by Nancy Warren
I took the crisps back to Florence. Gordon, the sound tech, was sitting next to her, which was a surprise, as most of the guys had opted for pizza and poker.
“Not my scene,” he said, shrugging.
Daniel, one of the other contestants, turned around. He had a head of thick, wavy silver hair but a youthful face and playful smile. “Me either. Sadly, my idea of a good night now is when all the kids actually go to bed at bedtime.” He loosened the collar of his pale gray shirt.
There were murmurs of agreement at the table. “I love kids,” Florence said. “Can’t wait to have my own. How many do you have?”
“Three. Try having them at two-year intervals and then see if you feel the same way,” he laughed, revealing a set of perfectly straight, pearly-white teeth.
“Let me guess—you’re the dentist?”
“Guilty as charged,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But I have a wickedly sweet tooth. You wouldn’t believe how many times a day I have to floss. I should get a sponsorship deal from one of the dental companies.”
“Any time I hear the phrase ‘guilty as charged,’ I snap to attention and reach for my handcuffs out of instinct,” Hamish piped up, laughing. He’d changed out of the blue and white striped shirt, which he’d worn during filming, and into a gray hoodie that matched his designer stubble. It made him look so much younger than I’d originally thought. He must only be in his mid-thirties. Hamish had also refused to join the poker game. “I find it boring,” he said. “And I hate losing money. The way they were talking, I think the stakes will be high.”
I hoped Gerry knew what he was getting into. In spite of his boasting, he could easily lose and I wasn’t sure he could take another setback today.
I studied the menu, salivating over the classic British gastropub options: fish and chips, Lancashire hot pot, grilled gammon and chips. The waitress came over and took our order for dinner. Daniel began to order the steak and kidney pie but swiftly changed his mind. “Pie? What was I thinking? I couldn’t look at another bit of pastry today.”
The group chattered and laughed, and I was glad that everyone was friendly and not guarded and competitive like I’d feared. When the food arrived, you could have heard a pin drop, we were that hungry. I dug into my sausages and mash. They were swimming in rich red wine gravy, and I began to feel human again.
“So does filming cakes all day long give you the baking bug too, Gordon?” a contestant named Amara asked, tucking into a plate of fried hake covered in a creamy sauce. She was in her forties, and I’d overheard her discuss how happily married she was earlier. She spoke proudly about her two teenage twins, one boy and one girl, who were both in their first year of university, studying to be doctors like her.
“No. My wife used to bake.” He came down hard on the K in bake, and there was a silence afterward, as no one knew what to say. Had she died? Left him? He didn’t elaborate, and no one liked to ask.
“I’d love a new kitchen,” Amara said, filling the awkward silence. “A bigger one, to be more precise. My husband is always moving things around, putting them back in the wrong place. I think the secret to a successful marriage is not two bathrooms, like people say. It’s two kitchens!” She laughed and passed a bottle of red wine down the table.
I accepted a glass of wine and then tuned out of the chatter, scraping the remains of dinner from my plate. It was all I could do to hold myself back from licking the plate. But I got the sense that someone was watching me. Spinning in my seat, I turned around and saw a lady with an unkempt white, frizzy bob staring at me. She looked happy. Her eyes were wide and clear, and there was something very knowing in them. She took a step toward me, leaning heavily on a wooden walking cane, a duck’s bill for its handrest. She was wearing a long navy dress made of linen, far too thin for this time of year, and a pair of orthopedic-looking shoes. I wondered if she was another ghost. I wasn’t sure I could deal with a spirit right now on top of everything else.
“There you are, Valerie,” she said, approaching my seat. “I’ve missed you. Where have you been?”
The whole table stopped eating and talking and looked at us. Well, at least that meant she wasn’t a ghost.
“Valerie?” Florence asked quizzically.
“I’m sorry,” I replied to the lady, baffled. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
Her eyes were cloudy but oddly compelling. “When are you coming to visit, dear? It’s long overdue. I’ve missed you.”
