“I’m no good at being ill,” Mr Bramble insisted. “I can’t sit still. I have to be doing something.”
“I know what you mean. But you’ll make yourself feel even worse. Promise me you’ll go indoors and watch a film or something instead?” I wagged my finger at him. “I’d hate to hear you’d collapsed or become proper poorly.”
“You’re as bad as my wife.” Mr Bramble laughed, and then when he started to cough, I pointed my finger at his front door and he gave me a salute and disappeared inside.
I continued my journey, passing the café, and noticing a poster on the door as I strolled past. Written in a hasty scrawl, it announced that the café was closed until further notice due to staff illness. In Whittle Stores, Rhona looked equally as pale as Mr Bramble, and admitted to feeling under the weather, but she was coping. Stan was tucked up safely in bed with a high temperature, but she was hopeful he would be better soon.
“Everyone in the village, well virtually everyone, has whatever it is. Dr Cooper from the surgery popped in for some milk earlier, and he said they’ve been inundated. He was making house calls until gone ten last night.”
“Wow,” I marvelled, thinking of Thaddeus. He was long past house calls.
“It’s unheard of,” Rhona reiterated, perhaps hearing a lack of commitment in my tone.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked. “Deliveries or anything?”
“No, not at the moment, my flower. Thanks for the offer. Millicent is kindly doing a little of that. She never gets sick, and the bonus is, she can drive too.”
“I’m learning,” I said. It was true. I’d been having lessons for a while and had my test booked for the new year.
“Well next time then.” Rhona smiled.
I nodded. “Just let me know if I can do anything for you at all. You know I will.”
“You’ve such a kind heart, Alf,” Rhona said as she waved me off, and I felt better than I had all day.
My newfound positivity didn’t last very long, however. As I walked past Bob Gretchen’s cottage, the door opened, and Grace strode purposefully up the drive to confront me, a child of around 8 years of age, following at her heels.
“I was hoping I’d see you.” She didn’t intend to stand on ceremony, clearly.
“Good morning, Grace,” I tried to start in a friendly note, but this only served to feed the fuel of her fury.
“It’s all your fault that the town is sick, and me and some of the other villagers, we want to know what you’re going to do about it.”
“My fault?” I stood still as this angry woman railed at me, completely in my face. I couldn’t have been more perplexed.
“You’ve got strangers at the inn. People from somewhere foreign. Eastern Europe or somewhere. We’ve all noticed they only come out at night.”
My stomach turned somersaults and I stared at Grace in horror. “What do you mean?” I managed to stammer.
Grace repeated what she’d said as though I was a complete imbecile. “Those new folks you’ve got staying at your inn? All dodgy accents and slicked back hair. Like vampires they are.”
“You’ve seen them?”
“We’ve all seen them,” she roared, her face contorted with fury. “They’ve been down here every night. Disturbing my kids. Disturbing everyone in the village.”
I swallowed. I’d told Melchior none of his party could bother the villagers. This is how much respect he had for me. Quietly furious, I tried to turn my professional side to the fore in order to pacify Grace.
“I am so incredibly sorry about that, Grace,” I began. “I’ll have words with them. Try and ensure they don’t come down here again.”
“I’ll be complaining to the council.” Grace spat at me. “We all will. There’s plenty of us who have had enough of the goings-on at your inn.”
“I promise I’ll sort it out so there’s no repeat of this. You’re right of course. The villagers should not be bothered by this kind of thing.”
Grace began another tirade. I held my hands up in mock surrender. “I really need to get back so that I can attend to this. Please excuse me,” I begged and walked backwards.
“Nobody was sick till they came. You should make sure they’ve had all their inoculations before they stay at your inn,” she shrieked after me.
I stumbled up the road, shaking in exasperation from the encounter, not entirely sure I’d managed it particularly well. My mind raced, trying to unpick all the things Grace had been saying. Of course she had put her finger on it. My guests were vampires, even if she only thought they were like vampires. Her indignance and fury came from a place of deep-rooted ignorance and innate prejudice about outsiders. If she knew them, maybe she would learn to like them.
