‘Thank you, I would like to say it’s all in a day’s work but...’ he smiled ruefully then looked up quickly as a waitress appeared at their side carrying a tray.
‘Is that for us?’ Queenie asked hopefully, eyeing the plates of food.
‘Yes, I forgot to mention I ordered some baguettes. I thought you might be hungry.’
She licked her lips as the plates were placed on the table. Crusty ham filled baguettes jostled with fresh green salad and chunky fries. ‘I’m so hungry I could eat a horse,’ she declared.
‘Ham and cheese,’ said the waitress. ‘Horse is only available on Tuesdays.
‘Whatever it is, it looks delicious,’ said Queenie and picked up a knife and fork.
‘Is there anything else I could get you?’
‘I think we could do with some coffee,’ suggested Paul, stealing a quick look at Sybil. Her cheeks had turned bright pink and she was smiling sleepily across the table at him.
‘You’re such a nice young man,’ she murmured and reached for her still half full whiskey glass.
‘No, I think that’s enough dear,’ said Queenie quickly and slid the glass out of her reach.
‘Oh Queenie!’
‘No Sybil, have something to eat instead. I can’t cope with you being silly for the rest of the day.’
‘I’m not silly!’ retorted Sybil indignantly. ‘I may be a jellyfish,’ she declared, wagging a finger at her sister, ‘but I’m not stupid!’
‘I didn’t say you were stupid.’
Sybil chuckled and tapped the side of her nose. ‘No and I know why those hounds were defeated!’ She pointed at Paul. ‘He did something to that big old car of his!’ she crowed.
‘Yes Sybil, well done,’ Queenie said patiently and stole a glance at Paul’s embarrassed face.
‘How did she guess?’
‘It was obvious Paul; the black hounds are phantoms so supernatural forces must have been in play to defeat them.’ She cocked her head on one side and grinned mischievously. ’You blessed the car, didn’t you?’
He nodded looking a bit shamefaced. ‘Yes and I also sprinkled it with Holy Water.’
Sybil clapped her hands and said gleefully, ‘I told you! I told you he did something to it! Clever Paul.’ The colour suddenly drained from her face and her smile faded, clapping a hand to her mouth she said plaintively. ‘Oh dear, I don’t feel so well.’
Her sister briefly rolled her eyes before lumbering to her feet. ‘Come along dear,’ Queenie said hauling Sybil to her feet. ‘Let’s find the ladies toilet, shall we?’ As she led Sybil away she glanced over her shoulder at Paul. ‘So for future reference Paul, no alcohol for Sybil!’
He nodded ruefully. ‘I’ll remember Queenie.’
The sun was still shining as they exited the pub; trickling streams of water were flowing down the hill as the snow continued to melt in the gentle sunshine.
Sybil winced in the bright light and clung to Paul’s arm as he led her across the slippery car park to the land rover.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she mumbled as he helped her into the back seat.
He tucked a blanket around her and as an afterthought handed her a plastic bag. ‘Just in case.’
She nodded gratefully, clutching it in one hand. ‘Thanks Paul.’ She closed her eyes and let her head loll back against the seat then opened one eye as her sister clambered into the front seat. ‘Why didn’t you stop me, Queenie?’
‘I tried,’ she replied cheerfully, ‘but you wouldn’t listen.’
‘It’s my fault Sybil,’ offered Paul. ‘I shouldn’t have encouraged you.’ He reached in and adjusted the blanket over her knees, ‘but you’ll be fine. We’ll get going and you’ll be home before you know it.’
Closing her eyes Sybil nodded and huddled deeper beneath the fleecy blanket. ‘It’s been quite a day,’ she sighed.
‘Sure has,’ Paul agreed, gently closing the door.
It was as he had predicted the main road from Bridport had cleared and a steady stream of cars were travelling both ways along the A35.
He waited for a break in the flow of traffic then slowly eased out onto the slushy surface and smiled to himself. ‘As I said, the main road would be the better bet for getting home.’
Deep banks of snow lay on either side, the rolling hills beyond were blindingly white in the sunshine, to the right a glimpse of the sea in the distance showed it to be grey but calm.
