The Language Of Spells

‘Pardon?’

Lily gave her a calculating look. ‘That’s what your aunt always said. She said it was impossible to do no harm. One hungry family’s roast dinner is the sad demise of a chicken.’

‘Right.’

‘She was full of them. Said everything was a war and that there could only be one winner.’

The cold air was making Gwen’s nose run and she pulled out a tissue. She was getting the creeping sensation that she might not have liked her aunt very much. Question was: should that make her feel more or less guilty about inheriting from her?

‘Look…’ Lily pointed down the street. ‘There’s the roundhouse.’

At one end of the bridge was a round stone structure. Its shape was a cross between a minaret and a beehive and there was an ornately carved fish mounted on the roof.

‘The bridge is thirteenth century, but the roundhouse was added in the eighteenth. It was used as a lock-up for drunkards and criminals.’

‘There’s a fish on the roof,’ Gwen said. She was working on automatic pilot, her voice handling conversation while her brain concentrated on ignoring the river rushing under the bridge.

Lily nodded. ‘A gudgeon. Round here we still say “over the water and under the fish” when we mean in jail.’

‘That’s colourful.’

‘Oh yes. We’ve got colour coming out of our arses round here,’ Lily said and walked onwards, her heels clicking on the pavement.

Gwen stamped down on her rising panic. She’d spent so long squashing all thoughts of Stephen Knight that she wasn’t prepared for the assault of memories. He’d been a funny-looking boy. One of those awkward teens that look both younger and older than their age all at once. A baby face that somehow carried the gruff, sun-burned features of his farming parents at the same time. Until they fished him out of the river, of course. Then he’d looked exactly, tragically, his sixteen years.

They reached the main shopping street. A steeply sloping affair, lined with self-consciously pretty painted wooden fronts and chichi window displays. It was all much more upmarket than Gwen remembered.

‘What do you need to do?’ Lily was showing no signs of leaving and Gwen couldn’t think of a polite way to extricate herself.

‘Um. Post office?’

‘At the bottom of the road, turn left. It’s next to the Co-op.’

Lily paused, a sly look flashed across her face and then disappeared. ‘You should go and see the green. It’s a little further along the river.’

‘Okay.’

‘And the Red Lion does bar meals if you fancy a bite.’

‘Thanks.’ Gwen shifted her weight, preparing to walk away.

‘It’s haunted, mind, but I’m sure that won’t bother you.’

Gwen forced a laugh. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts.’

‘Quite right. It’s probably dreamed up as a lure for the tourists.’

Despite herself, Gwen asked, ‘What is?’

‘Ghost of Jane Morely. She was tried as a witch on the green outside the pub.’

Lily’s stare had become disturbingly intense and Gwen decided the best policy was a polite smile.

‘It’s in the town records if you don’t believe me. She was executed in 1675. They strangled her and burned her.’

‘Better than the other way around, I suppose.’

Lily looked at her sharply. ‘I would prefer neither, myself.’

‘Well, yes,’ Gwen stumbled. How did she end up in a conversation about preferred methods of execution? ‘Obviously.’ She stepped aside to let a woman laden with shopping bags pass. The woman stopped, turned, and retraced her steps. ‘Excuse me? Aren’t you Gwen Harper?’

‘Um. Yes.’

‘You’ve just moved into the big house, haven’t you?’

‘Sorry?’ Gwen felt panicky, as if she were in the middle of an exam that she hadn’t revised for.

‘Off Bath Road? End House, is it?’ The woman had a thoroughly freckled face topped with a teal beret.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Amanda. I’m in number twelve on the main road. We’re neighbours.’ She shifted her clutch of carrier bags from one hand to the other. ‘I’m so sorry we haven’t been by to welcome you. We’ve all had the sickness bug that’s going around.’

‘Oh don’t worry,’ Gwen said. Then there was a pause, so she added, ‘It’s fine.’

After another, lengthening, silence, Gwen realised that Amanda was waiting for something. With a flash of understanding, Gwen dragged up the words, ‘You’re very welcome to pop by any time. Come for tea.’

Amanda smiled. People were too happy in this place. It was unnerving.

‘You don’t remember me, do you?’

Gwen stared at Amanda’s wide grey eyes and freckled skin, something tickling the back of her mind, and then it came to her. ‘Biology,’ she said, just as Amanda said, ‘We were in sixth form together.’

