Ain't Nothing but a Pound Dog

by Jeannie Wycherley

  “Or email me.” Miss Catesby, like Clarissa, preferred the power of the written word to convey meaning. From then on, they had kept up a correspondence, and the formality of Grace Catesby’s title had been dropped for her preference, to become simply Catesby.

  If anyone could answer Clarissa’s questions, it would be Catesby.

  Clarissa parked her battered old Nissan in a visitor’s space next to a sparkling midnight-blue jaguar, grabbed her handbag containing her notebook and pen, and climbed out of her car. Catesby stood at the head of the stone steps, in front of the huge double doors.

  The older woman had known Clarissa would be coming, of course.

  Catesby, Clarissa had long realised, could predict the future.

  Now Catesby smiled broadly as Clarissa climbed the steps towards her and held out her arms for a soft embrace. “Just in time for breakfast,” she grinned.

  Clarissa downed a vat of coffee but struggled with her breakfast. The bacon in her sandwich reminded her that Toby was all alone and waiting for her to show up. She had no doubt that had it been on offer to him, a bacon sammich would have been his new favourite favourite.

  Somehow she had to find a way to adopt him.

  The clatter of plates and cutlery and the excited chatter of dozens of teenage girls reverberated around the wood-panelled dining hall. This, in combination with her overdose of caffeine, meant that Clarissa had the makings of a terrific headache.

  “You’re troubled?” Catesby asked, regarding her young protégé with concern.

  Clarissa hesitated, staring down into her coffee mug. How do you broach a tough subject when you know the questions and answers will bring pain or discomfort to all the parties involved?

  “I generally find starting at the beginning leads to the maximum amount of listener understanding.”

  Clarissa looked up, blinking in surprise. Hadn’t Toby said exactly the same thing just a few days ago? Those very words. Had Catesby channelled him?

  Catesby met her surprised gaze with a gentle smile. “There is much you want to ask.”

  “You know why I’m here?” Clarissa queried.

  Catesby nodded. “I can guess. It’s a conversation that is long overdue. I’ve been waiting for you to come back and demand answers. Answers to difficult questions, I fear.” She pushed her plate away and folded her hands neatly in front of her. “I’ll try to be as transparent as I can be.” She pursed her lips, then added, “Perhaps without breaking certain confidences that have been entrusted to me.”

  Clarissa relaxed a little. “Fair enough.” She allowed her thoughts to tumble around her brain like a washing machine, processing them into some sort of order until the most obvious sprang to the forefront. She wanted—no needed—to know more about her personal history. Taking a deep breath, she started. “My aunt?” This seemed to be the most important query.

  Catesby pressed her lips together into a grim line and looked away momentarily. “Is not your aunt, as I suppose you have now realised. That was a ruse. You undoubtedly, even at your tender age, would never have consented to be taken by a strange woman who was not family. Not without a great deal of fuss at any rate. I hated that lie. Miranda thought it necessary.”

  “So she didn’t have any rights over me?”

  Catesby screwed her eyed up in thought. “Hmm.” She wiggled her head. An odd yes-no combination. “Only in as much as Ravenswood was the proper place for you to be. The most fitting place for you at a time of uncertainty. Among your own kind. We kept you safe.”

  Something in Catesby’s tone gave Clarissa pause. “You sound doubtful.”

  “That’s because I know your parents would never have allowed it, had they still been alive.” Catesby obviously intended to be as candid as she could be. “They wouldn’t have wanted you to attend Ravenswood or join the Coven of the Silver Winds.”

  “But I ended up doing both those things.” Clarissa swallowed. She barely remembered them, but the people she recalled had never seemed overly officious or negative. “Why wouldn’t they have allowed it?”

  “They had broken with the Coven itself.”

  Clarissa thought back to her childhood. From a young age she had understood her parents were different, but never comprehended they were witches until after she had arrived at Ravenswood.

  Catesby continued, “They might have branched off to create a coven of their own, which may or may not have been acceptable to the Ministry of Witches, but instead of doing that, they decided they preferred a completely mundane life. It was their avowed intention to bring you up in that way.”

