Left, thought Thomas. What a final-sounding word. I wish I’d said more to thank her. For all the cases she’s helped with. I wish … well, no point in … After all, this was all part of the life he’d chosen. One met people in the course of an investigation and then one moved on … After writing up the paperwork .… Now … where was he with that?
Back in Parhayle, Trelawney, after dealing with any immediate requests from his staff, sequestered himself in his office and composed his official report. He attempted to sleep on it, but his night was a restless one. The following day, after a final re-read, he attached a covering email and sent it to Maxwell.
***
Amanda had returned, with relief, to work at The Grange. Simon Lawley left to resume teaching at Chalkstable College, taking with him Pamela, who promised to come back for the Equinox Ball. Hillers and Humpy were remaining to help with preparations for the festivities. Hillers helped to heft chairs and tables in the ballroom; Humpy supplied moral support, with his cheerful manner and by sporadically breaking into song, principally that 1920s tribute to an American river: Black Bottom.
The ball was only a matter of days away now, and Mr Frumbling had kindly offered to walk over from Pipkin Acres most days to help Amanda.
The previous night, she had, for some reason, slept little, had finally dropped off, then overslept. There was no time for a packed lunch and so now she found herself in The Corner Shop for a sandwich and a packet of prosciutto San Daniele that had arrived for Tempest. He had, after all, saved her life, she reminded herself.
‘How is the piano coming on?’ asked Joan, lowering her postbag to the floor and easing her shoulders.
‘Not long now,’ replied Amanda with a smile.
‘Your inspector’ll be there, I expect,’ Sylvia remarked, with the suggestion of a wink, leaning her stop sign in a convenient corner.
‘He’s not … yes, I think he will be.’ Amanda hoped that this would close a subject that, for some reason, was not evoking the happiest of emotions.
Ding!
‘Morning ladies.’
‘Morning Dennis,’ chorused the trio.
‘I was about to say, p’raps we’ll see the inspector on Saturday at the class,’ suggested Joan.
Amanda shook her head. ‘I’m … not sure. His work here is really done.’
‘What? Discovered what happened your family, did he?’ marvelled Sylvia. ‘Well! He is a clever lad. So …?’
‘Yes … he was kind enough to let me know … his report … carbon monoxide poisoning,’ Amanda replied briefly.
‘In the van?’ asked Dennis.
‘Hm.’
‘Well now … what a thing!’ exclaimed Joan. ‘Show’s you can’t be too careful. My Jim is ever so conscientious with the car. Services it regular. But the inspector will still pop in?’
‘I don’t know … he has a police station in Cornwall to run, you know and erm …’ Nalini smoothly saved Amanda from her evident discomfort:
‘Here you are, dear. Your prosciutto. Have some yourself. I’m sure the Raj will allow you to share it with him.’ Tempest preened himself as this suitably royal reference. Amanda looked down and laughed for the first time that day.
‘So no more excitement, dearie,’ Sylvia remarked regretfully. ‘For now anyway. Enough with the Equinox Ball.’
‘Yes, agreed Amanda, rousing her enthusiasm. ‘That’s plenty.’
And it was, she told herself. Of course it was.
***
Late afternoon, Trelawney visited Hogarth to bring him the truth in person, and the report in printout.
‘So … it’s done,’ concluded Thomas.
‘Hm … we shall see,’ replied Mike, enigmatically. ‘Yes, this closes the case. Now, we must ensure Amanda inherits the Cardiubarn estate before any remaining wolves gather.’
‘Surely Miss Cadabra’s right to inherit is undisputed?’
‘Oh, she may take the castle. But can she hold it? Never mind. With Amanda’s permission, now that death certificates have been issued for the Cardiubarns, I’ve set the official wheels in motion.’
‘I see. Yes, of course … But … my work in Sunken Madley is finished.’ As Hogarth made no immediate reply, Thomas asked, ‘Is it not?’
‘Let’s have some tea, shall we, lad?’
Chapter 48
The Job Offer
‘The powers that be,’ said Hogarth, stretching out his long, brown-corduroy-covered legs before the fire and stirring his after-dinner tea with apparent nonchalance, ‘are impressed by your report. All of your reports, in fact. You show a rare talent for taking an old magical pitted stone wall, filling in the holes, applying a fresh, modern coat of render and finishing it all off with a nice new mundane coat of white-wash.’
‘Eye-wash,’ remarked Trelawney.
‘Hogwash even, some might say. All managing to put Sunken Madley back on its normal, quaint, sleepy country village shelf.’
‘Well … I’m glad they’re pleased,’ he returned noncommittally.
‘You have done a good job. A unique job, in a unique set of circumstances, Thomas. And I believe you’ve even enjoyed it.’
Trelawney smiled at that. ‘I won’t say it hasn’t been trying. But yes, it’s certainly allowed me to push the envelope, in ways I would never have imagined.’ He took a bite of shortcake.
‘Hm. You know, Thomas, Sunken Madley isn’t going to go away. It’s clearly the epicentre of something. Or things. Long-buried perhaps and now, for some reason, surfacing.’ Hogarth waited while Trelawney finished his biscuit. Finally, Thomas asked,
‘Are you saying, Mike, that more awkward bits of mystical wall are likely to reveal themselves?’
‘Not just likely; certain. Especially in the light of the Oracle’s words about the riddle of Sunken Madley.’
Thomas was now very still, regarding his friend steadily, suspecting what was coming.
‘Three deaths in Sunken Madley in less than a year,’ continued Hogarth, ‘and the Cardiubarn case’s connection to the village. And at the heart of the village: the witch, Amanda Cadabra, with still very limited experience of dealing with the past, the clans, with murder most foul. Even with magic outside of her small workshop world. She has done most extraordinarily well.’
‘She has indeed,’ agreed Thomas wholeheartedly.
‘But. She is not a professional. And the presence of a professional is what is
