Amanda Cadabra and The Strange Case of Lucy Penlowr

by Holly Bell

  ‘So, when it was clear ...?’

  ‘I looked down into the main hall — the entrance hall — and saw fighting with what looked a bit like conductors’ batons with coloured points and streams of lights coming out of them. I recognised Frongar Dowrkampyer. The others either had their backs to me or were strangers. When the fighting moved outside, I started going down the next flight of stairs from the landing to the entrance hall. I got about halfway when the door — on the left as you come up the stairs or the right if you’re coming down — on the landing opened and Lord Dowrkampyer came out.’

  ‘So, you were facing down the stairs until you heard that door open?’

  ‘Yes, so I turned around. Consequently, I don’t know what was happening behind me, down in the hall.’

  ‘What did you hear?’

  ‘Someone coming in from the side door.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Erm ... let me see ... the left-hand one as you stand inside looking toward the front entrance.’

  ‘So that would be to your right, behind you?’

  ‘Yes. Then I heard a sort of sizzling ... ping, and a thudding sound, then Lord Dowrkampyer looked past me in that direction. Then there was another fainter sort of tyoooo and another thud down in the hall. But by then Lord Dowrkampyer was looking up at the other students. I tried to wave them back, but it was too late and, with the fire above, there was nowhere for them to go. And he said something like “You’re not going anywhere” or “it’s over” and aimed his wand at them. They were trapped. I’d seen how the people were fighting with wands, so when I saw one on the stairs next to me, I picked it up and pointed at Lord Dowrkampyer. There was this burning light and then an explosion, and he was gone and we ... I had to get the children out ....’

  ‘All right, Elodie,’ Hogarth said gently. ‘As you left Growan House, what did you see?’

  ‘Bodies of the fallen and people dragging them out. People fighting back near the kitchen. Some were in black, but that’s all I can tell you. I didn’t recognise any of them. I think there were more people on the ground outside, but it was too dark to see who they were.’

  ‘So, could you divide the strangers you did see into two groups: those in black and those who weren’t?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank you, Elodie.’

  ‘Peter now?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Peter, I appreciate your going over this with me again.’

  ‘Not at all, dear chap.’

  ‘The body on the stairs, can you remember anything about it?’

  ‘Er … female, long black clothes. Odd choice for battle, I thought. Dark hair. She was not advanced in years, but neither was she a teenager. Eyes were open in a fixed stare, but I can’t say I registered the colour. Sorry I can’t be more specific. I didn’t look at her for long.’

  ‘But she was dead?’ asked Hogarth.

  ‘I wouldn’t like to pronounce on that. Certainly, she appeared so, eyes open as I said. She was very still, lying with her arm outstretched on the stairs. I only saw her for a second or two as we got down into the hall.’

  ‘And were there any other casualties?’

  Peter cleared his throat.

  ‘Er, yes, at least two – men, I think — incapacitated. One moving, one still.’

  ‘Blood?’ Hogarth enquired.

  ‘No, erm ... burns, I think, I remember dark, singed patches on their clothing. One of the bodies was near the door. Had to go round or over it.’

  ‘The side door you left by?’

  ‘Yes,’ Peter confirmed. ‘Both were open. One had been broken down – the one we used. The other was just open, and there were shouts and flashes coming from outside from the front and the other side, I think.’

  ‘Once you were outside, what do you remember seeing?

  ‘Figures in the light from the fire; some in quite close combat, I think, but lots of small flashes. The top floors of the house were an inferno, and bits of masonry were falling. The place was a mass of crackling and sighing, and the firework-like flashes.’

  ‘What was the last you saw of Mordren Dowrkampyer, Peter?’

  ‘The moment before he, er, became part of the surface to the architecture — stairs and landing. The moment after I used the wand.’

  ‘You fired it?’

  ‘It was the only logical course of action to preserve the lives of the maximum number of people,’ Peter responded calmly. ‘I had to save my family. Not only that. There were three innocent children on the stairs above us about to be killed; we had to get them out.’

