Amanda phoned the inspector. Minutes later, she was back in the Mondeo, and they were heading out of town and up ... up onto Bodmin Moor.
Chapter 52
The Return of the Native
‘This is very kind of you, Inspector. Especially as I don’t know how long it will take,’ said Amanda.
‘Not at all. How about if, once you’re inside, you text me to check there’s a signal, then I can go back to the station? When you’re done, just message me, and I’ll be right there.’
‘Perfect.’
‘Ah, open the glove compartment … Yes, the mask. I grabbed this from the DIY box at my flat this morning. If the Hall hasn’t been cleaned for three decades, you may find it handy.’
‘How thoughtful! Thank you, Inspector.’
After a few moments, Amanda wound down the window and took a deep breath, looking around.
‘I know this road,’ she murmured. ‘I remember being in the back of Granny’s car … I must have been in a child-seat. I remember the back of Granny’s hair, my stiff black taffeta dress … and the scent of the Moor … how strange.’
Trelawney glanced at her. She seemed calm but distant, looking, no doubt, into the past. He left her to her thoughts and drove the remaining distance.
Having arrived, he parked and got out with Amanda and Tempest.
‘I’ll walk you to the entrance, and wait here until you’re inside.’
‘Thank you, Inspector.’
At the portal he stopped and turned to face her. ‘Miss Cadabra. This is your estate now. Own it. You’ll be fine.’
‘Yes.’ She achieved a parting smile. ‘I’ll see you later.’
So it was that Amanda née Cardiubarn, for the first time since she was three years old, approached the tall, now rusted wrought-iron entrance of her ancestral home.
She was ready with the spell, but, before she could speak the word, the gates, with a creak and a grind, slowly swung open, as though they could smell Cardiubarn blood. What they could sense of Tempest was anyone’s guess.
Amanda inhaled, raised her chin and walked resolutely through and towards the Hall. She climbed the six stone steps and stood before the great oaken double doors. Less welcoming than the gates, they awaited the key. Assuming it would be the largest, most ornate and unwieldiest, Amanda tried it. Curiously, without success. The second most sizeable key was the one that fitted. After some resistance, the tumblers fell. Pushing at the two leaves, Amanda let the late afternoon light into the entrance space beyond.
Suddenly she was back, small, holding Granny’s hand, her stomach tightening, her senses heightening.
Grown-up Amanda shook her head.
‘Well, I’m not three years old anymore,’ she muttered to Tempest. ‘I’m back … with a wand and ... you.’
The first sight within that greeted Amanda’s eyes was Senara Cadabra, sitting on a threadbare chair and flicking through a yellowing copy of British Toxicology Monthly. She looked up.
‘Well done, dear.’
‘Granny! I was hoping you’d turn up.’
‘Yes, well, now that you’re here …’
‘I have a job to do.’ Amanda waved the plans of the house.
‘Indeed. I’ve been having a look around. Of course, the last time I was here, it was a great deal more impressive. But then there was staff and lots of them. Well, don’t let me hold you up. It’s all right. I’ll be here. But really there’s nothing much to see. Except … in your Great-grandmother’s study, at the top of the grand staircase, door on the right. Yes … you may find that interesting, dear.’
Amanda sent a text to Trelawney, then decided to work from the top down. Granny had been right, the rooms, including hers, were empty of all but dust and cobwebs, damp, mould and rust. Methodically, Amanda went through, chamber by chamber, space by space. She checked it all against the plans Mr Keast had given her and took photos on her phone, especially details of decay.
Granny had been right about something else: Great-grandmother’s study. Amanda, now masked, twitched back the dusty, dark red brocade curtains. They towered from the parquet to the ceiling, some fifteen feet above. By the afternoon light, she could see that the room had been left ... like a shrine. On the green leather-inlaid desk, reposed a blotter, pen and inkstand, a paperknife, a magnifying glass, and spectacles. The last two lay open on a blank sheet of writing-paper. Amanda walked around while Tempest seated himself in the buttoned desk chair, in leather matching the desk inlay.
‘I don’t remember this room. These books …’ High shelves had been mostly cleared, save for a section of thick Morocco-bound and embossed volumes. What titles were inscribed and visible appeared to be in Wicc’yeth, the magical language she had been taught. A particular spine caught Amanda’s eye. She reached out. Like static, a mild electric current crackled out and shocked her fingers. She gasped.
‘Good grief.’ Amanda sniffed and looked for the source of a smell of singeing. The sun, in a fit of pre-spring fervour, was penetrating the gloom. Using the lens of the late Lady Cardiubarn’s magnifying glass, it had focused its efforts on the desiccated paper that was now turning suspiciously brown.
‘Oops!’ Amanda hastily closed the curtains. ‘I’ve seen enough. Let’s go, Tempest.’
Finally, with the ground floor, they ended their tour of inspection and returned to the entrance hall.
Senara had now moved on to a faded copy of Vintage Blades Quarterly.
‘You haven’t finished,’ she remarked, without looking up.
‘This is all that the plans show,’ replied her granddaughter.
‘You know there’s more, Ammee.’
At once, Amanda flashed back. Down the stone steps ... Great-grandmother’s hand holding her own …
‘There’s a cellar … crypt …,’ murmured Amanda.
‘Good,’ Granny commended her. ‘Now where is the door to it?’
Amanda looked at the grand staircase, went up a few steps then faced down again.
‘I remember coming down here.’ She suited the action to the word.
