by Nancy Warren
Time slowed. I could hear the hawk screech, but I’d be dead before it landed. I shut my eyes. Crack crack crack. The shotgun went off.
I waited for the burst of pain, for death. But wait, I was still here. I opened my eyes, and there was Arthur in a crumpled heap on the grass.
“Agh,” he cried, grabbing at his butt.
What on earth? What just happened?
“Poppy. You all right?”
Benedict! He was holding a shotgun and ran forward, kicking the gamekeeper’s gun out of reach.
I shook my head in disbelief. “You shot him?”
“In the backside. He’ll be well enough to stand trial for attempted murder.”
Benedict came towards me, his face softened by concern. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.
I looked at his shotgun, still stunned. “I thought you hated guns.”
Benedict looked surprised. “I do hate them. But I still know how to shoot.”
“Thank you,” I said quietly, looking into his eyes. They were a soft brown color, gentle and full of concern. “You saved my life.”
The gamekeeper was groaning and cursing.
“Blast, I haven’t got my mobile on me. Have you?”
But of course, I’d left mine back at the inn.
“Hello, hello? Everyone okay?”
Benedict and I turned at the same time. It was Martin, the security guard, out on the prowl. I’d managed to bump into him twice this weekend, but where was he when some serious security was actually needed?
Martin looked amazed. “I heard shooting.” He stopped. “Is he?”
“Very much alive,” Benedict replied. “And very much the man who just tried to shoot Poppy.”
“And the man who murdered Marlene,” I added.
Benedict spun back to me. “He is?”
I nodded grimly. “I’ll tell you everything after this maniac has been arrested. And we need to call a doctor.”
“I need an ambulance,” Arthur groaned.
“Not for you. For your dad.” I turned to Benedict once more. “Mitty has been locked up at the gamekeeper’s cottage, and he looks bad.”
“That’s terrible,” Benedict said. Addressing Martin, Benedict’s haughty voice returned, “Perhaps you could do something useful for a change and call the police.” He glanced at the man writhing on the ground. “And an ambulance.”
Martin’s eyes lit up. “Of course, of course.” He began to pat down his many pockets, looking for a phone.
Benedict rolled his eyes and, despite everything, I let out a snort of inappropriate laughter. Stress, no doubt.
“Truth is, I want to join the police, but all I’ve been able to get is security work,” Martin said, dialing 999. “I can’t wait to speak to a real detective.”
So that explained why Martin was always prowling around Broomewode, too far from the baking tent to actually be of any use. And it must be why he really got into it with Marlene, too. He just wanted to assert his authority. Show that he had it in him to enforce the law.
“Tell me what happened,” Benedict asked. “Mitty was like a second father to me. He’s the one who taught me to shoot.”
And thank you, Mitty.
“Turns out that Arthur here got himself into some financial trouble and took his father out of the expensive home your family have been paying for and pocketed the cash himself.”
“You’re joking.”
“I wish. I was with Marlene the day she died. We were chatting in the pub, and she got talking about Mitty—how Arthur wasn’t half the man his father was. She left the pub wanting to visit her old friend. And then the next thing you know, she’s dead. I found out which town Mitty had moved to but not the name of the home. I wanted to pay him a visit, see what he and Marlene talked about before she died. But Mitty wasn’t in a home. I had Eve call round them while I was baking this morning. Nothing. No one by that name was registered. So I headed to the cottage to get some answers from Arthur. And that’s when I found Mitty.”
“The cheek of it. My parents have been paying through the teeth for that home.”
“It was awful, Benedict. He was locked in a room with the TV blaring and all the curtains closed so no one would know that he was there. It smelled terrible, that unwashed fetid smell. Arthur was taking him food, but that was the extent of the care.”
“I can’t believe it,” Benedict said sadly.
“I think Arthur felt like he could never be the man his father was. He had dreams of setting up his own hunting business, but it went wrong. He lost all his money.”
“The police and the ambulance are on their way,” Martin announced. “I’ll wait for the detectives here. Sir, could you help escort the paramedics to the cottage? It can be hard to find.”
Benedict nodded and then turned to me. “Will you head back to the inn? I don’t want anything else happening to you.”
I looked up at the sky and saw the hawk circling. “I have a feeling I’ll be safe now.”
Chapter 20
“Where have you been?” Hamish cried as I walked back into the pub.
The whole group stopped talking and stared. I didn’t want this attention. I just wanted a hot bath and to forget about the events of the last few hours. But now that everyone was looking at me, I’d have to explain where I’d just disappeared off to. Again.
To my surprise, Florence came to my rescue. “Let the poor girl sit down first,” she said, patting the space on the bench next to her. “Scooch, scooch. Poppy looks like she could do with a drink.”
I obeyed Florence, grateful for her kindness, and accepted the glass of prosecco. I let myself enjoy the crisp bubbles.
“I’ll fill you in on our gossip first,” she said with authority. “And then you can spill the beans on whatever you’ve been up to.”
