Double, Double, Toil and Truffle Page 3

  “Oh my God—what is that?” she gasped.

  Caitlyn guffawed. “I… um… I think it’s the ‘astral spirit’ you summoned.”

  “Get away! Get away from me!” Minerva cried, clutching her skirts and trying to jerk away.

  This seemed to only make the creature even more interested in her. He thrust his huge muzzle into her face and sniffed intently, then opened his mouth to show a set of gleaming white fangs beneath his sagging jowls. His enormous tongue lolled out as he panted loudly.

  Minerva gave a scream and stumbled backwards, then she caught sight of Caitlyn’s face and snarled, “What are you laughing at?”

  Caitlyn struggled to contain herself. “He… he won’t hurt you,” she gasped in between giggles.

  “What d’you mean, he won’t hurt me?” Minerva demanded. “Look at him! Look how he’s drooling—he’s obviously thinking of eating me!”

  Caitlyn swallowed another laugh as she looked at the giant dog standing in front of Minerva, his wrinkled face pulled back in an amiable canine smile as he panted placidly. It was true that he was drooling copiously—long, slimy globs of saliva trailing from his lips—but that was pretty much the norm with Bran the English mastiff. He drooled all the time, everywhere.

  Caitlyn remembered her first meeting with Bran and how terrified she had been of the enormous animal, until she realised what a gentle giant he was. She watched now as Nibs scampered up to Bran and the mastiff bent his head to give the kitten a loving lick with his enormous pink tongue.

  “Mew!” cried Nibs in indignation, now covered in dog drool.

  Bran wagged his tail in delight and turned to give Minerva the same loving treatment. The fake witch squealed and tried to squirm away from the giant wet tongue.

  “Eeeuuww! Get… get away from me… you disgusting beast…!” she gasped, trying to push Bran away. But the more she shoved against him, the more Bran leaned into her. In fact, he seemed to think that she was inviting him to a wrestling game and he clambered on top of her, smothering her with slobbery licks.

  “…yeeuugh… argh… help! Uuughh… Help!” came Minerva’s muffled voice as she toppled backwards and went down beneath the dog’s enthusiastic ministrations.

  “Um… Miss… shouldn’t we do something?” Hattie asked in concern.

  All they could hear from Minerva now was desperate gurgling and all they could see were the tips of the woman’s arms and legs flailing beneath Bran’s enormous bulk.

  “Oh… I suppose so,” said Caitlyn with a regretful sigh. She raised her voice and called:

  “Bran… that’s enough now. Come on, Bran… SIT.”

  The English mastiff paused in his licking and raised his head, looking befuddled for a moment. Then his baggy face brightened and, slowly, he lowered his rear end to the ground, nearly sitting on Nibs, who darted out of the way just in time.

  “WOOF!” said Bran, thumping his tail on the floor and causing the books on the shelves to shake with each impact.

  “Good boy,” said Caitlyn with a smile, patting him on the head. She glanced behind the dog at Minerva. The fake witch emerged looking slightly shell-shocked, her face covered in dog drool from chin to ear. Caitlyn had to fight the urge to burst out laughing again. She knew it was mean-spirited but she couldn’t help feeling that Minerva had got what she deserved.

  “I’m… I’m going to report that creature to Animal Control… I’m going to have him put down!” spluttered Minerva, her face red and furious as she rose unsteadily to her feet. She made a great show of dusting herself off, trying to wipe the smears of dog drool from her face and her clothing. “Look what he’s done to me! Look at my clothes—”

  “I’ll go an’ get a towel for you,” offered Hattie, hurrying to leave the room.

  She opened the door just as two men were entering the Library. Caitlyn recognised the first as Inspector Walsh of the local CID—the Criminal Investigation Department. He was accompanied by the young police constable who had escorted Minerva in earlier.

  The inspector came forwards and said to Minerva: “Thank you for waiting, Miss Chattox. I’m afraid I will need to detain you for further questioning, at least until tomorrow—I will need to speak to you again after I have had a chance to go through the witness statements.”

