Amanda Cadabra and The Flawless Plan

by Holly Bell

  ‘Our Aunt Amelia,’ he replied teasingly.’ Amanda could not help but smile.

  ‘Our Aunt Amelia — people in other dimensions don’t necessarily experience time in the same way as we do. Sophy may be unaware of the passage of so many years.’

  ‘I certainly hope so.’

  They sat and sipped and crunched away for a while, enjoying the crackle of the fire and a companionable silence.

  ‘Oh,’ said Amanda, suddenly remembering something important. Trelawney looked up. ‘There’s … I … I’m not exactly sure how do to this. I know that we have a professional … juxtaposition … You are …. I mean, I am a witness in a case that you are investigating, and so, I think, you can’t accept any presents from me because that could be perceived as … something that could affect your judgement, have-I-got-that-right?’ she finished in a rush.

  ‘Yes, Miss Cadabra,’ he replied kindly. ‘And it’s thoughtful of you to consider that.’

  ‘So … it’s Christmas, and I wanted to give you a present, and then I thought I didn’t want to make it awkward for you or have you say you couldn’t accept it. So I thought, you can accept a present from Aunt Amelia. Yes?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘So I asked Aunt Amelia to arrange it. If you go and see her, she’ll give it to you, with Happy Christmas from us both. If that’s all right, Inspector?’

  ‘That is most thoughtful. Thank you. I shall look forward to seeing what you have cooked up between you,’ Trelawney said with genuine pleasure.

  ‘Cooked up?’ repeated Amanda playfully. ‘Oh very apt.’

  ‘Is it a cake?’ he asked, his curiosity aroused.

  ‘I’m not saying any more,’ she replied impishly. ‘You’ll see!’

  ***

  The following morning, after an exchange of texts with his aunt, Thomas presented himself at Amelia’s house to receive his Christmas present. Wreathed in smiles, she sat him down on the living room sofa.

  ‘I won’t make you wait while I make the tea. Here you are.’

  With that, Amelia put an eight-inch cube on the table before him. Thomas looked at it, then at his aunt then back at the object, frowning with perplexity. Finally he undid the gold ribbon, drew apart the marbled paper and opened the red box inside.

  Laying in folds of black velvet, was a crystal ball. Within, it seemed to swim and flow with blues and turquoises and peaks of white.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Thomas marvelled.

  ‘Good,’ replied Amelia with satisfaction.

  ‘You made it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, did me good to see the old furnace again,’ his aunt responded heartily. ‘Nice to know I’ve still got it.’

  ‘It’s like you’ve given me the sea. Is this for me to … divine with?’ Thomas asked uncertainly.

  ‘It can help you focus, yes,’ Amelia confirmed.

  ‘What do I do with it?’

  ‘Play with it, get to know each other, look at it, and … just see what you see.

  The following day, Amanda dressed for the New Year’s Eve Ball with butterflies in her stomach that she was unable to explain.

  ‘Aw, I’m pur proud of you. You do look a lovely sight, bian,’ said Grandpa. ‘I think the inspector will think so too.’

  Amanda blushed slightly. ‘I hope so. He looks very grand in evening dress. I want to look like I have, at least, made an effort,’ she said, gazing uncertainly at her reflection.

  Claire had performed her own brand of magic and nailed 1918 high fashion that would suit Amanda. A bodice of cream lace hung from her shoulders and matching fabric cascaded to her ankles. It was clasped at the waist by a deep corset black belt from which fell lengths of black chiffon at the sides of the skirt and a long train behind.

  Amanda’s hair was drawn up and back in a loose bun of soft curls, and the amber earrings her grandparents had given her on her 18th birthday, dangled glinting from her ears. She wore cream Mary Jane’s, that were dressy enough for the occasion but comfortable enough for dancing, over a precious pair of cream Falke holdups, into the top of which went the indispensable Pocket-wand. The perfume that Grandpa had had made specially for her in France, from the herbs and flowers in the garden, hung about her.

  Senara put her hands lightly on her granddaughter’s shoulders.

  ‘You’ll do,’ she said nodding. ‘In fact, you’ll more than do!’

