The Witching Hour

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The Witching Hour Page 4

by Morgana Best


  Clearly Aunt Beth had prepared for my visit as the cupboards were well stocked, except for one thing. My thorough search revealed only a large jar of instant coffee. I had heard that the English were into hot tea and not too good on the coffee, but it would be a cold day in hell before I would resort to instant coffee. I mean, the stuff should be illegal. I fetched the front door key and headed out the door, hoping to find a corner store with the real thing.

  I took off down the roads that looked more like main roads, and only about four streets away found a small store in between the houses. In amongst all the varieties of instant coffee, I did find one brand of ground coffee. I bought all five packets. My survival instinct had kicked in.

  When I got back to Aunt Beth’s, I charged into the kitchen. The jar of instant coffee was sitting on the kitchen table. I was sure I hadn’t taken it out of the cupboard.

  Then it hit me. There was no coffee machine: no Nespresso, no cappuccino maker, no drip filter, not even a plunger. I had to get the coffee into me somehow, so I put a pot of water on the stove, and added two heaped dessertspoons of coffee. The smell of boiling coffee was heavenly, but looked like a torrid lava pool. I found two strainers, and picked the one with larger holes. After straining it five or so times, the liquid looked more or less acceptable. It tasted okay, although quite gritty and a bit weak.

  While drinking it, I conducted a thorough, yet fruitless, search for garlic to go with my fried vegetables. I figured that Aunt Beth must have consumed garlic by the bucket load judging by the overpowering smell when I’d found her, but not a clove of garlic was to be found.

  I’d only just given up looking and was getting to the end of my second coffee when the doorbell rang. It was so loud and startling that I jerked forward and nearly spilled the remains of my coffee, coffee grits and all.

  I opened the door to a rather handsome man. He looked like Jimmy Thomas, the model on the cover of over fifteen hundred romance novels, except with short hair. He was tall, with broad shoulders, dark eyes that were almost black, and he looked like he had spent most of his life in the gym.

  I became conscious I was staring, and realised to my embarrassment that he had noticed it too.

  He extended his large hand and grasped mine, and covered my hand with his other. “I am so sorry to hear about Beth. She was a dear friend of mine. You must be Misty. She was excited about your visit.”

  I nodded. I was puzzled by his accent. It seemed a mixture of Oxbridge English and Australian, with other tones I could not guess. He also looked familiar, but I surely would have remembered anyone who looked like him.

  “My name is Douglas,” he continued. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  I just stood there looking at him and finally said, “Thanks.”

  He looked at me expectantly, still holding my hand. Was I supposed to invite him in? I supposed so. “Would you like to come in?” I felt quite foolish.

  He dropped my hand, walked past me then turned left into the living room. Clearly he knew his way around Aunt Beth’s house. No sooner had he sat down than Merlin appeared from nowhere. She ran at Douglas, swiped at the bottom of his jeans, hissed loudly, and then turned around and ran off.

  I hurried to apologise. “I’m so, so sorry. She’s my aunt’s cat.”

  Douglas simply said, “That’s okay.”

  “Would you like coffee? Tea?”

  “Yes, black tea, no sugar, please.”

  I was relieved that he didn’t want coffee. My saucepan brew would only be appreciated by the worst of caffeine addicts.

  When I returned with the tea and cookies, Douglas was looking quite at home, sitting back in a huge comfy chair, albeit one covered in a beige floral pattern. It clashed hideously with the faded, floral blue Axminster carpet.

  I opened the heavy drapes and the whole room was suddenly flooded with sunlight. I was absently thinking that the room probably hadn’t seen much sunlight over the years, when a thought occurred to me. “How well did you say you knew my aunt? The funeral is the day after tomorrow.”

  Douglas fidgeted in his seat. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I have a prior engagement that I won’t be able to miss. I did know your aunt well. I’m an antique book collector, and your aunt had a wonderful collection of rare books.”

