Bonbons and Broomsticks (BEWITCHED BY CHOCOLATE Mysteries ~ Book 5)

by H. Y. Hanna

  “I don’t think the Black Shuck is like that,” Caitlyn blurted.

  “What do you mean?”

  Caitlyn thought of the playful creature she had encountered on the hill last night. Okay, maybe “playful” was going a bit far, but the Black Shuck certainly hadn’t been the bloodthirsty monster she had expected. Professor Thrope’s words came back to her, about the black dog being a guardian, not a killer, and she said:

  “What if the Black Shuck has been… well… misunderstood?”

  Nathan threw his head back and laughed. “Misunderstood? You mean the poor demon hound is really a lonely pup who’s just wandering around at night, looking for a friend?”

  Caitlyn flushed. “I’m just saying that maybe the legends got it wrong—maybe the Black Shuck doesn’t have malicious intentions.”

  “And what about all the reports through the centuries of a ghostly black dog attacking lone travellers at night?”

  “Well, maybe it was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just like with Sir Henry and the tramp. Yes, I know it was seen nearby on both occasions, but maybe that was coincidence. Everyone has been so focused on the Black Shuck that they just assumed it must be the connection between the two victims, but nobody has considered if there might be some other common link.”

  Nathan looked at her with new respect. “Hmm… That’s a good point. So what are you suggesting: that it was murder?”

  Caitlyn shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I don’t—”

  “No, no, I think you’re onto something. And I think the police suspect something too—otherwise, why would they be back here questioning Lady Pritchard this morning?” His gaze went over Caitlyn’s shoulder. “Ah! Talk of the devil!”

  Caitlyn turned to see Lady Pritchard walking slowly towards them. She looked pale, with dark circles under her eyes, and her shoulders were slumped dejectedly. She seemed to collect herself as she saw them and gave them a wan smile.

  “Hello… I’m looking for the Ladies. I was told they’re at the end of this corridor—?”

  “Yes, just through there.” Nathan pointed at the alcove, then added, “I’m very sorry for your loss, Lady Pritchard.”

  Caitlyn echoed his words and Sir Henry’s widow murmured her thanks.

  “It’s just so hard to believe that he’s gone,” she said with a forlorn look. “Henry was such a… a… well, a great presence, if you know what I mean.”

  “Had he had a heart attack before?” asked Caitlyn.

  “Yes, a few years back. And the doctors did tell us that he was at risk of having another one… but he’d been taking his medication every day, you know.”

  “Perhaps it wasn’t a heart attack,” said Nathan in a casual voice.

  Lady Pritchard looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?” She gasped. “Do you mean… do you think these stories about the Black Shuck could be true?”

  “Well, I don’t know about a ghostly black hound—personally, I think the ‘Black Shuck’ is more likely to be some escaped wild animal—but that wasn’t what I was implying. No, what I meant was, there is also the possibility of foul play… Do you know if your husband had any enemies?”

  “That’s what the police have been asking me,” said Lady Pritchard with a sigh. “And like I told Inspector Walsh, I don’t know! I mean, Henry didn’t see eye to eye with a lot of people and, you know, he could be a bit… er… blunt sometimes, but surely nobody would want to kill him just for disagreeing with them?”

  “Is there anyone in particular who ‘disagreed’ with him recently?” asked Caitlyn.

  Lady Pritchard frowned. “Inspector Walsh asked me that as well. In fact, Henry had a terrible scene just last weekend with Derek Swanes, our estate manager. He ended up firing him.”

  Caitlyn felt a prickle of interest. “Really? Why?”

  “Henry said he caught Swanes fiddling with the accounts and embezzling money from the estate, but Swanes said it was all a mistake and—oh, they had the most dreadful row. I could hear it all the way from upstairs.”

  “So Swanes was angry about being fired, eh?” said Nathan, giving Caitlyn a meaningful look.

