WITCH CHOCOLATE FUDGE

by HANNA, H. Y.

  Witch Chocolate Fudge

  BEWITCHED BY CHOCOLATE Mysteries ~ Book 2

  By

  H.Y. Hanna

  A witch, a kitty and a wickedly delicious mystery…

  Since arriving in the tiny Cotswolds village of Tillyhenge, Caitlyn is discovering that there are lots of perks to being a witch (although sadly, magic still can’t make your thighs thinner or stop you acting like an idiot every time you meet handsome “lord of the manor”, James Fitzroy).

  But when the nasty housekeeper at Huntingdon Manor is murdered and Caitlyn becomes the main suspect, she finds herself surrounded by suspicious villagers. With the help of her sassy American cousin, a mischievous black kitten and a slobbering English mastiff – not to mention the old village witch and her shop of enchanted chocolates - Caitlyn sets out to clear her name.

  She soon realises that this is no simple murder. Her sleuthing leads her to an ancient ring with mythical powers – a ring worth killing for. But with a few clever spells and some chocolate magic, Caitlyn just might solve the mystery – and find her real family too!

  WARNING: May contain traces of “Hahaha!”

  Books in the BEWITCHED BY CHOCOLATE Mysteries:

  Witch Dark Chocolate (Book 1)

  Witch Chocolate Fudge (Book 2)

  ~ more coming soon!

  Sign up to my mailing list to be notified about new releases, exclusive giveaways and other book news: http://www.hyhanna.com/newsletter

  DEDICATION

  To my husband, who is a wizard with wit and words.

  Author’s Note:

  This book follows British English spelling and usage.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER ONE

  There are a lot of things you can do when you’re a witch but even magic can’t control the English weather.

  Caitlyn Le Fey glanced at the darkening sky above and quickened her steps, her breath coming faster as she climbed with greater speed up the hill. It had been raining non-stop all day—great torrents of water more suited to the tropics than to the Cotswolds countryside—but when the skies had finally brightened late afternoon and the downpour had stopped, she had thought that it was safe enough to venture out. It wasn’t a long walk from the village of Tillyhenge to Huntingdon Manor, especially if you took the shortcut over the hill. She had been sure that she could get there in time to stay dry, even if the heavens did decide to open up again.

  But she should have known better than to underestimate the English weather. It was no wonder the British were so obsessed with it. It dominated people’s lives and no one was exempt. Not even if you’re a witch, thought Caitlyn with a wry smile.

  Then she shook her head and laughed out loud. Barely a week ago, if someone had mentioned the word “witch” to her, never mind told her that she was one, she would have rolled her eyes in disbelief and amusement. Now? Well, after a week in Tillyhenge, magic and witchcraft didn’t seem so impossible—or incredible—any more.

  Something fell on the back of her neck, breaking into her thoughts. She reached up and touched the spot, feeling moisture on her fingers. A minute later, she felt a splatter on her face. Raindrops.

  “Rats!” she muttered.

  She looked ahead: she was almost at the top now—only a few more minutes of climbing and she would be standing on the crest of the hill—then she looked uncertainly over her shoulder, back the way she had come. The trail meandered back down the grassy slope and retraced her steps to the rear of the small stone cottage sitting at the edge of the village. She could still turn around. She could probably make it back into the cottage before the skies opened again.

  Caitlyn hesitated, then turned resolutely forwards and continued up the hill. No, she wasn’t going to let a little rain deter her. She was already halfway there! If she turned back now, she would have walked twice the distance for nothing. Besides, Pomona would be so disappointed if she didn’t visit as promised. Her cousin had had a pretty traumatic experience two days ago, after her romantic date had turned into a rendezvous with a cold-blooded murderer. And although she kept insisting that she was fine, Caitlyn was worried that Pomona was just putting on a brave face. She’d certainly seemed more subdued than usual when Caitlyn had visited her yesterday.

