The Great Witches Baking Show

by Nancy Warren

  “But I’ve never done anything except see ghosts.” I remembered the power surge when I’d thrown Gordon against the tree. “Until today.”

  “Oh, you’ve got the power. It’s simply been dormant. You had no one to teach you. Your ability to see spirits, however, was too strong to be suppressed. It is a great privilege and an honor to be a witch, Poppy. You will have come from a great line of witches in your family. It is passed down through the maternal side. No wonder you feel such a strong urge to try and find your mother.”

  Elspeth stopped talking and put her hand to my cheek. A great warmth spread throughout my body, and my heartbeat began to regulate. Gradually I felt calm and soothed. I took long, slow breaths. My lungs expanded and contracted, expanded and contracted. The rhythm was pleasant, and in fact, I felt more at peace than I had in a long time.

  “Feel better?” she asked, taking her hand away and resting it on the bench.

  I nodded.

  “Witches have great empathy, Poppy. I can see that in you. You’re trying to understand the world and your own place within it. You have an open heart and an open mind.”

  I nodded again. I had no idea what to say.

  “It’s no coincidence that you found yourself here at Broomewode Hall,” Elspeth continued. “In addition to the blanket you saw in the painting, the manor house has pulled you towards it in other, even more mysterious ways. You see, Broomewode Hall is an energy vortex that draws witches to it as it expands their sensitivity and power. Your natural witchy powers that you were born with will have been strengthening and developing since you arrived. This is a good place for you to begin to learn your craft.”

  It was all beginning to make sense, but then I remembered that Jonathon had been talking to Gateau, how they seemed to be communicating with each other. What could that have been about? Were my powers already misbehaving? I explained to Elspeth what I’d felt and seen, but again, she didn’t seem surprised.

  “Men can be witches, too, you know. It isn’t just women. Nursery rhymes and fairy tales have filled young minds with nonsense. It makes me quite furious. Our Jonathon is also a witch, a somewhat naughty one, in fact, but perhaps that is a story for another time. There is one more thing that you must take on board: When I told you that you and Gateau had found one another, I wasn’t exaggerating. She is your familiar, Poppy. You must respect her and look after her, because she is there to keep you safe from harm.”

  Ah, my sweet little Gateau. Just the thought of her calmed me down.

  “You must have more questions for me, but I think perhaps that is enough for today. We have plenty of time to get to know one another better, and I will guide you through this new development in your life. You won’t be alone.”

  I had a sudden awful thought. “But what if I’m voted off next week, Elspeth? I’m not as good a baker as Maggie or Florence. I couldn’t bear it if I had to go home. Is there a way to magic me into remaining on the show so that I can stay closer to Broomewode Hall?”

  Elspeth’s faced suddenly changed, and she became instantly serious. “No, no, Poppy. You cannot ever ever ever use your powers for personal gain. It goes against the greatest and most important law of witchhood. You’ll just have to keep practicing your baking like everyone else.”

  I felt like pouting. What was the point of being a witch if I couldn’t even use a spell to keep me on a baking show?

  “You must work extra hard this week. Practice, practice, practice. And next week, put your best fondant forward, so to speak.”

  “And how will I learn all the stuff I should have before now? All the witchy things?”

  She laughed. “That, also, involves practice. You’ve a long road ahead of you, Poppy, but I suspect it will be an exciting one.”

  Chapter 17

  If I had begun the weekend thinking that my biggest life-changing moment was getting the call that I’d been chosen to compete in The Great British Baking Contest, it was only because I had no idea what was coming. I’d always known that the origins of my birth made me a little different than my friends. Unlike Gina, I didn’t have any red-faced screaming baby photos of me in the hospital or touching ones where I was asleep on my mom’s chest. There was never evidence of those very first moments when life comes hurtling into the world and is greeted by those who made it. In that sense, something had always been missing, and I’d grown up desperate to know more about my origins.

  Finally, I understood. There was a whole other dimension to my being that I had no idea about. I was a witch.

  Elspeth pointed over to the manor house. The sun had moved across the sky, and now the top of the golden stone looked as if a halo of light shone around it. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she said.

