Amanda Cadabra and The Strange Case of Lucy Penlowr by Holly Bell (i like reading .TXT) 📗

didn’t really know what I was doing, but I did my best and hoped for the best. I don’t know how successful or otherwise I was. Then I took the child up and out into the night and got them to the road or the beach.’

‘You were never seen?’

‘I had narrow escapes, believe me. I have no doubt that, had I been discovered, I would have ended up as one of those unfortunate “accidents”. But the stairs are dark in places, very dark. And I had learned in my early years how to be swift and silent.’

Hogarth could only imagine the conditions that had necessitated the development of such skills. He refrained from asking. Elodie continued.

‘I think often the parents would move out in the middle of the night and the children would go to France. They’d be taken along the French coast, then brought back well beyond the Tamar border and reunited with their families, if they weren’t already with them.’

Elodie sighed, drank some tea and helped herself to curry puffs. They munched in silence for a while, Hogarth giving her time to recover from reliving the events she was describing for him. Finally, he said,

‘So ... the missing children ....’

‘Yes.’

“They all survived then?’

‘No ... not all. When you believe you can fly or breathe underwater or hold up a huge boulder ....’

‘But why was there no outcry? No call for an official investigation?’

Elodie looked at him levelly, a sort of vacant sadness in her eyes.

‘Something like 100,000 children die in accidents every year, Chief Inspector. And in these cases, they were by themselves. No witnesses. Or perhaps there were. But people see and believe what they want to.’

Hogarth was at a loss for words. The account she was giving was testimony enough to the truth of her statement. Seeing him so downcast, Elodie smiled.

‘But that was then. It’s long over. Have some more cheese puffs. I know from Harry that they’re your favourite.’ She looked at him with a twinkle. ‘Go on, you can finish them off!’

Chapter 20

Crimson Lake

‘What were the key words for the doors?’ asked Amanda curiously, pouring out more tea for each of them.

Hogarth, knowing full well she would ask, had the list ready and produced it with the air of a rabbit from a hat.

‘There you go.’

Surprisingly, the handwriting was different from the first list, and it wasn’t Hogarth’s either.

‘Agertyn. Of course: open,’ Amanda translated. ‘Anlucsera: unlock. Onlideskovra: reveal. Ime wou bodrhi: I command you. Not Cornish. Those are spell words. It’s Wicc’Yeth.

‘Magical language?’ Trelawney checked.

‘Hm,’ Amanda replied, thoughtfully. ‘She got in with just the words.’

‘So no voice print,’ observed Hogarth.

‘That’s an advanced spell the Cardiubarns created. Granny told me. Actually, I wouldn’t have expected the other witch-clans to know it. It does, at least, suggest the Dowrkampyers weren’t that much in league with my lot.’

‘Even so, I’d still like to know what the Cardiubarns’s part was in the conflict that night,’ said Trelawney.

‘The point is that Elodie got into the crypt, saw and used the grimoire,’

‘Or at least a grimoire,’ Trelawney interpolated, picking up his mug.

‘And got out. More than once.’

‘Yes, do carry on, Mike. We both need to hear more if we’re going to be able to help in some way.’

***

‘Oh dear, how grim this all is,’ observed Elodie, lightly.

‘I’m sorry you have had the experience and thank you for reliving it in the telling,’ Hogarth responded sincerely.

‘Hm. We haven’t thought or spoken of it in a long time, Chief Inspector. We are constitutionally merry folk, I’ll have you know!’ Elodie helped herself to curry puffs.

‘I can believe that. You seem like an eminently happy family. I’m sorry to have to leave and return to Cornwall. Other duties call, alas.’

‘I tell you what, next time, would you like a visit to our studio?’

***

‘Back in Cornwall, I sought out the relevant medical examiner. He was retired, and it was a long time ago, but we accessed the records of the boy who drowned. I wanted to know if there was any evidence of asthma.’

‘And?’ queried Trelawney.

‘Yes, there was inflammation of the lungs.’

‘And water?’

‘Yes.’

‘Could he swim?’

‘According to the report, yes. And no evidence of stroke, heart attack, muscle spasms, nothing that would have made him sink.’

Trelawney looked at Mike questioningly. ‘So, he would not have drawn a breath unless he believed he could breathe underwater?’

‘I did put that to the doctor. He agreed that there could have been a psychological component of the case that he was not aware of. However, there was insufficient evidence to prove that it was anything other than accidental.’

‘What about any other fatalities or injuries to the children who believed they had superpowers?’ asked Amanda.

‘You heard what Lucy said.’

‘True. Tell us about your next visit, please, Uncle Mike.’

‘Yes, I returned to Spain as soon as possible, and I had the privilege of being admitted to the studio of Lucia Palomo. Although, I always thought of her as Lucy Penlowr.’

***

‘Feel free to browse,’ Peter invited Hogarth. Mike looked at the canvases on the wall, the easels and those stacked around the studio.

‘I don’t know that much about art,’ Hogarth confessed. ‘But it seems to me that they all have elements of ... joy, and yet there are five distinct styles.’

‘Oh yes, we all paint. And different clients want different things.’

‘Commissions?’

‘Yes, usually they want paintings from photos, but at other times just something to suit the setting or décor. Well done spotting the styles though.’

‘How about guessing which are whose?’ suggested Marielle, with a playful smile. She was leaning against a bench, the sunlight dancing on her hair as she moved her head.

‘I’ll have a go,’ replied Hogarth, unable to resist.