by Holly Bell
‘You need to find your own style,’ Granny encouraged her granddaughter.
‘My own style? I’m not planning to be there for longer than half an hour!’
Amanda, dust mask in hand, climbed up to the attic to find Granny’s hoard of things she had refused to part with over the decades, anything, in fact, that evoked pleasant feelings. Amanda unearthed a navy A-line skirt and a white v-neck blouse. That way, once she returned to the 21st century, she could change into the jeans she was going to put in the car. The skirt had no pockets, so she was going to have to carry her mini-wand either in a stocking top or in an outer layer. It was also a snug fit. Granny was taller and slimmer than Amanda.
Amanda didn’t care for the style of the clothes so far, but did take to a trench coat where she could carry her wand, and a fetching dark red fedora. Senara’s black peep-toe heels were too large for her. Granny was taller and had bigger feet than Amanda. Another black-heeled pair with laces, stuffed with a couple of insoles, solved the problem. She would change into trainers afterwards. Amanda was about to come back downstairs when she heard Grandpa call: ‘Gas mask!’
‘Yes! Thank you, Grandpa.’ But nowhere among Granny’s things could she find that wartime essential.
‘Granny!’
Senara was standing beside her, and pointing to a trunk to the left of the one Amanda was searching in.
‘I’ve looked in there already, Granny.’
‘You’re looking for the wrong thing. There’s a black handbag in there.‘
‘What this one?’ asked Amanda, pulling out a deep leather one with the initials SC on it.
‘Yes. See? It has a compartment at the bottom for the gas mask.’
‘Ahhh,’ marvelled Amanda. ‘How clever! Thank you, Granny.’
‘And you’ll need a proper torch. You can’t go flashing your phone app around in 1940!’ said Grandpa with amusement. ‘There’s one in the workshop’ll do.’ Amanda went to fetch it then returned to the computer.
‘Now for the next stage,’ she announced to the uninterested Tempest.
She went back to YouTube for inspiration. Then she commenced ladling on the cosmetics: the exaggerated upper lip line, the scarlet lipstick, the defined eyebrows, the false eyelashes, the smouldering eyeshadow, matt powder and puffs of rouge. Granny had clip-on earrings that hurt Amanda’s ears, so she had to make do with the largest studs of her own that she could find.
It was hot in her bedroom. ‘You’re shining dear. More powder,’ said Granny, then went off to the living room. The air was thick. Amanda opened a window, but it didn’t help. A dense lid of cloud was sitting above.
She tonged her hair into curls and waves. Amanda looked at herself in the mirror, and scarcely knew her reflection.
‘Good grief,’ she exclaimed, not sure whether to be pleased or aghast at the transformation. ‘I think I may have gone a bit overboard. Do I look too vamp?’ she asked Tempest.
He projected the emotional equivalent of rolling his eyes.
‘You’re no help at all sometimes. You know that, don’t you?’
Tempest smirked and attended to his own toilette.
Granny entered to check her granddaughter’s apparel. She looked at Amanda’s legs, and pronounced, ’What have you got on?’ Amanda followed her Senara’s gaze.
‘Erm … tights?’
‘Tights hadn’t been invented in 1940.’
‘Oh.’ Amanda went to her top drawer and pulled out a pair of black holdups.
‘Nor holdups.’
Amanda went to another drawer and drew out a pair of stockings.
‘How about these?’
‘Seamed?’
‘Erm. I have seamed holdups.’
‘No. They won’t do, dear.’
‘I’m not planning to dance on any tables. Does it really matter?’
‘Always be prepared. You’ll find a pair of proper nylons in the trunk where you found the handbag.’ Granny returned to the living room. Amanda made the trip back up, and soon was correctly attired.
‘Right,’ she addressed Tempest. ‘We’re going to go back in time to find out what’s down there, and then we’re going to have to excavate. Yes, we. I’m going to need you find that hole you found then covered up.’
Senara and Grandpa came in. ’You’re going to need more help than just him,’ Granny pointed out. ‘You haven’t had practice levitating more than one weight at a time. What if the ceiling comes down? Your spells won’t be able to hold it.’
