by Nancy Warren
Finally, Eve said, “Blessed be,” and our chanting came to an end.
My eyes snapped open, eager to witness Gerry passing into a bright white light or something along those lines.
But there he was, still floating in the middle of our circle.
“Has he gone?” Susan asked.
“No!” Gerry yelped.
I repeated the answer, taking the tone down a notch. I stared at Gerry in wonder. We’d failed. He was still a ghost, still trapped on this plane. Not even the power of three witches had been able to move him on.
“Well, then, he’s earthbound,” Eve said, looking pretty amazed herself that our spell hadn’t worked. “I’ve never even heard of a spirit’s soul so stubborn they can resist the magic of three Broomewode witches. He’ll probably go when he’s ready—but not a minute before.”
Gerry stomped around the circle, muttering expletives. I felt terrible. I’d tried so hard to help him pass over this time. Not for a second did I allow myself to contemplate that it might not actually work, even though I knew deep down it was a possibility. Had I given Gerry false hope? I apologized over and over again. But Gerry waved me off.
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault. It’s me. There’s something in me that’s hanging on. I’ve got to work out what it is that’s keeping me here. No more spending my days and nights goofing around, poltergeisting people. It’s serious Gerry from now on. I’ve got to stay focused if I want to pass over. Just like you need to stay focused on the hunt for your birth parents.”
Gerry was right, and I was so grateful to him for understanding and not getting mad at me. I’d thought The Great British Baking Contest was the pathway to finding out about my history, but although it had opened up many possible paths to the truth, I’d yet to find the right one to travel down. Now that my time was over on the show, I could put down my rolling pin and pick up my detective’s hat. Someone in Broomewode Village had to know something about my mother and father, and I was going to get on the case—even if that meant investigating from afar. Now that I had a handle on names that could belong to my father, I could ask around about each man. It would take time, but now that I was out of the competition, time was my reward.
Chapter 19
I got a text from Florence telling me to meet everyone downstairs. They were ordering in fish and chips for dinner. This seemed like an excellent idea, as catching murderers was hungry work.
I entered the pub to a round of applause from the bakers. “Finally,” said Florence. “We’ve been waiting to have dinner with the great Poppy Wilkinson for ages. You saved my life today! I want to thank you properly.”
I laughed. “Sorry to keep you waiting. You should have started without me.”
“Not a chance,” said Gaurav. “You’re the guest of honor. We even ordered extra mushy peas.”
“And we’ve left you the seat at the head of the table,” Maggie added.
The pub was still busy, but we had our usual big table, and I couldn’t wait to dig into one of the newspaper-wrapped bundles. Eve brought over cutlery and plates so it felt like a proper dinner.
Florence popped another bottle of prosecco and poured for everyone.
I grinned. These guys were so nice. What was I going to do without them every weekend? I couldn’t quite imagine going back to real life now. I noticed that Stanley, Florence’s latest squeeze, wasn’t with us. He’d probably bolted straight back to London when he realized that Florence being a man-magnet had certain drawbacks.
I took my seat at the head of table, sitting up straight like I was the queen of England. Florence to my right, then Gaurav; Hamish on my left and then Maggie. “Right, Poppy,” Hamish said, addressing me firmly, “no more leaping up from the table, no more disappearing, no more Detective Wilkinson. Tonight we’re here to give you a proper send-off, Great British Baking Contest style.”
I nodded, trying to stave off the tears I could feel pricking at the edges of my eyes. Earlier, I’d told the cameras that my fellow contestants had become like family to me. But now it was time to tell them to their faces.
I raised my glass. “I want to thank all of you. I don’t think I could have done it without each of you by my side. I’m sad to leave you, but I count myself very lucky that I was able to meet you.”
Hamish nodded at me and smiled.
