A Meeting
Chapter Twelve The Guest
Hilary looked around the library. “I suppose that we’re as ready as we’re going to get,” she said.
“I is confident,” Bracken said smugly. “The room is clean.”
“It’s not just clean,” Hilary said. “It’s welcoming and so relaxing. You did a good job.”
Bracken stood an inch taller, proud of her work. “I did not arrange the books,” she said. “I had insufficient time but I has taken permission to borrow and read some of the books that aren’t real.” She pulled the cute pink cardigan a little closer around her. “They is most interesting.”
“I’m sure they are,” Hilary said, thinking of the lurid bodice-rippers that had been left on the shelves. “I’m glad you made time to read after all the work that you did in here.” She ran a hand over the mantlepiece. Bracken had polished it and the fireplace until it gleamed with a burnished glow. The soft light from the lamps around the room brought out its beauty, along with the deep mahogany of bookcases that also shone richly after Bracken’s relentless care. The upholstery of the chairs arranged around the fire had been freshened and newly washed throws were scattered along with cushions and pillows. Vases filled with dried leaves and grasses brought a hint of elegance to the corners of the room and an arrangement of chrysanthemums and asters was set in the centre of the library table.
Bracken followed Hilary’s gaze to the table. “Do you think that we’ll have enough refreshments,” she asked. “I is becoming skilful with baking and I could make some more lemon shortbread. And there are sausage rolls and pasties in the freezer that I could bake up for the guests.”
Hilary thought for a moment. The library table was hidden under a damask tablecloth and covered with food. Plates of shortbread and gingersnaps jostled with a substantial fruit cake flanked by two lemon loaf cakes. Three different types of chocolate muffins were heaped on platters separated by dishes of tiny frittata. “I don’t know,” she said. “The charcuterie boards look like they should feed an army just by themselves.”
“It was of great interest to see what is on the internet and how complicated things can be,” Bracken said. “And the trip to the supermarket was also important.”
Hilary nodded. The table in front of her looked nothing like the Pinterest-worthy spreads that her ex-husband had insisted on, but it looked far tastier and a great deal more substantial. “I think that this should be enough for now,” she said. “But we have two werewolves coming and you know what Lord Peregrine is like.” She looked at Bracken. You have been amazing. You’ve done so much and I’m grateful.”
“I is extremely satisfied with my situation,” Bracken sighed happily.
“Lord Peregrine has asked that I stay for the meeting,” Hilary said. “So you are going to be responsible for serving tea and coffee and for making sure that there’s always plenty on the table.”
“That is a large responsibility,” Bracken said, squaring her shoulders.
“You are more than ready for it,” Hilary said. “In fact, I think that you could do better than anything I could manage.”
Bracken looked horrified at the thought, but before she could complain, Tom strolled in. “I’m looking forward to digging into that food,” he said. “But I think you’ve done too much.”
“Better too much than too little,” Hilary said tartly. She cocked her head at the unfamiliar sound of knocking on the front door. “I’ll go and answer that,” she said. She pointed a stern finger at Tom. “And don’t try snacking on anything until everyone’s here! Bracken, could you make the tea, please.”
Hilary rushed to the door. “Good evening,” she said. “Please come in.” She winced at the rattle of rain driving against the porch. “I’ve got everything set up in the library.”
Lord Peregrine strolled in followed by a tall, lean man with thick, shoulder length red hair and piercing blue eyes. Miss Hilary, this is Cabus. Cabus, this is Miss Hilary Marshaw, the new witch.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Cabus said, shaking Hilary’s hand.
Unnerved by the coldness of his hand, Hilary scurried ahead of them. “This way, please,” she said. “I’m surprised that you didn’t come through the kitchen,” she added to Lord Peregrine.
“And miss the chance to see Bracken’s splendid work in the house?” Lord Peregrine asked. “I haven’t been this far inside for some time.”
Hilary ushered them into the library. “Would you like some tea?” she asked, aware Bracken was poised and ready to dash to the kettle.
“I would like a cup of Earl Grey tea,” Lord Peregrine said. “Please,” he added. “And what splendid food.”
Hilary turned to Cabus. “Would you like tea?” she asked.