  Reaching the top of the hill, Caitlyn heaved a breath and paused to look down the other side. The raindrops were starting to fall faster and heavier now, and in the distance she could see a sheet of rain moving diagonally across the landscape. It was heading her way. She started downhill, skidding slightly on the wet, muddy grass as she tried to hurry. The slope descended gently, levelling out to join the sprawling parkland which surrounded Huntingdon Manor—an elegant English country house in the Georgian style, with a sweeping front driveway and formal landscaped gardens, that was like something straight out of a Jane Austen novel.

  And inhabited by a modern-day Mr Darcy too, thought Caitlyn with a smile. Well, if Mr Darcy smiled a lot more, had warm grey eyes, a charming manner, and a physique that any male model would have envied—not to mention a sexy British accent that left you weak at the knees. But Lord James Fitzroy, owner of Huntingdon Manor and the surrounding estates, including the village of Tillyhenge, was no clichéd “lord of the manor”—in fact, he combined aristocratic courtesy with a down-to-earth humility that had all his tenants in love with him, men as well as the ladies.

  The rain was coming down in earnest now and Caitlyn started to run. She dashed across the manicured lawns edging the side of the Manor and headed for the closest door she could see. This was at the rear of the building—probably what used to be a service entrance for tradesmen—and she banged on it frantically as the rain pelted down around her. Hopefully one of the Manor staff would hear her and she’d have the chance to dry off before venturing into the main part of the house…

  The door swung open and she looked up in dismay at the tall, handsome man framed in the doorway.

  “Caitlyn!” James Fitzroy stared at her. “What on earth… you’re soaked through! Come in, come in—” He grabbed her arm before she could protest and pulled her in out of the rain.

  Caitlyn found herself standing in a dark hallway which obviously led into what used to be the old servants’ quarters. She shivered as the water dripped off her and formed puddles on the floor.

  “Here,” said James, shrugging off his fine linen jacket and draping it around her shoulders.

  “Oh, no, it’ll get wet! It’ll be ruined—” Caitlyn protested.

  James made an impatient sound. “Don’t worry about it. The important thing is that you’re warm.”

  “Th-thank you,” said Caitlyn, wrapping the jacket around herself gratefully. It smelled of freshly laundered linen and a hint of expensive male aftershave.

  James was looking at her in concern and she was suddenly terribly conscious of the fact that she probably looked like a drowned rat. She winced as she recalled their first meeting—she had thrown herself into a pond to rescue a drowning kitten a
nd James had had to fish her out—that had ended with her all bedraggled and dripping wet too. She sighed. Why did she always have to meet him when she was looking her worst?

  “Come on, we’ve got to get you some towels and a change of dry clothes…” James put a gentle hand under her elbow and began escorting her down the hallway, back towards the main part of the house.

  “Oh, wait… I can’t… I’ll drip everywhere,” protested Caitlyn, hanging back.

  James raised an amused eyebrow. “I’m sure the floors can withstand a little water.”

  As she followed him reluctantly into the main part of the Manor, with its luxurious furnishings, priceless Aubusson carpets, and elegant chandeliers, Caitlyn felt even more self-conscious about her appearance. She had been so sure she’d have the time to make herself presentable, if she came in via the rear entrance—who would have thought that the master of Huntingdon Manor himself would open the door?

  “I was looking for my housekeeper, Mrs Brixton,” James said, as if in answer to her unspoken question. “And it’s a good thing I was! Otherwise you might have been stuck out in the rain for ages because no one would have heard you knocking. Everyone is preoccupied preparing for the Summer Garden Party.”

  “The Summer Garden Party?”

  “Didn’t Pomona tell you? It’s a Fitzroy family tradition. We hold a Summer Garden Party every year, a few days before the Summer Solstice, here on the Manor grounds. It’s primarily for the tenants and villagers, although everyone is welcome, naturally,” he added with a smile. “I hope to see you and Pomona there.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” Caitlyn shyly returned his smile. “What usually happens at the party?”