  ‘So, it was not any of the others who fired the wand-shot?’

  Peter shook his head and asked,

  ‘What do I have to do to convince you?’

  ***

  ‘There,’ concluded Hogarth. ‘You now have the same testimonies I had. Five accounts by five people. Four were lying, for the best of reasons: to protect the one who was telling the truth. But which one?’

  Amanda and Trelawney went over it on the way home, but found themselves going round in circles.

  ‘You know what, Inspector?’

  ‘Hm?’

  ‘Marielle reminds me of Uncle Mike.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The way they’re both playful and think everything’s funny, but they’re strong too. And I bet Uncle Mike could kill someone in a situation like that. Then again ….’

  Sleep brought clarity to neither, and no realisation had dawned when Amanda woke early, with still hours to go until the inspector would come to collect her for Sunday lunch with the family.

  Chapter 32

  Between Friends

  Amanda, bored with tossing and turning, got up, and put on the heating. She lit the fire and went out to the kitchen. She had just sat down on the sofa with her cocoa and gingernut, when she was startled by a voice in her ear.

  ‘You still haven’t done it.’

  Amanda spun her head to the right.

  ‘Oh, Granny, you startled me!’

  ‘I can’t see why. You must have been expecting us,’ Senara pointed out, stirring her own still-slightly-ethereal cup of Horlicks. She solidified, and Amanda looked to her left, correctly anticipating the presence of Perran.

  ‘Hello, Grandpa. Done what?’

  ‘Gone over the contracts, bian.’

  ‘But I will. I’ve already said so,’ replied Amanda, wondering why her grandparents had dropped in.

  ‘It’s a big step. A new working partnership with the inspector,’ Perran noted.

  ‘I know,’ she acknowledged.

  ‘What your grandfather means is that, before, while you were the witness in the Cardiubarn case, your relationship had to be professionally based. Now you are to be friends with official sanction.’

  ‘Yes,’ Amanda agreed slowly, then taking a sip her cocoa. ‘I do realise that. And if this is about my letting the inspector see what I do in the workshop …’ her voice trailed off as she stared into the warming flames in the hearth. Senara and Perran, turned on the television, set it to mute and started flicking through the channels, occasionally murmuring how much better the programmes were on their plane of existence, and leaving their granddaughter to her cogitations.

  Friends ... partners ..., thought Amanda. She’d have to tell him what had gone on at The Manor and what had really happened at The Grange and how she’d known where to look to solve the murder at ... yes ....

  And other things would come up too .... He’d probably wonder how she had come to have had certain experiences. Things that it may not have been likely that her grandparents had taken her to ....

  Of course, Claire knew all about that. Was it girl-talk? No, because she always told Grandpa. In fact, there was little she didn’t share with him. It was only natural that on a Monday morning in the workshop, he’d ask how Amanda’s weekend had gone and he was so ... non-judgemental and encouraging that it was easy. Granny was more strident in her evaluations, but Grandpa .... Yes, the inspector
may well wonder. Of course, failed attempts at romance and relationships were nothing to be ashamed of, as Granny had pointed out.

  ‘Claire’s forays into the world of both the brief encounter and the domestic partnership are no secret. And you know all about Thomas Trelawney’s disasters in that department.’

  ‘But Granny, that was only because that dreadful client of his mother’s practically announced it in front of me.’

  ‘Nevertheless, pet,’ Grandpa had replied, ‘after that, he did tell you more himself.’

  It was true. Although the inspector had couched it in the most tactful terms, Amanda had gathered that, even though it had been years ago, he had had, if not his heart broken, certainly his trust betrayed. In fact, it did the inspector credit that he had neither become embittered nor jaundiced in his view of women in general. Amanda rightly suspected, however, that it had left him wary of treading the primrose path. She couldn’t blame him. She’d all but given up herself.

  Amanda drank some more cocoa while she pondered this.

  Friends ... friends ... she knew this train of thought was leading her somewhere ....

  If only she understood Normals better. Granny and Grandpa had done their best to explain people in general and Normals in particular. However, some things Amanda would never understand.