The traffic was moving steadily albeit slowly but Paul and the sisters were quite content to fall in behind the queue of traffic.
‘As long as we get home before it’s dark,’ he said cheerfully, ‘that will be okay.’
‘And hopefully without any more interference from you know who,’ muttered Queenie.
Sybil groaned from the back seat. ‘I hope not, I can’t cope with anymore today.’
‘You won’t have to dear, just have a nap until we get home.’
Queenie turned back to face the road. ‘We’ll be passing the stones in a few minutes,’ she said quietly leaning closer to Paul. ‘I’ll point them out as we go past.’
He nodded. ‘I think I know where they are.’
They topped the last hill and looked down on the small village of Winterbourne Abbas. A small copse lay to the right of the road and as they neared the trees Queenie pointed. ‘There.’
The Nine Stones, irregular in size, were enclosed behind an old fence and overshadowed by the huge trees that surrounded the site.
Paul slowed the car to a crawl and gazed across at the unassuming circle. Hardly visible from the road, a small path led to the opening in the fence.
‘Is that it?’ he asked in surprise then looked away as an impatient driver behind sounded his horn.
‘Yes,’ she replied.
‘Not very grand,’ he added, pulling away. ‘I was expecting something...oh I don’t know, a bit more impressive, like Stonehenge.’
Queenie chuckled. ‘You would have taken more notice if it was. But all the same it still has significance; it’s visited regularly by pagans and witches even now.’
A mile past the last house in the village was the small road they had taken earlier leading across the hill towards Eggardon; their vehicle tracks were still evident in the deep snow.
‘It looks like we were the only ones reckless enough to take that road,’ he said ruefully, glancing across at Queenie’s tired face.
‘We made it across, that’s all that matters,’ she said, stifling a yawn.
A few bars of Amazing Grace made her start and she looked across at Paul as he fumbled in his coat pocket. He momentarily withdrew his eyes from the road and looked at the caller’s ID.
‘It’s Archie,’ he said. ‘Here, you speak to him,’ and handed Queenie the mobile.
She took it reluctantly and stared helplessly at it. ‘What do I do with this?’
‘Let me do it,’ a sleepy voice came from the back seat and a hand appeared over Queenie’s shoulder. ‘That’s one thing I can do, at least,’ she said. ‘Hello Archie, it’s Sybil. Yes we are all fine,’ she paused momentarily and smiled slyly, ‘Queenie is fine.’
‘What is he asking that for? Queenie spluttered. ‘Just ask him if he has found anything useful!’
‘He says he has,’ confirmed Sybil. ‘Okay,’ she said addressing Archie. ‘Yes we won’t be long; we are just a few miles outside the town. Right, see you in about fifteen minutes.’ She ended the call and passed the mobile to the front of the car. ‘He’s found quite a few references to a Nicholas Spicer and he’s going to meet us back at the Vicarage.’
‘That’s good news.’ Paul said in relief. ‘I knew he would be able to help.’
The sun was just beginning to dip below the rooftops as they turned into the Vicarage; the last warm rays lighting up the front of the house and the snowman that had appeared by the front door.
Lights burned brightly in all the rooms and Paul could see his daughters gathered in front of the television, they glanced up as the vehicle drew to a halt.
Paul waved to them as they ran to the window.
‘Looks like the girls have been enjoying the snow,’ he said.
Queenie yawned and unclipped the seat belt. ‘I’m glad, they seem happy enough and it looks like they have forgotten about the doll.’
‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘As soon as it left the house they were fine and they haven’t mentioned it since.’
‘Its influence has gone from your home so let’s keep it that way.’
A battered Renault was pulled in tight behind Victoria’s car.
‘That’s Archie’s,’ Paul said.
‘Already? He didn’t waste any time,’ Queenie said caustically.
‘He only lives a few streets away.’
‘So why did he drive? We have been out battling against the elements and he can’t even manage to walk a few hundred yards!’
‘You are being very unfair to Archie,’ remonstrated her sister. ‘It was your idea to go out in this weather.’
‘I know,’ she replied impatiently then suddenly smiled, ‘but it was worth it, especially as we got the better of Tamar.’
So it was a cheerful Queenie that greeted Archie as he opened the front door.