  “Oh, he was livid!” said Lady Pritchard. “He kept threatening to make Henry regret it. I came down just as he was leaving and I was really quite frightened by his manner. But Henry just laughed and said ‘good riddance’.” She sighed, then frowned and added, “But I don’t think it’s Swanes. I mean, he came back to see Henry the day before yesterday—it was just before we came over for dinner, actually—and he seemed very contrite. He apologised for his behaviour and said his temper had got the better of him; he even brought Henry a bottle of his favourite sherry. And Henry agreed not to press charges and said he would give Swanes his last month’s wages. They had a drink together and parted quite amicably, actually.” She glanced towards the alcove. “I’m sorry—you’ll have to excuse me, but I really must use the loo.”

  As soon as the door had shut behind her, Nathan said: “Hmm… interesting. So despite Inspector Walsh’s protests, the police are treating this as a suspicious death. Why else would they be asking Sir Henry’s widow if he had any enemies? They must be wondering if anyone has a motive for wanting to harm him.” A shrill ringing sounded suddenly from his pocket and he drew out his mobile phone. “Bugger! Sorry, I’ve got to take this call.”

  “It’s okay. I was on my way upstairs anyway. I’ll see you later,” said Caitlyn, giving him a wave.

  As she ascended the back stairs, she couldn’t help thinking that Nathan Lewis was a great guy: fun, urbane, intelligent, and quite good-looking too… why couldn’t Pomona go for someone like him, instead of Thane Blackmort?

  At the thought of her cousin, Caitlyn wondered if she should pop into Pomona’s bedroom—then quickly decided against the idea. She had already been delayed by the encounter with Nathan (and Viktor!) and the chat with Sir Henry’s widow… if she got stuck with Pomona as well… at this rate, she wouldn’t reach the Portrait Gallery until nightfall!

  She decided to go and hunt for the parchment first. Then she could find Pomona and tell her cousin all about her discovery. She felt a thrill of excitement. Was she about to find some answers at last?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Fitzroy Portrait Gallery looked as gloomy and oppressive as it always did and Caitlyn had to steel herself as she walked in. Making her way between the mounds covered in white sheets, she crossed the long room to where a series of bookcases lined the far wall. Now, which one did Professor Thrope say it was? She wondered, pausing beside the wall of books. He’d said he was looking at a book on sea serpents. On the topmost level of the bookcase by the Four Horseman painting…

  Moving down the row of bookshelves, she stopped at last in front of an imposing bookcase of dark oak. Looking up, she scanned the spines of the leather-bound volumes: A History of Magical Phenomena; The Magus; Understanding Mediaeval Magick; Witches, Wizards and Warlocks: A Comparison… ah! There! The Legend and Lore of Sea Serpents. She stretched up but her fingertips could barely touch the shelf—it was too high for her to reach.

  Glancing around, Caitlyn spied a wooden stepladder mounted on wheels tucked into the corner of the room. She hurried to wheel it over and position it under the shelf, then mounted the creaking wooden steps until her head was level with the top row of books. Carefully, she gripped the sea-serpent book and tried to pull it out. It was wedged tight—there were too many volumes on this shelf and every book was jammed into place. She wriggled it vigorously but it would not come. Heaving a sigh of frustration, she sat back on the top rung of the stepladder. Then she had a thought: Wait a minute… I’m a witch, aren’t I? Surely the point of learning magic is to help situations like this?

  Turning back towards the bookcase, she stretched a hand towards the wedged book and closed her eyes, concentrating hard. She didn’t know an appropriate spell but it didn’t matter—the Widow Mags had told her that there was no need to chant an incantation to work magic. Spells were useful, yes�
�especially for novice witches who needed a verbal guide to help them focus—but the power lay not in the words themselves but in the force of the will behind them.

  Now, Caitlyn tried to visualise the sea-serpent book slipping effortlessly out of its place in the row… smoothly, silkily… sliding forwards and out… leaving an open gap behind it… She flexed her fingers, reaching to touch the book, then her eyes flew open in surprise. She stared at the book in dismay. Well, it was certainly smooth and silky, alright—it had been turned into gleaming milk chocolate!

