Amanda Cadabra and The Cellar of Secrets

by Holly Bell

  Amanda nodded gravely.

  ‘Now, would you like some trifle? Something sweet to help with the shock?’

  Her dimples reappeared as she nodded again, this time enthusiastically.

  That was the day she stopped doing two things, one of them was trying to make friends by pleasing people; the other was to act on the spur of the moment.

  Impulsiveness can get you killed.

  ***

  What Amanda lacked in impulsiveness, she made up for in quick thinking.’

  She looked up at the lab door. There was no key. She spoke to it:

  ‘Luxera.’

  The bolt slid into place.

  Amanda took out her phone.

  Chapter 12

  Tall, Not Dark, and Handsome, Crossing the Water

  ‘That sounds like Ryan,’ Amanda said to Tempest, as she prepared to go out that morning. ‘Except he isn’t crossing water. Unless he’s going the swim the village pond.’

  Aunt Amelia’s words had Amanda, in spite of herself, on the lookout. Tall, not dark, and therefore fair, surely, and handsome, and crossing water. Hmm.

  And so it was that she planned to join the other interested members of the village at the site for The Pouring. Miss de Havillande had insisted that Amanda spend a few days at home and, besides, there was no hurry for the jobs to be done. Amanda was relieved to be able to clear her backlog and work through her queue of customers before beginning at The Grange.

  The sun was out, the air was dry, and the pollen count was low.

  Amanda had an errand at the post office first, sending an antique wooden toy that she’d repaired back to its owner. The corner shop door rang as she entered but the willowy form of Mrs Sharma, who, with her husband, co-owned the establishment and at least two or three others in the village, was already present behind the counter. Amanda greeted her with pleasure.

  ‘Hello, Amanda. What are you sending off today?’

  ‘It’s a wooden toy.’

  ‘Will you need insurance for that?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s that valuable, to be honest.’

  As Mrs Sharma weighed the parcel, she asked, ‘How is your young man?’

  ‘I don’t have a young man.’ Amanda replied patiently.

  ‘It’s not working out then? Early days. Give it time.’

  ‘Erm … whom do you mean, exactly, Aunty?’ asked Amanda curiously, lapsing back into her childhood name for Mrs Sharma.

  ‘Ryan Ford, of course. Although you may be right. That’s £4.35. I’m not sure he is the best choice for you.’

  Amanda breathed a sigh of relief, as she handed over the money. ‘I trust your judgement, Mrs Sharma.’

  ‘You should still call me Aunty, Amanda. I still watch out for you and you are not too old to take my advice, I am pleased to see.’

  Amanda laughed. ‘I don’t think I will ever be too old to need good advice.’

  ‘Well, you don’t need to make any snap decisions. Many new people will be coming to work at the Centre.’

  ‘Did you know they were going to start on it so soon?’

  ‘But, yes, of course. It was in the papers: City Millionaire Spearheads Memorial Centre for Asthma. Plus it is the most exciting thing to happen in Sunken Madley since the new church roof.’

  Ding!

  A man in paint-stained overalls entered. Amanda registered medium height, black hair and an averagely attractive face. No correspondence there then.

  ‘Mrs Sharma, we’re ready to start. Did you want to do a last check, click a photo or anything?’

  ‘No, no, thank you, please go ahead.’

  Amanda looked at him as he left, wondering what was afoot.

  Mrs Sharma said, ‘Mr Blackaby is retiring. He has no one he wants to pass the business on to, so he is just selling the goodwill and client list to Upper Muttring Felicitous Funerals. I am not sure Yash and I were right to rent it out for that purpose. It always cast a pall over that end of the village.’

  ‘How many years ago was that?’ asked Amanda.

  ‘Oh, at least thirty. But now it will be a — ‘

  Ding! The shop door opened and Sylvia came in. ‘’Ello Nalini. Amanda, you’d best get a move on, dearie, or you’ll miss the fun up at Lost Madley!’ she adjured her young friend.

  ‘You’re quite right, Sylvia. Thank you, Aunty!’

  ‘You’re welcome. And don’t worry. The right man will appear for you, you will see.’