  I noted he said ‘collector’ not ‘dealer’ and wondered what he did for a living, but figured he might be a Lord or an Earl or something else expensive and privileged, judging by his designer clothes. I tried to collect my thoughts, which the coffee was starting to clear despite the jet lag. “Did my aunt have a heart condition?”

  My handsome guest nodded solemnly. “Yes, quite a serious one. Didn’t you know?”

  I shook my head and asked another question. “Did my aunt have many rare books?”

  Douglas rubbed his chin, and looked around the room before answering. “Yes, indeed. She recently decided to donate several rare books to museums. It was her failing health, you see.”

  I nodded. “I saw the newspaper clipping about the rare book she donated to some library in Cambridge, I think it was.”

  “Oh yes, the Cambridge University Library. They have a wonderful collection of rare and antiquarian books. Such a shame about that book. Beth told me she thought she had given it to them intact, but then they called her and said it was missing a page. She was most upset about that. Beth searched through her husband’s notes, everywhere, but couldn’t find the page.”

  Douglas stood and walked over to the window. “Old Edgar was eccentric,” he continued, “and Beth was worried that he might have taken out the page for further study. He used to read up on Arthur Edward Waite according to Beth, and had a collection of notes on arcane symbols. Beth told me that he would’ve put the page somewhere safe, but she couldn’t think where. I think that contributed to her death, as she was more worried about it day by day. If you find it, please let me know immediately.” He fetched a card from his pocket and held it out to me.

  “Yes, I will, but if Aunt Beth couldn’t find it, I doubt I will be able to find anything.” I stood up and walked over to take the card. It was black with gold calligraphy, simply stating his name. I had no idea how I was supposed to contact him. I was about to remark on this, when I noticed he was staring out the window. I looked too. The street was full of cars, but I couldn’t make out anything interesting. I turned to Douglas.

  Douglas walked back to his seat and sat down. “Your aunt’s eyesight was failing, and often she would tell me she couldn’t find something when it was on the table right in front of her.” His tone was dismissive.

  Still, something about his manner made me uneasy. Although he acted relaxed, there was clearly an underlying tension. Something didn’t quite add up. “I can have a look around at nights as I’ll be out most days working.”

  “You’re working?” He raised one black eyebrow and focused his entire attention on me.

  “Yes, but not officially. Don’t tell the British government!” I smiled. “I’m a journalist and have to do lot of stories while I’m here.”

  “What kind of stories?”

  I was hoping he wouldn’t ask. I always dreaded that question at parties. People generally have a low opinion of the level of journalism in paranormal magazines. “I have to do articles on the Hellfire Caves, and,” I hesitated, “other paranormal spots in the area.”

  He didn’t seem the slightest bit surprised. “How do you expect to get there?”

  “Aunt Beth’s car. I got an International Licence before I left Australia.”

  Douglas leant forward from the comfort of his chair. “Misty, that car doesn’t go. Beth hasn’t driven it for years. I have some free time over the next fortnight or so. Please allow me to drive you around and be your tour guide. I know the Hellfire Caves well and lots of other such sites.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t impose,” I blurted unwisely, before realising that this was my only real option unless I went to the huge expense of hiring a car. Aunt Beth had offered me her
car to drive. I had no idea she had been wrong about its working state. Still, he could be wrong, so I made mental note to check it out.

  “I insist,” Douglas said, leaning forward and clasping my hand in his, yet again. “It’s the least I can do for Beth.”

  I smiled.

  Douglas took my smile as agreement. “Well then, when would you like to start?”

  I shrugged and tried to think. “When would suit you? I’m free to go whenever you are.”

  Douglas looked relaxed for the first time since I had met him. “Is this afternoon too soon?”

  I nodded. “Sounds perfect. I need to make a start.”

  Douglas stood up and walked over to the window again. He looked out before turning to me. “Where would you like to go first?”