  The New Year’s Eve Ball, which this evening was commemorating the hard won peace of 1918, was held, as it had been a century previously, not in the church hall, but where many a party had been celebrated over 400 years: in the Sinner’s Rue. Cleared of tables, and chairs pushed to the edges of the room to make as much dancing space as possible, the dear old pub had been spruced up. Sandra had been allowed in to replace the garish decorations with white, silver and blue. Every surface had been scrubbed, the bar shone with polish and the brassware gleamed.

  The programme was to begin with a short class to teach everyone the two-step that was popular at the time, and was a dance anyone could quickly learn and enjoy. Amanda entered, found a chair and took off her coat. She was greeted by Joan and Sylvia, and Dr Patel came over to see how she was faring. It wasn’t until Sandra called the dancers to order, that she saw him. Trelawney, attired in more modern evening dress than the previous ball, came over to her as she rose from her seat, and, leading her short distance away from the other ladies said,

  ‘I am not sure if the rules governing the behaviour of an inspector towards the chief witness in his case permit, but I must say, you look stunning this evening, Miss Cadabra.’

  Amanda beamed with delight.

  ‘Thank you Inspector. Let’s keep it off the record, just in case,’ she said conspiratorially.

  ‘You are too kind. Shall we?’ he asked gesturing towards the dance floor. ‘By the way, thank you for prompting Aunt Amelia’s thoughtful gift. It is greatly appreciated. I look forward to working out how to use it!’ he added ruefully.

  After the lesson, the lights were dimmed and DJ Bill MacNaire struck up hits and requests from the First World War years. Trelawney danced with Amanda once or twice but she had to rest frequently. She watched the clock moving towards midnight, to that moment when the old year would become the new. When Hinky Dinky Parlez-vous came on, she and the inspector shared a knowing look.

  It was a quarter to midnight. Amanda got up for a little air and stood by the door, looking on as the coloured lights were sweeping over the couples moving across the floor. There they were, Karan and Neeta Patel, Mr and Mrs Sharma, Jonathan and Mrs Pagely, Dennis and Aunt Amelia, the inspector and Gwendolen, the Colonel and Miss de Havillande, Joan and her Jim, the rector and Iskender, Joe from Madley Cows Dairy and his daughter Olivia, Penny and her fiancé, Sylvia and her husband, Hugh and Sita Povey, Sandy and Vanessa, Julian and Sandra, Gordon French and Irene James, Erik and Esta, even Ruth and Kieran. And then she began to be aware of more pairs amidst the couples: Granny and Grandpa … men in regimentals, ladies in dresses like her own, all singing, laughing, talking.

  ‘’Scuse me, Miss.’

  Amanda looked to her right, and there was a young man in neat soldier’s garb standing at her side. There was just the veriest hint of transparency about him.

  ‘Fancy a dance?’ he asked. Amanda rather liked the idea of two-stepping with someone from 1918, but knew it would look odd to the people of her own time if she were moving around the floor by herself with, to them, an imaginary partner.

  ‘I’m just taking a breather, but thank you for asking me, sir.’

  ‘That’s all right.’

  ‘May I ask you a question?’

  ‘Course.’

  ‘How come you are in uniform. I mean it’s over, isn’t it? The War?’

  ‘Oh yes, long, long ago, but it’s nice to wear it all in one piece. Lot of us here, our kit didn’t come out of it whole, if you know what I mean, and neither did what was under it.’

  ‘So how come …?’

  ‘Costume par
ty, Miss. It’s nice to dress up and remember the good times we ’ad, us lads together. It wasn’t all bad. And what was bad, well, that’s long behind us now. You must know that. Same for you too, eh?’

  ‘I’m not actually from …’

  ‘Ah, you one of the currents, are you? Oh well, you’ll see.’ The song playing was ending. ’Ere, my girl’s free. ’Scuse me if I go and ask her for a turn about the floor.’

  The new tune was beginning, it was two minutes to midnight, and here was the inspector holding out his hand to her.

  ‘Our dance, I think, Miss Cadabra.’

  And there it was, playing as though at once from the past and in the present: Roses of Picardy. And as they waltzed, it was as though all the villagers over the centuries who had rejoiced on this night were dancing with and around the two of them, and all of the people Amanda loved most.