But I knew them, and I have to say I wasn’t feeling overly fond of them myself.
And the one thought that really stuck out was her parting shot. “Nobody was sick before they came.”
She was right about that.
I’d walked halfway up Whittle Lane, midway between the village and the turning for Whittle Inn. Now I turned and peered back down the road. I could make out the row of cottages, but it looked as though Grace had disappeared inside her home.
I slipped back the way I had come and took refuge in Millicent’s doorway, trying to shrink into the wood while I waited for Millicent to answer my soft tap. It took an age for her to come to the door, and when she did she was clutching Sunny to her chest. Casting a final worried glance towards Dandelion Cottage, I threw myself inside.
Before my batty friend could say anything, I turned beseeching eyes on her. “Sorry to barge in, Millicent. I’ve not been entirely straight with you. But now I need your help.”
* * *
“I knew something was going on with you.” Millicent frowned. “You should have just turned them down when they asked to hire the inn as a venue.”
“I know that now,” I grumbled. “I didn’t put two and two together until it was too late. In fact it was grandmama who set me straight.”
Millicent sniffed. “I’m not surprised. What does she think of all that’s been going on?”
I shook my head sorrowfully. “You know, I haven’t seen her in days. She’s staying away. And Mr Hoo too. I’ve been really worried about him.”
“More worried about the owl than Gwyn?”
I looked at Millicent and flapped my hands in exasperation. “Gwyn is dead, Millicent. She’ll be perfectly alright. She’s just sulking somewhere.”
“She has every right to sulk. I’d sulk too,” Millicent announced, looking peevish. I slunk forward in my seat, perfectly miserable, and Jasper licked my face.
“What am I going to do, Millicent?” I asked desperately. “Okay, I made a mistake allowing the vampires to stay at Whittle Inn. I’m a bit of a novice when it comes to the fanged ones. I’d never had much to do with them. My mother hated them.”
“Your father isn’t around?”
“No, I assume he’s off doing top secret Circle of Querkus things.” I sat back up, much to Jasper’s disappointment. He obviously thought I’d been neglecting my personal hygiene, and he was doing a grand job of making me clean. “Do you think the vampires may be to blame for this mystery illness that’s going around the village?” I tried to fend Jasper off, secretly enjoying his attention. Sunny sat on Millicent’s lap watching us with interest.
“Oh, hmm.” Millicent stared at me, busily thinking. I watched her as her mind scrolled through the people she knew who were ill. It took some time as there were lots of them. “Perhaps.”
I groaned.
“Alf, you’re so melodramatic,” Millicent said matter-of-factly. “We have a small problem. We will solve it.”
“We?” I asked, hopeful that she meant what she said.
“Of course, we. We’re witches. We’re not going to let a few pointy-toothed monsters get the better of us or our village.” She placed Sunny carefully on the ground and stood. “I hope you’re feeling strong. I need y
ou to help me carry some boxes up to Whittle Inn.”
* * *
In the end we borrowed Stan’s van and carted four demi-johns of recently pressed blackberry juice, a dozen jars of locally produced honey, and dozens of small glass bottles up to the inn, along with numerous bags of what looked like vegetables. Millicent parked out the back of the inn, and I led her directly through to the kitchen to introduce her to Monsieur Emietter.
“Hello,” she greeted the chef cheerfully. “We’re going to need to borrow one of your largest pans and take up a little of your worktop space. I hope you don’t mind.”
“He doesn’t speak English—” I tried to explain, but once Millicent got going, she was like a bulldozer. She waved away my explanations, ignored Monsieur Emietter’s protestations, and started rooting through the cupboards looking for a large enough pan. We found one in the store cupboard. You could probably have fitted a small child into it.
Millicent dragged it out and carried it to the hob. “In the good old days the chef here used to keep a cauldron, you know.”
