by H. Y. Hanna
To her relief, the driver finally turned around and swung the taxi out of the carpark. But the delay had cost them. There was no sign of the black Bentley anywhere on the side street. Caitlyn bit her lip. There were so many ways it could have gone—back around to join the main street, down one of the adjoining side streets, towards the centre of town, or back towards the motorway and deeper into the Cotswolds countryside. Without knowing, they might waste their time aimlessly driving in circles.
“Looks like we’ve lost ’em,” said the driver apologetically. “D’you want me to take you back to the restaurant?”
“No,” said Caitlyn, making a decision. “Take me to Tillyhenge, please.”
***
On the way, Caitlyn dug her phone out of her handbag and tried to call the Widow Mags. Her grandmother didn’t have a mobile phone but there was a landline in the chocolate shop. This, however, rang without being answered until Caitlyn gave up. The lack of response made her uneasy, but she told herself not to be silly and panic: her grandmother could have been in the bathroom or even gone to bed early and might not have heard the phone.
She decided to try Pomona; perhaps her cousin could run across to Bewitched by Chocolate and check that the Widow Mags was okay. Again, however, she got no response. Pomona was notorious for leaving her phone forgotten at the bottom of her handbag, but the generally poor mobile phone reception in Tillyhenge might have been to blame as well.
Finally, Caitlyn tried the landline for Bertha and Evie’s house. She remembered that her aunt had said she was going out that evening, but neither Evie nor Pomona had plans so they should have been at home, still trying to figure out how to reverse the revenge spell. But the phone rang unanswered again and Caitlyn had to put her own phone down at last with a sigh of frustration. Where is everyone?
She fidgeted in the taxi seat, wondering what to do. If she went back to Tillyhenge and found the chocolate shop and cottage empty, then what? No, the important thing was to find Gerald Hopkins, she decided. That way, she would know what he was doing, and if he was planning to harm her grandmother, she would be able to stop him.
She leaned forwards and told the driver that she’d changed her mind, asking him to drive her to Huntingdon Manor instead. She arrived to find the manor house quiet and dark, and she wondered, with the late hour, if most of the staff had left for the day or gone to bed. She was sure, though, that Mosley—ever the conscientious butler—would still be diligently monitoring household activities, at least until James returned. She was right: the butler opened the door, although she was surprised to see him looking quite unlike his usual well-groomed self.
“Miss Le Fey! But I thought… were you not out at dinner with Lord Fitzroy?” Mosley said in surprise, hastily attempting to straighten his tie.
Caitlyn wondered what he had been doing to look so dishevelled. He was also breathing rapidly and his face was flushed, as if he had been running.
“Yes, I was, but I had to… er… come back unexpectedly. Listen, Mosley, is Gerald Hopkins here? He drives a black Bentley, doesn’t he? Have you seen his car return?”
“I do not believe so, Miss Le Fey. Dr Hopkins informed me that he would be out all evening and I have not seen him return.”
“Yes, I didn’t see a Bentley in the front driveway, but is there somewhere else he could have parked?”
“There is an alternative parking space to the rear of the estate, beside the stable courtyard. It is accessed by a turning off the main driveway, before you reach the house. That was where Dr Hopkins parked when he arrived yesterday.”
“So… could he have parked there and then slipped into the house via one of the side doors, without you seeing him?”
The butler frowned. “I should not have thought so, although…” He coughed apologetically. “I have to admit, I have been rather preoccupied the last hour with a pressing… er… fowl issue.”
Caitlyn looked at him in puzzlement. “A foul issue?”
He coughed. “No. Fowl. As in… ahem… chickens.”
Chickens? Then Caitlyn caught sight of a plump brown hen strutting out from one of the sitting rooms and across the foyer, its head bobbing back and forth as it clucked:
“Bok-bok… bok-bok-bok…”
“AHHH! There you are!” burst out Mosley. He bared his teeth and lunged after the hen. “You’re not getting away from me this time!”
