by H. Y. Hanna
“Caitlyn—guess who we saw in the village green just now!” Evie exclaimed, rushing forwards. “James! I mean, Lord Fitzroy.”
“Oh.” Caitlyn swallowed, hoping that her colour hadn’t risen. “Um… how nice.”
She saw the Widow Mags glance at her, but the old witch made no comment as Evie babbled on:
“He’s invited us all to the Manor for dinner tonight! He said he has some friends staying with him, so he thought it would be nice to have a dinner party to introduce everyone—oh, and Sir Henry and his wife are coming too.”
“I’m afraid Mother and I won’t be able to go,” said Bertha. “We have an appointment with the GP in town—he has a late night clinic this evening.”
“I don’t see why I need to go and see him,” the Widow Mags grumbled. “Nothing wrong with me.”
“Mother, you know it’s important that you see the doctor at least once a year to have a general check-up, especially at your age,” said Bertha patiently. “My herbal tonics are good but they’re no substitute for checking your heart and your cholesterol and blood pressure… and besides, your arthritis seems to be flaring up more frequently lately. The doctor might have some helpful ideas for treatment and management.” She turned back to Caitlyn and Evie, and smiled. “But you two girls can go to the dinner party—and it’ll be lovely for you to catch up with Pomona.”
“Pomona?” Caitlyn sat upright. “Pomona is back from London?”
Bertha looked at her in surprise. “I thought you knew. Hasn’t she called you?”
“Oh… er… perhaps I missed her call,” said Caitlyn, although she knew it was unlikely. She had been watching her phone like a hawk—she was sure she couldn’t have missed a call from her American cousin. She felt the familiar worry and confusion fill her again. She hadn’t seen Pomona since they had parted in Harrods Department Store in London, over a week ago, and since then, there had only been a few brief texts and one phone call, in which Pomona had sounded vague and distracted.
Of course, it wasn’t as if her cousin had to report to her daily. Even before they had come to England, they had led very different lives. As the daughter of a top Hollywood actress, Pomona was the original “celebrity princess”, spending most of her time at parties, premieres, and publicity events. In a way, Caitlyn had grown up in the same world; after all, her adoptive mother, Barbara Le Fey—sister to Pomona’s mother—had been a famous singer in her own right. But where Pomona had revelled in the limelight and flaunted her glamorous looks with easy confidence, Caitlyn had been shy and bookish, staying away from social events and downplaying her luminous hazel eyes and vivid red hair.
But despite the differences in their personality and lifestyle, the two girls had been close from childhood, more sisters than cousins. And even when they had been apart, they had always stayed in touch, with long chatty phone calls, emails, and texts. Caitlyn had never known a time when Pomona had seemed so distant.
Then a memory stirred in her mind: a tall, dark man with saturnine good looks standing by her cousin, looking down at Pomona with an unreadable expression in his piercing blue eyes. Thane Blackmort. The “Black Tycoon”. An enigmatic billionaire who was as notorious for his sex appeal as for his immense wealth and power. Caitlyn had never felt so uneasy as that day when she’d had to walk away, leaving Pomona in Blackmort’s company.
But there had been nothing she could do. Pomona was an adult, and besides, her cousin had always been more than capable of taking care of herself in her various flings and romances. If anything, it was usually the poor man that Caitlyn worried for. Still, Blackmort was nothing like Pomona’s usual “bad boys” …
Caitlyn shook her anxious thoughts away as she realised that Evie was talking again:
“…and James said he was just thinking about giving a dinner party when Pomona rang and asked if she could stay at the Manor when she came back to Tillyhenge. So it was perfect timing. He thought it would be a nice ‘welcome back’ dinner for her as well.”
“Pomona rang him?” said Caitlyn in surprise.
Evie turned innocent eyes towards Caitlyn. “Didn’t he tell you, Caitlyn? He always seems to tell you everything.”
This time, Caitlyn couldn’t stop the hot colour coming to her cheeks, and she looked down as she mumbled, “Um… I haven’t… er… seen much of James lately… We just… um… happen to miss each other every time he’s in the village or I’m up at the Manor.”
