by Holly Bell
‘And I was not in the same place as you either, Amanda, so …’
‘All right, then. He’s not a recording. Then why is he here?’ she wondered. ‘And why does he appear only to us?’
‘I think you know the answer to that,’ replied Hugo. He lowered his voice. ‘You are one of the magic people, yes? You see other dimensions. Your cat too. I saw him looking at the man.’
Her heart quickened. He was the first man she had met, apart from Grandpa and Dr Bergstrom, who was a witch. It was as though the shutters of a darkened room were opening, letting in the light, banishing the everlasting need for secrecy that dominated nearly every single interaction with the people in her life.
‘Yes,’ she answered quietly, her eyes sparkling.
Hugo nodded. ‘I come from such a family also. In my village, we too live quietly, like you. We work with wood for many generations; carpentry, joinery, carving.’
‘Yes,’ said Amanda eagerly, ‘mine too! My grandfather’s family. In that case … could it be that the man is a carpenter? He looked pleased to see me.’
‘And me.’
‘Have you tried to speak to him?’ Amanda asked.
Hugo shook his head. ‘There is always someone else around. And he is not there all of the time.’
They paused for thought.
Hugo asked, ‘What is underneath where we are building?’
‘An old abandoned village. It was bombed during the war — oh! No offence.’
‘It was a long time ago. I apologise anyway,’ he said ruefully.
Amanda laughed ‘I was about to say that it’s nothing to do with us … but somehow it looks like it is.’
‘I will try to find out about what is underneath.’
‘Me too,’ said Amanda, readily.
‘Be careful, be casual,’ Hugo warned her.
‘I will,’ she reassured him. ‘I have a friend, Claire, who works in media, who started out as a reporter. She has research resources. I could ask her.’
‘Are you sure she won’t leave a trace or ask the wrong person?’
Amanda thought. Claire might know how to dig things up, but covert ops was hardly what she associated with her best friend.
’No. No, I can’t. OK, I’ll ask at the library. They won’t be surprised. They know I’m interested in history, including local history. I’ll let you know what I find out.’ They exchanged phone numbers.
‘Oh, and I can look at the photographs. One of the librarians took pictures of the site. I’ll bet that man doesn’t appear in any of them. Now,’ said Amanda, ‘I must let you get cleaned up and rested.’
‘Thank you and ….’ There was no time for more. ‘Here are my friends coming who are staying here also.’ He stood up and waved. His two younger crewmates came over, and said ‘hello’ politely.
Hugo introduced them. ‘This is Niko and Yannik.’
They shook hands. Amanda greeted them, then excused herself. ‘I was just going. We are all very impressed with your work, by the way. Enjoy your evening.’
She turned and bumped into Joan.
‘That was quick work, dearie,’ she said in Amanda’s ear, with a jerk of her head in Hugo’s direction. Joan looked at the men, saying aloud, ‘All right, my loves? Introduce me then, Amanda. Don’t keep them all to yourself!’
‘This is Joan, our postlady. Joan, this is Hugo, Niko and Yannik.’ They stood up to greet the newcomer.
‘All lovely boys I see. You staying ‘ere?’
‘Yes,’ they assented. ‘
‘Well, you’ll all be up at the crack o’ dawn I expect, and they don’t serve breakfast ‘ere until long after you’re all up and doing. So you drop by my place five o’clock sharp in the mornings, and you can eat with me and my Jim, all right?’
Their faces were alive with a mixture of hesitation, relief and delight.
‘Are you sure, er, Mrs Joan?’ asked Hugo.
‘Just Joan will do, and yes, I am sure. Number 2 Rectory Close, behind the church. You can’t miss it.’
‘This is most kind,’ said Hugo.
‘We will pay, of course,’ added Niko.
‘Well, we’ll see about that. I like a full English of a morning, but I expect you’ll like your sausages and cheese, and I’ve got muesli, if that’s your fancy. I must be off. See you bright ‘n’ early, boys.’
They sent her on her way with thanks, and Joan linked her arm through Amanda’s as they went out into the late afternoon sunshine.
