders on the stone walls. With the last one, she turned and viewed the chamber. It was bare, grey, with a stone lectern to one side and, at the centre, a great granite font-like structure. There were steps up to it, like a pulpit.
‘I know this.’ Amanda approached. ‘These carved symbols … I remember these.’ She put out her hand to trace one of the strange forms of lines and curves and circles. ‘I don’t know what they mean …’ Suddenly, she drew back. ‘But I don’t want to touch them … Tempest, this is Darkside magic, I am sure of it.’
On either side of the narrow steps leading up to the huge stone bowl was a curious wooden railing.
‘What …? It comes up to only just above my knee …’
Amanda gasped. All at once, she was back … three years old, her hand held in the dry claw of her great-grandmother. The door opening. In the shadows between the candles were grownups … a man … a lady … another lady with long brown hair and a white face … and another man … all standing, silently watching her being led into the cold room. Her great-grandmother’s voice:
‘Here we are.’
‘Hello,’ said one of the men dispassionately.
‘Don’t expect a reply,’ the old woman replied to him. ‘The child is mute. I told you. And ninepence to the shilling, for all I know.’
‘And a good thing too,’ replied the long-haired woman. ‘Saves us the complications of taking stronger measures, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Hm,’ agreed the other woman.
But little Amanda’s attention was now all on the mighty stone vessel in the middle of the room. For a moment, her eyes rested on the strange images cut into its surface. Still more, they were drawn to the deep emerald vapour that emanated from the surface of whatever was filling the hollow of the monstrous container.
The smoke was floating, not up like it did when Grandpa burned old leaves in the garden, but left, to the big carved book rest on a thick pillar.
‘Come and see this,’ the old woman instructed in saccharine tones. ‘I know you like books. That’s right.’ She picked up Amanda, whose small face turned and, with round eyes, looked upon the largest tome she had ever seen. Bigger than any in the cottage or Cornish-home chalet or the village library. ‘Look at this page.’ A gnarled beringed finger pointed to the left-hand leaf, illuminated, and inscribed with aged ink. ‘See this? It
’s a special poem. Just for you. Isn’t that nice? I’ll read it to you in a minute.’
However, Amanda’s focus had switched to the page opposite, very similar to its fellow but with a symbol at the top. It was a stick with a wiggly line over it and other waves around that. It was but a glimpse before she was lowered to the floor and the old woman led her to the foot of the stairs with its child-height railing. Her great-grandmother’s voice again, with its false ring of sweetness:
‘There you are. Now it’s time for a little game. I can see you’re interested in that pretty mist. Why don’t you go up and see all the different things it smells of? Lots of lovely things. Flowers and sweets and honey. I’m sure you like all of those things.’
Amanda looked up her doubtfully.
‘Up you go,’ the old woman encouraged her with a smile. She wasn’t usually this nice. Even in her extreme youth, if there was one thing Amanda could recognise, it was a pattern. And her great-grandmother’s current demeanour was a long way from fitting. It was marked enough to set off the urge for flight.
However, the room was choc-full of grownups. The door was heavy. She’d never get out that way. Maybe if she played their game, the old lady would take her back up and out into the light, and to Granny. Amanda swallowed, put both hands on the railing and took one step up.
The old woman moved back to the lectern. The mist did smell sweet …
Amanda took another step up. And another. Big steps for her little legs. It was a bit like flowers but … The old woman was reading now. Not words Amanda knew. Not Cornish, not English … Dead flowers … Amanda sniffed … not honey … She was at the top of the steps now and could observe that the stone was lined with a basin of grey metal. It was hard to see through the fog that was now brown, now purple, now mustard yellow … sickly sweet ... She sniffed again more deeply … the woman’s voice droning … the smell of … rotting … Amanda’s eyelids were growing heavier with each intake of breath … She would have to sit down on the stair … The air before her was … fuzzy … black.
