by HANNA, H. Y.
A sound from the doorway leading back into the house made them both look up. A minute later, something scampered into the conservatory: a fluffy black kitten. He was followed by an enormous English mastiff the size of a small pony, who lumbered in after the kitten, his baggy wrinkled face pulled back in a happy doggie grin. They seemed to be playing a game of hide ’n’ seek, although mostly it was just the kitten hiding and the mastiff looking very confused.
“Hello, you!” said Caitlyn in delight, reaching down to scoop up the kitten as he scampered past. He looked up at her with big yellow eyes and let out a loud “Meew!”
Caitlyn smiled. The first time she had seen this kitten, he had been a terrified little thing fighting for his life in a quarry pond and she had rescued him just in time from drowning. Now he was a cheeky scamp, with a little round tummy and glossy black fur that stood out from his body in spiky tufts.
“Meew!” he said again, starting to squirm in her grasp, and Caitlyn chuckled. “All right, all right… Here you go…” She put him down on the floor again and the kitten instantly scampered off in search of his big friend.
“They’re so cute together,” said Pomona, smiling as she watched them. “I swear, the first time I saw that dog, I nearly freaked out. I thought he was gonna squash the kitten. But he’s so gentle…”
“Yeah, he’s a gentle giant. Hello, Bran… Aren’t you a gorgeous boy…?” Caitlyn cooed as the mastiff came up to them and thrust his jowly face into her lap. He stood and drooled on her as she patted him.
“Er… yeah, gorgeous except for the slobber,” said Pomona, edging away. She glanced up through the conservatory windows and a gleam came into her eyes. “Ooh! Guess who’s coming this way? Hmm… I think I need to pop back to my room to get something…”
“Wha—?” Caitlyn turned and looked out of the conservatory window, then her eyes widened in alarm. “No, wait, Pomie, don’t go—”
Too late. Pomona was already hurrying out of the conservatory and, a moment later, James Fitzroy stepped in through the open double doors from the garden.
“Caitlyn… there you are! I was wondering where you’d got to.” He smiled as he came over to join her.
“Er, hi…” Caitlyn shifted uncomfortably and started to stand up, then realised that not only was she wearing a hideous dress which was stretched across her hips, showing every bulge of her thighs, but she was now also covered in dog drool.
Great, thought Caitlyn with a silent groan. So much for meeting James looking beautiful and glamorous…! She looked around frantically, grabbed a cushion at random and held it on her lap, hoping that it would hide both fat and slobber.
“Are you all right?” asked James, looking at her slightly quizzically.
“Er… yes, fine, fine! Just enjoying your conservatory furniture… Lov-ely cushions!” Caitlyn said brightly, manically stroking the one on her lap like a Bond villain.
“Thank you.” James looked at her uncertainly. He sat down in a wicker armchair opposite her. “Where’s Pomona? I thought she was here in the conservatory?”
“She’s gone up to her room to get something,” mumbled Caitlyn, adding silently that she was going to kill her cousin the next time she saw her.
There was an awkward silence and Caitlyn squirmed, trying to think of something to say. Then, to her relief, the black kitten bounded past.
“Ah, here you are, you little monkey!” James said with a laugh. He reached down and scooped up the baby cat, lifting him up to face level. The kitten raised a paw and batted playfully at James’s nose. “Meew!”
James looked at Caitlyn over the top of the furry head, his grey eyes laughing. “You know, all the staff are besotted with him—and half the tourists too. I keep having to stop little old ladies trying to smuggle him home in their handbags.”
“What are you going to call him?” asked Caitlyn.
“Well… I thought I’d let you decide,” said James with a smile as he put the kitten back down. “After all, we did rescue him together so I suppose you could say that he is ‘our’ cat.”
Caitlyn dropped her eyes and busied herself patting the kitten, hoping that he wouldn’t see the blush heating her cheeks. Somehow the way he said that made it all sound so intimate.
She cleared her throat. “I… I haven’t really got any ideas.”