  Over the years, her grandparents had become accustomed to falling back on ‘you’ll understand when you’re older’. They had given this up when Amanda reached the age of 27, accepting the truth of their dear Swedish friend’s observation. Dr Bertil Bergstrom, who had given Amanda one of his patent Pocket-wands, had said,

  ‘Nine. Ahlvays nine’.

  Where did most people make friends? Amanda asked herself. School. She had been home-schooled and had never been able to relate to her peers, but that wasn’t the case for most children. So … the students at the school must have had friends, friends they confided in. But no, because Lucy had said the students couldn’t really be friends because their first loyalty was to the school. Was that a dead end? Maybe find every single person who’d received an education at Growan House, and see if they did know anything. People who wouldn’t talk to the police but might talk to her! But where were they?

  ‘There has to be someone somewhere.’ Amanda had spoken aloud without thinking. Grandpa turned to her.

  ‘It’ll work out, bian,’ he said hearteningly. ‘You never know. Just like when you’re looking for your glasses and find you're wearing them, sometimes what you’re looking for is right under your nose.’

  Chapter 33

  The Trelawneys

  Flossie Trelawney, small and wiry with short grey hair, opened the door and welcomed them in.

  ‘Miss Cadabra, nice to meet Tom’s colleague!’

  ‘New work partner, we understand. Come on in,’ invited Clemo Trelawney, a strapping man with impressive white eyebrows.

  ‘Please call me Amanda, Mr and Mrs Trelawney,’ she said, shaking hands with her hosts.

  They both laughed at that. ‘Flossie and Clemo I’ll do just fine.’

  ‘Oh, come ere’ you big lummox,’ Flossie bade Thomas, ‘and give yer gran a hug!’

  It was comically clear that they had been schooled by their son, Kyt, to whom Clemo nodded significantly and uttered,

  ‘Come in, Kyt. Good to see you, my lover.’ Kyt received a cuddle from Flossie and a clap on the shoulder from the most senior Mr Trelawney.

  In his youth, Clemo had been briefly dazzled — bewitched, some said — by a Flamgoyne beauty, and had found himself married. It was brief, and something he preferred to forget. A year later, it was over, having produced a child declared useless by the Flamgoynes for magical purposes.

  Clemo Trelawney was divorced and a single father of an infant, but not for long. Flossie soon took Clemo and his child to her ample heart. They went on to have other children, but she could not have loved the little Kytto more than her own flesh and blood.

  As for Kyt, Flossie was the only mother he had ever known; to him, she was Mamm, mother in Cornish. Flossie was the one who had supported his marriage to Thomas’s mother, Penelope, through its happy time, through the cracks and the crumbling. When it finally collapsed, Flossie was the one in whom Kyt confided and the one who helped him rebuild his life and his heart.

  There had never been anyone else for long, for Kyt. Mamm had always liked Penny and understood why the situation had become untenable. There was no blame, except upon the Flamgoynes who had caught and kept Kyt in their treacherous net, until they regarded him as no longer fit for their purposes.

  But now the Flamgoynes were no more.

  ‘You think there’s hope, Clem? He could get ’er back?’ Flossie asked her husband one night.

  ‘I don’t know, flower. Penny’s got a life up in London now with ‘er gallery and friends and Amelia. Can’t see ’er wantin’ to give it up and come back here. Not so many wealthy people for customers. Our Kyt’s got ’is business ’ere. Not like ’e can move all the ’oliday cottages up to London!’

  ‘That’s true, love, but there’s galleries in Cornwall. Must be opportunities,’ replied Flossie optimistically.

  ‘Now don’t you go investigatin’.’

  ‘Oo, just online. No ’arm in that.’

  ‘Hm.’

  Every Sunday lunch was an opportunity to look for any hints that a reconciliation might be in the wind. But this Sunday, there was an even more interesting prospect in view: Miss Cadabra. And right now, here she was standing in their hallway.

  ‘There now, Amanda,’ Gran Flossie bade her kindly, ‘just you make yourself comfortable with your, er, friend — Tom did say you might bring your kitty with you — in the sitting room. Best grab the sofa before the kiddies arrive.’