I nodded, half afraid of what her gossip might be. I hoped it was something nice, like Gaurav had another date.
“Our dear friend Amara is leaving us,” Florence announced with a flourish.
“What?” I said. “But Daniel was voted out.”
“I know,” Amara said quietly. “But I had a call from my husband a few minutes ago. My mother is ill. I’ll have to fly back to India to look after her. I don’t want any other doctor having her care. I’ve already spoken to the producers. I will miss you all.”
I felt my mouth drop open. “I’m so sorry. I hope she’ll be better soon.”
“Thank you, Poppy.” She sighed. “I was only waiting for you so I could say goodbye. I must be off.”
And now, with two people leaving, the competition was going to be harder than ever.
“I’m so sad to see you go,” I said. “You’re a wonderful baker.”
She stood, and we all hugged her, and then she headed out of the inn, dragging her weekender bag behind her.
Florence swiveled in my direction and told me that I wasn’t off the hook yet.
I swallowed another sip—okay, it was a gulp—of prosecco and told the group what had happened at the gamekeeper’s cottage, keeping my description as brief as I could. I didn’t want to permanently sour the mood. This evening should be about celebration.
Everyone was silent as I recounted my run-in with Arthur. I left out the details of Mitty’s sad room. No one needed to hear that sorry tale.
As my story came to a close, Edward, the gardener, came into the pub. He waved at me, and I gestured that he should join us. Florence immediately perked up and tossed her hair over her shoulders. “Sorry, Flo,” I whispered. “He’s been spending time with Lauren, the bride-to-be who was here last week.”
“Hmph,” Florence muttered. “So she ensnared him good and proper. Fair play to her, fair play.”
Edward pulled up a seat. “I’ve just come from the manor house,” he said. “What a day you’ve had.”
I nodded grimly. What could I say? It had been awful, and I was glad to see the back of Arthur. Or, more accurately, his crumpled form, clutching his butt in pain. I still couldn�
��t get over Benedict saving me like that. But if I’d learned anything over the past few weeks, it was that anything was possible. People and ghosts were full of surprises. We never stopped growing.
“They’ve taken Mitty to the hospital to be checked over, but the paramedics said he looked in good shape, considering,” Edward said. “I thought you’d want to know.”
“What a relief,” I said, thanking Edward for coming to tell me.
“Arthur was taken to the hospital, too, but in handcuffs.” Edward shook his head. “I hope they lock Arthur up and throw away the key. No one should treat their father that way. Benedict’s talked the earl into giving Mitty one of the smaller cottages when the hospital releases him, and Katie Donegal will do the cooking for him until he’s well enough to decide where he wants to go. Or perhaps he’ll stay at Broomewode. It was his home for all of his life, after all.”
“Good.” I remembered how sure I’d been that the earl had murdered Marlene and had a flash of embarrassment. But he had acted suspiciously.
“At least we’re shot of Arthur.” Edward paused and looked at me. “Sorry, poor word choice. He won’t be back in Broomewode for a very long time. And Arthur’s son wants nothing to do with Broomewode or the job, especially now his dad’s a killer.”
“I guess there’s a job opening then,” I said. “Whoever takes the role, I hope they respect the land and its wildlife more.”
At this, Hamish nodded passionately. “The land here is ancient, and it needs local knowledge and a good heart to take care of it properly.”
Edward grinned. “I was hoping my good heart might be worthy.”
Hamish raised his glass. “I think you’d be a grand gamekeeper.”
I agreed. “And that way you can keep an eye on the hawk for me. He came to my rescue today, you know. They’re very intelligent creatures.”
He looked perturbed, then said, “I’ve made the earl promise he won’t go out at night anymore trying to kill night hunting predators.”
“I’m very happy to hear it.” That must be why he’d been acting so suspicious. He hadn’t murdered Marlene, but he’d been breaking the law in a different way. I was delighted Edward was making him stop his illegal hunting, and very much hoped he’d be a much better gamekeeper than his predecessor.
Maggie, Daniel and Florence said they’d have to be going, and there was a tearful farewell as we said goodbye and good luck.
In the middle of the hugs and well-wishes, Benedict appeared and stood at the bar. I detached myself from an embrace with Maggie, telling her to enjoy her week and that I’d see her next weekend, and approached the bar.
“How are you feeling, Poppy? I was worried, but you look absolutely fine, of course. You seem to take everything in your stride.”
I laughed. “It might look that way, but there’s a lot going on under the surface.”
Yeah, like witchcraft and mysterious birth parents and a few ghosts…
“Like a swan,” Benedict said, smiling.
“Exactly,” I said, thinking of the serene creatures who glided across the lake at Broomewode Hall. “But perhaps less graceful.”
“Well, you certainly handled having a gun pointed at you gracefully.”
“About that,” I said. “I owe you a thank-you. A proper one. For saving my life. Who knows what might have happened if you hadn’t come along?”