  “What? I can’t believe you’re treating me like some kind of criminal!” Minerva snapped. “If anything, I should be the one making a complaint about harassment and bullying! Those villagers came up the hill, interrupted one of my rituals, and threatened me for being a witch…” She jutted her chin out. “I know my rights! In the UK, Article 9 of the Human Rights Act gives me the right to freedom of religion and belief. That means I can freely talk about my faith or take part in religious worship!”

  The inspector looked weary and irritable. “Yes, you do have the right of belief, but may I remind you, madam, that the right to manifest your beliefs is qualified.” He leaned forwards and eyed her sternly. “Which means that it can be curtailed in certain situations—such as when it endangers the life of others.”

  “What do you mean?” Minerva demanded. “Are you talking about the man who was struck by lightning? That wasn’t my fault—that was an act of nature!”

  Oh, so you’re changing your tune now, thought Caitlyn cynically. No more “magical forces protecting me and striking down my enemies”.

  The inspector raised his eyebrows. “Several villagers tell me that they heard you making direct threats to Rupert Shaw, the man who was struck by lightning.”

  “He was the one threatening me!” said Minerva shrilly. “You should be questioning him.”

  “I intend to—but I will have to wait until he is released from Intensive Care,” said Inspector Walsh evenly. “And if he should die, this may be escalated to a murder inquiry.”

  “Murder?” Minerva paled slightly. For the first time, she looked unsure. “But… but you can’t hold me responsible… He was struck by lightning… it was an accident…”

  The inspector was silent, letting her stammer for a moment, and Caitlyn wondered if he had brought up the subject of “murder” on purpose simply to unsettle the woman and dampen her arrogance a bit. She felt a flash of new respect for him. Although she often found Inspector Walsh’s slow, methodical methods—and his dismissive attitude towards anything supernatural—very exasperating, she had learned long ago not to underestimate the grizzled old detective. He was a shrewd investigator in his own way.

  “Perhaps,” he said at last. “But regardless of what happens to Mr Shaw, there will still be an investigation into your activities, based on the villagers’ accusations—”

  Minerva bristled. “I told you! I know my rights and it’s the villagers who should be charged with discrimination! You can’t arrest me just because I’m a practising witch!”

  “No, I can’t,” the inspector agreed. “But I can arrest you for fraud.”

  “Fraud?” Minerva’s face hardened.

  “Yes. I’ve had complaints from several people accusing you of wilfully misleading them and defrauding them of their money.”

  “That’s a lie! I simply offered to help them out of the goodness of my heart and they were so overcome with gratitude that they insisted on giving me generous payments.”

  Inspector Walsh’s expression showed what he thought of Minerva’s statement, but he didn’t argue with her. Instead, he said, “Until these charges of fraud are fully investigated, I will need you to remain in the vicinity, where the police can question you further.”

  “What? I was planning to move on tomorrow,” Minerva said, adding self-importantly: “There are many other places with people who need my talents.”

  “Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to change your plans.”

  Minerva gave the inspector a calculating look, then inclined her head and said grudgingly: “Fine. The pub in Tillyhenge has comfortable rooms. I’ll just stay on a few more days longer than I originally planned.”

  Caitlyn glanced at the other wo
man, surprised by her quick capitulation. She had expected Minerva to protest or even insist on speaking to a lawyer to fight the charges. Then she thought of the calculating look on the woman’s face. Involving a lawyer would formalise the investigation even more and it seemed that Minerva was keen to keep a low profile. Did that mean that she had something to hide after all?

  “Now, if you’d like to follow my man here—he’ll take you to check over your statement and sign it.” Inspector Walsh gestured to his constable.

  Caitlyn watched as the fake witch swept out of the room with great dignity. She turned back to Inspector Walsh to find the old detective looking worried.

  “I wish I had the grounds to actually arrest her,” he said with a sigh. “Then at least I would have her safely in a cell for the night.”

  “You think she might run away?” said Caitlyn.