‘Well, well, what a nice bunch. I like your young man, I must say.’
‘He’s not my young man, Joan,’ Amanda replied, with practiced patience. ‘We only met about fifteen minutes ago.’
‘Ah, love at first sight. I know all about that.’
‘No, it’s really not —‘
‘Sometimes, one look is all it takes,’ said Joan knowingly.
‘But ... I —‘
‘See you out and about, dearie,’ called Joan, leaving Amanda beside her car, and striding off along the high road.
Chapter 16
Little Madley
The next morning, as Amanda set about tightening the stretchers on an Edwardian oak, barley twist chair, and filling a gouge in a console table, she found herself somewhat distracted. Her clamping spells were not all that they could have been, and she set the glue brush to stir by itself without remembering to turn the electric hob on under the pot. She caught herself in a pier glass, smiling for no reason.
By lunchtime, Amanda had done enough, and could leave glue and polish to dry. She shuffled out of her overalls and boots, changed into jeans and comfortable shoes, and drove quickly to the library. There was an event on at the school, so the road was parked up, and she had to leave the car so far away she might as well have walked from home.
Amanda was intercepted by Sylvia, the lollipop lady,
‘Ello, lovie, ‘ow’s your young man?’
‘My young man?’
‘That ‘andsome ‘unk. You know. Hugo!’
‘He’s not my young man,’ Amanda recited.
‘Well, he should be! Oh, they’re lovely boys, every one of them. Tell you what, if I didn’t have my George and I was 40 years younger I’d be there like a shot. Not just ‘andsome but such nice manners.’
At that moment they approached a narrow space on the pavement between a lamppost and an over-exuberant fall of lobelias on a garden wall. Olivia Mazurek, coming from the opposite direction, charged the gap, bumping Sylvia’s arm as she hurried past.
‘Oh! Maybe they could give evening classes to our teenagers in how to behave!’ Sylvia said markedly after Miss Mazurek.
‘Sorry, Sylvia!’ Olivia called back apologetically, ‘I’m late for the dentist!’
‘Hm, well, that one’s usually better than the rest,’ commented Sylvia. ‘At least, she’s being brung up proper. Like your Ruth.’
‘My Ruth?’
‘Ruth Reiser, that nice one you ‘elp with her ‘omework.’
‘Only now and then. She’s very capable.’
‘Yes, I like her, with her quiet ways. Puts me in mind of you at her age. Not that you seem any older to us.’
‘Don’t I?’ asked Amanda, in surprise.
‘No dear, with your big child’s eyes and your little face.’ Sylvia patted Amanda’s cheek. Funny, thought Amanda, Miss Armstrong-Witworth said something similar.
‘Thank you, Joan. Not that I can hold a candle to our local model, Jessica James, or Claire.’
‘Oh yes, you can’t but notice our village belles. But I’ve noticed there are those who prefer you.’
‘One or two perhaps,’ Amanda conceded.
‘Well, what with all the scientists coming, I’m sure you’ll ‘ave your pick, dearie.’
‘They’re coming here to work, Sylvia, not provide husbands for Sunken Madley spinsters!’ teased Amanda.
‘I don’t see why they can’t do both,’ Sylvia replie
d practically. ‘Well, mind ‘ow you go. Give my best to Mrs Pagely.’
Amanda was about to ask how Sylvia knew that she was going to the library but gave up. This was Sylvia. She knew where everyone was going and why.
Amanda pushed open the library double doors.
‘Hello, Amanda,’ said the comforting and matronly Mrs Pagely, sitting at the counter looking across at one of her favourite readers. ‘What can I do for you today?’
Amanda looked around with admiration. ‘I see you’ve got everything back to normal.’
‘Oh yes, no storm can keep a good library down. Now, did you still want that pamphlet?’
‘No, thank you, Mrs Pagely, it’s something else now. The building work has sparked my interest in Lost Madley.’
‘Oh yes? Now, that’s understandable, dear.’
‘Well, I wondered if there were any plans, maps or photos of it, from before it was destroyed.’