  Oh rats! What was she going to do now? She had to change the book back. But first, she wondered if it would be easier to pull out now. She tried again; the chocolate melted slightly beneath her fingers where she was gripping the spine, but this time it slid out when she gave it a tug, leaving a small gap between the adjoining volumes. Yes! Caitlyn peered into the narrow space. Was that…? She thought she could see the faint outline of a roll of paper. Carefully, she reached into the gap and felt around. Her fingers encountered something dry and papery and she heard a rustling sound. Excited, she gave it a yank, then winced as she heard the sound of tearing.

  She took a deep breath and told herself to slow down. Hitching herself higher to get a better angle, she tried again. It was an awkward position and she could feel the stepladder rolling back and forth with her movements. I should have put the brakes on the wheels before climbing up, she thought with chagrin. Otherwise, if I shove or jerk too hard, the ladder could easily roll away from under me… Taking a deep breath, she tried again, pulling the parchment as gently as she could, and was rewarded at last when she felt it shift beneath her fingers. Ah! It’s coming! But just as she was drawing it out, she heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the corridor outside.

  THUD. THUD. THUD.

  They were growing louder, and Caitlyn threw an apprehensive glance over her shoulder, wondering who was approaching. The Gallery door was slightly ajar and, a moment later, a bundle of black fur darted into the room.

  “Mew!”

  Nibs! Caitlyn sagged with relief. The little black kitten was followed a few seconds later by a lumbering English mastiff: James’s dog, Bran. The heavy padding sound had been his footsteps. He came in now, his head lowered, his forehead wrinkled, and his baggy face intent as he sniffed something along the ground.

  “Nibs! What are you doing here?” said Caitlyn as the kitten scampered over to her. “No—wait, don’t climb up here!”

  But it was too late. Nibs had already jumped up and was rapidly making his way up the stepladder. A moment later, Bran arrived at the bottom and tried to climb up too.

  “Woof!” he said, wagging his tail. “Woof! Woof!” Then he placed a heavy paw on the bottom rung of the stepladder and heaved himself up.

  Caitlyn yelped as the mastiff’s weight caused the stepladder to roll sideways. She had been perched precariously on the top rung, and now she clutched madly at the bookshelf as she reeled backwards, falling through the air.

  “Aaahhhh!”

  The next minute, the breath was knocked from her body as she was caught in strong arms.

  “Oomph!” James Fitzroy staggered backwards but he didn’t drop her. Caitlyn blushed furiously as she wondered how much she weighed. Oh, why couldn’t she be a slender, petite slip of a girl who weighed nothing more than a feather?

  “Are you all right?” came James’s deep voice near her ear.

  “Y-yes… thank you,” Caitlyn mumbled as James set her down gently. She stepped back, adjusting her clothes, her face red.

  “What happened?” asked James.

  “Nibs climbed up and I think Bran wanted to join us too, but when he put his weight on the ladder, it rolled sideways… and I lost my balance and fell.”

  “What were you doing on the stepladder?”

  “Oh… um… I was checking out a book that looked interesting on the top shelf… and then I saw something tucked behind it and I got curious…”

  “This?” said James, pointing to a roll of parchment lying on the floor next to the bookcase. Caitlyn realised that she must have dropped it when she had lost her balance. James bent to retrieve it, then paused as he saw the other thing that had fallen to the floor: a slim volume of a book, made completely of smooth milk chocolate. “What on earth is this?” He picked up the book as well and straightened, looking at it quizzically.

  Caitlyn hesitated, debating whether to tell James the truth. Would he believe her this time? “It’s… it’s a book made of chocolate,” she said lamely.

  James frowned. “I can see that—I’m just wondering where it’s from. I don’t remember buying any chocolate in the shape of a book.” He turned the brown volume over in his hands. “And I’ve never seen such fine workmanship either—look at the detail! You could almost believe that this was a real book that had been turned into chocolate. Is this one of the Widow Mags’s chocolate sculptures?”

  Caitlyn took a deep breath. “I made it,” she said.

  “You made it?” James looked at her admiringly. “My word, you really are coming on as a chocolatier, aren’t you? I didn’t realise your chocolate-making skills were so good.”

  “No, that’s not what I—” Caitlyn hesitated, then took the coward’s way out. “Um… yes, the Widow Mags has been spending a lot of time training me.”