“Mum! There you are.” Before I could answer, a woman who looked to be in her forties rushed over to our table. She was red in the face but was clearly relieved. “You have to stop disappearing like this, Mum.”
“Stop fussing, lovey. I’m perfectly fine. Look who it is.”
She gestured at me, and her daughter looked baffled. I shrugged back, equally as clueless.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, lowering her voice to address me. “Mum has dementia. She gets awfully confused. She used to work at Broomewode Hall, and she wanders back here all the time, like she’s reporting for her duties again. I hope she didn’t interrupt your dinner.”
I shook my head no. Just as the woman was about to whisk her mother away, the old lady leaned forward and whispered, “Blessed be.” She touched my arm briefly, and I felt the warmth of her touch through my shirt. I stared after the mother and daughter as they disappeared through the wide oak doorway. The strange part was that even though I’d never met the mother, I’d felt a strange sense of familiarity, too.
“Well, that was weird,” Florence said.
Weird wasn’t the half of it. Two women in the space of an hour had thought they recognized me. At least now I had a name, assuming the old woman had recalled the name correctly. I needed to find out who this Valerie woman was. Hopefully the cook at Broomewode Hall would remember her.
The waitress returned to clear our plates and asked if anyone wanted pudding. No one but Daniel could stomach something sweet after the day’s baking.
“I wonder how the other boys are getting on at their poker night,” Florence said.
“They’re either brave or fools to play with Aaron Keel,” Gordon replied. “That man has a terrific temper. I wouldn’t play a friendly game of football with him, let alone bet.”
I leapt up, excused myself from the group, and went back to the bar.
Eve was serving pints of Guinness to a group of men who behaved as though they’d already had enough. I tried to avoid tapping my fingers on the bar with impatience.
“Eve?”
“Yes, pet.”
“Does the name Valerie mean anything to you?”
“Can’t say it does. Why?”
“Not to worry. I’ll put dinner on my room tab. I think I need an early night. This has been one long day.”
I waved goodbye to the other contestants and retreated upstairs to my bedroom. It had the same oak floors as the pub below and a wide, inviting bed, plump with pillows and layers of soft cream blankets. Reading lamps emitted a warm glow from their ruffled shades. I slipped off my shoes and let my feet sink into the thick rug. My mind was whirring, but I knew I’d have to calm down before tomorrow’s baking grand finale. My blouse wasn’t too bad, though it was smudged with flour, and there was a slick of pomegranate on the collar. We weren’t supposed to launder the clothes, though, as it had to look as though we’d done all three challenges in one day.
I hung up the less-than-pristine blouse, switched on the radio and decided to run myself a soothing bath. I folded today’s jeans on a chair, slipped into the bathrobe kindly provided by the hotel and then put out fresh underwear for tomorrow.
Tipping the entire contents of a miniature rosemary and bay bubble bath into the gushing water, I watched the foamy bubbles rise up from the marble tub and then slipped into the warm water. Heaven.
I leaned back and, with eyes half closed, watched the steam rise. I began to feel strange, as though I were floating, and then through the mist, I
saw a playing card. The ace of spades. Before my bemused gaze, a drop of red slid from the bottom of the spade, like blood from a freshly cut finger.
I blinked and sloshed water as I sat up with a gasp. Usually when I daydreamed, it was about brownie recipes and the perfect way to toast almonds, not about cards and violence. I was tired. I needed to get to bed. I dried off and donned my pajamas, then padded out to the bedroom. I saw a note had been slipped under the door.
Hi Poppy,
I got a message to Katie over at the big house. She’d be happy to meet you. Head over there at 8:30am and enter through the staff entrance at the northwest side of the house. She’ll be there to greet you. Good luck with the baking, I’ll be rooting for you!
Eve
I mouthed a silent thank-you to Eve. Tomorrow morning I might finally learn something about my beginnings.