‘Hm … let me see ... it’s such a tiny little place … I shouldn’t think there’s anything especially about that. You’d be more likely to find it on an old map of Sunken Madley, one big enough to cover Little Madley, as it was called.’
Suddenly Mrs Pagely stopped, stood still and looked up meditatively.
‘Do you know, Amanda, in all the years I’ve been a librarian here, never once has anyone asked about that place.’
‘Really?’
‘No ... hmm. So if we have anything, it’ll most likely be down in the stacks. I’d better look for it myself. Jonathan!’
Her assistant appeared from the children’s section, carrying the books he was in the middle of shelving.
Jonathan Sheppard was possibly the most beautiful example of manhood ever to grace Sunken Madley, with raven black hair, liquid brown eyes, perfect white teeth, high cheekbones and flawlessly cut lips. His shy air and hesitant manner made him all the more alluring to the teenage female population, in particular, and reader numbers and book loans had tripled in the short time since his arrival.
However, rather than enjoying his popularity Jonathan found it more overwhelming than anything, and was happy to busy himself with his duties in a corner of the library, the more hidden the better. However, Mrs Pagely had, after a fashion, adopted him, and Amanda held no terrors for him, for they had already established a rapport, and he came over willingly at his boss’s call.
‘Hello, Amanda. Yes, Mrs Pagely?’
‘Can you man the fort while I go down to the basement?’
‘Of course,’ Jonathan answered readily.
‘You stay here, Amanda,’ Mrs Pagely bade her.
Jonathan apologised for the second time for taking Amanda down there on a previous occasion when she had been spooked into a mild asthma attack.
‘It’s really all right, Jonathan,’ Amanda replied reassuringly, ‘you weren’t to know.’
‘But I do know what an unsettling place it can be. Not surprising, considering its history.’
‘Yes,’ she responded, ‘you mentioned that there was .,.?’
‘Yes, you see, back in …’
But Amanda was not destined to be apprised of the basement’s murky past because teenager Becky Whittle had arrived with a book, and was leaning her ample curves over the counter, while gazing saucily at Jonathan.
Amanda was more relieved than anything else. If something untoward of a paranormal nature were pending in the stacks, it would inevitably wash up on her beach at some point. But right now, she had Lost Madley to deal with, and that was more than enough.
Mrs Pagely reappeared through the green metal door behind the counter, and switched off the light that illuminated the stone stairs to the basement.
‘Here you are, Amanda. Come over here to the table.’ She spread out a map and used a pencil as a pointer. ‘Right. Here you can see Little Madley’s location. So here’s the High Road going up into Muttring Lane and here the lane branches off into the trees. Now here, the buildings start, and you can see the biggest one in the centre of the line of houses.’
‘Ah yes,’ said Amanda leaning over the large sheet of cartography.
‘Now,’ continued Mrs Pagely patting a thin, faded red book in her hand, ‘this is a rare copy of Madley Wood Life by Teresa Goode.’ The librarian opened it at a place where she’d marked the page with a scrap of paper. ‘Here in the middle, are a few photographs, and these pages here show the hamlet. See? This is the pub, The Apple Cart, which was in the middle of the row of cottages, the biggest building that I showed you on the map. It had rooms for rent above the bar.’
The photos were in black and white and slightly fuzzy.
‘Yes, there’s someone waving out of one of the windows,’ observed Amanda. ‘And that man with the apron must be the proprietor, standing outside with, maybe, one of his staff.’
‘Yes, very likely,’ agreed Mrs Pagely. ‘Now this photo here is taken from the end of the hamlet showing more of the line of structures.’
‘Which end?’ queried Amanda. ‘Must be the north-west, the one furthest from Sunken Madley?’.
‘Yes, I’d say so.’
‘So this … wait .…’ Amanda had just spotted something. There was a man, who looked like he’d just leaned out of his front door. He looked vaguely familiar. Could he be …? He had on a brown lab coat like the one Grandpa used to wear and she put on herself sometimes. She pointed. ‘Who is this? Does it say?’
Mrs Pagely looked at the captions and the neighbouring text. ‘No.’
‘What’s that in his hand?’ Amanda asked pointing with the nail of her little finger. ‘The photos so grainy. Is it …?’