‘God. I’m sorry. It’s been ages. How are you?’ Gwen was struggling to reconcile this slightly matronly-looking woman with the sullen teenager she only vaguely remembered. Biology, like most of her classes, was a bit of a blur. She’d been dreaming her way through her A levels, thinking only about Cam and when she was next seeing him. Your basic teenage cliché, she now realised.

Lily stood frozen, her face a mask.

‘I’m sorry,’ Gwen said, gesturing. ‘Amanda, this is Lily.’

‘Oh, we know each other,’ Amanda said dismissively. She put down her shopping bags and stretched her fingers. She had purple gloves on with an extra pair of fingerless woollen ones over the top.

‘You didn’t tell me you used to live here,’ Lily said, her voice tight.

‘Yes.’ Gwen turned to Lily. ‘For a while. A long time ago.’

‘How long?’ Lily said, her gaze unnervingly intense. ‘You went to school here?’

‘We moved onto Newfield Road when I was ten. But I haven’t been back for ages. Not since sixth form, actually.’ She forced a laugh. ‘It feels like a different life.’

‘You let me go on like a fool, showing you around. Telling you things.’ Bright spots of colour appeared on Lily’s cheeks. ‘You didn’t say you knew Pendleford, that you used to live here.’ Lily was almost stuttering in her horror. ‘I feel like an idiot. You let me go on—’

‘No, I liked it,’ Gwen said, trying to make it better. ‘It’s all so different. It was useful. Really.’

Amanda laughed. ‘Pendleford? Changed? Not likely.’

Gwen shot her a look that said: not helping.

‘Well, I assume you can find your way from here,’ Lily said, furious embarrassment clear on her face. ‘I’ll leave you in peace.’

Gwen watched her walk away, her back perfectly straight, her highlighted helmet of blonde hair hardly moving. ‘Damn it,’ she said under her breath. Way to make nice with the neighbours, Gwen.

‘Are you renovating the house?’ Amanda asked, oblivious. ‘I know a great builder if you need one.’ She looked self-conscious for a moment. ‘I suppose I would say that. He’s my husband, you see, but he’s very good.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Ask anyone.’

‘I’m not really planning—’

‘He can get references. Written ones.’

‘I’ve only just moved in and I haven’t worked out what I’m doing yet—’

‘Reputation is everything round here, so you can rely on a local.’

Gwen gave up. ‘I’ll bear him in mind. Thanks.’

‘Well, I’d best get on.’ Amanda stooped to retrieve her bags.

‘Right. Will do. I’m just—’ Gwen waved in the general direction she was heading. ‘I think I’ll get some lunch and wait for the post office to open.’

‘He won’t be back till one.’

‘Right. Thanks.’

‘You want some advice?’ Amanda leaned in. ‘Avoid the Red Lion.’

‘Bad food?’

Amanda sniffed. ‘Bloody unfriendly.’

Gwen watched the bulky figure of Amanda retreat up the twisty street and then turned resolutely in the direction of the pub. Unfriendly sounded perfect. She could cope with the ghosts if nobody living spoke to her for the next half an hour.

Gwen finished a ploughman’s lunch and half a lager and read the newspaper. She was feeling a great deal warmer towards the town. The pub was the kind she liked. It had traditional decor with a few old photographs and horse brasses on the walls, scarred wooden tables and benches and an open fire in the front room.

She’d even enjoyed the surly service from the barman; it made her feel more comfortable than anything else in Pendleford so far. It felt somehow more honest, which was probably a sad reflection on her life so far.

Gwen left her plate and glass on the bar on her way past. The barman rewarded her with an almost-smile. The front room had filled up in the time she’d been eating, but Gwen noticed Cam right away. He was eating alone, a paperback book splayed open next to his plate.

Gwen hesitated. She wanted to walk straight past, but if he looked up she didn’t want to get caught ignoring him. So he hated her. So what? She swallowed, feeling sick. If she was serious about staying in this town, she was going to have to get used to seeing him. She straightened her shoulders and tried to arrange her face into a relaxed expression.

He looked up.

Gwen forced herself forward. Breezy. Just breeze past. Breezily.

‘Hello.’

‘I just had lunch.’ Gwen motioned to the back room.

Cam nodded, his expression unreadable.

‘I’m just going,’ Gwen said.

‘So I see.’ Cam looked like a spectacularly bad day had just got worse. Well, she’d just walk on out of there and relieve his stress.

‘Where are you running off to?’ Cam said, his face perfectly still.