“Really?” I asked. “If that’s the case, it’s probably upstairs in the attic. I don’t think anything has ever been thrown away in the entire existence of Whittle Inn.”
Charity picked that moment to join us. “Once you enter, you can’t leave.” I was sad to see her pale-face and red-eyes, she’d obviously been crying. I rushed over to give her a hug and she smiled, putting a brave face on things. “I’m okay, don’t worry.”
“That won’t be the case for these vampires, I promise,” I said. “They will most definitely be leaving. We’ll get this wedding out of the way and then they’re gone. Okay?”
Charity nodded. “Thirty-three hours.”
“That’s the spirit.” I slapped the kitchen table. Monsieur Emietter looked across at me and said something I didn’t comprehend. “I’m sorry.” I shrugged in what I assumed was an overly-dramatic and gallic way that he would understand. “We need to do this.” I indicated Millicent who had lit the stove and was now pouring the blackberry juice into the pot.
“Is there anything you want us to do?” Charity asked, and Millicent nodded.
“Run into the bar and fetch me your best bottle of whisky, Charity.”
Charity balked at the job, and I knew why. “It’s fine,” I said. “Florence has cleared everything up. You won’t know he was there.” Charity swallowed and disappeared.
Millicent looked at me thoughtfully. “Is Florence around?” she asked, and I called my housekeeper. She apparated almost immediately, a feather duster in her hand.
“Florence?” Millicent asked. “What did you do with the mess that was the vampire?”
“From this morning, you mean, miss? All that dust… and stuff?”
“Yes, all that dust and stuff.”
“I’ve emptied it into the bin out the back, near the shed.”
Millicent nodded happily and picked up a small glass bowl. “Be a darling. Rush back out there and scoop me up a handful.”
Florence pulled a face. “Ewww.”
“I can do it if you like?” I offered but Florence shook her head.
“No, no, miss. I’ll go.”
“Good stuff,” Millicent said. “And while you’re out find me a large splinter from the wood pile. About yay length.” She held her hands about eight inches apart. Florence scooted away.
Millicent upended the brown bags of vegetables she’d brought along. Dozens and dozens of bulbs of garlic.
“Wow,” I said and Monsieur Emietter came over to examine the garlic.
“Ah délicieux!” he exclaimed.
“Can you crush this for me, Monsieur Emietter?” Millicent asked and made a chopping notion. “Écraser?”
The spirit chef glanced at me warily. I’d insisted that all the food prepared at the inn while the vampires were staying should be garlic free. I nodded encouragement and his face lit up.
“Enfin, je peux créer quelque chose de savoureux.” The chef grinned.
“What did he say?” I asked.
Millicent widened her eyes. “I’m not sure. Something about at last … and savoury? Tasty?”
He set to with a large sharp knife, peeling the bulbs and individual cloves swiftly and efficiently before chopping each clove into ultra-fine slices, crushing them and then chopping them once more. The aroma of garlic filled the kitchen and made my eyes water a little.
“Phew, that stinks. We’re going to have to give the kitchen a thorough clean before Sabien and his party awake.”
“Let’s worry about that later,” Millicent urged. Charity was back with the whisky. Millicent cracked the lid of the pan and poured it into the mixture, the heat up high, then stirred in the honey and the garlic before re-fitting the lid tightly and smiling at the chef.
“Any chance of some lunch?” she asked.
* * *
Millicent kept the heat high for the next few hours and reduced the liquid, stirring intermittently. Interestingly, you could hardly smell the garlic at all. The combination of honey and blackberry meant the overwhelming scent was sweet and fruity. Monsieur Emietter popped the lid off the pot every now and again to examine the contents of the pan and sniff the steam. He seemed oddly taken with Millicent.
Millicent meanwhile kept a careful eye on the time. Eventually she looked around at Charity and me.
“Ladies,” she said gravely. “This part of the cooking is done, now we need to turn it into something entirely more potent. We need to cast a spell.”
“Oh I can’t do that,” Charity started to protest, backing away.