She didn’t add that she had a feeling that James was avoiding her. They hadn’t been alone together since that fateful day last week and the few brief words they had exchanged since then had always been stilted greetings in the company of other people. The thought that James could be so repulsed by her that he didn’t even want to see her made her squirm with hurt and misery.
“Well, I’m sure you can all have a good catch-up at dinner tonight,” said Bertha with a smile.
Her comforting tone soothed Caitlyn’s feelings and she cheered up slightly. Yes, there had to be a good reason why Pomona hadn’t contacted her. She would see her cousin tonight and it would all be explained. And as for James… She sighed. Well, at least with so many people around, there wouldn’t be any awkward silences…
“I’ve brought a nice dress,” said Evie, giving Caitlyn a half-bashful, half-excited smile. “It’s my first proper dinner party—I’m even going to wear heels! Is it okay if I change in your room? Mum says we can go together. Dinner’s at eight-thirty.”
Caitlyn brightened. “I’d love to help you get ready, Evie. Oh, but you’d better put your heels in a bag and change into them once we get there. That’s what I’m going to do because I think the walk over the hill will ruin them—”
“You’re not planning to walk to the Manor, are you?” asked Bertha in alarm.
Caitlyn looked at her in surprise. “Yes, why? The sun doesn’t set till after eight still, so there will be plenty of light. We can go out the back door here, straight up over the hill and down the other side into the Manor grounds—it only takes about twenty minutes. I love the long summer days in England,” she added with a grin. “It makes you feel like you get an extra half day.”
“It’ll already be twilight by the time you set off,” said Bertha, frowning. “It’s not safe—not with the stories that have been going around the village lately.”
“What stories?” asked Caitlyn.
Evie turned round eyes on her. “Haven’t you heard? Everyone’s been talking about it. There was a man found dead last weekend, in one of the country lanes. They say when they found him, his eyes were wide and staring, and he had a look of terror on his face. The police couldn’t work out how he died… but everyone in the village knows.” Evie leaned forwards, dropping her voice to a whisper. “He’d been killed by the Black Shuck!”
CHAPTER THREE
“The what?” said Caitlyn. “What’s the Black Shuck?”
Evie shuddered. “It’s a huge black dog that’s supposed to haunt lonely country lanes at night. It comes on a carpet of mist and its footfalls make no sound. Oh, it’s terrible luck if you meet it when out walking! They say it’s an omen of death and it means you’re going to die within a year.” Evie frowned. “Or was it someone in your family will die within a year? There are different stories—”
“Oh, it’s a legend,” said Caitlyn. “You mean it’s just a creature from folklore.”
“Witches are creatures from folklore too,” the Widow Mags spoke up.
Caitlyn turned to look at her. “You mean… you believe the Black Shuck is real?”
“There is something haunting the woods and countryside around Tillyhenge,” insisted Evie, before the old witch could answer. “Mrs Parsons at the post office shop said her niece saw it with her own eyes. She was walking home last weekend from her babysitting job—the niece, I mean, not Mrs Parsons—and it was late and she decided to take the shortcut through the fields… and then suddenly, the Black Shuck was there, walking next to her. She screamed and ran all the way un
til she got home.”
“Maybe it was just the farmer’s dog?”
Evie shook her head vehemently. “No, she said it was huge—as big as a calf.”
“Well, maybe it was a calf then,” suggested Caitlyn.
Evie shook her head again. “No, no, she said it was definitely a dog—a big black dog, with red eyes and huge fangs and shaggy black fur! She heard it howling as she ran away—it made her blood run cold.”
“Whether the Black Shuck is real or not, I agree that there is something out in the country lanes around Tillyhenge,” said Bertha briskly. “It could be a man—or a gang of criminals—or a ghostly demon hound—but whatever it is, it isn’t safe for you girls to walk alone to the Manor tonight. I want you to go in Caitlyn’s car.”