  The inspector shrugged. “My work has taught me to be suspicious. Minerva Chattox says she will stay at the pub in the village, but with no one to keep an eye on her movements, one would never know if she disappeared during the night—”

  “Perhaps I can help,” said a new voice behind them.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Caitlyn’s heart gave a leap as a tall, dark-haired man stepped into the Library. It was James Fitzroy, owner of Huntingdon Manor and the local estates, including the village of Tillyhenge. His dark hair looked windswept and tousled, and although he was dressed as elegantly as ever in a stylish blazer paired with a cashmere V-neck and dark denim jeans, the clothes had a slightly rumpled, travel-weary look. Nothing could detract from his classic good looks, though, nor the air of quiet command that perfectly fitted his position as “lord of the manor”. His dark grey eyes met hers and Caitlyn felt her pulse flutter as she saw the warmth in his gaze. Then Inspector Walsh stepped forwards to shake James’s hand and she looked hastily away, stepping back to let the men speak.

  “Ah, Lord Fitzroy—have you just got back? I imagine this wasn’t what you expected to find when you returned from your trip,” said the inspector dryly.

  James grinned. “And I thought the traffic from the airport was the bad news.” Then he sobered and added, “Mosley, my butler, was trying to apprise me of the situation as I came in, but he seems to have only the bare facts himself. I believe there was an incident by the stone circle and a man from Tillyhenge has been injured?”

  The inspector nodded and quickly brought James up to speed, ending with his worries about Minerva absconding. “You said you might be able to help with that?”

  James nodded. “She could stay here at the Manor. We have plenty of guest rooms and I would personally make sure that she does not leave the estate.”

  The inspector brightened visibly. “Ah! That could work very well! A form of ‘house arrest’, you could say… Well, that’s kind of you to offer, Lord Fitzroy. If you are sure… It would be a weight off my mind.”

  “Of course, it’s no problem at all. I’ll ask one of the maids to make up a room.”

  Looking relieved, the inspector hurried out to inform Minerva, leaving them alone in the Library. Caitlyn felt a sudden shyness come over her and she found herself unable to look at James. There was an awkward silence for a moment, then James cleared his throat.

  “I… er… so… was the weather good while I was away?”

  Caitlyn looked incredulously at him. They hadn’t seen each other for weeks, they’d parted with so much still left unsaid between them, and now that they were finally together again… he was asking her about the weather? Then she laughed to herself. Well, if she was going to fall in love with an Englishman, she supposed she’d better embrace their quirks…

  “It’s been raining quite a bit and it’s been very windy some days—typical autumn weather, I suppose—but it’s not been too bad,” she said, then added politely, “How was your trip?”

  They made small talk for a few moments, whilst inwardly Caitlyn chafed at the stilted, formal atmosphere. She’d thought that they had somehow moved beyond this. Okay, so the last time they had been alone together hadn’t been in the most romantic of circumstances. They had been trapped in a cowshed, actually, with a dairy cow with an enormous udder. But she had gathered her courage and told James the truth about herself: that she was a witch; that she could cast spells and conjure enchantments. She’d even tried to show him, although her nerves had got the better of her and she hadn’t been able to summon magic to do her bidding. Caitlyn still felt a wave of shame and frustration every time she thought of that moment when she had desperately needed to prove the truth to James and her skills had failed her.

  But, incredibly, he had believed her. He had put aside a lifetime of scepticism about magic and the paranormal, and he had taken her word on faith alone. She could still remember the thrill of that moment…

  “No, I can’t see it with my eyes,” he’d admitted. Then he’d smiled at her. “But I don’t need to, Caitlyn. I can feel it with my heart.”

  And as he’d taken both her hands in his, she had been sure that James was going to confess his feelings for her. Then they’d been interrupted by someone eager to have a go at milking the cow and the moment had been lost. After that, she’d only seen him briefly before he had to leave on his extended trip overseas. Now that he was back, it was as if all the old walls were back in place again. Caitlyn didn’t know how to pick up where they’d left off. Even more, she was scared that she had imagined that moment of tender closeness between them that day—that it had been nothing more than an overactive imagination and wishful thinking on her part…

  She came back to the present to find James looking down at her with that familiar heart-stopping, lopsided smile.

  “A penny for your thoughts?”

  Caitlyn laughed at the old-fashioned phrase. She loved the way James still sometimes talked like someone from another era. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone use that in real speech.”

  She hesitated, too shy to tell him what she had been thinking and cursing herself for being so tongue-tied. She had never been the most confident person, especially when it came to the opposite sex, and with James it seemed to be ten times worse—because it mattered ten times more.