  “And that wasn’t allowed?” Clarissa couldn’t imagine why this might have been the case. The Ministry of Witches, while annoyingly fuddy-duddy and bit medieval in their approach from time to time, had never seemed anything but open-minded and diverse in attitude whenever she’d had dealings with them.

  “Of course it’s allowed. To each their own path.”

  Clarissa placed her mug on the table between them. “So who killed them?”

  Catesby shook her head. An emphatic denial. “That I don’t know.”

  “This Aunt-who-wasn’t-actually-my-aunt-Miranda, you mean?”

  Catesby shook her head and remained mute. This had to be one of the confidences she wasn’t prepared to divulge.

  “Were they killed because they had left the Coven?”

  Catesby shook her head. “I honestly don’t know. But I really don’t think so.”

  Clarissa sighed. “So what is her full name? This Miranda-who-isn’t-my-aunt? Is Miranda even her real name?”

  “Miranda is her real name, yes. Miranda Dervish.” As soon as Catesby spoke the words, Clarissa remembered. She had heard the name. Had Catesby addressed her as Miss Dervish in the office on the night the little girl had been deposited in the foyer? Or was the remembrance of that name locked deeply in her memories someplace?

  Clarissa changed tack. “What do you know about Joseph Silverwind?”

  “Now that I can help you with.” Catesby rose from the table with a smile. “Let’s go back to my office. Bring your coffee if you wish, but I have plenty.”

  Clarissa had spent many hours in Catesby’s office over the years. Miss Catesby, as she’d thought of her until the moment she had left the school, had been her house mistress. Twice a month they had sat in this room together, sharing cake and hot chocolate and discussing all manner of things. Clarissa’s studies, her love of literature, her plans for the future. Some nights they had wandered outside and stared at the stars. Catesby could name them all, knew their movements, was as familiar with astronomy as astrology, and didn’t see a disconnect between the two. “We are all made of stardust,” she would say, almost wistfully. “Stardust and science.”

  Now Clarissa took her familiar armchair, a little faded and worn, but still comfortable, and placed her coffee mug on a side table. Catesby sat in a second armchair facing her, smoothing out hand-embroidered antimacassars, and for a time lost in thought.

  “Joseph?” Clarissa prompted her.

  Catesby blinked and rolled her shoulders back, lifting her gaze to look directly at Clarissa. “Joseph Arnold Page. One-time leader of the Coven of the Silver Winds. He retired from that position some time before you were born, and very much took a back seat from then on. Nevertheless, he was well-liked and maintained some influence among his wider circle.”

  “If he was so well-liked, why did Miranda Dervish kill him?”

  “Why do you think she killed him?” Catesby’s face gave nothing away.

  Clarissa shrugged, unsure how to respond. It seemed to her that Catesby wanted to help but couldn’t. “I think she took something from the house. Hidden in the carriage clock. Maybe that’s all it was. She wanted it, and she killed Joseph to get it.”

  Catesby leaned forward, and for the first time she appeared worried. Something around her right eye pulsed. “She took something, you say? Do you know what it was?”

  “I tried to look into it. I—” Sh
e stopped. Should she mention Toby? Part of her wanted to hold back, protect her furry friend if she could. “Some kind of gemstone, I think.”

  “What colour?”

  “Erm… a kind of purple?”

  Catesby blew out her cheeks. “Purple? You’re absolutely sure?”

  Clarissa heard the note of uncertainty creeping into Catesby’s voice. Something tremulous and tense. Could she be scared? Clarissa’s stomach fluttered an anxious response. “As sure as I can be under the circumstances. I wasn’t there, after all.”

  Catesby took a sharp breath as she considered the implications of what Clarissa was telling her. “But someone was? There’s a witness?”

  Clarissa remained mute. Toby had become too precious to her. She wouldn’t give him up. He was in enough danger at the kennels.