“There’s no hurry. Wait until inspiration strikes you.” James chuckled. “At the moment, he seems to be getting along fine either being called: ‘Aren’t you adorable?’ by the women staff or ‘Oi! Ye bloody cat!’ by Old Palmer, when he catches him digging in the gardens.”
Caitlyn laughed and was about to reply when there was a commotion in the hallway outside and, the next moment, a middle-aged woman came barging into the conservatory, followed by a harassed-looking maid.
“Mrs Winifred Harris, sir,” said the maid. “She insisted on seeing you.”
“He knows who I am!” snapped the woman.
She looked vaguely familiar and Caitlyn realised that she had seen Winifred Harris once or twice around the village, gossiping with other residents and bossily directing tourists. She was in her late fifties and had stiff permed hair and a stolid, respectable face—the kind of woman you expected to be presiding over church committees and organising charity fundraisers.
She strode towards James now, brandishing a folder on which Caitlyn could see a label with the words “Fitzroy Summer Garden Party” in carefully written letters.
“Lord Fitzroy! This is an absolute outrage!” she cried. “I knew it had to be a mistake so I came to see you immediately.”
James rose politely. “Mrs Harris—is something the matter?”
“Yes!” The woman faced James and pulled herself up to her full height. “I have just been going over the final menu for the Garden Party and the list of items that are going to be served… and I noticed that there is a new section. Chocolates!” She nearly spat out the word. “Chocolates from the Widow Mags’s shop in the village!”
“Is there a problem with that?” asked James, looking puzzled.
Mrs Harris gave him a lofty look. “You may not realise it, Lord Fitzroy, but that woman has a… a reputation.”
“You’re not referring to the silly nonsense about her being a witch, I hope?”
“It’s not nonsense!” said Mrs Harris indignantly. “She is a witch! Everyone knows it. She has even cursed several of the ladies in the village—just ask Angela Skinner! They suffered terribly just because they dared to go into that chocolate shop of hers. The Widow Mags put a hex on them and gave them warts!”
James sighed. “Mrs Harris, the police investigated that incident and found no evidence of wrongdoing on the Widow Mags’s part. In fact, from what I heard, Miss Skinner mistook a blob of chocolate on her nose for a… er… unusual skin growth.”
“What about what happened with the cup of hot chocolate?” Mrs Harris demanded. “There was no earthly explanation for that! It just erupted in Angela’s face!”
James glanced at Caitlyn, who squirmed in her seat. She knew the truth about that hot chocolate incident and she had already been forced to lie to James once—she didn’t want it all raked up again.
“I am not sure what happened there but, again, the police did not feel the need to investigate further,” said James patiently. “I appreciate your concerns, Mrs Harris, but I assure you that they are unfounded. The Widow Mags is a longstanding member of the village and a skilled chocolatier. I think it would be wonderful to have her creations at the Garden Party for everyone to sample. Her chocolates are delicious, probably the best I’ve ever tasted—”
“Yes, and don’t you wonder why?” demanded Mrs Harris. “They’re bewitched, that’s what they are! Bewitched by dark magic! That’s why they taste so good. And they make you feel… all manner of things. It’s downright sinful!”
James burst out laughing. “Mrs Harris, I think they are simply very good chocolates. There is no sinister magic in that.”
“She has bewitc
hed you too!” declared Mrs Harris. “That’s right. She’s got to you, Lord Fitzroy. Otherwise, you’d never be standing there, condoning such evil decadence. Ohhh, your father is probably turning in his grave! He would never have allowed the Widow Mags’s chocolates to be served at the Garden Party when he was head of Huntingdon Manor!”
James’s grey eyes turned cold. “Perhaps you are right, Mrs Harris. But I am the head of Huntingdon Manor now and I have decided to include the chocolates on the menu. It’s high time that this ridiculous prejudice against the Widow Mags is put to an end. Her chocolates are of exemplary quality and I have no doubt that they would be greatly enjoyed by the villagers, if everyone could just overlook such irrational fears and malicious hearsay. I am sorry if that offends your sensibilities but I am not prepared to discuss this further.”
Caitlyn looked at James in silent awe. His voice was still calm and infallibly polite, but there was no mistaking the steel in his tone or the quiet authority in his manner.