“He’ll have Yorkshire tea,” Lord Peregrine interrupted. “Milk and no sugar.”
“I will?” Cabus smiled slowly. He turned to Bracken. “Tea with milk and no sugar would be wonderful.” He sat next to Tom, sinking into a comfortable armchair and immediately relaxed. “It’s a pleasure to be here,” he said in his deep, soothing voice. “It has been a while since I ventured down from the fells.”
Hilary noticed tension in Tom but was distracted as there was a sharp rap on the kitchen door, calling her away. It was Magnus, clutching a soggy bag. “Come in out of the weather,” Hilary said. “It’s dreadful, isn’t it.”
“That’s November for you,” Magnus said, handing her the bag. “I couldn’t come to a dinner party empty handed, so I brought wine.”
“It’s not exactly a dinner party,” Hilary said. “It’s more of a meeting with refreshments.”
“And it’s not exactly fancy wine in the bag.” Magnus looked around the kitchen. “I’ve brought something better than tea,” he said, catching sight of Bracken refilling the kettle. “But if it’s important work that we’re discussing, it had best be with clear heads.” He grinned wickedly at Hilary and gestured to the bag. “I’ve brought a couple of bottles of my own parsnip wine,” he said. “It’s Great Uncle Finlay’s special recipe and it’s just what you need at this time of year. It’ll warm you right through.”
“You’re the last to arrive,” Hilary said. “Lord Peregrine and Cabus are already in the library with Tom.”
“So Cabus has turned up, has he?” Magnus said. “I haven’t seen that old bloodsucker in years.”
Hilary pulled three bottles out of the bag. They were dusty, with smudged labels and looked unnervingly like reused vodka bottles. “Parsnip wine,” she read. “These are from last year?”
“Yep, I brought the good vintage,” Magnus said.
“Come through,” Hilary said. “Bracken will bring the tea.”
Lord Peregrine waited until everyone was settled around the crackling fire and had a plate of food and a drink next to them. “This is very convivial,” he said. “But we can talk while we eat. The food is delicious, but this is about serious things.”
“You mean like the embankment slipping onto the car,” Magnus asked. “I could swear that there was magic twisted in the roots of the fallen oak.”
Hilary frowned. “There was a fallen branch at the entrance to the car park at the Farm Shop,” she said. “It just missed Daniel who was driving a truck full of sheep. I thought that I felt magic there.”
“I’m fairly sure that it wasn’t a normal electrical fault that caused the traffic lights to fail a few weeks ago,” Lord Peregrine said. “It was hard to tell through the stench of burnt wiring, but something wasn’t entirely mortal about it.”
Tom leaned forward. “The stream flooded at the back of Yvette and Gideon’s house,” he said. “It wasn’t normal. Branches and debris will always get caught up in the flow, we’ve all seen it, especially at this time of year. This was different, thought. The debris and leaves backed up around a stick that I would swear was wedged in deliberately. Someone wanted that stream to flood.” He picked up a gingersnap from his plate and stared at it. “It was hard to tell with all the running water, but I wouldn’t say that there wasn’t magic in it. And then there’s the bed underneath the new stores.”
“The Lesken sisters had no idea that there was a cellar under there,” Lord Peregrine said. “In fact, they were outraged that they had lived in a building with a space they hadn’t cleaned.”
Bracken nodded as she refilled Tom’s mug. “It is a great shame for a brownie,” she said. “And they is feeling it very hard, even though there was nothing that they could do.”
“Are you sure that it smelled like a pooka?” Cabus asked, joining the discussion for the first time. “Because I haven’t seen Samgan in some time.”
Hilary looked at Lord Peregrine. “Is there a local pooka?” she asked. “The Committee didn’t mention anything about that.”
Lord Peregrine avoided Hilary’s curious gaze and instead stood and wandered over to the table. “Is it good manners to cut myself a piece of that glorious fruit cake or should I politely ask Bracken to serve me a slice?”
“I is happy to provide a good sized slice,” Bracken said, hurrying to the table. “This is an expensive cake with much spices. I believe that you will find it pleasant.”
“Lord Peregrine, did you know about the pooka?” Hilary asked.
