by HANNA, H. Y.
He leaned back and laughed. “My dear young lady, I’m sure you’ve heard from local gossip that I enjoy hunting. Especially big game. Back in my homeland of South Africa, my home is full of the mounted heads of lions, Cape buffalo, elephants, and rhinos.”
“The Cotswolds doesn’t seem like the kind of place that would be of much interest to a big game hunter,” commented Caitlyn.
He gave her a condescending smile. “Ah, but you see—there is something here that is very valuable to a hunter like me. A magnificent creature, rarely seen, even more rarely caught.”
“You’re talking about the White Stag,” Caitlyn guessed.
The South African inclined his head in approval. “Bravo. You’re a smart girl. Yes, I came to Tillyhenge because I had heard rumours of the White Stag being spotted in the forest nearby."
Caitlyn pulled back in disgust. “I can’t believe you’re actually admitting to wanting to hunt such a rare creature!”
He raised his eyebrows. “There is no law against hunting deer in Britain during the season. Whatever their colour.”
“But… but it’s such a senseless, cruel act! What’s the point? To kill such a magnificent creature just to stuff its head and put it on your wall?”
He shrugged. “If you are not a hunter, you cannot understand. You think it is all about the guns and the blood, but really, I am simply a collector of fine specimens of nature.”
Caitlyn had to resist the temptation to argue. It was no use debating the morality of hunting for sport with Hans van Driesen, she reminded herself. It was a waste of time. The man would never change his mind and she would never be able to agree with his point of view. Instead, she said:
“So you paid Stan Matthews to show you where the White Stag was?”
He gave her a lazy smile. “Oh no, not at all. I got talking to Mr Matthews after I arrived and he informed me that the deer season ended on the 30th of April. It’s illegal to shoot deer during the summer.” He shrugged his big shoulders. “I had to swallow my disappointment but, like any sporting huntsman, I conceded defeat.”
“So how come you’re still here?”
He smiled innocently. “I enjoy the village, the English countryside. I decided to stay a bit longer. Why not? Many tourists come to the Cotswolds for a vacation—why not me too?”
“Still, I—” Caitlyn broke off, distracted, as someone walked past and banged into her chair.
She looked up to see Rob Wiggins standing next to them. He was sweating profusely and eyeing the glass of water next to her plate.
“Are you drinking your water?” He asked. “If not, can I have it? My mouth is parched.”
“Oh… sure, help yourself…” said Caitlyn in surprise, watching as the young reporter grabbed her glass and gulped down the water. He looked slightly feverish, his eyes glazed and unfocused. She wondered if he might be coming down with the flu or something.
“Are you okay?” she asked him.
“I’m all right,” he said, slurring his words. “Just got to get out and get some fresh air…”
He stumbled past her and lurched his way towards the pub entrance. Caitlyn turned around to watch him over her shoulder.
Hans van Driesen chuckled. “Looks like young Wiggins can’t hold his drink.”
Caitlyn turned back, glancing absently around the pub. It was even busier now and as the crowd shifted and parted, she suddenly spied a blonde head by the bar, close to where Rob Wiggins had been standing earlier. It was Amy Matthews, she realised in surprise. She hadn’t noticed the gamekeeper’s wife when she had first come in. Before she could decide if she wanted to call Amy over to join them, the front door opened again.
Caitlyn glanced over, then did a double take. James Fitzroy had just stepped into the pub, stooping slightly to fit his tall frame under the low-beamed ceilings. His eyes scanned the room and paused at her table, his mouth tightening for a moment as he saw her dinner companion, then he turned and looked away.
As Caitlyn watched from the corner of her eye, he moved slowly through the crowd, smiling and nodding and greeting various villagers. Then his eyes lit up and he made his way over to Amy Matthews. He made a gesture, obviously offering to buy her a drink. Amy smiled shyly and then, as James said something else, tossed her head back and laughed. Caitlyn was struck suddenly by how pretty the gamekeeper’s wife looked, with the soft pub lighting glowing on her honey blonde hair, and her blue eyes alive with laughter. Even the ugly bruise on the side of her face couldn’t mar her English-rose looks.