“I didn’t expect to get on the show,” I continued, “let alone make it to week six. I’ve learned so much working alongside you all. I’ve picked up so many tips and ideas, but the most important lesson for me has been to remember that when you bake, you bake for a reason: You’re giving something to people. You’re inviting them to share food, yes, but also to take part in making memories over mealtimes. A delicious cake is one thing, but it’s nothing compared to sharing the stories of your day, your highs and lows, your experiences—and that’s more nourishing than anything I could ever bake. So thank you for being the people who have been the real heart of this journey I’ve gone on these last few weeks. I’m disappointed to be leaving the show, but I’ll be leaving with a full heart …” My voice broke. “And a big bunch of new friends who feel like family to me.”
I swallowed, surprised at myself for giving such an emotional speech. It was the most honest I’d been with everyone since we’d met at the beginning of filming. Not that I’d lied to anyone … it was more that I had so many secrets I had to keep about who I really was that I always felt like I was holding something back from my friends. Otherwise, I’d end up saying things like Now that was a particularly mean ghost or I’ll catch up with you a sec—just saying my protection spell.
“Och, lassie, you’re bringing a tear to my eye,” Hamish said.
“And mine,” Maggie added. “You’ve reminded me why I bake in the first place: to bake with love. There’s a little bit of love in everything I stir, knead, or mix. I hope it’s that love that everyone can taste when they sample what I bake.”
Florence leaned across the table and clasped Maggie’s hands in her own. “We do,” she said sincerely.
I grinned. “Now, come on, let’s not get too emotional. I’m only a twenty-minute drive away. I can visit at the weekends. Let’s talk about next week.” I looked at their instantly sober faces and exulted for a second that I wouldn’t have to worry. “It’s patisserie, isn’t it?”
Gaurav put his hand over his eyes. “Don’t remind me. I shall fail next week and there go my hopes of a career in baking.”
We all laughed, knowing he’d never give up his career as a scientist.
I tried to relax, but there was one thing I couldn’t get off my mind. Maybe Hamish could help me. I leaned next to him and lowered my voice to a whisper.
“I know we’ve said no more Detective Wilkinson, but I still don’t understand about Edward. Why did he lie about having dinner with Eloise at his cottage? He was the police’s prime suspect. It doesn’t add up.”
“I was confused about that, too,” Hamish said. “Luckily, the old gamekeeper came to his rescue and explained everything.”
“Mitty?”
“Yes. After he was released from hospital, unharmed by his ordeal, the earl rehomed Mitty at Broomewode Hall to help him recover properly from his stroke. Apparently, the chef at Broomewode Hall asked specially, and she’s looking after him. They’re playing a Scrabble tournament.”
“Katie Donegal is looking after Mitty? That’s great news, but what’s this got to do with Edward?”
Hamish frowned. He didn’t like it when I cut his stories short. But I needed him to get to the point! I’d jumped to conclusions about Edward, and now I was feeling guilty.
“Edward’s the nice chap we always thought he was. He’d spotted that Eloise was lonely and decided to do something about it. He approached her and asked for her advice about the cottage he’d inherited in his new position as gamekeeper.”
“Advice about the cottage?” I asked, confused. “How could Eloise help with that?”
“The kitchen is old, and the earl’s given him a renov
ation budget,” Hamish said. “The whole cottage is pretty run-down, to be honest, but he convinced Eloise to advise him on how to redo his kitchen.”
I nodded, recalling what a state it had been in when I found Mitty locked away. It was gross, in fact, full of dirt and debris. It had obviously been neglected for years.
“I’m surprised he was so generous, to be honest, but the earl must have been feeling guilty about what had been happening right under his nose. Eloise was quick to agree, and the two of them spent a couple of evenings looking at kitchen renovation magazines together, and he cooked her dinner to say thank you. I think Eloise was awfully lonely here. Edward did her a real kindness.”
I agreed with his assessment, but I was also a woman. “I’ll bet she wanted Darius to see her with another man, too, hoping he’d want to reclaim her. Which didn’t work.”
“And may have been another reason why he killed her,” Hamish said.
Oh, poor Eloise/Ella. Where Darius had been concerned, she’d been completely misguided.