‘I’m not running,’ Gwen said with dignity. ‘I’m leaving you in peace.’ This cold politeness was unnerving. She hadn’t expected much after their last meeting, but there wasn’t so much as a flicker of warmth. Gwen blinked. Her insides suddenly felt hollow.

‘Nice to see you,’ he said. Then, as if they were perfect strangers, ‘Welcome to Pendleford, again. Do call my office if you need anything.’

Gwen got the hell out before she pushed his cool, calm, collected face into his lunch.

On the way home, she called into the big chemist to stock up on essentials. She was filling her basket with three-for-two offers and trying to block out the Christmas music, when she spotted a familiar face. Marilyn Dixon. Lurking behind the perfume counter. There were dark circles under her eyes; purple shadows visible through the mask of pale beige make-up. Gwen felt a stab of guilt. She shouldn’t have left things the way she did. She should’ve been nicer. More sympathetic.

Gwen waited for the queue to empty, then took her basket up to Marilyn’s till.

For a moment she thought Marilyn wouldn’t recognise her, but then she said, ‘Iris used to make all her own stuff. Body lotion and toothpaste. She said you couldn’t trust the chemicals.’

‘Won’t you get in trouble for saying that here?’ Gwen was aiming for humour, but Marilyn didn’t smile. ‘Watch out for the botanical range. It brought me out in a rash.’

‘Right. Thank you.’

There was a pause, punctuated by the beep of the scanner.

‘I’m sorry if I was rude last night,’ Gwen said.

‘That’s all right,’ Marilyn said stiffly. ‘It must’ve seemed very odd, my coming to you like that.’

‘Well—’

‘I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t know what I’m doing any more.’ Marilyn rammed a tube of hand cream deep into a carrier bag. ‘It’s not been an easy time for me.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Marilyn added the cotton buds, lip balm and moisturiser to the bag.

‘If you want to talk—’ Gwen began awkwardly.

‘I have friends,’ Marilyn said defensively. A furtive look crossed her face. ‘And I went to see your neighbour instead. She was very helpful.’

‘Oh. Good,’ Gwen said. ‘My neighbour?’

‘She said it’ll make Brian come to his senses.’

‘What will?’

Marilyn bagged the last item – a lipstick Gwen had picked up on impulse – and gave Gwen a sickly smile. ‘Thank you for shopping with us today.’

Gwen braved the cold to spend some time sorting through her stock in the back of Nanette. She knew she ought to be making plans; working out what she was going to do about her business, money, her future. Instead, Cam’s carefully polite expression and Marilyn-bloody-Dixon’s voice kept popping into her mind. What did she mean by ‘come to his senses’? And why had she looked so tired and sad? With fingers that were too numb to open any more boxes, Gwen headed into the house. She ate some bread and jam and drank a glass of wine. Perhaps it was her imagination, but the house seemed just as cold as the van. Trying not to think about Cam or the business or Marilyn or anything at all, Gwen retreated to bed. She pulled up all of the blankets and quilts and, within moments, fell asleep.

Gwen snapped awake. The room was freezing, but she knew a noise had woken her up. She listened, ears straining. There was a muffled thump and her heart damn near jumped out of her mouth. She pushed down the fear and forced herself to switch on the lamp. The cat stalked out from the end of the bed and picked his way to the door. Relief flooded her system. ‘Bloody cat!’ He paused at the door but didn’t turn around. Gwen took a deep breath and willed her hammering heart to slow. She knew she wasn’t going to fall back asleep any time soon, so she swung her legs out of bed. Her Sudoku book was downstairs. A few minutes struggling with the ‘super-hard’ level puzzles was usually enough to cure any insomnia. It was cold and she pulled on her dressing-gown and slippers. ‘I’m on my way,’ she said to the impatient cat, who stood by the door. She readied herself for him to squeeze past her, but instead he wound around her legs, like he was trying to imitate clothing. ‘Not now, Cat.’

He kept up the furry ankle-socks impression all the way down the stairs until she said, ‘You win. I’ll feed you.’ The words died in her throat as she saw a detail that was all wrong. The back door was ajar. She went cold all over and then liquid with fear as the door clicked shut. Someone had just left her house. At two o’clock in the morning.

Chapter 5

Gwen slipped back into the hallway, heart thudding, and dialled 999. An oddly rational part of her brain observed her doing this. You’ve never rung the emergency services before, the calm part of her brain said. Apart from that one time, an unhelpful section piped up. Down by the river. A bloated white face. Black water weeds tangled around his neck. Gwen squashed the memory back down, ignoring the sickness that came with it as best she could. Don’t think about that. No time. Look, now you’re giving your address. Aren’t you doing well?