Caitlyn reeled back in surprise. She’d never seen the butler so worked up. A vein was pulsing in his temple and his eyes had a manic gleam as he chased after the chicken. There was an explosion of loud squawking, and feathers flew everywhere as the hen flapped around the foyer, but Mosley emerged triumphant at last, clutching the struggling hen in his hands. He saw Caitlyn staring at him and seemed to recover himself.
“Ahem. I beg your pardon, Miss Le Fey,” he said, straightening his jacket and looking embarrassed. “You see, I was alerted to some strange noises earlier and found, to my great astonishment, a group of chickens wandering in the rear wing of the house! I do not know where they could have come from—it is really most peculiar—but naturally, I could not let them continue to wander loose.” He cleared his throat again. “It has taken me and several other members of staff the best part of an hour to round them up and catch them. I did not think that chickens would be quite so… er … agile. The others have been captured and placed in a temporary pen outside, but this last one has evaded me… until now.”
Caitlyn stared at the hen in his hands. There was something terribly familiar about its freckled feathers. In fact, it looked exactly like the chicken that Nadia Green had been turned into. She groaned inwardly, remembering Pomona’s airy assurance that she had put the chickens “somewhere safe”… Surely her capricious cousin hadn’t just turned the chickens loose to run around in the Manor? There was no time to ponder it now, in any case. She had to find out where Gerald Hopkins was.
“Mosley, can you show me this alternative carpark?” she asked.
Still carrying the clucking chicken, the butler led her through the ground-floor rooms and out the back of the manor house, to the area around the outbuildings. The spotlights from the house shone on a single car parked in the open space next to the stable courtyard: a black Bentley.
“Ah! Dr Hopkins does appear to be back,” said Mosley. “But you know, Miss Le Fey, upon further reflection, I am positive that he could not have gone past me and up to his room without my noticing it. You see, the main staircase leads up from the foyer and I was in the vicinity the whole time I was… er… chasing the chickens.”
So he’s somewhere else on the property, Caitlyn mused, turning her gaze to the rest of the outbuildings, now just dim black shapes in the distance. Then she remembered the words she had overheard Gerald say in the restaurant: “Then it is time to remedy things… The same way as last time.”
She drew a sharp breath. Could the old witch hunter be at the icehouse? It was only a guess but it was the best guess she had, and it was better than trying to search the whole estate.
“Miss Le Fey, where are you going?” cried Mosley as she moved away.
“To the icehouse.”
“The icehouse? But… wait… Miss Le Fey, you cannot go alone—”
Caitlyn glanced over her shoulder and saw the butler start after her, then pause as he remembered that he was still holding a big fat chicken in his hands. In fact, the hen was starting to struggle again, flapping its wings and squawking.
“Bok… bok-bok-bok… BOK!”
“Er… I’ll just leave the chicken somewhere safe and then I’ll join you, madam,” Mosley said, hurrying back into the Manor.
Caitlyn hesitated for a moment, then—deciding that the butler could catch up—she turned and set off into the darkness.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Caitlyn shivered as she walked between the darkened outbuildings. The temperature seemed to have dropped, and she had left her cloak hanging on the back of her chair in the restaurant. She wrapped her arms around he
rself and rubbed them briskly, shivering even harder as a chill wind whipped past, dragging her hair from her face and causing her to gasp from the cold air. How many outbuildings are there? she wondered, trying to recall as she peered ahead… Yes, there was the old smokehouse… and that must be one of the storage sheds…and that was the converted barn which now housed the staff accommodation…
A dark figure appeared suddenly around the side of the building and Caitlyn felt her heart lurch before she recognised who it was.
“Hattie!” she called out.
The girl jumped and clutched a hand to her chest. “Oh! Oh, miss, you scared me! What are you doing here?”
Caitlyn evaded the question, asking instead: “Hattie, do you have a flashlight—I mean, a torch you could lend me?”
“Oh. Sure, I’ve got a little one in my room.” She looked at Caitlyn curiously. “What do you want it for?”
Caitlyn hesitated. “I need to check something. At the icehouse.”