  “Well, she’s doing a fine job.” James laid the chocolate book down on the bottom rung of the stepladder and turned his attention to the roll of parchment he had picked up.

  Caitlyn had to restrain herself from grabbing it out of his hands. Instead, she watched with bated breath as he slowly unrolled the yellowed paper. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting to see—some gilt-edged scroll, perhaps, with mediaeval illustrations and an ancient inked message in beautiful calligraphy—but she was disappointed to find herself looking at a crinkled piece of parchment, with a few symbols carelessly scribbled across the surface.

  James stared at the parchment for a moment, then recognition dawned on his face. “Oh… this old thing!”

  “You know it?” asked Caitlyn. “What is it? What does it say?”

  “I don’t know what it says—I never figured it out.”

  “What do you mean? Is it like a secret message that you have to decipher?”

  James laughed. “Perhaps… but it’s more likely to be just gibberish.”

  “Gibberish?”

  James smiled at her. “Yes. One of my earliest memories was of coming to Huntingdon as a child one summer… This must have been—oh, about twenty-five years ago—when I was six years old… We didn’t live here, you see—my mother preferred our townhouse in London—so my father used to come up to the estate by himself from time to time. But I do remember that summer… it might have been the summer my sister was born and my mother was busy with the new baby… so my father took me out of the house for a while to get me out of her hair… And he brought me here. There was a young man—my father’s colleague, I think; somebody he was working with—who was here too. I can’t remember the man’s name, but he was great fun. He used to be closeted in meetings with my father all morning, but in the afternoons, if he had some time free, he’d spend it with me.”

  James gave her a wry look. “My father was quite an austere figure—very much the stern, traditional patriarch—and he never had much time for me. So it was a wonderful novelty to have an adult willing to play with me and spend time with me. And this chap was fantastic! He taught me to play chess, showed me how to read a compass and how to light a fire using a flint… and he used to tell me stories; he had the most incredible imagination! He’d recount tales about powerful spells and magical curses, about meeting vampires and hunting witches—” James caught himself as he realised what he’d just said. Then he cleared his throat and continued: “Anyway, one wet afternoon, when we couldn’t go outside, he suggested a game—an imaginary quest where I had to search for a magical hidden treasure. And he created several ‘clues’ which were hidden all over the house and would lea
d me to the treasure. One of these ‘clues’ was an ancient scroll with magical symbols…” James held up the parchment.

  “You mean… it’s just a prop?” said Caitlyn.

  “I’m afraid so. I remember watching him make it. He got some parchment paper from my father’s office, crumpled it up several times to get it nice and wrinkled, then smoothed it out and used an old-fashioned feather quill and ink to write some symbols on it. But I don’t think they meant anything—he was probably just drawing random shapes and squiggles.”

  “Oh.” Caitlyn couldn’t keep the keen disappointment out of her voice.

  James looked at her curiously. “You seem very upset. Did you expect them to mean something?”

  Caitlyn hesitated, her hand going to her throat, where her runestone was tucked out of sight beneath the collar of her shirt. For a moment, she was tempted to confide in James, to tell him about her search for answers. But something held her back. Maybe it was his refusal to believe in magic and witchcraft… or the fear of another scene like the one when she had tried to convince him that she was a witch. She dropped her hand back to her side and gave him a forced smile.

  “I guess my imagination ran away with me. I thought maybe they really were magical symbols that spelled out a message.” She looked at him hopefully. “But are you sure? I mean, just because your friend scribbled them for fun doesn’t mean that they didn’t have a meaning.”

  James shook his head. “Trust me, I checked. When I was at Oxford, I came to visit my father here during one of the breaks between the terms, and I remembered the parchment and wondered if it was still there, at the back of the shelf, where I’d left it as a boy… It was. So, out of curiosity, I took it back to Oxford with me, and showed it to a couple of professors in the University, to see if any of the language experts and cryptographers there could decipher it. None of them could.” He chuckled. “In fact, one of them sent the parchment back to me with a rather irate note telling me not to waste his time with gibberish.”