Millicent harrumphed. “Of course you can.”
“I’m no witch,” Charity insisted. “No offence, like.”
“All women are witches. It’s in our DNA,” Millicent insisted. “Now Charity, come here.”
Charity rolled her eyes and I smiled encouragement. “Is that true?” Charity asked, “that we’re all witches?” I pulled a non-committal face.
“Of course it is,” Millicent said, shooting me a look. “Come stand next to me here, Charity. That’s it.” Charity slipped in between Millicent and I, while Millicent removed the lid of the rapidly bubbling pot. “Now I need you to hold your hands out above the pan. That’s right. Just there. And close your eyes.” Charity did as she was told.
Millicent nodded at me and I leaned closer and held my hands above the pot too. “You can repeat my words, or you can say them in your head, Charity. But please follow the intent and the meaning and try not to think about what you’re having for dinner this evening instead.” Millicent sniggered. “Seriously now ladies. Let’s do this.” She stirred the thickening liquid. “Empty your mind, Charity.”
I breathed deeply, noisily, so that Charity would hear my breath sounds and she joined me, breathing equally deeply into her diaphragm.
Millicent rasped in a low voice, “I call upon Hecate, upon the protector of witches, divine force, mother of mine. Hear our cry and grant us our desire.”
I took the incantation up. “Protect those who habitually inhabit this inn, and those who live with us and among us in the village of Whittlecombe. Those for us and against us. Know no distinction.” Millicent stirred the mixture, while I finished, “And grant us the strength to know our foes and to fend them off.”
Millicent stepped back to pick up the bowl of Thaddeus’s ashes and sprinkled them into the mixture. Now I stirred the gloopy mix, hard and fast. “With this potion, we ask that you heal the sick and support the weak,” continued Millicent.
“Heal the sick and support the weak,” I repeated and was delighted when Charity did the same.
Finally Millicent picked up the splinter of wood Florence had found and dropped it into the potion. “In Hecate’s name, may this potion protect. So will it be.”
“In Hecate’s name, so will it be,” I urged.
“So will it be,” repeated Charity.
The spell complete, I allowed the hyper-energy rushing around my body to drain to
my feet and bowed my head, grounding myself once more, and standing calmly. Beside me Charity followed my lead to the best of her ability. She had done well. “The things you get me into,” she said.
Millicent turned the heat off from under the pan and smiled at us both.
“Well done. It’s after three. We need to get cracking.”
* * *
With the help of Florence and Monsieur Emietter, we decanted the potion into the small glass bottles and boxed them up. When we were finished there was a mug’s worth left. Millicent made Charity and I drink half each. “We can’t have you two getting sick, or coming under the vampire’s spell, can we?” she asked, and I had to agree.
“Now time is of the essence,” Millicent continued as we loaded Stan’s van up with the bottles. “I need to dispense these among the villagers.”
“Do you think they’ll all drink the potion?” I asked doubtfully. My run-ins with some of the villagers of late, had me wondering whether they would trust anything linked to Whittle Inn.
“I don’t know to be honest, Alf. I can but try. They have two choices, don’t they? Drink it and be well. Don’t drink it and possibly be ill. It can’t hurt them. I mean look at you two, you both look better than you have for days.”
I peered at Charity and she at me. I had to agree she looked less tired and pale.
“I’m going to need Charity’s help, Alf. Can you cope till I drop her back?”
“Of course,” I said, glancing at the horizon. The sun was starting to drop. There was probably an hour of light left. I wasn’t looking forward to this evening at all.
It was Charity’s turn to offer support. “Twenty-nine hours,” she said. “Then it will all be over.”
The vampires began drifting up from the cellar at around 7 p.m.
I waited for Sabien to put in an appearance and pulled him to one side. “I have terrible news,” I said, and without further ado told him about the dreadful event of the morning. He listened carefully to what I said, a look of horror passing across his face.
Weird Wedding at Wonky Inn: Wonky Inn Book 3 Page 11