“What Lord Peregrine is trying to avoid saying, is that he has been dormant for some time,” Cabus said. “This little corner of the world has been quite neglected by the supernaturals.” He picked up a dry cracker from his plate and regarded it solemnly. “I keep to myself, and the werewolves have been too busy infighting to take much notice of what’s happening outside of their pack. The fae hall shrunk and eventually even the brownies left, leaving Bracken as a sort of payment in Lord Peregrine’s empty hall. Everything just faded.”
“And this pooka was left to his own devices?” Hilary asked. “Didn’t the local witch do anything?”
“You are the first witch in a considerable time that has been willing to talk civilly with us supernaturals,” Cabus said, placing the cracker back on his plate. “I don’t know that anyone thought to ask.”
“According to Great Uncle Finlay, there hasn’t been a good tempered witch here for over a century,” Magnus said. He grimaced and bit into a white chocolate and cranberry muffin. “Great Uncle Finlay had something of a thing about witches, especially those who could cook,” he said, a little thickly through the muffin crumbs. “And I remember him talking about witches going back to what his father remembered.” He shrugged apologetically. “He said that they were all bad tempered old biddies but there was usually good food.” He took another bite of the muffin and chewed hastily as he saw Hilary’s raised eyebrow. “Present company excepted, of course. That’s why I brought my parsnip wine.”
“You brought your homemade wine?” Cabus asked, chuckling. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or a declaration of war.”
“Back to the point,” Hilary said. “Are we sure that it’s a pooka? If it is a pooka, are we sure that they’re this Samgan that you know? And if it is Samgan or even another pooka, what are we going to do?”
“You bring wonderful clarity to the discussion.” Lord Peregrine took the plate with the slice of fruitcake from Bracken and added a hunk of crumbly white cheese. “I believe that there’s a pooka involved somewhere.” He rejoined the group by the fire. “I believe that it’s probably Samgan. As for what we can do…” He trailed off as he took a mouthful of the cake with the cheese.
“Can we watch the cellar and see if he comes back?” Hilary asked.
Tom shook his head. “If it’s a pooka, we can’t catch them that easy. Besides, his belongings have already gone.”
“Pooka is better than brownies at being unnoticed,” Bracken added. “And they can get anywhere. Locks don’t stop them nor bolts nor anything.”
“How about wards?” Hilary asked. “You know, the old-fashioned shields of protection. Would they work against pooka?”
Lord Peregrine looked over to Cabus who shrugged. “They’d probably work,” Cabus said. “But where would you put them? You can’t cover everything. If you ward one tree, Samgan could knock the one next to it over.”
“And you don’t want to encourage him to get creative,” Lord Peregrine said. “If it is Samgan, he could be a monster if he got annoyed.”
“He’s not exactly happy right now,” Cabus said. “And I can tell that because we still have heavy machinery working to fix the embankment.”
“I’ll see if I can pick up his trail,” Lord Peregrine said. “I have a few techniques that may work, especially if Samgan is sloppy after a long time away.”
“Where do you think he’s been?” Tom asked. “Because he may go back there. If we know where he’s been staying, we could at least look for some sort of clue.”
“That makes sense,” Magnus said, standing and heading purposefully towards the charcuterie.
“Not if he’s been trapped,” Cabus said. “Samgan liked to keep himself busy about the place. He wouldn’t willingly leave. And he wouldn’t go back to where he was trapped.” He turned to Hilary. “Witches usually keep an account of sorts in their cottages,” he said. Perhaps you could look through them and see if you can work out what’s happened.”
“Of course,” Hilary said. “Though was there a reason that witches wouldn’t help before?”
“I told you, Great Uncle Finlay said that the witches around here had temperaments like a rabid rat with toothache,” Magnus said, loading up his plate with salami and gruyere. “We would never have got past the gate at the bottom of the drive.”
Hilary frowned and turned to Lord Peregrine. “Is that why you wanted us to meet here?” she asked. “Because you were curious about the cottage?”
“Absolutely not!” Lord Peregrine was outraged. “I wanted it held here because I knew that the food would be spectacular!” And he took another satisfying bite of fruitcake with cheese.