The woman on the line said that someone would be there very soon. Gwen went back upstairs and locked herself and Cat in the bathroom, her ear pressed to the door to listen and her mobile phone gripped in one hand. Six minutes later, the doorbell rang and she went back downstairs. Blue lights were strobing through the glass panel at the top of the door and she opened the door to a six-foot tall policewoman, her male partner dwarfed beside her.

Gwen gave a swift recap, showing the now-completely-shut back door and waiting while both PCs checked the garden, the gates, and down the road. She was proud of how calm she was being until the policeman – PC Davies – suggested that she sit down and put her head between her knees for a moment and she realised that her peripheral vision had entirely disappeared.

‘Quiet up here,’ PC Green said, tactfully ignoring the fact that Gwen had her head at floor level and was taking deep breaths.

Gwen sat up slowly and the kitchen tilted. She swallowed. ‘Yes.’

‘Nice.’ Green looked around. She had brown hair in a high ponytail and discreetly chic make-up. She looked capable and grown up and, even if she hadn’t been wearing a uniform, Gwen would’ve trusted her.

‘Have you lived here long?’

Gwen explained about her aunt and the inheritance. ‘It’s all been quite strange.’

‘So, you’ve been a bit disorientated?’

‘Well…’ Gwen said.

‘And what are the neighbours like? This is usually a pretty friendly place.’

‘Oh, very nice.’ Gwen said quickly. ‘Very friendly.’

‘Do they pop by?’

‘All the time.’

PC Green nodded. ‘You lived in a city before, right?’

‘Yes. Leeds.’

‘Different place, I bet.’

‘Well, obviously, but—’

Green called to PC Davies, not even attempting to hide her impatience. ‘False alarm.’

Gwen decided she wasn’t so trustworthy after all. What self-respecting police person wore a scrunchie, anyway?

‘You probably left the door open and the wind blew it shut,’ she said to Gwen.

‘I definitely locked the door before I went to bed,’ Gwen said, stamping down on her anger. ‘City girl, remember? Paranoid.’

‘Well, maybe someone popped by for a visit. One of your neighbours.’

‘At two o’clock in the morning?’ Gwen said tightly.

PC Green shrugged and walked to the front door. PC Davies was already there, holding it wide open and letting a wall of freezing air into the hall.

Gwen hugged herself to keep from shouting at an officer of the law. ‘If a neighbour decided to visit, why didn’t they speak to me? Call upstairs?’ As she spoke, Gwen remembered Lily’s stealth casserole.

PC Davies looked apologetic. ‘We’ll file a report. Let us know if you have any more problems.’

‘I definitely locked that door,’ Gwen said again, trying not to sound shaky and pathetic.

Green was already halfway to the panda car.

‘I’m not crazy,’ Gwen called to her. Green raised a hand without turning round.

Gwen shut the door and locked it. There was something tugging at her memory, too. A feeling. When she’d gone downstairs and seen the door closing, she’d had the strong sense it was a man on the other side of it. Gwen had been brought up to pay attention to her intuition, to believe in it. She closed her eyes and concentrated. A strong smell of aftershave filled her nostrils. She opened her eyes and it dissipated. Definitely a man then. She couldn’t exactly call Green back and explain how she knew that and it seemed that the house was magnifying the Harper family intuition. Either that or she was going crazy. Cat wound around her ankles, purring like a jet engine. ‘Bloody marvellous,’ Gwen said, and went to find him some tuna fish.

The next morning, Gwen was reading in bed after a fitful night. She told herself that she was completely calm and fine, but for some irritating reason she still hadn’t been able to sleep for more than half an hour at a time. Iris’s notebook wasn’t exactly comforting, either. Amongst the unknown initials of Iris’s customers and acquaintances, her own name kept leaping out.

Gloria was here with her girls today. She didn’t tell me, of course, but I could see it straight away: Gwen has the Finding. Poor child. There’s a reason Finding Lost Things was banned by the charter of 1539. Some things aren’t meant to be found.