‘You’re saying I need muscle? And I’ll need discretion with it. Trelawney?’
Grandpa nodded. Amanda was doubtful. ‘He said no last time I asked him to do something. What if he says no again?’
‘He won’t,’ said Grandpa with conviction.
Amanda tapped the number on her phone.
‘Inspector?’
‘Hello.’
‘Inspector, are you free? I wonder if you could help me. I’ve got permission to look at the ruins, and I need a hand, if you’re willing.’
Mindful of Hogarth’s instructions, and to Amanda’s astonishment, he repeated, ‘Yes, Miss Cadabra.’
Chapter 43
1940
Amanda parked short of Lost Madley and got out, followed by her grey feline. The light was dimming from the dense blackening clouds.
As she approached, she could see that the time was ripe. The ruins, although close, looked far away and the atmosphere was fizzing; the marks of a time boundary. The magic that Amanda was about to perform was powerful, it would cause a disturbance in the ether. But there was no help for it.
Amanda drew out her wand and, holding it to her heart, looked into the air and made her request of Lady Time,
‘Hiaedama Tidterm, Hiaedama Tidterm, Ime besidgi wou. Agertyn thaon portow, hond agiftia gonus fripsfar faeryn ento than aer deygas.’
Her vision flickered. Suddenly, before her, was a dramatic change of scene. It was darker. The only light came from the half moon. Blackout. But Amanda could still see the lost village in all its completeness. The long row of neat cottages reached out either side of her and, there, before her, was the tall shape of The Apple Cart.
The unmistakable voice of Vera Lynn singing A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square floated across to Amanda. She looked up hoping to see the familiarity of the stars, but there were none. A few raindrops were starting to fall. Amanda pulled the lapels of her trench coat closer and walked the few steps to the building. She opened the pub door, got herself and Tempest inside. He darted under a table and ensconced himself, as she shut out the night, before anyone could shout ‘Blackout!’
Amanda stood by the door to get her bearings. The low-lit little bar was sparsely peopled with only two or three desultory drinkers, sitting at the mellow, rectangular, warn wooden tables. Fortunately for her, only one of them had a cigarette. It was strange to be inside a pub seeing the smoke rise, caught in the soft orange glow of a lamp in an opaque globe lampshade. There were photographs of Paris, New York and Rome on the walls, and souvenirs on a shelf over the bar.
‘The moon that lingered over London town,’ sang Vera.
George was propping the bar, dividing his attention between a solo darts match and chatting to the proprietor. She recognised the latter’s tall, portly form, bald head and white apron from the photograph in the library book. He was carefully tuning the dial on the wireless, to get Miss Lynn as clear as possible. George’s eyes were casually scanning the bar and adjacent spaces. They clocked Amanda.
She walked over to him and spoke softly. ‘Hello, George, I’m Violet’s friend. Remember me? We agreed to meet tonight about the —‘
‘That’s right. You made it, then. Good.’
Amanda was relieved that he knew who she was. The proprietor spoke up.
‘’Ello Miss. You far from ’ome?’
‘The chain came off my bicycle. Thought I’d stop here for a bit.’
‘Course.’
George intervened with introductions. ‘She’s a friend of Violet’s. This is Frank. He owns this place.’
‘Ah, I see. Hello Frank,’ Amanda said, in a friendly voice.
‘What’ll be your pleasure, Miss?’
‘Tea?’ Amanda wanted coffee but couldn’t remember if it was available during the war.
‘Of course. No sugar. Sorry. What with the rationing, we’re outa that.’
‘That’s quite all right,’ she replied politely.
Frank cast an eye over her ensemble. ‘You must be from London. Nice ‘at like that. Can get all sortsa stuff there still, if you know where to go,’ he added with a broad wink.
‘Thank you. It was a present.’
‘Anything to eat? We got some nice ’am sandwiches, if you fancy that.’
‘No, thank you, I’m fine.’
‘Right you are, Miss. I see you lookin’ at the pictures. Thems from my Missus’ dad. ‘E used to go travelling. Was well to do, was her family. But she married me just the same. She’s away, or she’d tell you all about it ’erself. ’Ave a seat. I’ll get your tea.’