  Last year, at home in my cottage watching The Great British Baking Contest, I had begun my quest to find out more about Broomewode Hall. But now that I was finally here, when I thought I was actually going to get some answers, it was even more of a mystery to me. Not in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that beyond the intrigue of the blanket in the oil painting, there was something deeper, something more integral to my being, something more…magical about the place that had drawn me to it. I thought I was getting closer to understanding where I’d come from, but in reality, I was starting this journey from scratch. It reminded me of all that practice pastry-making Mildred had made me do at home. She made me throw away countless wads of dough she deemed too sticky or too dry and forced me to start again from the beginning. But in the end, I was thankful for Mildred; she taught me how to persevere and not accept anything less than perfect. I knew that in the weeks to come, I was going to have to rely on this tenacity—both when baking and learning more about who I really was.

  To think that just a couple of days ago, my biggest worry had been baking in front of cameras and freaking out about how the world at home would be watching my every move. Now, I couldn’t believe how nervous I was about something so simple. In the time since, I’d had to deal with finding a dead body, apprehending a murderer, and discovering I was a witch. If only I’d known how good I had it before, maybe I would have performed on the show with a little more confidence and pizzazz, rather than cowering at the cameras.

  We stood from the bench, and as if she’d been summoned, Gateau trotted over to us.

  “There you are, my gorgeous kitty,” I cooed. The three of us walked back to the inn.

  Maggie, Hamish and Florence were in the entranceway as we walked in.

  Florence ran over and nearly sent me flying to the floor with an enormous bear hug. “My goodness, Poppy!” she cried at me. “What did I tell you about keeping safe? Only this morning I was telling you off for going out walking, and then you do it again and nearly get yourself killed! I could kill you myself for being so reckless, except I’m so happy you’re okay!” She released me from her grip and looked into my eyes for an awkwardly long time. “You seem, I don’t know, kind of different. It’s weird. You look more at peace somehow? How is that possible when some psycho killer tried to attack you?”

  I laughed and told her off for being dramatic. But she had hit the nail on the head; I did feel oddly calmer. Perhaps it was Elspeth’s magic, or maybe just knowing that Gerry’s killer had been caught had set my busy mind to rest. Maggie and Hamish came to embrace me, and we stood like that for a moment, in a group hug. At least I now knew I could trust them.

  “Everyone is finally allowed to leave,” Maggie said.

  “Our little world is back to normal now,” Elspeth replied. Hah, she could speak for herself on that one. “We can put all the horribleness of this weekend behind us and look forward to some excellent baking in the next few weeks,” she continued. “Don’t forget, practice makes perfect.”

  We all hugged again, and Florence, Maggie, and Hamish lugged their suitcases to their respective cars. I waved them off, sad to see them go but happy we’d all be back next weekend, hopefully with all that drama as ancient history.

  I turned to Elspeth. She smil
ed generously, showing off her set of perfectly straight white teeth. “I’m due at the police station, Poppy. And then it’s your turn. We’ll talk some more soon, but for now I think you have enough to comprehend.” She pressed her business card into my hand. It was made of thick, smooth manila paper, Elspeth Peach, Author & Master Baker embossed in glinting gold foil. She tapped the phone number at the bottom and said, “Call me anytime. No witch is ever alone. I know it wasn’t quite the family you were looking for, but we are a family nonetheless.”

  “I thought I’d been given a clue when an old woman here called me Valerie and suggested she used to work at Broomewode Hall in the kitchen. On my way up, I had a vision of a woman running from the hall. She was heavily pregnant. Elspeth, I think it was my mother, but no one at the Hall seems to remember her. Or they pretend they don’t.” I was so frustrated, and I was sure it came out in my tone.

  “Always so impatient,” she chided. “I believe I told you that now you’ve got another family. Remember, child, if you’re a witch, your mother was most likely one too. Someone in the coven will remember her.”

  And just like that, my hope was back. Elspeth was right. Broomewode Hall might refuse to give me answers, but somewhere, somehow, I’d find out what had happened to my mother.

  I hugged her goodbye and climbed the stairs to my bedroom. Inside, Gerry was waiting for me.

  “That’s nice, isn’t it!” he said as I walked into the room. “Gordon killed me. I never did anything to him. I’d no idea he was so unhinged.”

  “Oh, Gerry, I’m so sorry. But I’m glad he’s been caught. He’ll go to jail for a very long time. And now you can move on.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be doing that,” he said. “It was too much fun playing detective. I wasn’t messing when I said that’s what I should have done instead of renovations. I think I’ll be sticking around for a while longer, in case my skills are needed. Plus, look what I’ve just learned to do.”

  He hopped down from the chest of drawers, headed for the door and floated right through it!