  Ding dong!

  ‘Oh, speak of the little devils!’ commented Clemo.

  Clemo opened the door to his grandson, Gawen and two great-grandchildren.

  'Hi Grandad, Gran, hi Tom. Thanks ever so much. Cherry’s waiting in the car.’

  ‘That’s awright, me ’andsome.’ Gran peered out at the vehicle parked randomly outside and gave a wave, then busied herself with helping the little ones out of their coats and boots.

  ‘And thanks for the tipoff about the present, Gran,’ continued Gawen, ‘and the voucher. Here’s the money. I can’t have you payin’ for a present for my Cherry.’

  ‘That’s right, pet,’ replied Flossie, taking the notes he offered.

  ‘Now just you give ‘er a nice time and remember next year,’ his grandfather bade him. ‘Dependin on ‘ow long you wants to stay married!’

  Gawen looked shocked. ‘Till death do us part, Granddad. I promised in the sight of ... well ... Gran!’ Clemo threw back his head and laughed. ‘Told me she’d known Cherry since she were a baban and if I broke ’er ’eart, Gran’d hang me over the side of the boat every day for a week.’

  The six-foot hunk of manhood pretended to try to make himself as small as possible, looking out with comically anxious eyes. This was met with by an affectionate hug from his grandmother and an adjuration not to be a muppet.

  At the time, this exchange made Thomas grin. But later, he wondered. For all her hippy ease, there was a fierceness about his Gran Flossie. Fierceness in the cause of right but then ... what was ‘right’ in the circumstances? If Gran had got wind of children being mistreated somehow at the hands of the Dowrkampyers ... she might have ... she was the right age. Surely not. That was a witch-clan matter. It was unthinkable. Yet as a policeman, he must consider it. But no ... surely not.

  Amanda meanwhile, retreated from yet more strangers to the sitting-room. Tempest glanced around the room then made off to the kitchen where he would, inevitably, be suitably indulged by the mistress of the establishment.

  Sitting on one end of the sofa, Amanda looked around for something that might grant refuge to her mind. Her eyes were drawn to a jauntily-coloured oil painting on the opposite wall – a fishing boat, bright in the setting sun, coming safely home
to harbour. On the horizon was a storm, but a rock in the middle ground ... was that a ... mermaid?

  Polly, a pale strawberry blonde of some seven summers, put her head around the door. She was unnoticed by Amanda, staring at the painting. This distraction emboldened the little girl to come further into the room.

  ‘D’you like it?’

  Amanda, slightly startled out of her reverie, looked around.

  ‘Hello. Yes, I do. Do you?’

  ‘I like the mermaid,’ replied Polly.

  ‘I did wonder if there was one there.’

  ‘She’s magic so not everyone can see her,’ Polly explained.

  ‘But you see her,’ remarked Amanda, with a smile.

  ‘Yes. You too,’ observed the child.

  Polly was carrying a large, knobbly calico drawstring sack which she now deposited on the battered coffee table, declaring,

  ‘I’ve got Lego.’

  ‘You have? I love Lego. May I see?’

  And it was done. The connection was made. Nine-year-old Wella joined them, and shortly Trelawney found his partner-to-be, his niece and nephew on the floor in the midst of a construction site.

  It wasn’t a maternal scene. Amanda, on her stomach, carefully placing a small brick in place, was clearly one of them. And they knew her for one of their own.

  Chapter 34

  What Amanda Saw

  So immersed were Polly, Wella and Amanda in their Lego projects, that Thomas almost stepped out of the room. However, he was spotted by Wella.

  ‘Uncle Tom. Look!’

  ‘Is this a ship?’

  ‘Yes, the Mary Celeste, and these clear bricks are the ghosts,’ Wella added with relish.

  ‘I thought it was the Marie Celeste?’

  ‘That was its name in a story,’ Wella informed him patiently.

  ‘Ah, and this round thing?’ enquired Thomas.

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ asked Polly.