  Amanda made a hasty departure before any more attempts at matchmaking by her seniors could ensue.

  The audience of locals at the site included three classes shepherded by curious teachers from Sunken Madley School to witness the discharge of concrete from the rotating tanks. It was to flow into the prepared frame to form the floor of the Centre. Among the students was Amanda’s favourite teenager, Ruth Reiser, who took advantage of her instructor’s distraction to intercept Amanda as soon as she arrived at the site.

  ‘Hi Ruth, how’s the book on alchemy?’

  ‘Good, thanks. Just had to get away from those girls. They live in Facebook.’

  ‘And where do you live?’ asked Amanda, sympathetically.

  ‘Medieval Europe? In my head, anyway.’

  ‘Why don’t you join a Medieval history group on Facebook, then you’d have something in common with your classmates?’

  Ruth looked doubtful.

  ‘I promise that that wouldn’t mean you were selling out,’ Amanda reassured her. ‘You might even make some interesting friends.’

  That brought forth a smile from Ruth. ‘Sensible would be a start,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not sure how sensible the Dark Ages were. Actually, there’s probably a medieval magic group, they might have a discussion on alchemy.’

  ‘Ruth!’ came a teacher’s voice.

  ‘Gotta go. Thanks for the tips, Amanda.’

  ‘Well, Amanda,’ said a deep, resonant voice above her head.

  She looked around and up, to see the face of Gordon French, the retired headmaster of Sunken Madley School. They were on friendly terms even though Amanda had been home-educated. He had always kept an eye out for her welfare around the village.

  ‘Hello, Mr French.’ Amanda leaned around him to see if his lady was there. And spotted her a few yards away. ‘How are things going?’

  He beamed. ‘Very well, very well indeed. And what do you think of all of this? I assume you will be attending the Centre when it’s ready.’

  ‘I shall, yes,’ confirmed Amanda.

  ‘Well, as you can see,’ said Mr French, lowering his voice significantly, ‘it means the influx of a lot of strangers. And as I’ve said to you before, you can’t be too careful with people who are not Village.’

  ‘Yes, Mr French, but the builders won’t be here for long. They’re not going to be new residents.’

  ‘I wasn’t referring to the crew, Amanda, who seem like a good set of fellows, but to the scientists and the other people who will be working at the Centre.’

  ‘I understand, Mr French. Yes, I will be mindful of what you have said to me.’

  ‘Good. Well, I’ll be getting back to er ….’

  ‘You do that, Mr French, and thank you for your concern, and for coming over to talk to me.’

  ‘Not at all.’ And he made his stately progress back to his lady’s side. Amanda reflected, watching him, he’s tall and, I suppose, he might be thought of as handsome. But he’s dark, spoken for and he’s much too old for me. No. She needed to take a good look at the …

  ‘Hello, Amanda.’ This time the tones were gentler and more hesitant. She turned again to look up into the visage of Jonathan Sheppard, the epitome of the tall, dark and handsome hero out of a romance novel, if he were not a little on the slenderer, more delicate side.

  ‘Hello, Jonathan,’ Amanda greeted him with a smile. ‘How are things at the library?’

  ‘Oh, wonderful. I do enjoy it very muc
h indeed. It’s a sort of second home, you know.’

  ‘I think Mrs Pagely’s adopted you since you became her assistant.’

  ‘She’s very kind. In fact, I am here at her request.’ He held up a Nikon camera. ‘She knows I like photography and asked me to take some photographs for the Community Board on the library wall. Mrs Pagely says this is the most exciting thing to happen in Sunken Madley since the new church roof, and we should make a feature of it.’

  ‘What a good idea. And it’s a chance for the village to appreciate your photography skills.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Pagely said that,’ he agreed with shining eyes.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll do an excellent job,’ Amanda said encouragingly. ‘I look forward to seeing them.’

  ‘Thank you, Amanda.’ And off he went, in search of angles.

  Finally, Amanda had the chance to take a look around to scope out any possible candidates on the site for meeting Amelia’s appealing description. One or two of the crew were tall and attractive, but neither of them appealed to her. Of course, there was always the strange man …, but, no, he was more of medium height.