Amanda glanced around, and spoke quietly to her companion. ‘What’s the name of the man you’re going to point out to me? Do you know, George?’
‘Not yet,’ he answered.
‘But he’s staying here?’
‘I reckon so.’
Amanda looked at the bar. ‘Is there a register for the rooms upstairs?’
‘Yeah, Frank keeps it under the bar.’
Amanda turned towards the proprietor. ‘Excuse me, please, Frank.’
‘Yes, Miss?’
‘Do you have any rooms vacant?’
‘It so happens we do have one free, but it’s a bit cramped. It’s the one where the Missus keeps ’er piano. You’re right not wanting to be out and about on a night like this. Let me sort out yer tea first, then we’ll see about it.’
George spoke quietly to Amanda. ‘That man, he should be back in here in a mo’. Gotta make this quick. Violet’ll be here soon. Don’t really want her mixed up in this.’
He looked towards the room that adjoined the bar and nodded.
‘He’s in the back room at the minute. He’s got a big black bag. Find an excuse to go in there, and have a gander. He can’t leave without passing us, though.’
‘What’s in there?’ Amanda asked.
‘Nice fire when it’s chilly. Dominos, cards, magazines. Violet likes it. Go and get the dominos.’
Amanda strolled in. The man looked up at her. She recognised the brows and chin that he would bequeath to his future son. He was a much younger version of the man she knew, yes, but … unmistakable. She feigned boredom and indifference. The box of dominos was on one of the tables. Amanda picked them up, then spotted a mirror on one of the walls. She walked to it and checked her makeup, getting another look at him, then walked out.
The proprietor was at the bar with a plain light green cup and saucer. ‘Here’s your tea. That’ll be tuppence, Miss.’ Amanda realised she didn’t have any of the old currency: shillings and pence. Even her five and ten-pound notes would be strange. She pretended to be searching her pockets, the colour rising in her face and her chest tightening.
‘I er …’
The siren blasted through the air, its mournful rise and fall piercing every sound in the pub; the chatter, the orchestra on the radio. The publican pulled the glasses off the counter and clicked off the wireless. The patrons grabbed their bags, coats and hats.
Amanda and George made a show of collecting themselves. Their quarry was still in the back room. Violet ran in,
‘Georgie!’
‘Violet, go on!’ George urged her. ‘I’ve got to do something. I don’t want you mixed up in it. It’s a bad business. Don’t worry, I’ll be right with you. Go on.’
She looked anxiously at him then someone pulled her towards the exit
‘Quick!’ George urged Amanda. ‘Into the lavvy.’
As the rest of the gathering headed for the air raid shelter at the end of the lane, the two slipped into the hall beyond the bar and hid behind the door of the ladies lavatory. They left the light off.
‘Hope to goodness Violet’s gone in the shelter,’ George said in her ear
‘I’m sure she has,’ Amanda affirmed.
She looked at her watch but couldn’t see the dial. She counted a minute. The Apple Cart was now in darkness. But not silence. The crunching bang of falling bombs was already sounding. Amanda peered out into the hall, but all she could see was black. She pulled out her torch with mental thanks to Grandpa, cupped her hand around it and switched it on, on its lowest setting.
Cautiously, Amanda leaned out, to see the door under the stairs swinging to. George nodded and they stealthed into the passage. He pointed and whispered, ‘Cellar,’ and put a finger to his lips. Carefully, he opened the door just wide enough for them to look down and round the steps.
There was the man, weakly spotlighted by his torch, a pool of glowing yellow in the pit of the cellar, kneeling before a trunk as he struggled to fit the key into the lock.
An explosion sounded nearby. Amanda and George instinctively crouched as the building rocked. A second impact followed swiftly. A creaking groan above made Amanda flick her torch beam up. The ceiling above them buckled. He had time only to push Amanda out of the way before it engulfed him, as the weighty piano above thrust throughout the floorboards, through the weakened joists and down on the entrance to the cellar and the hapless Georgie.