“Yes, Aunt Bertha.”
“Yes, Mum.”
***
It was a full moon that night and despite the sun having only just set, the pale glowing orb was already high in the sky. Caitlyn drove carefully as she navigated out of Tillyhenge and joined the motorway. It was actually easier and more straightforward walking to the Manor than driving—the geography of the Cotswolds countryside and the way Tillyhenge lay nestled in a small “valley” meant that although the village was situated just on the other side of the hill at the edge of the Fitzroy estate, there was no direct road access between them. You had to take the route through the woods out of Tillyhenge and join the main motorway which circled around the valley, almost doubling back on yourself, before you could reach the official road that led in through the main gates of the Huntingdon Manor parklands.
Still, there was little traffic tonight and they soon found themselves rolling up the sweeping driveway in front of the majestic eighteenth-century Georgian manor house. There were a few strange cars parked next to James’s green Range Rover on one side of the driveway and Caitlyn slid her rented Volkswagon Beetle in next to them. She killed the engine, picked up her bag, then paused to look in the rearview mirror.
“You look gorgeous,” said Evie, watching her.
Caitlyn plucked at the fabric of her dress. “Do you think this is too clingy? I’m worried my bum is going to look enormous.”
“Don’t worry, Mum says most women in England are pear-shaped,” said Evie ingenuously. “You’re not really fat—you just have big hips.”
“Er… thanks,” said Caitlyn dryly. “That makes me feel better… I think.” She fidgeted with the strap of her dress. She wasn’t used to dressing up; unlike Pomona who ate, drank, and breathed fashion, Caitlyn spent most of her days in faded T-shirts and jeans, chosen more for their comfort than their design flair. Until she had come to Tillyhenge and met James Fitzroy, she had never really cared about how she looked. In fact, if anything, she had always tried to fade into the background. But in the past few months, she’d discovered that there was something thrilling about having a handsome man look at you with admiration…
Evie touched her own hair self-consciously and asked shyly, “What about me? Do… do I look okay?”
Caitlyn smiled at the other girl. “You look fantastic. That colour really suits you.”
Evie flushed with pleasure. She was looking very pretty tonight, with her usually frizzy red hair tamed with copious amounts of mousse, and her gangly limbs concealed in the soft folds of a periwinkle-blue cotton dress. Her cheeks were pink with excitement and her eyes, carefully highlighted with make-up, sparkled with anticipation.
“I… I suppose none of the daytime staff will be here anymore,” she said in a carefully casual voice.
Caitlyn looked at her in puzzlement, then grinned as it dawned on her. “You mean Chris Bottom?”
Evie flushed even more and looked down, plucking a fold of her dress. “It’s just… he’s never seen me dressed up… maybe he would notice me if he saw me like this…”
“I’m sure Chris notices you,” Caitlyn said gently, thinking that she wasn’t really lying. She just wasn’t sure if Chris noticed Evie in the way that the latter hoped. With his “surfer” good looks and easy smile, Chris Bottom was usually inundated with female attention. And although his reputation as the local teen heartthrob hadn’t gone to his head—in fact, he was an incredibly nice and down-to-earth young man—he was still unlikely to notice Evie’s shy interest amongst all the bolder overtures from the more confident girls at their high school.
“Anyway, Chris probably won’t be here,” said Evie with a sigh. “He’s only working for James part-time so he’s probably gone home already.”
“You never know. He’s got a summer job as a sort of handyman and general dogsbody around the estate, hasn’t he? Maybe he’ll still be fixing a light bulb in the house somewhere,” Caitlyn teased. Then she opened the car door and added with a laugh, “Come on, we’d better go in, otherwise everyone will have finished dinner while we’re still here checking our appearance!”
Evie wobbled unsteadily as they walked from the car. It was the first time she had worn high heels and she was tottering around like someone on stilts.
“You have to stand up straight and put your heel down first,” said Caitlyn, trying to help. “Don’t hunch over—throw your weight backwards.”