  James chuckled. “A lot of cake-eating and tea-drinking—what else? But in actual fact, I’m hoping to change things a little in the future. With my father’s death last year, a lot of the villagers have been anxious about whether the old traditions might continue. I’d like to reassure them, but—since this is the first party where I’m stepping into the role of the host—I’d also like to introduce some new elements and liven things up a bit.” He gave a rueful laugh. “It has required a lot of extra work and coordination, though, so I’m not sure the staff are all that pleased with me… Ah, Mrs Brixton!” He looked up as a middle-aged woman entered the hall from the other end and walked towards them.

  Caitlyn’s heart sank as the housekeeper approached. She had met Mrs Brixton briefly a few times before and she didn’t like the woman. Tall and angular, with a pinched nose, calculating blue eyes, and a thin, almost lipless mouth, Mrs Brixton exuded all the arrogance and snobbery that her employer lacked. She even looked liked the stereotypical Victorian housekeeper, with her hair pulled back in a severe bun and an old-fashioned ring of keys that she always seemed to carry around with her.

  “Yes, Lord Fitzroy?” said Mrs Brixton, eyeing Caitlyn with undisguised disgust as she took in the girl’s wet, dishevelled appearance.

  “I wondered if you could fetch some towels for Miss Le Fey and some of Miss Vanessa’s clothes?” James turned to Caitlyn with a smile. “My sister lives in London but she keeps some things in her room here. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you borrowing a couple of items. In fact, would you like to have a hot shower in one of the guest rooms?”

  “Oh, no!” said Caitlyn quickly. “Just some towels would be fine, honestly. And maybe just something to wear while my own clothes are drying—that would be great.”

  “Mrs Brixton, if you would be so kind…?” James turned back to the other woman.

  The housekeeper pressed her thin lips together. “I’ll see what I can find, sir.”

  “Thank you,” said James. He turned back to Caitlyn once more. “I need to return to my study—I’m awaiting a conference call—but Mrs Brixton will show you over to the private wing when you’re ready.”

  As soon as James was out of earshot, Mrs Brixton turned to Caitlyn and said sourly, “You can change in the old servants’ quarters. No need to go upstairs and get mud all over the carpets. And there’s one of the maids’ spare uniforms that you can wear while you’re waiting.”

  Caitlyn flushed slightly at the woman’s contemptuous manner but she did feel uncomfortable about tracking mud and dirt all over the Manor, not to mention borrowing James’s sister’s clothes, so she said nothing as she followed the housekeeper back to the rear of the house. A few minutes later, she was peeling her wet clothes off in a small bathroom at the end of the servants’ corridor. She dried herself quickly with the towel provided and squeezed as much water as she could out of her hair, then contemplated the dress that Mrs Brixton had left for her.

  It was a simple black maid’s uniform, made of polyester, and looked about her size, although when Caitlyn slipped it on, she was dismayed to find that it stretched tight across her hips and thighs in the most unflattering manner. Obviously it hadn’t been designed for someone with the classic pear-shaped figure who needed a little extra room around her bottom! Caitlyn sighed. Well, beggars couldn’t be choosers. She just hoped that her own clothes could be dried quickly.

  Speaking of which… She picked up the wet bundle and stepped out of the bathroom, hesitating in the corridor. Mrs Brixton hadn’t said anything about offering to dry her clothes but Caitlyn was determined not to let herself be intimidated by the other woman’s insolent manner. She remembered that the housekeeper had a sitting-room-cum-office at the back of the house and she wandered slowly down the corridor, searching for it.

  As she turned a corner, she spied a familiar oak cabinet and the sitting room door next to it. The door was slightly ajar. She hurried over and was about to knock when she froze with her hand raised. From inside the room came the sound of angry voices, followed by the thwack of something smacking down on a table.