The girl threw an uneasy look at the dark trees in the distance. “You want to go into the woods? Now?”
“I’ll be fine with the torch. It’s not that far,” Caitlyn assured her. “By the way, you haven’t seen Gerald Hopkins by any chance, have you? You know, the gentleman who is staying at the Manor?”
The girl shook her head and gave a wry laugh. “I haven’t seen anybody tonight. The whole place is like a ghost town. Even Louise isn’t in her room.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I usually pop in for a cup o’ tea an’ a bit o’ a natter before bedtime, but tonight her room was empty.” Hattie looked at the darkness around them and added with a shiver, “I don’t know where she could have gone at this time o’ night…”
Caitlyn wondered suddenly if Vera had come back to the Manor with Gerald Hopkins and called on Louise to help with their plans. She thought of the angry, distraught girl she had met earlier that day, and then she thought of the book she had seen tucked at the back of the bookshelf in Louise’s room—the book with the highlighted sections on witch trials, as if someone had been studying the details and making notes. Yes, it all fits…
Hattie had run into her room and now returned, but as she handed the torch to Caitlyn, she said anxiously: “Are you sure you should go alone? Maybe… maybe I’d better come with you.”
Caitlyn glanced at the darkened woods again and decided that she would be glad of the girl’s company. Together, they set off and were soon entering the stand of trees, picking their way carefully through the dense undergrowth. Everything looked different at night and Caitlyn found, to her annoyance, that she wasn’t able to find the way that led to the icehouse. She waved the torch around helplessly, searching for signs of the path.
“Here—this way!” Hattie called from a few feet away.
Caitlyn hurried after the other girl, who seemed to have much better night vision and led the way unerringly to the old stone structure. They paused outside the sagging wooden door. There was no sign of life anywhere and, for the first time, Caitlyn began to have doubts.
“Are we going to go inside?” asked Hattie in a whisper.
Caitlyn hesitated, then a memory of Minerva’s body floating in the black water flashed in her mind. She had to go in and check that pool of water again, just in case…
“Yes,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “But you can wait out here if you don’t want to come in with me.”
“Oh no, I’ll come with you,” said Hattie, shooting a nervous look at the darkened woods around them.
They stepped inside and walked slowly down the short, sloping passageway towards the domed chamber. Instantly, Caitlyn felt the temperature drop several degrees and an icy damp seemed to penetrate her bones. She shivered and concentrated on keeping the beam of the torch steady as she shone it in front of them.
It was obvious that the place was empty—no sign of Gerald Hopkins, Vera, or Louise anywhere—and she was beginning to feel very foolish. Still, she pressed doggedly on, determined to at least check the pool and make sure nothing—or nobody, rather—was in the water. They arrived at last in the domed chamber and Caitlyn’s heart pounded as she raised the torch to shine it into the pool.
The black water glittered in the beam of light, the surface calm and still. The pool was empty. Caitlyn released the breath she had been holding. Of course it’s empty, she told herself irritably. This whole thing was a stupid idea—you just let your imagination run away with you! She squirmed suddenly as she thought of James and their argument. What if she had been wrong about Gerald Hopkins and Vera Bottom? What if she had read more meaning into their conversation than there had been and assumed ominous overtones that were never there? Oh God, and she had abandoned James at the restaurant, hurt his feelings, and ruined their evening… possibly for nothing?
Feeling suddenly very foolish and abashed, she turned to go. Hattie followed, then made an exclamation of annoyance. Caitlyn turned back to see that the other girl had nearly tripped on her trailing shoelaces.
“Sorry…” she said, giving Caitlyn an apologetic smile. “Can you wait a sec while I tie them? I don’t want to trip in the dark.”
“Oh, sure,” said Caitlyn, swinging her torch around to shine the beam on the girl’s shoes. Her thoughts churned as she watched Hattie tie her laces. She wondered if James had come back to the Manor yet and whether she should wait for him. She cringed at the thought of facing him, but knew that the least she could do was offer him an apology in person.