“What a good-for-nothing Darius turned out to be,” Hamish said. “A creep of the worst nature.”
Florence butted in. “Enough shop talk, guys. I can’t bear to hear that man’s name.” She leaned in close. “I’m not going to forget what you did for me today, Pops. You came looking for me—I know you led the search. There was a moment down there that I really thought it was the end for me. I’m swearing off men completely,” she said in her dramatic way.
We all burst out laughing.
She had the grace to laugh too. “No, I’m serious. But how did you and Benedict manage to find us in that awful damp cistern?”
Well, Florence, I followed a magical hawk connected to my birth dad’s ghost.
I smiled a little, trying not to giggle at the thought of telling her the truth. “It was Benedict’s knowledge of the land that got us there in time,” I replied. “He knew about its hiding places. He was invaluable really.”
Florence smiled. “Well, it looks like I can thank him myself.”
I followed her gaze and saw Benedict chatting with Sol the chef, who was manning the bar.
“Benedict?” Florence called.
Benedict looked round and waved. Florence gestured for him to join us.
“Oh no!” Florence gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth. “I forgot to address him by his title. Do you think I’ve offended him?”
I shook my head. Benedict was actually far less interested in his title and family name than I’d first thought. “Not at all,” I said. “He probably enjoyed it.”
Benedict walked over slowly, a pint of stout in his hand.
“Would you care to join us, sir?” Florence asked boldly. “Poppy told me that you were the one who thought to look in the cistern today, which means I owe you my life.”
Florence managed to make everything sound like a line from a movie. Though I couldn’t deny today had been extremely dramatic.
Benedict looked amused. He caught my eye and raised a brow. I secretly willed him not to elaborate on our search mission. I knew that Benedict realized to some extent that I had followed the hawk’s flight and had had the grace not to ask me anything about it. I was so thankful for his discretion. I didn’t want to have to tell him any outright lies. Hopefully he just thought I was some kind of friendly eccentric and wouldn’t think to ponder on the event any further.
Benedict cleared his throat. At over six feet tall, he towered over our table, and I had the feeling he was making the rest of the group a little nervous. He was British aristocracy, after all. “Think nothing of it. It was Poppy who acted so quickly when you disappeared earlier. It was her quick thinking that led to such a successful outcome.”
Florence smiled that charming smile of hers. “Nevertheless, will you join us for a glass of bubbles? That way, I can show my gratitude and you can help us send Poppy off in style.”
“It would be my pleasure. I’m glad to see you didn’t suffer any ill effects from your harrowing experience.”
“Not at all. In fact, think how much I can draw on this experience in my acting career.”
Benedict took the seat beside Florence that she’d kept empty. I’d assumed it was for Stanley but it seemed not. “I can’t believe that foolish man ever thought he had a chance with me,” she said, flicking her curls over her shoulders in that coquettish way she’d mastered. So much for swearing off men. Poor Florence couldn’t help herself!
Sol was helping Eve behind the bar but when there was a lull, came over. I had my mouth full of delicious crisp-battered haddock when the chef said, “Poppy, I’d love to have a quick word when you’ve a minute.”
Oh no. My heart dropped. More bad news?
“No need to look so worried,” Benedict said. “I think you might be pleased by what Sol has to say.”
I turned to Sol and said, “Tell me now. Otherwise I won’t enjoy my dinner wondering what you’re going to say.”
“Well, Eve and I had a chat earlier about what to do without Eloise, I mean Ella, sadly no longer with us.” He paused. “Rest her soul. And so we thought, well, you would be perfect for the job, Poppy.”
I almost choked as I swallowed my fish. “What?” I said, completely forgetting my manners in surprise. “You want me to be the baker for the inn?”
“Exactly,” Sol replied. “We’ve all been following your progress on the show, and Eve speaks so highly of you that it seemed to be the most obvious fit. Our rate of pay is competitive, and we offer great training opportunities if there’s a particular technique you want to learn more about. Perhaps bread might be of interest?” He chuckled.