Chapter 6
I woke from frenzied dreams when the alarm shrieked at six-thirty a.m. All night, I’d tossed and turned in the bed, hot beneath the heavy blankets, too cool when I threw them off. I couldn’t get my mind to stop wondering about this mysterious Valerie, and I felt uncomfortable in my body, somehow. As I dragged myself out of bed, bleary-eyed and groggy, I was also full of a nervous excitement. Could Katie Donegal help solve these mysteries? And would I be able to keep up in the final baking challenge?
I showered and dressed quickly, anxious to start the day. I pulled a brush through my long hair and sighed. Gina could fix me up later and help me look a little more human.
Downstairs, the inn’s restaurant was set for breakfast, but no one else was there yet. I wasn’t going to make yesterday’s mistake again, so I headed straight for the buffet. The food was beautifully arranged: silver trays of firm scrambled eggs, fried mushrooms, rashers of streaky bacon, and plump sausages laid out in a row like soldiers. Pots of thick Greek yogurt and ceramic bowls of fruit salad looked equally as tempting. I helped myself to generous portions and poured a large cup of black coffee.
“Easy, tiger,” a voice said. “You’ll split your jeans at that rate.”
“Gerry!” I said, turning around. “I’d tell you how rude you are, but by the looks of you, you’re already suffering.” His green eyes were bloodshot, and his red hair was in even more disarray than usual. He also wore the same clothes as he had yesterday, but in his case, I guessed he’d slept in them.
“Ha ha. It’s true. I might have overdone it slightly last night with a few too many whiskeys. But tell you what—it was worth it. I cleaned up at poker. Lady Luck was on my side, which is the least she could do after letting me down at baking.”
We sat and Gerry, grinning, pulled out his wallet. It was dark green fabric and bulged with a thick wad of cash.
“Goodness, Gerry. You weren’t exaggerating. There must be hundreds of pounds there.”
“Enough to soften the blow of yesterday’s baking disasters.” He tucked into a piece of heavily buttered toast. “Told you I was good at poker.”
We ate breakfast in peaceful silence, Gerry nursing his hangover and me trying to plot how I’d escape to Broomewode Hall without having to tell him where I was going. This was the second time he’d almost foiled my plans. Perhaps the bad luck had transferred on to me.
“What are you doing up so early, anyway?” I asked him.
“Ah, I can never sleep after a bellyful, and I was nervous about today, to tell the truth. Thought it’d be best to just get up and have the day done with. This way, I can get to my workstation early and watch them test my oven so I know it’s done properly. After last night, I think I’ll need to be careful around Aaron.”
“Did you…” I didn’t know what the proper term was.
“Cleaned him out,” he confirmed. “Which was the least he deserved after not fixing my oven.”
“Oh, Gerry, you’re not still hung up about the oven, are you? I’m sure you just set the dial to the wrong temperature. It’s easily done with new equipment.”
“No, Poppy, something’s up, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”
I ate my last bite of eggs and stood. “I’m off for a quick walk around the grounds to settle my nerves.”
“Don’t be late!”
“I won’t.” As I set off, my watch read eight-fifteen a.m. Perfect timing.
It was another gorgeous spring morning. The birds were in the trees singing their sweet songs, the breeze was gentle, and I felt particularly blessed by an appearance from the sun, warming my sleepy face. I set off from the inn and strode purposefully up the cobbled path from the village toward Broomewode Hall. I tried to formulate all the questions bumbling around in my brain into something that wouldn’t make me sound like a crazy person. I also hoped that it was too early in the morning to bump into the strange guard ghost/not ghost Benedict. So much was riding on the information from Katie Donegal. I couldn’t afford any interruptions.
The old manor house was as impressive and imposing as ever, perhaps even more so being crowned by the rising sun. The flowerbeds were in full bloom, and the grass was still glistening with dew. I swallowed hard as I walked its perimeter in search of the staff entrance.
I eventually found the slightly less imposing door on the northwest side of the house. It had a huge brass knocker. I stood for a moment on the stone steps, hand raised in the air until I found the courage to rap the knocker.
I waited.
And then I waited some more.