  I tried to make a decision despite the throbbing in my temples, warning of a headache to come. “Well, most of my articles will be on sites in the West Wycombe area, but my editor wants me to do an article on the Green Man of Fingest. I’d like to do that one first to get it out of the way, to leave me to concentrate on the others. Do you know where Fingest is? It’s in Buckinghamshire.”

  Douglas laughed. “Not only do I know where Fingest is, I have some information for you, and you’ll love it! How about I come for you at one?”

  After he left, I called the Flowermead Medical Clinic again, this time to ask if Aunt Beth had a heart condition, but the receptionist informed me that she was not allowed to give out such information, even after Aunt Beth’s death and even to relatives.

  Not long after lunch, there was knock on the door and I thought Douglas had returned earlier than planned.

  I opened the door. There, resplendent all in red, was Aunty June.

  Chapter 5

  “What are you doing here?” I shrieked. “I thought you couldn’t come to England?”

  “I heard about your Aunt Beth,” Aunty June said as she pushed past me into the house. “I didn’t think it was safe for you to be here by yourself.”

  “I’m really excited that you’re here.” I looked out the door. “Where’s your luggage?”

  “I’m staying at a motel in High Wycombe. I don’t want to interfere. I just want to make sure you’re all right.” She pulled a bottle of Moscato from her sizeable handbag. “You can bring me up to speed over a bottle of wine.”

  “I’d make you some coffee, but there’s a coffee deficiency around here,” I said.

  Aunty June slapped herself on her head. “How silly of me! I always get muddle-headed after a long flight. I left the coffee in the hire car.”

  She hurried out the door and soon returned with two steaming polystyrene mugs. “It’s just the way you like it,” she said as she handed one to me.

  I beamed at her. “I’m so pleased to see you, Aunty June. Did you really come over all the way from Australia?”

  “Of course I did,” she said. “I’m here, aren’t I? I left the second I heard. Now fill me in.”

  I did just that. “And the police said Aunt Beth died of natural causes,” I concluded.

  Aunty June stopped sipping wine for a moment. “Pish posh,” she said with a wave of her hand. “That’s utter nonsense. We both know she was murdered.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I know so,” Aunty June said. “Although I must say, I’m surprised your aunt let her guard down and left herself open to being murdered.”

  I thought that rather a strange thing to say. “Who told you about Aunt Beth?”

  She waved her hand at me again. “I can’t remember. I suppose it’s the jet lag.”

  “And how did you get here so quickly? The flight takes at least twenty-two hours and then there’s the commuting time to and from the airports.”

  Aunty June shrugged. “We had a tail wind. Now, this Douglas person. What does he look like?”

  I had already described him, but I described him again. “And he’ll be here any minute. He’s driving me to Fingest.”

  Aunty June tapped her chin slowly with one finger. “Is he, indeed! I would like to know his agenda.”

  “He said he was a friend of Aunt’s Beth.”

  “And he’s looking for a missing page,” Aunty June added. “If you find that page, Misty, do not show it to anyone.”

  “Are you sure you can’t stay here in the house with me?”

  Aunty June shook her head. “No, I don’t want to interfere.”

  “Interfere? Do you mean intrude? You wouldn’t be intruding, because I’m here by myself in a strange country. I don’t know anyone.”

  “But you know me,” Aunty June pointed out. “And you say this Douglas will be along in a minute? Good. I’d like to meet him.”

  At that moment, there was a knock on the door. I left Aunty June in the kitchen and walked to the door. As I opened it, I said, “My aunt is in the kitchen.”

  Douglas could not have looked more shocked. Both his hands flew to his throat. “Your aunt? Did you bring her body back here?”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or to be shocked. “Of course not!” I exclaimed. “I’m talking about Aunty June. She wasn’t related to Aunt Beth.” Aunty June wasn’t even related to me, but I didn’t tell Douglas that. “She heard about Aunt Beth passing away so she flew out from Australia.”