  The music paused and the dancers with it. It was almost midnight. The countdown began and crowd chanted 10 … 9 … 8 … 7 … 6 … 5 … 4 … 3… 2 ... 1… and the shout went up. A flicker of light caught Amanda’s eye and drew her gaze upwards as Trelawney’s attention too was pulled towards it; they were standing under a sprig of mistletoe. In fact, the hall was so thus bedecked with them, hidden amidst the white and blue decorations, that it would have been difficult not to have been. Thomas looked down at Amanda, smiling up at him, and felt an unaccountable desire to kiss her. Amanda saw it, and, suddenly, for no apparent reason, hoped he would.

  Trelawney reminded Thomas that before him stood the sole witness in the case he was investigating, and it was his duty to maintain a professional relationship with her. Miss Cadabra reminded Amanda that here was the policeman on the trail of, possibly, her grandmother. The conflict was brief. A tacit agreement on each side was reached.

  Trelawney leaned down and kissed Amanda’s cheek.

  ‘Happy New Year, Miss Cadabra,’ he said.

  Amanda reached up and hugged him. He held her briefly and they released one another.

  ‘Happy New Year, Inspector.’

  Chapter 54

  A Gift, Percy, and Hope

  It was dawn. Trelawney was running along the beach in Parhayle. He slowed to a walk and sat on a rock to watch the sun rise over Cornwall and the inshore fleet of fishing boats heading out. He needed to think, and this was where and when he thought the most clearly.

  This Wicc’Lord his father had spoken of … who could she be? How would she help Amanda in her hour of need? When would the Flamgoynes, those whose blood, for better or for worse, flowed in his veins, strike? And the tantalising promise of a memory to be regained in a holiday cottage, not far away. The memory of the day that his gift was buried deep within him, and, with it, so much of his own record of childhood, and the identity of the spell-weaver, who may have saved his life. And what if that very person turned out to be the murderer of a busload of Cardiubarns sent crashing to their doom at the bottom of a Cornish cliff?

  He resolved to talk to Amanda about this strange shadowy figure whose role stretched back to antiquity. Perhaps together they could find a way to work out who she might be. They were, after all, quite an effective team. Although, Thomas reflected, next time she asks me to accompany her to a derelict building, I’m taking a hard hat!

  ***

  By later that Wednesday morning, it had become cold but sunny with only a breeze, and, consequently, Amanda had decided to give herself some time off and lunch with Tempest at her favourite retreat; up on the ruins of the thousand-year-old Priory. First, however, she had an errand. One last piece of unfinished business. Amanda brought the flat, stiff, gift-wrapped parcel that had arrived in the post under brown paper and string that morning from Aunt Amelia. Even Joan had not been able to deduce what it might be, and Amanda had decided to unwrap it once she was up in her eyrie.

  Tempest installed himself on the back seat of the Astra, and Amanda drove them to the church car park. As she got out, Leo emerged from his car too.

  ‘Hello,’ she said pleasantly.

  ‘Hello, Amanda,’ he replied hesitantly, but with new life in his eyes. ‘I hoped to see you before I went.’

  ‘Went?’

  ‘Yes. I’m going. And I’m leaving everything in the salon. I want the rector to have it, to sell, for the new church hall. It’s the least I can do.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Leo,’ Amanda said sincerely.

  ‘I never meant…’ he began.

  ‘You don’t have to say any more. I take that you are free to go?’

  ‘Yes, no charges. I was fool but not a knave.’ He took a deep breath. ‘So I’m off.’

  Amanda saw a suitcase of the backseat of his car. Leo noticed and explained,

  ‘I’m going to join Mum. I only really stayed here for Donna, and now she’s gone, well … Mum’s getting married … she’s going to live out there, and, maybe, if I can make myself useful, Australia will take me too.’

  ‘I’m happy for you, Leo. I think you’re making a wise decision.’

  He paused. ‘Look … Mum says Australia a wonderful place. Just the place for making a new start. I don’t suppose it’s something that … you’d ever consider …?’

  ‘Sunken Madley is the place for me. But it’s always nice to be asked,’ she answered him warmly.

  Leo nodded. ‘I understand. So, anyway, would you give these papers to the rector for me, please? I’ve seen Erik, made it all legal. And thank her, for the welcome she gave us both. And you too.’