“I’m… I’m trying!” said Evie, tripping and staggering sideways. She gave Caitlyn a despairing look. “I should have worn flats! These heels are so hard to walk in… I always wanted a pair of stilettos and Mum bought me these as a special treat… but now I just know I’m going to trip and fall on my face in front of everyone!”
“No, you won’t,” Caitlyn assured her. “Just keep your head up, look straight ahead, and walk confidently.”
“Easy for you to say,” muttered Evie, taking another tottering step forwards. Then she paused and brightened. “Wait—I know! I can cast a spell on my shoes so that they’ll walk by themselves!”
Caitlyn looked at her uneasily. “Evie, are you sure that’s a good idea—”
“Yes, yes, it’ll be brilliant!” said the other girl. She screwed up her eyes, pointed to her shoes and chanted:
Stilettos with grace,
Now gather apace,
With my feet inside,
Enable me to glide!
Caitlyn took an involuntary step back, eyeing the shoes warily. Evie might have been born knowing that she was a witch and grown up surrounded by spells and potions, but her own talents in the magic department seemed to be sadly lacking. In fact, the only thing that was reliable about Evie’s spells was that they usually went spectacularly wrong.
Now, the shoes glowed like hot coals for a moment, making Caitlyn worry that Evie might burn her feet, then the glow faded to a faint shimmer. Caitlyn blinked, then stared at the shoes again. They still looked like the same pair of high-heeled stilettos, but there was something subtly different. They seemed strangely… animate.
The next moment, her eyes widened in surprise as Evie took a deep breath and started walking towards the front door of the Manor again. Her cousin literally glided. It was amazing. She walked like a supermodel sashaying down the catwalk.
“Wow,” said Caitlyn, impressed. “Evie, that’s incredible!”
The younger girl beamed. “Told ya!”
Caitlyn chuckled and was about to follow Evie when she froze.
“Listen!” she said. “Did you hear that?
Evie turned around, halfway up the Manor’s front steps. “Hear what?”
“That… that sound…” Caitlyn turned and scanned the dark woods beyond the manor house. “It sounded like… some kind of animal…”
Evie listened but there was nothing now except the rustling of leaves as the wind moved through the trees. Twilight was almost over and the sky had darkened to an inky blue, with just a hint of pink on the western horizon. High above them, the full moon glowed, casting a silvery light over the landscape.
“I don’t hear anything,” said Evie. “Maybe you imagined it?”
“No, I heard it,” Caitlyn insisted. “It was… a mournful cry… like… like…”
&
nbsp; “A fox bark? They do sound very odd—not like a dog barking, more like a strange bird screaming—”
“No, it wasn’t a fox,” said Caitlyn. “I know what a fox bark sounds like. This was more like… like howling—”
“Howling? We don’t have wolves in England. Maybe it was a dog then.” Evie’s eyes widened. “Oooh, do you think it was the Black Shuck?”
Caitlyn gave a sheepish laugh. “No, it was probably just a farmer’s dog. It just sounded so eerie for a moment…” She shook her head, as if to clear it. “You’re right, my imagination is running away with me. Come on, let’s go in.”
They were met at the front door by Giles Mosley, the Manor’s new butler—a man so stiffly “correct” and proper that he was almost a caricature. Although he normally favoured a conservative dark suit, tonight, in honour of the dinner party, he was dressed in full butler regalia, in a black jacket with tails, grey waistcoat, white wing collar shirt, and a black tie. He even had white gloves on. Clearing his throat importantly, he greeted them with grave ceremony, calling them “madam” and making Evie giggle, then escorted them to the Ante-Chamber where the guests had gathered for pre-dinner drinks.
Caitlyn hesitated as she entered, bracing herself to meet James. She saw him almost immediately, his tall figure dominating the room as he stood talking to a couple by the fireplace. It was easy to see why he had been voted “Most Eligible Bachelor in Britain” several years running: with his aristocratic features, dark curling hair, and lithe, muscular physique—not to mention his title and wealth—James Fitzroy was a modern Mr Darcy come to life.