  “This changes things.” Catesby shot to her feet and moved to stand in front of the window, kicking over a pile of books as she went. She ignored them, her fingers wiggling in agitation as she peered outside, her head twitching nervily as she scanned the grounds.

  Silence filled the room. Clarissa’s heart beat a little faster. What did Catesby know? She anxiously checked the clock on Catesby’s wall. She still had time, but Toby’s release had to be her priority. The sooner she made a move, the better she would feel.

  She cleared her throat, not so much as to speak, but to bring Catesby back to the present.

  Catesby started at the noise, seeming to make her mind up. She returned to her desk and opened a drawer. Pulling out a battered leather address book from its far reaches, she thumbed through the crumpled pages until she came across one particular entry.

  With a brisk flourish, she wrote down a number on the paper in front of her, ripped off the relevant square and handed it to Clarissa. “I want you to call this number. When they answer, you tell them that The Six Stone is in the wind.”

  Clarissa gave a little head shake. “The six stones?”

  “Not six stones, The Six Stone.”

  “And what is The Six Stone?”

  Catesby’s face fell. “I really can’t tell you anything else. I didn’t know Joseph had it in his possession. But maybe I’m not entirely surprised.”

  Clarissa frowned at Catesby in confusion. “I just phone this number?”

  “And answer their questions.”

  Clarissa stared down at the piece of paper in her hand. A London number. “Then what will happen?”

  “You’ll probably never find out.” Catesby re-took her seat. “But it is important that they know about this. You need to understand that. The people at the end of this number have to know.”

  “And why did Joseph possess it? If this stone, whatever you call it, was so valuable… why did he keep it in his house?”

  “So many questions.” Catesby exhaled sharply. “And I just can’t help you with them. I do want to, but I can’t.” She stood once more and walked behind her desk, dropping to her knees in front of a small safe. Clarissa listened to a series of clicks, then a louder clang as Catesby swung it open. She rummaged through its contents, before clambering to her feet once more, groaning with the effort, and coming to stand in front of Clarissa. She held out her hand, offering the younger witch an A4-sized manila envelope. “However, there is this.”

  “What is it?” Clarissa turned the envelope over carefully. Her name had been scrawled across the front, Clarissa Louise Page Silverwind.

  “Your grandfather sent this to me when he heard you had been brought here after the disappearance of your parents. He was heartbroken, of course. He and I had several conversations about what would be best for you. Should you go and live with him or remain here? In the end, he decided you were safest here.”

  Catesby nodded at the envelope. “Go ahead and open it. I’ll leave you alone if you prefer.”

  Clarissa shook her head. Whatever it contained, she didn’t mind sharing with the older woman. Catesby was all the family Clarissa had left.

  Fingers trembling slightly, Clarissa carefully tore the envelope open and reached inside to rescue a sheath of papers.

  The top sheet contained a handwritten note, with several words underscored for emphasis.

  “My darling Clarissa,” she read.

  Unfortunately, by the time you read this, I will have shuffled off this mortal coil. I have entrusted the enclosed documents to Grace Catesby on the understanding that she will pass them on to you only when you eventually come to her seeking specific information about your past and the woman who deposited you at Ravenswood.

  There is much I could have told you about your parents. I could lie and say I never had the opportunity to do so, but actually I never took the opportunity. This was a conscious choice on my part, and I hope one day you will understand and forgive me.

  If you are now standing in Grace Catesby’s office, then I do believe that you have reached the stage where you will begin to search for the answers you need. You will do this by yourself.

  If Ravenswood has equipped you properly for the life you will lead in the future, then I have every confidence that you will overcome every obstacle that lies in your way.

  No doubt what I’m writing here seems garbled, but each of us has a path to follow. I am no longer in a position to protect you, but I could never have walked your path for you in any case. What lies ahead may seem daunting, but if you are half the girl your parents knew you to be, then the outcome will be an encouraging one.

  You have been brought up in the tradition of the Coven of the Silver Winds, as has a long line of your forebears. There is much your brothers, sisters and elders can teach you, but an important part of being a witch is listening to your instincts, particularly when instinct is the only tool you have left in your armoury.