Mrs Harris flushed angrily but she seemed to realise that she had gone too far. “It is your event, of course, Lord Fitzroy,” she said tightly. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you! Letting a witch and her wicked chocolates into the Garden Party… you will regret it! Nothing but bad luck will come of that!”
Giving them all a last glare, she turned and stormed out of the room.
CHAPTER FOUR
Caitlyn walked slowly down the hallway towards Mrs Brixton’s sitting room and paused outside. The door was shut but she could hear the muffled sound of raised voices coming from inside. She winced, wondering what she might be interrupting this time. After the unpleasant scene with Mrs Harris in the conservatory, the last thing she wanted to do was walk into another argument.
Then she noticed the pile of dry clothes neatly folded on top of the cabinet next to the door. She recognised them as hers. Delighted that she wouldn’t have to see the housekeeper again, Caitlyn grabbed the clothes, changed quickly in the bathroom, and then let herself out of the rear entrance of the Manor.
James Fitzroy had offered to drive her back but she had declined, deciding that she would enjoy the fresh air and exercise. Now she wondered if she should have taken him up on his offer. It wasn’t raining but the sky was still grey and there were ominous clouds on the horizon. It was also getting dark. Normally the long summer days would have ensured that she’d have light until at least nine o’clock and have no trouble finding her way. Today, though, with the darkened skies and imminent rain, it felt like twilight was already falling.
Caitlyn set off at a brisk pace, hoping to make it back this time without getting wet. As she neared the top, Caitlyn glanced to her left where the forest flowed up the side of the hill and clung to its slopes, half covering it like a dark green blanket. Sitting on the crest of the hill, just at the edge of the forest, was an ancient stone circle. The misshapen boulders seemed almost to glow in the evening light, outlined against the darkness of the trees beyond. This was the Tillyhenge stone circle: the subject of countless myths and superstitions and—some said—the source of powerful magic.
A week ago, before she had arrived at Tillyhenge, Caitlyn would have scoffed at the legends surrounding this circle of sarsen boulders but now she was not so complacent. She had seen enough to know that witchcraft and magic did exist, and even what seemed like silly folk stories weren’t to be taken lightly.
She looked thoughtfully at the stone circle as she drew near. She hadn’t paid it much attention earlier when she had passed it on her way to the Manor, too preoccupied with avoiding the rain, but now she looked at it again with the unease she always felt whenever she came here. There was something about the stones—some vibe—which could be felt, even if you didn’t believe in magic or the paranormal. She had felt it that morning when she’d first seen them, even though she had still been sceptical of their associated myths and legends.
Then there had been that mysterious bonfire she’d seen from her bedroom window on her first night in Tillyhenge. Who had lit a bonfire here at the circle in the middle of the night? The villagers had denied any knowledge of it, although it was obvious that some of them were hiding something, whilst the police had shrugged it off as teenage arsonists. Maybe they were right… but somehow, Caitlyn didn’t believe it.
She sighed to herself. Yet another mystery surrounding Tillyhenge. The village seemed to be full of them. She was about to turn away when she paused, her gaze sharpening as she realised that there was a figure on the other side of the circle—a young woman loitering around the tallest boulder.
Curious, Caitlyn went closer. A twig snapped underfoot, and the woman jumped and looked up. Their eyes met and Caitlyn stopped in surprise. It was Angela Skinner, a young woman who lived in the village. Caitlyn hesitated. She hadn’t known Angela for long but she had seen enough to know that the other woman was a petty-minded, malicious bully. Still, Angela had suffered two very humiliating experiences recently and Caitlyn felt partly responsible.
Guilt made her offer the other woman a friendly smile as she called out, “Hi, Angela. It’s a nice evening, isn’t it? I’m so glad the rain stopped at last.”
Angela stared at her for a moment, then pointedly turned her back and looked the other way, her nose in the air. Caitlyn flushed at the deliberate snub. She started to say something, then changed her mind. It wasn’t worth it. Trying to put Angela out of her mind, she descended the other side of the hill, making her way down to the cottage nestled at the foot of the slope.