  “… don’t you threaten me, Mrs Brixton, or I’ll… I’ll make sure you regret it!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Temper, Amelia. There’s no need to get hysterical. I am simply offering you a business proposition: pay me a portion of your wages and keep your job, or I’ll have you fired for stealing.”

  “That’s not a business proposition—that’s blackmail!”

  Mrs Brixton laughed nastily. “You can call it whatever you like. As long as we understand each other.”

  “An’ what if I go to Lord Fitzroy an’ tell him what you’re doin’? I bet he wouldn’t be happy to find out that his housekeeper’s an old slag who blackmails people!”

  “I would deny everything,” said Mrs Brixton calmly. “Who do you think he is going to believe? A silly maid who hasn’t been working here six months? Or his respectable housekeeper who has been with the family for years?”

  There was an uneasy silence. “I… I wasn’t really stealin’. Not for myself, anyway.”

  “I’m sure that’s what all the thieves say when they make off with the silver,” said Mrs Brixton with another nasty laugh.

  “No, this is different! An’ anyway, Lord Fitzroy would never have even noticed.”

  “Well, he certainly won’t if I don’t tell him,” Mrs Brixton purred. “But I will need something to ensure my silence. Oh, I’ll give you some time to think it over. Shall we speak again after the Garden Party? You may go now, Amelia.”

  There was an angry silence, then footsteps hurried to the door and, before Caitlyn could pull back, the door was flung open and a girl rushed out. Caitlyn recognized her as one of the maids. The girl’s face was a mask of fury, her eyes blazing, and she barely noticed Caitlyn as she stormed past and disappeared down the corridor.

  Caitlyn hesitated, then knocked on the open door and stepped into the sitting room. It was a large space, handsomely furnished with a sofa, armchair, large desk, and several cabinets. Like the housekeeper herself, though, the room was quite severe in appearance. The walls and curtains were in sombre shades of grey and navy, and the few decorations were limited to a potted plant on the desk, a framed watercolour on one of the walls, and a clock and a blue-and-white china jug on the mante
lpiece.

  Mrs Brixton was sitting at the desk. She looked up as Caitlyn came in.

  Caitlyn held up the bundle in her hands. “Hello… here are my wet clothes.”

  The housekeeper’s lips tightened. For a moment, Caitlyn almost felt like she should offer to find the dryer herself, then she bit her tongue. It wasn’t that she expected to be waited upon but she didn’t want to give this unpleasant woman the satisfaction of seeing her cowed.

  “I would appreciate it if you could have them dried as quickly as possible, Mrs Brixton,” she said pleasantly, walking over and placing the sodden bundle down next to the ring of keys on the woman’s desk. “And Lord Fitzroy said you’d be able to show me over to the private wing?”

  “I’m sure you can find the way yourself,” said the housekeeper coldly. “I am very busy—especially now that I’ll have extra work seeing to your wet clothes—and I really don’t have the time to shepherd people around. Most of Lord Fitzroy’s usual guests are familiar with these types of residences and wouldn’t need help navigating their way around the Manor.”

  Caitlyn took a deep breath, trying not to let the woman’s rudeness get to her. She didn’t want to waste more time standing here or spend longer in the housekeeper’s company than was necessary.

  Giving the woman a breezy smile, she said, “Thanks. You’re right, I’m sure I’ll find my way.”

  Her confidence was short-lived, however, when she found herself hopelessly lost several minutes later, wandering through vast drawing rooms with soaring ceilings and ornate hallways hung with oil paintings. She turned a corner and bumped into a group of Japanese tourists being given a guided tour, standing in the grand foyer with its sweeping Baroque staircase. Like many stately homes in England, Huntingdon Manor was too big now for its present-day owners and, after his father’s death, James had decided to open up two thirds of the house to the public. In less than a year, it had gained a reputation as a top venue for weddings and events, as well as an ideal film location for period dramas—not to mention a popular destination for tourists to the Cotswolds—and now that Caitlyn had a chance to wander around the Manor, she was beginning to see why.