Amanda, under debris, on the floor, up against the door of the ladies, was protecting her head with her arms. Beneath the wailing siren, she could just about discern sounds of dislodging rubble and a moan. With her hands over nose and mouth, she stayed stock still, as the man pulled himself up from the space below. He stumbled out empty-handed into the night. She struggled out after him, Tempest now at her ankles. Just in time. The collapse was great. In seconds, The Apple Cart lay razed to the ground. In ruins.
Chapter 44
The Cellar of Secrets
Amanda got away into the trees, coughing. It was more than time to get out of the 1940s. She spoke the spell, and the world billowed. Amanda gasped the clear air of the 21st century. She was opposite the end of the research centre, and hurried toward the Astra to change.
Amanda stopped. Bombs? No. The first thunder of the storm that had been building for weeks rumbled in the distance, as Trelawney drew up and got out of his silver Ford Mondeo. The exterior lights of the Centre were falling on her.
He stood, arrested for a moment. She looked unexpectedly …
‘Lili Marlene,’ he murmured.
‘Theme party,’ said Amanda, observing his reaction to her appearance. ‘Just come from one.’ Fairly true.
Trelawney gave a slight shake of the head as if to reset his brain.
‘Right. So, we are here because ...?’
‘There’s evidence down there in what was the cellar,’ stated Amanda. ‘Evidence of a crime in the past that’s linked to a crime in the present.’
‘Which was?’ asked Trelawney.
‘Espionage, treason. I think we’ll find documents of a secret plane design that would influence the course of the war: the Mosquito. Whatever’s down there, to someone in the present, was worth killing for in order to hide it. That’s why Toby Sidiqi was killed. You said the investigating police would need evidence. You could help me get it, if you would be so kind.’
‘Right,’ Trelawney said and looked at the ruins. ‘What’s the plan?’
Tempest hove into view, directed a double beam of quelling look at Trelawney and went to the correct place in the rubble. He flicked some of it away to reveal a shattered wooden surface.
‘That’s a grand piano,’ said Amanda, aiming her torch at it.
‘OK ….’
‘The action of a grand piano is like a harp with an iron frame,’ Amanda explained. ‘It and th
e strings will be creating a roof above the cellar below, and holding up the collapsed building on top of it.’ Tempest was digging out the crevice. ‘If we can just dislodge a few of these minor boulders it should create an entrance.’
‘All right, leave this to me,’ Trelawney said, mindful of the effect of dust on Amanda’s lungs.
‘Thank you. Just a moment.’ She hurried to the car and came back with a mask for herself and a pair of thick DIY gloves, which she handed to Trelawney.
They both looked up at the sky, hearing a threatening grumble above.
‘I think the storm’s coming this way,’ he said. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t rain until we’re done. We’ll have to work fast.’
‘Yes, here, I’ll help you.’ She put on her mask. Soon they had a wider opening, and he could see inside.
‘Still pretty cat-sized,’ commented Trelawney. ‘But enough for me to see the rubble forms a sort of ramp down.
‘I’m no six-stone fairy but it’s big enough for me to get inside,’ said Amanda, standing up and removing her mask.
‘For you? I can’t let you go in there,’ Trelawney objected.
‘I’ll be fine,’ Amanda insisted. ‘I can hand the swag out to you, and you can help me out.’
‘I’m not sure how this is going to look in official circles,’ said Trelawney disapprovingly.
‘You’ll be fêted as a hero, for cracking the Lost Madley Murder case and bringing a felon to justice.’
‘Or treading on the London Metropolitan Police Force’s toes, and colluding with a civilian in contaminating a crime scene.’
‘Well, I offered them the crime scene, if they’d listened to me,’ countered Amanda, ‘and they didn’t want it!’
‘All right.’
Amanda had meant to change into jeans and trainers, but the thunder was almost upon them. There was no time. She handed him her hat and torch, put on her mask, sat down and wriggled her legs inside the entrance to the cavity. With catches and scrapes, Amanda got herself into the hole. Trelawney handed her the torch.
‘Keep watch’ she called up to him. ‘Just keep watch. I’ll call out when I’ve got something.’