  She had walked over to reassure Miss de Havillande that she was not forgotten when Damian approached the ladies with his friend Robin in tow.

  Amanda watched them walk up. Damian? … no … short …. His friend? No, too old ….

  ‘Miss de Havillande, Amanda, hi. I just wanted to introduce my best buddy, Robin Streeter, the organisation’s mastermind behind a lot of this project, hey Robin?’ he said, clapping his pal on the shoulder.

  ‘Hello, Miss ... er … ?’ said Robin, with more formal politeness than Damian.

  ‘Cadabra,’ Amanda answered in a friendly tone.

  He raised his eyebrows registering surprise but made a gallant recovery. ‘A magical name, but I expect you hear that all the time,’ he said gracefully.

  She smiled and said, ‘Yes, rather a lot but I’ll take it in the spirit intended.’

  ‘Good,’ he said with a pleased expression.

  Damian chimed in. ‘I’ll leave you in Robin’s capable hands, ladies. I just need to have a word with the supervisor before kickoff.’

  Robin turned back to the Miss de Havillande and Amanda.

  ‘Is there anything you’d like to know about the proceedings?’

  ‘Actually, yes,’ said Amanda, ever curious. ‘What was the machine I saw leaving the village, when I was coming out of the corner shop the other day?’

  ‘Can you describe it?’

  ‘Let me see. It was on the back of a lorry. It had caterpillar tracks and a cab on top of them, and attached to it was what looked like a tall crane arm.’

  Robin nodded recognition. ‘That’s a pile rig. The ground here is full of cavities and spaces because of the remains of Lost Madley that, out of respect, we didn’t want to disturb. So the part of the lab that’s being built over it is on stilts.’

  ‘Stilts?’

  ‘Yes. Made of concrete. But you can’t drive concrete into the ground because it will crack. Or even if it’s reinforced the pounding could cause a cave-in down there. The pile rig is a drill that makes a deep hole for a metal cylinder that is pushed in behind it. That gets filled with concrete. The metal cylinder might be removed afterwards but, either way, hey presto, you have a pile or pillar.’

  ‘I see. And they’re at intervals in the trench for the foundations, all around the perimeter of the site?’

  ‘That’s right. Then we join them together at the top to create a platform. That’s what the pouring is about today: pouring the concrete floor. Or looked at another way, the concrete roof on top of the pillars like an ancient Greek temple.’

  ‘Aha, I understand. That’s very helpful, Mr Streeter. Thank you for taking the time to explain that.’

  ‘Well, I think it’s important to take the environment and the sensibilities of the local people into consideration, and I know Damian feels the same. And please call me Robin.’

  ‘Thank you. Amanda.’

  ‘Amanda it is. Anything you want to know just ask. I hear you’re the local carpenter, or, rather, furniture restorer.’

  ‘I am,’ answered Amanda, with a smile.

  ‘Well, we’re not going to have anything antique or fancy, this is a working building, but it is good to know that there’s local expertise available,’ he said pleasantly.

  Amanda warmed to him. ‘Are you from around here, Robin?’

  ‘Not now, my house is in Essex. But I grew up here as a boy. Both of us did.’

  ‘Really. Where?’

  ‘Upper Muttring.’

  ‘No!’ Amanda exclaimed in surprise.

  ‘Yes, local boys made good, you might say.’

  Miss de Havillande spoke up, ‘Yes, they’ve done well for themselves as investment consultants, Amanda.’

  ‘Oh well,’ Robin replied, deprecatingly, ‘Damian’s the star of the show. But he’s always had my loyal support.’

  ‘That’s a valuable commodity. I am sure you’re too modest,’ said Amanda.

  Robin glanced over at Damian. ‘Ok, if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I’ll see if he needs anything.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Miss de Havillande, inclining her head.

  ‘I must be getting back too,’ added Amanda.

  She was walking to the car when her phone rang.

  Thomas had paced up and down the small space of empty floor in his office, rehearsing what he would say.