I figured maybe no one had heard me. I rapped the knocker again, harder this time. Eventually, I heard the sound of quick footsteps vibrating along a stone floor. The door opened, and a woman of about my age was revealed. She was very petite, dark-eyed and dark-haired, and her lustrous locks had been twirled into an impressive bun at the nape of her neck. She wore an old-fashioned white crochet shirt, tucked into a black skirt and finished with a crisp white apron.
“Yes?” she asked in heavily-accented English. “How can I help?”
“I’m here to see Katie Donegal. She’s expecting me.”
“Mrs. Donegal isn’t here this early in the morning. She doesn’t start work until ten a.m. I do the breakfast prep. Are you here for the job?”
“No, no. I was supposed to meet Mrs. Donegal for tea this morning. She asked me to come at eight-thirty. I don’t understand.”
“Sorry. I’ll say you came by.” And with that, the door closed.
“But you haven’t even got my name,” I wailed through the wood. But I could hear the heels tapping stone, fading into the distance. I was truly and utterly perplexed. Mrs. Donegal was supposed to be my savior—not another mystery. I considered knocking again to see if anyone else would talk to me, but I didn’t want to risk upsetting the staff or even getting myself evicted from the manor. There was nothing for it but to return to the inn and try somehow to get my head back into baking.
At the tent, I searched for Gina, eager to tell her all about last night and this morning, not to mention needing her talents to work their magic on my tired-looking face. The other contestants were already there, setting up their workstations and drinking mugs of steaming tea.
I found Gina, and with one look at my face, she sat me down in her hairdressing chair and said, “Spill.”
I launched into everything that happened over the past twenty-four hours while she carefully painted my face and manipulated the waves of my hair into a style a little less scarecrow. She listened, interrupting only to tell me to stop moving my head. When I finished, she looked at me thoughtfully.
“That’s so strange,” she said. “I’ve met Mrs. Donegal a few times, and she’s the most reliable, friendly woman around. She’d never agree to meet and then not show up. She’d be too excited to natter with a new person!” She paused and regarded my makeup. “Close your eyes again for a sec.”
“I don’t know, Gina. There’s something very strange about Broomewode Hall. I just can’t put my finger on what.”
“All sorts of strange things happen here. They say we’re sitting on top
of an energy vortex.”
I opened my eyes. “A what?”
She made me shut them again before saying, “It’s like Glastonbury, only not as famous. They say there’s a current of mystic energy that runs from Glastonbury, where King Arthur is said to be buried, to Broomewode Hall and beyond. You often see people in the village wearing beads and crystals and smelling of incense.”
She put the finishing touches to my makeup, and I hopped off the seat. Marcus was waiting to have his face powdered. He looked as gray as Gerry had at breakfast. “Looks like someone’s going to need a spot of fake tan,” Gina said, giving him a professional once over.
“Take it you played poker, too, last night?” I asked.
He nodded. “I thought I’d learned how to drink hard and fast in the city, but that whiskey was lethal. I can’t believe I’ve woken up with a stinking hangover and out of pocket to that thief.”
“Thief?”
“Gerry robbed us all blind. Man’s a cheat, I’m convinced. He was too clever to be caught, though.”
“Come on now, Marcus. What was it you said yesterday? No one likes a sore loser?”
“I didn’t lose. That’s my point. I’m an excellent poker player. Making calculated wagers is basically what I do all day in banking. The only explanation is that I was cheated out of my money. Ask anyone who was there last night. Gerry did not win that cash fair and square. You should have seen the fuss Aaron made. Gerry took so much cash off of him—he’s lucky he made it out in one piece.”
Gina raised her eyebrows at me. Then said to Marcus, “Get in the chair. I can’t make you feel any better, but at least you’ll look good on camera.” I wanted to stay and ask more, but time was pressing, and I needed to get my ingredients together for today’s challenge.
When I got to my workstation, I found Jonathon Pine examining my ingredients. “Morning, Poppy,” he said. “Just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing. We don’t get to speak to the contestants as much as we’d like during filming.”