  Choose your friends wisely, and trust only those deserving of that gift.

  I only regret we could never meet again in this life. Please understand that your wellbeing has been my constant concern. If the gods and goddesses permit, we will one day walk together in the Summerlands.

  Your loving grandfather

  Joseph Arnold Silverwind

  Enc: All I have I bequeath to you, to facilitate your onward journey to enlightenment.

  Clarissa drew in a juddering breath and wiped a trail of tears away from her cheek. “Oh,” she said. “Oh.” It was all she could think of to say.

  Catesby handed her a box of tissues and patted her shoulder.

  “He was a good man,” she said. “A lovely man. In constant touch with me over the past twenty years, keeping an eye on you from a distance.”

  “I wish I’d known him, but it is good to hear even belatedly.” Clarissa blew her nose, then held the letter aloft. “But what does all this mean? He says I have a path to follow.”

  Catesby busied herself pouring fresh coffee into Clarissa’s mug. “I suppose that’s only something you can know. Or find out.”

  “Could he mean my discovering who killed him?” Clarissa pondered. “The thing is, I know who killed him. Miranda Dervish. But is it something I’m going to be able to prove? The police claim Joseph had a stroke and a fall.”

  “Perhaps the important thing is not who killed Joseph,” Catesby suggested, taking her own seat once more. She lowered her voice so that Clarissa could barely hear her. “Perhaps it’s more about the ‘why’?”

  The two women stared at each other for a long moment. A pain began to pulse in Clarissa’s forehead.

  “You were always destined to be an investigative journalist,” Catesby continued. “You have the skills to poke around and disturb a viper’s nest or two.”

  Clarissa blinked. “You’re suggesting that there are vipers’ nests that need disturbing?”

  Catesby pressed a finger to her own lips. “I’m not suggesting anything,” she replied, but took her finger away and nodded once.

  Clarissa’s stomach tipped over. If Catesby was being this secretive, what would Clarissa be getting herself into? She scrabbled around, trying to make sense of what l
ittle information she possessed. “Is there a link between the death of my parents and that of Joseph?” she asked.

  Catesby peered over her glasses and solemnly studied the young woman. They held each other’s gaze for the longest time before Catesby lifted her shoulders and shook her head. “I really don’t think there’s anything more I can help you with.” She drew her lips back in a thin smile. Her voice had become oddly formal as though she imagined someone might be listening in to their conversation.

  Clarissa looked around, fear still nibbling away at her insides. Nothing to see. No-one else in the room, no-one at the window. As far as her senses told her, no-one at the door either.

  There could be no doubt about Catesby’s odd behaviour, however.

  Catesby was scared.

  “Well thank you for keeping this letter safe for me all this time. I’m truly grateful to receive it.” Clarissa matched Catesby’s tone and lay the handwritten sheet aside, so she could flick through the pages beneath. She caught her breath as she realised what she was holding, and her hands began to shake. “This is Joseph’s will!”

  “Yes, he stored one copy here and one with his lawyer on Celestial Street, in London. It’s all above board.”

  Clarissa’s eyes widened in surprise as she skimmed the pages.

  “He left me his house and all his belongings, what money he has in his bank…” She read a little further on, then jumped up in excitement, knocking the table and spilling her coffee. “Toby! Oh my life! He left me Toby!”

  Catesby grinned at Clarissa’s evident delight. The mood in the room had lightened considerably. “Who is Toby?” she asked.

  Still clutching the papers in one hand, Clarissa dashed across the room and enfolded Catesby in a tight hug. “Toby is a dog. But he’s much more than that. He’s a spellbound hound!”

  Catesby laughed, not entirely certain what a spellbound hound might be, but caught up in Clarissa’s evident joy. “I’m pleased for you! It’s great to see you so happy.”

  “Oh I am. I will be. Oh my word! I’m so grateful!” Clarissa suddenly stopped, remembering. Her face screwed up in consternation. “What time is it? I have to be getting back.”