  Then, as if he had an inkling of her thoughts after all, James said with a rueful smile, “This wasn’t quite the reunion I’d imagined.”

  Caitlyn blushed and stole a glance at him. “No, me neither,” she said, feeling a warmth fill her as she saw the understanding in his eyes.

  Maybe things don’t always have to be put into words after all. She started to say something else but was cut off as James caught sight of her hand and made a sound of concern.

  “Did you get hurt up on the hill?” he asked, reaching out to take her wrist and turn her hand over to look at the scratch. “From what Inspector Walsh said, it sounded like there was quite a panic and people can get badly hurt—”

  “No, no—that was from Nibs. I was carrying him and he got a bit overexcited by all the shouting and running around, so he was squirming quite a bit. I must have got scratched by his claws.” Caitlyn glanced down at the thin red line, already scabbing over. “I didn’t even notice it until now. Don’t worry, it’s nothing—it’ll heal. The only really bad thing that happened to me was that I got drenched,” she added with a rueful laugh, wishing that she didn’t always meet James looking like a drowned rat. She’d worn some of her oldest clothes for nut-picking and they were now smeared with rain and mud; her face was bare of make-up and her hair was still plastered damply to her head. This was certainly not the way she had wanted to look when James saw her again.

  “You can have a hot shower and clean up in one of the guest bedrooms,” James offered.

  “Oh no, I should really get back. Bertha and the Widow Mags will be worried about me. They thought I’d be right behind them when they headed back to the cottage.”

  James smiled at her. “Don’t be concerned. I had Mosley ring them after he told me what had happened. They know you’re safe here at the Ma
nor. In fact, why don’t you stay for dinner?”

  Her heart leapt as visions of a romantic, candlelit dinner with James popped into her mind. “Y…you mean, just the two of us?” she stammered.

  “Yes, it would just be something simple—like a sandwich, or some soup and bread. I don’t like having formal three-course meals and making extra work for the staff unless I have guests. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “Oh no… no… not at all…” Caitlyn felt inordinately pleased that he felt close enough to her to no longer consider her a “guest”. She gave him a shy smile. “Thank you… that would be really nice.” Then she remembered her wet clothes and gestured down at herself. “Oh, but I can’t go around in these wet things. I’ll ruin your furniture—”

  “You can borrow some of my sister’s clothes. She leaves a pile of things behind every time she visits from London. I’m sure Vanessa won’t mind.” James stood back to eye Caitlyn. “You’re about the same size, I think. I’m sure her things would fit you—if you don’t mind wearing her old clothes, that is. They’re probably not very fashionable,” he added apologetically.

  Caitlyn wanted to laugh. Compared to her own faded, outdated wardrobe—picked more for comfort than for keeping up with the latest trends—she was sure Vanessa Fitzroy’s clothes were the height of fashion and sophistication.

  She ducked her head in gratitude. “Thanks… well, if you’re sure she won’t mind—it would be great to get out of these wet things. I’ll make sure to launder anything I borrow before returning it to you—”

  “Good gracious, don’t worry about that! I’m delighted you’ll stay. I’ll ask one of the maids to show you to a guest room and bring you a selection of my sister’s things. When you’re done, come down to my study. We’ll eat in there—it’s a lot cosier than the Dining Hall. In fact, I think it’s chilly enough to light the fire.”

  Caitlyn hastily pushed aside the sudden image of herself and James curled up before the romantic glow of golden flames, and hoped that no hint of her silly fantasies showed on her face. Leaving Nibs to James’s care, she followed a maid up to a guest bedroom and spent the next ten minutes luxuriating under a hot shower. When she came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, she found a neat pile of garments laid out on the bed. But when she picked up several of the beautiful outfits, her eyes widened in dismay. They were tiny! James’s sister must be a size 8—or a size 10 at the most, she thought. Caitlyn held one of the soft cashmere silk dresses against herself and stared wistfully at the mirror. How she wished she could wear it! But while her top half just might squeeze into a size 10, her hips were definitely in the size 14 range. She’d always been embarrassed by her pear-shaped figure, and now she felt even more mortified by her curves.