Caitlyin glanced at James. He was laughing too, his grey eyes crinkled at the corners and his firm mouth curved with humour. They were about the same age, she thought—James was probably in his early thirties and Amy a few years younger—and they made a handsome couple, standing there together: she so fair and he so dark.
“More coffee?”
“Hmm?” Caitlyn pulled her distracted gaze back to Hans van Driesen opposite her. “Oh, um… no thanks.”
“In that case, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to take a visit to the men’s room.”
Van Driesen got up and left her alone at the table. He had barely disappeared down the corridor at the back of the pub when a deep, male voice spoke next to her.
“I’m surprised to see you having dinner with that man.”
Caitlyn turned in surprise to see James Fitzroy towering over her. His dark brows were drawn down over his eyes, which were no longer laughing.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I told you van Driesen is a suspect in the murder case,” he said curtly. “Do you really think it’s wise to be socialising with him?”
“I think you’re overreacting. I asked him about the murder—he was very upfront about it all. He admitted that he had come to Tillyhenge looking for the White Stag but when he found out that the hunting season was over, he abandoned his original plans.”
James gave a scornful laugh. “And you believe him? That’s the same story he spun for the police. There is no way a seasoned hunter like van Driesen wouldn’t have known the dates of the English hunting season before he left South Africa. And there is no way he would just accept defeat and give up on a trophy like the White Stag just because of a silly bureaucratic detail like that. Surely you can’t be that naïve?”
Caitlyn flushed. “Well… even if that’s true, it still doesn’t make him a murderer,” she blustered.
“He was the one who found Stan Matthews’s body,” said James. “Did he tell you that?”
“No,” Caitlyn admitted.
“That alone puts him high on the list of suspects. He was also one of the last men to be seen with Matthews, here at the pub on the night of the murder. Did he happen to mention that?”
Reluctantly, Caitlyn shook her head again. Then she said with a hint of defiance, “If there was any real evidence against him, surely the police would have arrested him already?”
“The police are still gathering evidence,” said James impatiently. “That doesn’t mean that, in the meantime, you do stupid things like eat and drink with a man who could be using poison to kill people.”
“I know what I’m doing,” said Caitlyn, bristling at his words.
“Like the way you did earlier today when you jumped in the quarry pond?” he asked. “There won’t always be someone like me there to help you out of trouble.”
“I don’t need someone like you to help me out of trouble,” snapped Caitlyn, springing up from her chair. “I can manage perfectly fine by myself!”
Grabbing her handbag, she turned and saw van Driesen returning to the table, a look of surprise on his face. She thanked him curtly for the meal, then stormed out of the pub without looking at James Fitzroy again.
Outside, the evening air felt cool on her flushed cheeks and she took a few deep breaths to calm herself before she began walking back to the chocolate shop. Unlike the pub, the rest of the village seemed eerily empty, the streets dark and silent. Caitlyn found that the darkness disorientated her, making
landmarks she had known well in the daytime look strange and unfamiliar.
She paused uncertainly as the street forked into two, trying to remember if she should take the left or the right lane. After a moment, she made a decision and hurried down the winding left lane, her steps echoing on the cobblestones. Then she slowed, frowning. Were those her steps echoing or were they… footsteps behind her? She glanced over her shoulder but it was hard to see in the darkened lane.
Caitlyn paused, straining her ears to listen.
Silence.
Had she imagined the footsteps or had the other person stopped too? That would mean they didn’t want her to know they were following her… which would mean that they had a sinister motive…
Caitlyn swallowed uneasily and began walking again, quickening her pace. A moment later, she heard it distinctively: the sound of footsteps hurrying in her wake. Not an echo. No, this was someone following her.
Caitlyn threw another nervous glance over her shoulder. Someone was stalking her—who was it? And why?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Caitlyn began walking even faster. Then she realised something with a sickening lurch of her heart. She had taken the wrong turn at the last fork; this was the wrong lane. To get to the chocolate shop, she would have to turn back and retrace her steps—which meant that she would meet her stalker.