Ouch. Too soon, Sol. But he was right. There was definitely a little room for improvement in the dough category. I laughed and looked around the table. Surely Sol wasn’t being serious? But to my astonishment, everyone gave me an encouraging nod.
“Do it,” Hamish urged.
“This is an amazing opportunity,” Gaurav added.
“He’s right,” Benedict said quietly. “You’d be perfect.”
Perfect. My mind lingered on the word.
I turned to Benedict. “Did you know about this?”
“I may have been consulted, but it wasn’t my decision.” However, he obviously hadn’t said, Poppy Willkinson? Absolutely not! He must have given me the two lordly thumbs-up.
I’d never considered making a living from baking. Was this my true destiny? What about my graphic design business? So many thoughts flew around my head at once. Had I even missed drawing and designing while my head had been in the baking game? If I was honest with myself, then the answer was no. I’d cherished this time in the kitchen. And this way I could stay connected to Broomewode Village and the coven. I could talk to the locals more. Maybe visit Joanna in Bristol and find out what she knew about my mother’s relationships.
I looked around the pub. Could this be where I came every day? Was I really that lucky?
I saw something out of the window and realized it was Gateau staring in at me. I could have sworn her little cat head nodded at me.
From the look on Benedict’s face, he’d seen it too. It was a sign. I was sure of it. My familiar approved.
I stood up and offered Sol an outstretched hand, not quite believing the words I was about to say. “It would be an honor to accept the position.”
Sol shook my hand, and then the whole table cheered. I glowed with pride. A new chapter of my life was beginning.
I had too many questions about my birth parents to leave Broomewode for good. Now I had an opportunity to be a local and learn more about being a water witch from my coven sisters.
Elspeth and Jonathon came in then. Elspeth swept forward when she saw me. “Did you accept the job?”
Seemed like I’d been the last one to find out. I nodded.
“What an excellent opportunity for you.” She smiled her warm, godmother smile at me. “Now we won’t have to lose your company.”
I was so relieved that Elspeth supported th
is sudden change in my life.
“Yes, well done, Poppy,” Jonathon said, shaking my hand. “Now I can enjoy eating your cakes here at the inn without feeling I have to criticize them.”
“And thank you for that,” I said.
They headed off, and Florence, obviously still on a high from not dying, declared, “This is wonderful. Now we can turn our farewell to a celebration. Poppy’s perfect for the job. And to honor how she saved my life today, I’m going to dedicate my next cake on the show to her and her new position as baker at the Broomewode Inn!”
I laughed, a warmth and sense of contentment flooding through my body. Broomewode Village was close enough that I could keep my cottage and commute if I wanted to. I couldn’t believe my luck.
Dinner passed in a blur of good food, good friends and laughter. Benedict turned out to be a delightful dinner companion and charmed the socks off the other bakers, regaling them with stories from bygone years of Broomewode Hall, of the spectacular balls and society dramas it had once housed, the staff who had walked out after too many demanding requests from the Victorian Lady Frome. I listened, rapt, in total wonder at having that kind of connection to history, to knowing your lineage. Benedict was a fantastic storyteller, and by the end of the evening, my cheeks were sore from smiling.
But the weekend had to finally end, and as we parted ways to finish packing and load up our cars, my heart was full to bursting in the knowledge that I’d be back in a few days to begin a whole new chapter in my life.
Upstairs, Gateau was waiting for me in her favorite spot on the armchair. “Well, little one,” I cooed, “you might have to give up your cozy spot, but at least you can still run free around the grounds. Sound good?”
Gateau raised her little black head and gave me a weary expression.
“That thing doesn’t know when she’s onto a good thing.”
Gateau leapt to her feet and hissed.
“Gerry?” I said, spinning round. “How many times do I have to tell you not to float through my wall!”
Gerry grinned. “Sorry, Pops. I just wanted to come and congratulate you on the new job. I was eavesdropping downstairs while Lord Muck held court.”