“There! Thanks,” said Hattie, standing up again.
“That’s a pretty knot,” said Caitlyn, admiring the intricate loops. “You used it the other day as well when you were tying the lace-up collar on your uniform. I’ve never seen anyone use it before.”
Hattie laughed. “It’s not a very common one. My father was a sailor an’ he was really into knots—he could tie about a hundred different ones, an’ he loved to teach me. We used to tie fancy, unusual knots on everyday items, just for fun, an’ I suppose I do it without even thinking now.” She indicated her shoelaces. “This one’s called a Zeppelin bend; it’s supposed to have been used to secure zeppelins to the ground—you know, those huge balloon ships from the 1920s.”
Caitlyn froze, staring at the girl beside her. The last time she had heard the words “Zeppelin bend” had been when James was discussing the murder investigation with her and had mentioned the unusual knots used by the murderer. Her heart began thudding uncomfortably in her chest.
“Um… Hattie…” She cleared her throat. “Your room in the staff accommodation—it’s the one on the left as you go in, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s the one to the right of the hallway. Why?”
Caitlyn took a step back, her mind reeling. When she had found Louise crying earlier that day, she had assumed that the other girl had been in her own room, but it seemed now that Louise had been in Hattie’s room… Probably to get some more tissues because her own ran out, Caitlyn realised, remembering the way the sobbing girl had been fumbling to open a tissue box. And if that wasn’t Louise’s room, then it meant that the books on the shelf weren’t hers either—they were Hattie’s. That book about the history of witch hunting in England, with the details of witch trials highlighted, was Hattie’s book.
Her heart was pounding now as she grappled with a possibility that she had never even dreamt of. She thought of how Hattie had led the way confidently to the icehouse in the dark, as if she was very familiar with the route… It was all too much of a coincidence: the rare knot… the book about witch trials… the familiarity with the icehouse…
“It’s you,” she whispered, staring at the girl next to her. “You murdered Minerva Chattox!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Hattie took a step back and for a moment, Caitlyn thought she was going to deny it, then she said breathlessly, “Yes… yes, I did. An’ I’m not sorry! That woman was evil an’ deserved to die!”
“But…” Caitlyn looked at her in bewilderment. “
I didn’t think you were one of Vera Bottom’s followers.”
The other girl gave a short laugh. “No, I’m not. I don’t even believe in witches.” Her expression turned grim. “But my father did.”
“Your father?”
Hattie nodded, looking away, her expression pensive. “He was always really superstitious—maybe it’s part of being a sailor—an’ he believed in witchcraft an’ black magic an’ that sort of thing. He was always telling me to be careful not to do this or that, in case I attracted the notice o’ evil spirits. When he retired, it got even worse. I guess he didn’t have anything else to occupy him an’ it became a bit o’ an obsession. He started seeing psychics and mediums, an’ buying all sorts o’ good luck charms an’ protection amulets on the internet…” She paused, then added in a flat voice: “And then last year, he met Minerva.”
Somehow Caitlyn knew what was coming, and as Hattie recounted the story, it was all pathetically familiar: the scared, vulnerable old man, the glamorous “witch” promising protection from evil and misfortune, the huge sums of desperate money paid to ward off evil and buy protection spells…
“Minerva convinced Dad that he was living under the shadow of a terrible curse an’ surrounded by evil spirits, which was why Mum had died so young. And she said that the evil spirits would turn on me next if he didn’t have them removed. He thought that he was protecting me!” said Hattie, shaking her head despairingly. “She told him the only way to get rid o’ the evil spirits was using complex cleansing spells, which required a lot of money. He started dipping into his retirement savings… an’ then when those were gone, he started selling things… first his car… then household valuables, an’ then…” Hattie’s voice choked slightly. “Our family home—the one my parents bought together when they got married…” She turned back to look at Caitlyn, her eyes burning with anger. “She took everything from him an’ then she disappeared, leaving Dad with no savings, no home, nothing! He didn’t know how to tell me an’ the stress of it all nearly killed him.”