For a moment, the thought filled her with dread—then a wave of anger wiped out everything else. She wasn’t going to let someone reduce her to skulking in the dark, like some frightened rabbit!
The footsteps behind her were coming nearer and nearer now. Caitlyn slowed her own steps and listened, waiting… Then, without warning, she jerked around and faced her stalker. Someone crashed into her. She swung wildly with a fist and felt it connect with something hard and rubbery.
“Oww!” Caitlyn shook her hand. She had never tried to punch anyone before and didn’t realise that it would hurt.
“Ouch! Young lady, that was uncalled for!"
Caitlyn stared in disbelief. It was the old man she had met back in Meadowford-on-Smythe—the one who had been babbling about vampires. He had some weird name… Viktor. That was it: Viktor Dracul.
He was standing in front of her now, rubbing his nose and looking at her grumpily. Caitlyn wondered how on earth he had ended up in Tillyhenge. They were miles away from Meadowford—even if he had wandered out of his nursing home again, surely he couldn’t have walked this far? But then how had he got here? With a seniors’ group outing? She hadn’t seen any coaches with senior citizens arriving in the village earlier today, and besides, wasn’t it just too much of a coincidence?
“Viktor? How did you get here?”
He looked surprised. “I am a vampire. I can travel long distances with ease.”
Caitlyn groaned. Not this vampire rubbish again.
“Look, you’ve got to stop this silly pretence,” she said impatiently. “You’re not a vampire, okay? Vampires don’t exist. If you’re lost or homeless or something—”
“Homeless? Me?” The old man bristled with offended dignity.
Caitlyn looked at him again more carefully. She realised that while he might have looked old and decrepit, he was scrupulously clean and well groomed, his few strands of grey hair carefully combed over his balding head. His black suit and white shirt might have been very dated but they were made of good quality fabric and were beautifully pressed. In fact, if she didn’t know better, she would have thought that he was some ancient aristocrat who had somehow travelled through time and ended up in the twenty-first century.
She pulled herself up short. What ridiculous ideas was she thinking? The man was simply a delusional octogenarian who had somehow escaped from a nursing home.
“Viktor,” she said gently, reminding herself that he was old and probably confused. “If you need help finding your way back home, I’d be happy to—”
“Help finding my way back home?” He looked baffled. “What on earth are you talking about? I am your uncle, Caitlyn—well, not your blood uncle, of course, since I am a vampire—and I have sworn to watch over you. I am keeping my promise and giving you my protection.”
“Er, thanks… but I don’t need your protection,” said Caitlyn, thinking now that the old guy was seriously nuts.
“Oh, but you do! You do not realise how vulnerable you are—”
“I don’t need your protection,” said Caitlyn again through gritted teeth, starting to lose patience. “I just need you to stop following me and go home, okay?”
“But then who is going to protect you?”
“I don’t need anyone to protect me!” Caitlyn roared. His words touched a nerve after James Fitzroy’s rebukes at the pub. “I can take care of myself and I don’t need you! Just go away! Go away!”
The old man stared at her, his sunken mouth opening and closing, then he turned and shuffled away.
Caitlyn heaved a sigh of exasperation. Good riddance, she thought. Whirling around, she began to make her way back to the fork in the lane where she had gone wrong. But she had barely gone a few feet when her steps faltered. She remembered the expression on the old man’s face; the way he had shuffled away, with his head hanging and his shoulders drooping. She winced. She had hurt his feelings. Feeling bad now, she turned back.
“Viktor… look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you. I just… Viktor?” She peered around in confusion. There was no sign of the old man anywhere. Caitlyn frowned. The empty lane stretched in front of her. Where had he gone? There was a movement above and Caitlyn glanced upwards, but it was nothing—only a bat flying off into the night.