  The question was, was this personal or not? Would his memories make him some kind of witness in this case? If so, it was a combination of personal and professional. The next question was, to which approach would Miss Cadabra respond the more warmly?

  Asking for help was always a good move.

  ‘Hello, Miss Cadabra?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Trelawney?’

  His name must have shown up on her phone. Good.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Hello, Inspector. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you for a few weeks. Did you want to book your tour of the village and surrounding beauty spots that I happily agreed to give you?’ she asked lightly.

  ‘Oh, definitely, but not quite yet. Actually, I was wondering if you could spare some time at the weekend for a chat about something else.’

  ‘Of course. Do you have more evidence? Found the lady who reported the —?’

  ‘No. Although it may be connected to the case, yes. But in a sense, it’s also a personal matter. Former Chief Inspector Hogarth suggested that you may be able and willing to assist me,’ he finished hopefully.

  ‘Well, yes.’ She sounded doubtful to his ears.

  ‘Thank you. That’s extremely kind of you.’

  ‘Erm, well … how about Sunday?’

  ‘Sunday would be fine.’

  ‘Somewhere quiet … Sinner’s Rue, ... after the kitchen closes, say, … 3.30?’

  ‘That’s great. I appreciate you taking the time, Miss Cadabra. I’ll see you at 3.30 on Sunday at The Sinner’s Rue.’

  ‘OK, see you then.’ She still sounded friendly but nonplussed.

  ‘Till then. Goodbye.’ He hung up. He hoped to heaven she wasn’t feeling railroaded.

  ‘Well!’ said Amanda to Tempest who was looking up at her demandingly. ‘I expect you know who that was. It’s no use looking at me like that. I have no idea what that was all about. I wonder how he thinks I can help him. It’s an odd request. He always seems so self-contained, self-sufficient. I can’t imagine that he’d ever need “personal” help from anyone. I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.’

  Chapter 13

  Recall

  Trelawney was at the same table as when Amanda had met him here before. The only difference was that Tempest was already there, tucked under the table, chewing on a cold sausage the kitchen staff had been wise enough to supply him with before leaving.

  The sun was shining into the front of the building, but th
e inevitable fire was still a-crackle for effect. Trelawney rose politely at her entrance, and they shook hands and sat down. He’d already ordered hot chocolate for her and tea for himself.

  Amanda smiled. ‘You remembered my favourite drink. How thoughtful. Thank you, Inspector.’

  ‘The least I could do.’

  It struck her that he was uncomfortable. Amanda had never seen him like that before, not even when Granny had been playing cat-and-mouse with him. To make him feel more at ease, she asked after the Chief Inspector and the weather in Cornwall.

  ‘Have you always lived there?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, I was born there. Although, … well …’ Trelawney was unused to talking about himself.

  ‘Oh, did you go away to school?’

  ‘No … you see, my mother is English, and my parents divorced when I was 11 or 12. My mother came to live in London, in Crouch End, and I spent the school holidays with her and term time with my father.’

  ‘That must have been difficult for you to adjust to,’ said Amanda, sympathetically.

  ‘Yes … it was … but ….’

  She waited patiently.

  ‘Just recently, I’ve started to wonder if it wasn’t more difficult than I remember …. The fact is, that I didn’t remember …. I didn’t remember much of anything that happened before they broke up.’

  ‘I hear isn’t unusual for people to forget the time before the age of ten.’

  ‘Perhaps not but … I’ve started to have dreams in which I was back at the family home.’

  Amanda was trying to imagine what this had to do with the case of the mysterious deaths of her relations. Trelawney read that much in her face, and added, ‘I think that it’s related to the case of the incident, related to your family in some way … that it’s important.’

  ‘You think that your subconscious is allowing a memory to surface?’ Amanda suggested, helpfully.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered, but uncertainly.

  ‘OK, well … why don’t you tell me, and I’ll see if any of it rings any kind of bell? Only, Inspector, I don’t remember Cornwall at all. I remember nothing before Sunken Madley and living with my grandparents. I don’t remember any other family members at all. Oh, I have a brief mental snapshot of my grandparents smiling down at me or holding my hands, but that’s all.’ She stopped.. ‘That is ….’