‘Wait.’ Mrs Pagely bustled off and was soon back carrying a magnifying glass. ‘Here. You look, dear. Your eyes are better than mine.’
Amanda peered through the lens. ‘I think it could be a chisel or a big screwdriver. What do you think, Mrs Pagely?’ She handed over the glass.
‘Hmm, I think you’re right,’ the librarian concurred. She smiled. ‘Of course, that would interest you.’
Amanda nodded. ‘I wonder who it was.’
‘I’m afraid the caption only gives the name of the pub and Little Madley Lane,’ said Mrs Pagely, regretfully.
‘Could I photocopy the photos and this section of the map?’ asked Amanda.
‘Of course, you go ahead.’
Amanda had a quick look through the book to see if there were any references to any of the inhabitants, but it was principally a botanical and zoological work, concerned with humans only in regard to their place in the ecosystem. It said that the proprietor of The Apple Cart had caught a deer on camera, and it was one of the photographs included. He had, no doubt, been rewarded for his contribution with an image of his establishment as the centrefold.
Back home, Amanda found Tempest asleep on her computer keyboard. She lifted him off gently, put him on her lap, and went online to the local planning department. There she found a copy of the plans for the research centre and downloaded them. With a little rescaling, she was able to make out where, in relation to Little Madley, the new build was being erected.
Tempest woke up, and poked his head above the level of the table to study the screen. Amanda relinquished her seat to her familiar.
‘Here, you look at it while I get some tracing paper.’
She printed out the plans and placed them over the map. Tempest jumped onto the table and sat on the papers. Amanda slid him to one side.
‘You can stop it from rolling up. Now ... look. This half of the research centre is being built on top of the south half of Lost Madley from our end to ... sort of half over the pub. The carpenter’s house was on the north end, so his house isn’t being built over.’
Amanda straightened up and mused. She looked back at the plans. ‘All three times I’ve seen that man he’s been here, over the pub. Now, why? And he’s not in his work coat; he’s in a suit … a 1940s suit! That’s what’s wrong with the trousers! They’re high-waisted! L
ike they were back then.’ She stroked Tempest, pleased to have solved at least one puzzle. But there was another. ‘What’s the connection to the pub?’
No inspiration came.
‘I need to talk to Hugo,’ Amanda announced. She sent him a text. It was a while before he responded. It said:
Let's meet on Friday evening at 7.30 in The Sinner’s Rue, Hugo
‘Good idea,’ Amanda said to Tempest. ‘It’ll look like a date. No one will think anything of it, except what they’re already all thinking anyway, thanks to Joan!’
Chapter 17
Reconnaissance
It was a test for Amanda to wait out the days. She told herself that it was purely to do with their investigation. Finally, Friday evening came. Amanda dressed in a skirt and medium heels, as if for a romantic rendezvous, and arrived promptly. Hugo came out of The Sinner’s Rue as she approached.
‘Hello, Amanda. It’s quite full and noisy in there. Is there somewhere else we can talk?’
‘Yes,’ she said, at once, ‘there’s a cafe in Romping-in-the-Heye that stays open until 8.30. The food’s good too.’
Amanda drove them to the neighbouring village, regaling her passenger with tales of the epic battles between the cricket teams of Romping and Sunken Madley.
Seated at a red-and-white-check-clothed table, Amanda recommended the shepherd’s pie, and they ordered. While they waited, she took a quick instinctive look around, and then pulled the plans, map and photos from her black velvet holdall.
‘Regarding the carpenter we both saw,’ said Hugo, ‘I was thinking, could he have been in the pub when he was killed in the bombing?’
‘Yes, but why wouldn’t he have been in the air raid shelter?’ asked Amanda.
‘Good question,’ said Hugo. ‘Do we know where the air raid shelter was?’
‘Was? Is? I could go and have a look,’ she offered, enthusiastically.
‘Ah. Amanda. About that ….’ He looked serious.
‘What?’ she responded, anxiously.
‘I have been asking one or two questions. I tried to ask the clients, Mr Gibbs and er …’