‘At last,’ he said, looking directly at Queenie. ‘I was getting worried.’
‘Why?’ she asked genially. ‘It’s just snow.’
Paul snorted as he helped Sybil into the house. ‘Just snow!’ he repeated. ‘It was pretty bad,’ he informed Archie. ‘We only just got through.’
‘Oh piffle,’ she said bluntly, struggling out of her coat. ‘With that tractor of yours it was easy.’ She smoothed the front of her jumper and raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘Well?’ she asked, looking at the old man. ‘Did you find anything?’
‘Yes indeed I did,’ he said and gestured towards the study. ‘I have a lot of notes ready for you and I have found some possible suspects.’
A pile of paper lay ready for them on the desk. On top was a large piece of white card, covered in brightly coloured lines linked by scribbled dates and what looked like a list of names.
‘What is all this?’ Queenie asked in disbelief as she peered at the brightly coloured graph.
‘It’s a sort of time map; I divided the area into centuries and l then found any Nicholas Spicer that belonged to that time frame and wrote it in. I have discounted quite a few but there are several that I think may be possible which I have underlined.’
‘You think? And how would you know who the right one is?’ she said, picking up the piece of card and staring at it with a raised eyebrow.
‘I’m doing what you would do, Queenie, making an educated guess,’ he replied with a slight smile.
She snorted and dropped it back onto the desk. ‘Well, I am sure my guesses will be more educated than yours!’
‘I’m sure you are right.’ He gathered up the card and notes and neatly stacked them in the middle of the desk. ‘But we have to start somewhere.’
‘Very true,’ sighed Sybil as she tottered past heading for the sofa. She lowered herself carefully onto the soft cushions and sat back, pressing a hand to her forehead.
‘Are you okay Sybil?’ he asked, looking at her pale face.
‘She’s fine,’ a clipped voice came from his side. ‘Well, nothing that a strong cup of coffee won’t sort out.’
He gave her an impatient look before hurrying over to the sofa. ‘What happened?’
‘A double whiskey happened,’ she moaned.
‘Oh I see,’ he raised his head and stared across the room at Queenie who was smirking. ‘You went to a pub?’ he asked her incredulously.
‘We were in dire need of refreshment.’
His lips tightened and a look of disapproval crossed his face.
‘Oh... lighten up, old man,’ she snapped. ‘You weren’t there; if you had been you would have been knocking back a whiskey as well!’
‘I’m as guilty as Queenie and Sybil,’ admitted Paul calmly. ‘We all needed something after our encounter with Tamar, and other things,’ he added thoughtfully.
‘Tamar?’
‘A colleague of Queenies.’
‘She’s nothing to do with me,’ she protested and stalked across the room to stare down at her drowsy sister. ‘She just happens to be in the same line of business as myself and Sybil.’
‘I see...another witch?’ asked Archie lightly.
‘That’s right.’
He smiled at Queenie’s belligerent expression then turned his attention to Paul who was carrying four mugs of coffee. ‘And what was this witch like?’
‘Terrifying!’ Paul said feelingly. ‘It was an experience I never want again.’ He handed Queenie a mug then gently nudged a dozing Sybil. ‘Here,’ he said, holding out the cup. ‘Drink this; it will make you feel better.’
She opened one eye. ‘Thank you.’
‘So what did you find?’ he asked Archie, offering him a mug.
‘I was just explaining to Queenie,’ said Archie. ‘There are a few possible contenders.’ He hurried over to the desk and picked up his notes. ‘I have copies of various documents, birth and death registers, anything I could find that might be relevant.’ He carried the piles back to the sofa and showed Paul the multi coloured graph. ‘I have made this so I could keep track of each Spicer.’
‘That looks very efficient,’ Paul said weakly, looking at all the interconnecting lines of names and dates. ‘And how does it work?’