She frowned again. Perhaps Viktor had ducked into a doorway? Gone into one of the cottages lining this street? Then she gave a mental shrug. There was no point standing here in the dark, wondering. It seemed that here was another mystery to add to those already piling up around her.
Sighing, Caitlyn turned again and began retracing her steps, heading back towards the chocolate shop.
***
“Caitlyn? Oh thank God I finally got through to you!”
“Pomona? What’s wrong?" asked Caitlyn, yawning and rubbing her eyes.
The chirpy sound of her cell phone ringing had roused her from the depths of sleep and she had stumbled out of bed and groped around the room until she’d found where she had left the phone last night. The last thing she had expected to hear when she answered it, though, was her cousin’s voice shrill with relief.
“What’s wrong?” Pomona burst out. “Do you realise how frantic I’ve been? You promised to call me when you got to Tillyhenge, remember? So when I didn’t hear from you, I tried to call you myself but I couldn’t get through. I’ve been, like, trying all day yesterday. I was worried sick about you!”
Caitlyn winced. “The phone reception is a bit patchy here. Sorry, I did try to call you the first night I arrived but there was no signal so I thought I’d try again the next day. But then things just started happening yesterday and the day sort of flew by in a blur. I… I guess I got side-tracked and forgot.”
“What do you mean ‘things just started happening’?” asked Pomona suspiciously. “What’s going on over there?”
“Just… a few strange things that are hard to explain…”
“Like what? Tell me everything!” Pomona insisted.
So Caitlyn did, recounting everything that had happened to her since she had arrived in Tillyhenge—everything except her encounters with James Fitzroy, that is. She didn’t know why—she normally told Pomona everything—but she didn’t want to talk about James. She also decided not to mention her encounters with that strange old man, Viktor. Somehow, it seemed so bizarre that she felt embarrassed even telling Pomona about them.
“So I don’t get it,” said Pomona. “It sounds like you’ve been sucked into this murder investigation and they’ve got, like, a bunch of suspects: it might be the dead man’s battered wife because she wanted to stop him beating her… it might be the South African hunter dude beca
use he was, like, doing some kind of poaching deal that went wrong… or it might be this old woman that you’re staying with, this Widow Mags who owns the chocolate shop—”
“I don’t think it’s her,” said Caitlyn quickly.
“Okay, so what’s the weird stuff that’s been happening?”
Caitlyn hesitated, then she told Pomona about the incident with her eyebrows in Herbal Enchantments and the fiasco with the chocolate warts growing on Angela Skinner and her friends. She purposefully didn’t mention the incident in the kitchen yesterday when the chocolate decorations had appeared, as if created by her imagination—that was another thing she didn’t feel she could talk to her cousin about.
“I knew it! I knew there was witchcraft going on in that village! I told you so, didn’t I?” said Pomona, sounding jubilant.
“It might not be witchcraft. It might be…” Caitlyn trailed off weakly, not able to come up with a good alternative.
“And I’ll bet witchcraft was used in the murder too,” continued Pomona as if she hadn’t heard her. “The wife could have asked the Widow Mags to help her get rid of her husband and—”
“No, Amy wouldn’t do that,” protested Caitlyn. “I got chatting to her when she invited me back for coffee. She seems like a really sweet girl. I just can’t see her as a murderer.”
“Murderers can be very good at, like, hiding their real personas,” said Pomona, in the superior voice of someone who had watched too many TV crime dramas. “Okay… maybe it wasn’t Amy who asked the Widow Mags to poison her husband—maybe it was the Widow Mags herself! I mean, she’s a witch, right? And if you’ve got the power to do things—you know, to punish bad people—wouldn’t you be tempted to use it?”
“I…” Caitlyn hesitated, thinking of the chocolate warts that had appeared on Angela and her friends yesterday. It had been funny, yes, but didn’t it also show that the Widow Mags wasn’t afraid to use magic to get vengeance? And the old woman didn’t care about following the rules of society—that had been obvious in that argument between her and Bertha. The Widow Mags lived by her own rules and if she wanted to get justice for a poor abused wife, would she really hesitate to use witchcraft to—