The rich aroma of chocolate hit her as she approached the rear of the cottage and Caitlyn could feel her mouth watering even before she stepped through the back door and into the kitchen. A riotous scene met her eyes: huge pots of melted chocolate being slowly stirred, dollops of creamy ganache being piped into crisp chocolate shells, trays of chocolate fudge brownies being taken out of ovens, and bowls of fluffy chocolate mousse being whipped into soft peaks… This would all have been perfectly normal at the back of any chocolate shop, except that here, the stirring ladles, hovering trays, and beating whisks were all moving by themselves. There was no human hand holding them. Caitlyn had seen it all before and yet she still felt like rubbing her eyes. No matter how many times she experienced it, she couldn’t get over the thrill of seeing magic in action.
And in the centre of it all, directing everything with expert flicks of her gnarled hands, stood a hunched old woman. She had a face that had been written about a dozen times in children’s books and fairy tales: dark arched eyebrows, piercing eyes, and a large, hooked nose … all that was missing was the black witch’s hat and flying broomstick. But Caitlyn knew that the Widow Mags didn’t need those clichéd embellishments. She was the real deal.
The old woman looked up as Caitlyn entered and growled, “About time, girl! Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for ages. I need someone to taste my chocolate fudge.”
As she spoke, she waved a hand and a dark brown square lifted from a tray on the table and floated through the air towards Caitlyn, who took an involuntary step backwards. The square of fudge stopped and hovered in front of her mouth.
“Well, go on!” said the Widow Mags impatiently. “Tell me how it tastes!”
Caitlyn plucked the piece of fudge out of the air and popped it between her lips. She closed her eyes as a burst of rich chocolate flavour filled her mouth: smooth, soft, creamy, and delicious, the fudge melted on her tongue and left a lingering taste of bittersweet chocolate and buttery caramel, as well as a hint of salty crunch.
She swallowed and opened her eyes. “That was amazing! What flavour is it? I’ve never tasted fudge like that.”
“It’s dark chocolate caramel with a hint of Celtic sea salt,” said the Widow Mags, a pleased smile transforming her stern features. “It’s one of the flavours I’m making for the Fitzroy Garden Party.” She waved her hand again and two more pieces of fudge floated through the air towards Caitlyn. “Try these and tell me what you think.”
Obediently, Caitlyn
reached for the squares. The first was a heavenly blend of smooth milk chocolate and creamy peanut butter, the second a velvety chocolate fudge centre swirled through with sumptuous vanilla.
“They’re both absolutely divine!” said Caitlyn, licking her fingers and eyeing the trays greedily, wondering if she could have another piece. There seemed to be rows upon rows of fudge spread out across the wooden table in the centre of the kitchen. “Wow… how many different kinds did you make?”
The Widow Mags waved a hand and said casually, “Oh, well, when Lord Fitzroy asked me to provide some things for the Garden Party, I thought I’d rustle up a few different flavours. There’s traditional toffee, of course, and the chocolate caramel, Belgian chocolate and vanilla, and peanut butter swirl, which you tasted…” She led the way to the shop area at the front of the cottage and pointed to another tray on the counter, filled with squares of dark brown fudge drizzled with white chocolate and topped with juicy red fruit. “…And I’m also trying a dark chocolate laced with Morello cherries and brandy. Of course, the centerpiece is going to be the triple-layered chocolate fudge cake. That has to be made fresh the day before the party but it won’t take me long.”
She was trying to sound like she didn’t really care but Caitlyn could see that beneath the false nonchalance, the Widow Mags was beaming with pride. The old woman would probably never admit it but she was delighted to have been asked to provide sweet treats for the Garden Party menu. Caitlyn felt a flash of gratitude towards James for having the kindness and generosity to include an old woman so many others had ignored and ostracised.
Still, the Widow Mags hadn’t made things easy for herself either, Caitlyn admitted ruefully. The old witch was as prickly as a hedgehog, hiding her warm wisdom and genuine kindness beneath a gruff manner and cranky demeanour. And with her unfortunate dowager’s hump and fierce appearance, it was no wonder that the villagers were terrified of her and thought her to be an evil old hag.