Archie quickly put his coffee down on the hearth and spread the notes on the floor in front of the sofa. ‘First,’ he said, pointing to one of the lines, ‘I started researching the Spicers from the nineteenth century, No real clues there so I put a line through that section. Then I looked up the eighteenth century,’ he said pointing to the second coloured line, ‘there are four that I thought might be right so I have underlined them but,’ he said looking excited, ‘I think I’ve found the right Nicholas Spicer in the seventeenth century. Initially there were two; the second was a young boy of ten who died so I have crossed him off as well.’ He smiled at Queenie. ‘If I remember correctly you said the killing curse wasn’t effective, so I think we can assume the boy’s death was natural.’
‘Yes,’ Queenie said firmly. ‘That poppet wasn’t intended for a child; nobody could hate a child with such venom.’
‘Then that leaves the Nicholas Spicer who was a Dorchester Town Bailiff in 1613, and I can be exact about that,’ he said, as he leant forward and rummaged through his pile of notes, ‘as I found a report in the Town Municipal Documents. It’s about the Great Fire which destroyed two-thirds of Dorchester. Spicer and another Bailiff were instrumental in preventing the fire from spreading. Here... I will read it for you; “ Far nobler was the quick thinking and courageous act of Nicholas Spicer and John Hughes, the Town Bailiffs, who together rolled 40 barrels of gunpowder stored in the Shire Hall to safety away from the flames after wrapping them in wet sacking.”’
Queenie sighed impatiently, ‘Alright, he was a brave man but what leads you to believe he is the right Spicer?’
‘I thought you would ask me that,’ he replied smugly and waved another piece of paper in her direction. ‘I found another reference regarding Spicer. He brought forward a complaint about several women of the parish. “June 28 1617 It is now ordered that Agnes Moor, wife of John Moor, Dorcas Hangler, spinster, be taken to the river under the custodianship of Nicholas Spicer, Town Bailiff, and shall be plounced or duckt three severall times under the water for common scolds and for suspected unholy practices, and a warrant granted to the constable to that purpose the same day.”’
He leant back and beamed at them. ‘So what do you think? Is this our man?’ Then drew back in amazement as Queenie sprang to her feet and launched herself at Paul.
‘Where is it? Where’s that thing of yours,’ she demanded. ‘Get it out!’
‘Hang on Queenie,’ he said, trying to fend her off as he frantically searched his pockets for his phone. ‘Where the hell is it?’
/> ‘Coat?’ she suggested. ‘In the car?’
‘No, I had it...in the kitchen! It’s recharging,’ he declared and ran out of the room. The sound of running footsteps echoed through the house quickly followed by the slamming of the kitchen door. A snatch of mumbled conversation floated down the hall then he quickly reappeared, triumphantly holding his phone aloft. ‘I have it,’ he said, slightly out of breath and opened the photograph on the screen.
‘What were the names?’
‘What names?’ Archie said in confusion.
‘The women that were ducked,’ Queenie said impatiently and twitched the notes from his hand before he could protest. ‘Right,’ she said quickly scanning the type. ‘Agnes Moor and Dorcas Hangler.’ She hurried over to stand by Paul’s side as he magnified the picture. ‘Well?’ she said impatiently. ‘Is it them?’
Paul frowned looking doubtful. ‘Maybe,’ and showed her the image. ‘What do you think?’
She took the mobile from his hand and hurried to stand under one of the wall lights. ‘It’s so difficult to read,’ she grumbled. After squinting intently at the faint writing for a few minutes she finally said, ‘Do you know, I believe it is!’ Queenie breathed a huge sigh of relief and handed it back to its owner. ‘So it looks like we have found two of them at least.’
Archie stared at them in confusion. ‘Will you please tell me what’s going on?’
They grinned at each other until Paul finally took pity on the old man and held out the image towards him.
‘I managed to snap a picture of Tamar’s book. We believe these are the women we are after and I think your research has just confirmed that we are on the right track.’ He beamed around the room. ‘Normally I would suggest a drink to celebrate but as Sybil has already had more than enough I suggest we stick to coffee!’
‘I don’t usually refuse strong drink,’ chuckled Queenie, ‘but in this case you are right.’ She lifted her mug and clinked it against Paul’s. ‘Cheers all round,’ she said smiling. ‘It’s been a good day.’
A gentle snore interrupted her and she swung around to stare at her sister. Sybil, mouth agape, had fallen asleep, the mug of coffee tilting dangerously in her hand.
The Doll Page 16