  Douglas looked quite put out. “So will she be staying with you here?” he asked me, his eyes narrowed.

  I shook my head. “No, she’s staying in a motel. Is it okay if she goes with us to Fingest?”

  Douglas hesitated and for a moment I was certain he would say Aunty June could not accompany us. After what seemed an age he finally said, “Sure. That will be fine.” However, his tone showed he thought it would be anything but fine.

  I led Douglas into the kitchen where I made the introductions. Both of them appeared wary of each other. They looked like two angry wombats circling each other, wondering when the other would make the first strike.

  “Douglas says it’s fine if you come with us to Fingest,” I said to Aunty June.

  Soon, Douglas, Aunty June, and I were on a narrow road speeding on our way in a deep blue Bentley turbo. I had no idea that English roads were so narrow, or that the gorgeous and green countryside was so vast. Australia is the same size as mainland USA, and I had always been under the impression that England was small and cramped. To my growing surprise, mile after mile of rolling fields gave lie to this assumption.

  Douglas handed me a photocopied page, on the top of which someone had noted in blue pen, Handbook to the Cathedrals of England, original edition, John Murray, Albemarle Street, London, 1862.

  It was about a bishop at Tinghurst stealing the land of his neighbours. “I don’t get it. What does this have to do with Fingest?”

  Douglas turned and flashed a smile at me. I had always thought flashing a smile to be a very silly expression, but when Douglas did it, it made perfect sense. He looked like a toothpaste commercial, sparkles and all. He must have spent a fortune on tooth whitening at the dentist. I made a mental note to see if he could frown.

  Douglas took a corner too quickly, causing Aunty June to shriek, “Slow down, young man!”

  Douglas smiled before speaking. “Tinghurst is the old Saxon name for Fingest. Christian influence has turned the pagan Green Man into the ghost of Bishop Burghersh.”

  I’d heard about the Green Man. I was still a little embarrassed about admitting to Douglas that I was a paranormal journalist. “Oh yes, the pagan Green Man. I did an article on him for the magazine. I collected a lot of images for the article, too. Most of the carvings showed him as a head with leaves growing from his face and hair and sometimes from his mouth. Two or three of them even depicted him with antlers. Seems he was everywhere in ancient times.”

  Douglas swerved to miss a truck that was a little too wide for the narrow English road. “Quite so, and today many pagans know him as the Horned God. Gerald Garner, who was the father of modern Wicca, said the Horned God is the intermediary between a supreme being
and people.”

  “You’re full of facts.”

  He smiled again. “I hope I wasn’t boring you.”

  “It’s fascinating,” I lied.

  Aunty June leant over from the back seat. “But what does this have to do with Bishop Whatsit?”

  “The Bishop took over three hundred acres of common land for his own use, and as you’d expect, this caused hardship for the community. After he died, the Bishop’s ghost appeared to one of his friends.” Douglas stopped speaking when I laughed. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “He couldn’t have appeared as a ghost before he died, could he?”

  Aunty June laughed too. Douglas murmured a response, but I did not hear what it was. I had just spotted a faded green sign, Mr Boggin’s Book Emporium, in a row of tiny shops. The strange man back on the island had told me there were stores all over the world. He also said I would receive help there. I looked around for an address, planning to visit at the first opportunity. Maybe they would know something about the missing book.

  Just then, we turned right into a lane and pulled up outside the church at Fingest. Douglas said, “Long story short, the ghost wasn’t dressed in his bishop’s clothes but was wearing a short coat of Lincoln green, carrying a bow and arrows and sporting a horn around his neck. The ghost reported that he was condemned to wander around until the lands were restored to their former owners. The local papers are always full of sightings of the Green Man.”

  I hopped out of the car and looked around for ghosts. To my disappointment, the scenery looked completely normal and not spooky in the slightest. “Where do they see him?”

  Douglas pointed to the church and then swept his arm outwards. “He’s said to walk between the church and the site of the old manor house in that direction.”

 

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