Gwen closed her eyes. Iris wasn’t wrong about that. Before Gwen had started to refuse to do her party piece on demand, Gloria was always pimping her out. Lost car keys, wallets, pets, wedding rings. When she was eleven, she’d had to tell a woman that her lost engagement ring was at an address that turned out to be a pawn shop. Rather than believe that her husband (who everyone knew had a teeny-tiny problem with gambling) had hawked it, she accused Gwen of nicking it and then trying to squeeze some more cash out of her by finding it. Being screamed at by a member of the school PTA wasn’t the worst Gwen had experienced, but she still remembered the feeling of betrayal. Why had Gloria made her do it? She was supposed to be the grown-up, the protector. Sure, she’d hauled Gwen out of the woman’s kitchen, taken her home and passed her tissues to wipe her face, but the experience didn’t stop her asking Gwen to find something for a client later that same day. Gloria didn’t let a little thing like her daughter’s feelings get in the way of increasing revenue.

At half past eight, Cat stalked into the room and jumped onto the bed. He landed with a thud that made the bed springs creak. ‘How are you so heavy?’ she asked him. ‘You defy the laws of physics.’ Unless the cat was a black hole. That would make sense.

The doorbell rang. Gwen pulled on slippers and a dressing-gown and picked up the cricket bat. The man at the front door wasn’t in uniform or a bad suit, but she could see he was police just the same.

‘Detective Inspector Harry Collins. Please don’t hit me.’

Gwen leaned the bat up against the wall and took a step back.

He walked into the hallway with a puff of icy winter air and the smell of frost.

Gwen held her hand out for his heavy jacket.

He shook his head. ‘That’s all right.’

‘You have to take it off now or you won’t feel the benefit when you go outside.’

The policeman grinned, instantly looking about ten years younger. ‘That’s what my gran always said.’

‘Smart lady,’ Gwen said, hand outstretched.

Harry shrugged off his coat obediently and handed it to Gwen.

In the kitchen, Gwen was confused to find the tea bag tin out of the cupboard where it lived and sitting on the counter. Lid off. Either the intruder had got halfway through making himself a cup of tea, or Iris was moving things around. Which was impossible. Gwen put the tin back and poured two strong coffees. She cut thick slices of fruit cake and pretended that her hands weren’t shaking.

‘Isn’t it early for cake?’ Harry said.

‘Never too early for cake. Anyway, it’s got fruit in it. It’s practically a health food.’

‘Well, then.’ Harry took some cake and then said, ‘Can you tell me about the disturbance last night?’

‘I don’t want to waste your time,’ Gwen said stiffly, not in the mood for another round of ‘laugh at the loony out-of-towner’. ‘I got a case number last night.’ Gwen turned to look for it.

‘I read the report, but I’d like to hear it from you.’ He gave a small smile. ‘If you don’t mind.’

Gwen frowned. ‘You’re a detective. Isn’t this a bit below your pay grade?’ She gave him a searching look. ‘Quiet day at the office?’

He smiled that easy grin again and held up his hands. ‘I have a confession to make.’

Gwen closed her eyes. ‘Don’t tell me you knew my great-aunt.’

‘Don’t think so. I do know Cameron Laing though.’

Gwen frowned, ignoring the flare of excitement that Cam’s name ignited. ‘I don’t—’

‘So, when I saw your call on the log, I recognised your name and address and thought I’d better deal with it personally.’

‘Oh.’ Gwen didn’t have a follow-up for that.

‘Don’t want to give Cam a reason to fall out with me. He buys the drinks,’ Harry supplied.

‘Right.’ Cameron Laing the lawyer. Cameron Laing, friend to the local detective inspector. Life was odd.

‘So,’ Harry said gently, ‘can you talk me through it?’

Gwen took a sip of coffee, gathering her thoughts. ‘I woke up. Something woke me up. I guess a noise, although I wasn’t aware of anything clearly. I got up and went downstairs.’

‘On your own? That wasn’t sensible.’

Gwen glowered at him. ‘There are a lot of creepy noises in this house. You want me to call the police every time the radiator burps?’

Harry waved a hand. ‘Continue.’

‘I went downstairs and when I walked into the kitchen, I saw the back door shut.’ She paused, feeling the fear all over again. ‘Someone had just left.’

‘No forced entry, so we’re looking at someone with access. How many people have a key to the house?’

‘I have no idea.’ Gwen said, feeling stupid. ‘I doubt Iris was in the habit of giving them out, but—’

‘Can you show me the keys?’

Gwen got up and fetched her key ring. It still felt bulky and awkward in her hand and it took her a while to locate the front and back door keys.

‘Okay. The front door has a new Yale, but this one,’ he held up the brass back door key, ‘looks vintage.’

‘I don’t know who has the key. I know Lily Thomas – my great-aunt’s cleaner – had one, but she left it here.’ Gwen went through to the hallway and picked up the spare key.