Benedict shrugged as if it was nothing, but he flushed with pleasure, and his brown eyes sparkled. “I feel that the two of us may have got off on the wrong foot. Do you think we could be friends?”
I was so shocked by Benedict’s earnest question that I almost burst out laughing. Luckily, I gathered myself quickly and stuck out my hand. “I think any man who saves my life is definitely on my friends’ list.”
Benedict grinned and shook my hand. “Friends,” he said.
“Friends.”
For the first time all day, I smiled wholeheartedly.
Thanks for reading Poppy’s latest adventure in competition baking, and murder. Don’t miss Crumbs and Misdemeanors as the mayhem continues during bread week.
And turn the page for a delicious recipe.
Poppy’s Strawberry and Basil Layer Cake
Basil Cream:
As you know, I was short of time for this challenge, so I’d recommend making the basil cream the night before, or at least five hours before you start baking. The four-hour time limit only just didn’t cut it for me. I don’t want you to have any touch-and-go moments! All in all, you’ll probably need to have about five and a half hours to make the whole cake. It’s a long time, I know, but it’s well worth it. Preparation, preparation, preparation!
Ingredients:
6 3/4 cups cold heavy cream
60 large basil leaves
Method:
Bring 1 1/2 cups cream to a gentle simmer in a small saucepan over medium heat. And when I say gentle, I mean gentle—we don’t want any tears of spilt cream before we even really get started.
Bruise large basil leaves by hitting repeatedly with the dull side of a knife (think of your archenemy here and have the same cathartic experience as I did) and then stir the bruised leaves into the cream.
Remove from heat, cover tightly with plastic wrap, and let the mixture steep for 25 minutes. Strain through a fine sieve, pressing solids to extract liquid, and then place it into a fridge (or blast chiller if you’re short of time and have one nearby!) until the mix is very cold. For most people, this will be at least five hours.
Sponge and Macerated Strawberries
Ingredients:
2 sticks unsalted butter, room temperature, plus more for pans
3 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for pans
2 1/4 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
Coarse salt
1 3/4 cups granulated sugar
4 large eggs, room temperature
1 1/3 cups low-fat buttermilk, room temperature
1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract
4 1/2 cups sliced strawberries (1 pound 4 ounces)
1 cup of small (or gently torn) basil leaves
3 tablespoons confectioners’ sugar
Method
Make sure to preheat your oven to 350 degrees, and level your rack so that it sits in center position.
Butter two 9-inch round cake pans and then line with parchment cut to fit exactly—we don’t want any misshapen sides. Presentation is everything with this cake. Then butter your parchment and dust it with flour, tapping out the excess.
Whisk together your flour, baking powder, baking soda, and 1 teaspoon salt.
Beat butter and granulated sugar with a mixer on medium-high speed until pale and fluffy, scraping down sides of bowl as needed, for about 2 minutes. When this is done, reduce your speed to medium, and then add your eggs 1 at a time, making sure to beat them in well each time.
Beat in part of your flour mixture, alternating with buttermilk, but make sure you begin and end with the flour. Then add the vanilla until everything is combined.
Divide the batter evenly between pans—be careful here as you want your sponges to come out at exactly the same height.
Place them in the oven, wishing them well, of course, and then rotate the tins halfway through, until tops spring back when gently touched and a cake tester inserted into centers comes out clean. This should take about 40 minutes, but keep on an eye on it, especially for the last five minutes of baking.
Transfer your tins to wire racks, and let sponges cool in their tins for 20 minutes.
Meanwhile, make the macerated strawberries by combining them with the remaining 1/4 cup sugar, plus more if needed, depending on how sweet your strawberries are already, or how sweet your tooth is! Stir occasionally and leave them for at least 20 minutes and up to an hour if you have the time.
Once the cakes are cooled, run a knife around their edges, turn them out onto separate plates and make sure they have time to cool down completely.
Wh
ile the cakes are cooling, get your basil cream infusion, and using a mixer, whisk the basil cream with the confectioners’ sugar in the chilled bowl on a high speed until soft peaks form.
Very, very gently add the macerated strawberries, making sure you keep back a handful of berries and all of the juices to drizzle over the top of the cake. Add a few more small (or torn) basil leaves to the cream.
Now layer each sponge cake with the basil mix.
Use the remainder of the basil cream to spoon over the top of the cake and pile the macerated strawberries on top.
Bon appétit!
A Note from Nancy
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading The Great Witches Baking Show series. I am so grateful for all the enthusiasm this series has received. I have more stories about Poppy planned for the future.
I hope you’ll consider leaving a review and please tell your friends who like cozy mysteries and culinary adventures.
Review on Amazon, Goodreads or BookBub. It makes such a difference.
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Until next time,
Happy Reading,
Nancy
Blood, Sweat and Tiers: The Great Witches Baking Show book 5
Copyright © 2021 by Nancy Warren
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