  “See you next week, Poppy,” he called out.

  I turned, laughing, and started to throw my clothes into my weekend bag.

  Downstairs, the inn was eerily quiet. I took my bag to my car, and as I opened the door, I heard an angry meow. And then another. I looked down, and Gateau was waiting for me. “I’m so sorry, my little puss. Don’t think I forgot about you. The passenger seat is ready and waiting.” I held the door for her as if she were the Queen of England and laughed as she eyed the jump to the seat, took a few steps back and then leapt right in. I shut the door and got in the other side, leaning over to stroke Gateau’s soft head and touch her little nose with mine.

  As I turned my key in the ignition, I took one last look at Broomewode Hall in the distance. I made a silent vow that next week, no matter what happened, I would find out the true identity of Valerie. Was she a real person, or was Valerie just the fantasy of a sweet old lady suffering with dementia? I guessed that on top of searching for my family, I’d also have to get to grips with my new powers. I wondered what exactly I could do—there must be a way for my powers to help me with my quest, but Elspeth’s warning rang heavy in my ears. I couldn’t use my powers for gain, whatever they might be. And if that wasn’t enough stress to contend with for one week, I only had five days until I had to return to the competition tent.

  A Note from Nancy

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading The Great Witches Baking Show. I have plenty more stories about Poppy, Elspeth and friends 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.

  I love you more than apple pie! And speaking of pies— turn the page for Poppy’s recipe for Tarte au Citron.

  Join my newsletter at nancywarren.net for unique content no one else receives.

  Until next time,

  Nancy

  Poppy’s Recipe for Tarte au Citron

  Florence’s tarte au citron may have won first place in the afternoon’s competition, but it wasn’t because her recipe was any better than mine! Below find my ingredients list and method for—as Jonathon so inelegantly called it—the perfect marriage of zing and cream! This recipe serves eight people, or, if your appetite is more like mine, then a hungry six. If you’re short of time on the day, you can make this tart up to two days ahead of serving. And if, for some crazy reason, you end up with leftovers, it also freezes well.

  Ingredients:

  Pastry

  175g/6oz plain flour

  100g/4oz cold butter, cut into small cubes

  25g/1oz icing sugar

  1 large egg, beaten

  2 tbsp water

  Lemon Filling

  5 large eggs

  125ml/4 fl oz double cream

  225g/8oz caster (superfine) sugar

  finely grated zest and juice of 4 large lemons

  Method:

  First up, rummage through your cupboards and find a 23cm/9-inch deep loose-bottomed tart tin.

  To make the pastry, measure the flour, butter and sugar and add them all directly to a food processor. (Don’t tell Mildred.) Whizz the mix until it begins to look like breadcrumbs.

  Slowly add the egg and water and then whizz it further until it forms a ball shape.

  Remove the dough, and roll out using a flour-dusted rolling pin on a flour-dusted work surface until the pastry is just a little bigger than the size of the tin. Line the tart tin with the pastry, and let the extra pastry hang over the sides of the tin.

  Chill your pastry tin in the fridge for 30 minutes.

  While the pastry is chilling, you can make a cup of tea and preheat the oven to 200C/fan 180C/gas 6/350F. Line the tin with nonstick paper and fill with baking beans.

  Blind bake for 15 minutes in the preheated oven until the pastry turns a lovely pale golden brown.

  Take out of the oven and remove the baking beans and paper. Carefully trim the excess pastry from the sides using a sharp knife. Return the empty pastry shell to the oven for another 10-12 minutes or until it is completely dry. Set aside to cool.

  Reduce the temperature of the oven to 160C/325F. Next measure all the ingredients to make the lemon filling in a bowl and whisk together until smooth. Carefully pour the filling mixture into the cold baked pastry case.

  Transfer the tart and tray carefully to the oven and bake for 35-40 minutes or until just set but still with a slight wobble in the middle. Don’t worry if it rises a little; the filling will sink down a bit when it has cooled.

  Leave to cool completely and then remove the tarte au citron from the tin and transfer to a serving plate. Finish off with a generous flourish of dusted icing sugar and garnish with a few berries if you like.

  Bon appétit!

  The Great Witches Baking Show, Copyright © 2020 by Nancy Warren

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  ISBN: ebook 978-1-928145-67-7

  ISBN: print 978-1-928145-69-1

  Cover Design by Lou Harper of Cover Affair

  Ambleside Publishing

  Also by Nancy Warren

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