  Amanda held out her hand. ‘No hard feelings.’

  They shook on it. ‘Well,’ he said, his mood lifting. ‘Better be going. Don’t want to miss my plane!’

  Leo got into his car, and she waved him off until he disappeared with the bend of the road.

  Amanda walked back to the rectory calling for Jane.

  ‘Hello, dear.’

  ‘Rector, I’ve got good news,’ said Amanda, waving Leo’s papers.

  Twenty minutes later, Amanda and Tempest entered the crypt.

  Amanda went to sit down next to where she’d last seen the little girl.

  ‘Sophy,’ she called softly. The artificial lamps and all but two of the coffins vanished as the old door to the outside world reappeared. It was open and daylight streamed in. The child materialised next to her, looking timid. ‘It’s Amanda. Remember me?’ Sophy nodded. ‘How would you like to leave here, be with your family and them not be a bit cross with you?’

  ‘It’s impossible,’ said Sophy sadly.

  ‘Well, what if you could say sorry to your friend? Would that make you feel better?’ Amanda asked.

  The child nodded mutely, tears springing to her eyes.

  ‘All right,’ said Amanda kindly. ‘What’s his name? Your friend.’

  Sophie sniffed and managed a barely audible, ‘Percy.’

  ‘Percy Dunkley?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I think, if we both called him he’d come.’

  ‘He’ll be cross with me,’ protested Sophy anxiously.

  ‘I don’t think he will, but even if he is,’ Amanda reassured her, ‘I’ll be right here and I promise that nothing bad will happen to you. All right?’ Sophy nodded. ‘Let’s call him.’

  ‘Percy?’

  ‘Percy Dunkley.’

  He appeared, a boy of about nine years of age, wearing an apron over his clothes. At the sight of Sophy, he gladdened and sat down next to her.

  ‘Hello, Sophy, what are you doing in here?’

  She broke into a tearful and muddled explanation of why she had abandoned him when he had plummeted into the Big Barn party dessert, expressing her deep remorse, interlarded with self-recrimination until Percy interrupted her.

  ‘Don’t be a ninny, Sophy. Of course, I forgive you, if it’s all that important to you, but the fact is that it’s all worked out splendidly.’ She looked at him in amazement. ‘After I fell in the trifle,’ Percy explained, ‘and half of it had gone and it was huge bowlful so no one was that upset and I didn’t hi
t any part of the Christmas pudding, the servants cleaned me up and weren’t going to say anything, but it got back somehow to my father and mother. They were so cross, it took them two days to decide how I was to make up for it. Well, cook’s scullery maid had gone off to get married, so Mama said I was to help cook for a month, because, if was going to destroy dinners, I should jolly well learn how to create them.’

  ‘Oh no!’ commiserated Sophy.

  ‘Papa wasn’t sure because he thought I might pick up low ways, but Mama persuaded him, and I’m glad she did because, Cook is a right one, and I found I had a turn for cooking and baking, and I know what I’m going to be. I’m going to be a hotel owner and serve the best dinners in London! And if you want to, Sophy, you can come and help me.’

  ‘Truly?’ she asked, brightening.

  ‘Truly! But we can’t do it in this draughty crypt, so let’s go, shall we?’

  ‘No one is cross with me?’ she asked cautiously.

  ‘Not a soul,’ promised Percy.

  He got her to her feet and they walked toward the bright rectangle of light that was the door of the crypt.

  Sophy turned, and finally, showed her first smile.

  ‘Thank you, Amanda.’

  ‘Goodbye, Sophy.’

  As the pair reached the portal, Amanda heard Percy ask, ‘So how long were you in the chapel there?’

  ‘Nearly a whole half an hour, I’ll bet,’ said Sophy with feeling.

  Then came the whish of the door closing, and the usual electric glow returned to the crypt.

  Amanda and Tempest climbed the steps that the Victorians had installed when they got tired of clearing the path to the chapel after each storm. At the top of the flight, all was just as usual. However, seemed to Amanda, that her familiar was a trifle put out, as he proceeded with her to the rectory to return the key.

  Of course, thought Amanda. The children had failed to notice him!

  The two of them had barely started up the road toward the priory, when they were intercepted.