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

when I met her fresh from her witch's cave that day. But since then ....’ Suddenly feeling out of his depths, he took up a business-like tone, insisting, ‘Of course, what I mean is, I’m glad she’s my partner, and I look forward to working with her. Even if she does have a delinquent companion who’s either out, on the pull or in, getting high!’

Mike laughed but thought about that phrase, ‘Rather sweet’. What he would have called a declaration of passionate adoration in any other man. So, Vera and Harry had been right. They’d tried to hint at Thomas’s emotional state of affairs but he, Mike, had denied it at the time. Well, there were some things about which one never minded being wrong.

He watched Thomas looking into the fire in perplexity, hoping, as humans had from the dawn of consciousness, to find answers, or at least clarity there. They were so much alike in many ways those two, Thomas and Amanda, reflected Mike. Both so serious, so anxious to do the right thing, yet so optimistic. So much capacity for light-heartedness, seeking always to understand rather than judge. Yes, not so very different. After all, in the absence of anyone else, what was the small-town policeman if not the village witch? The caretaker, the voice of reason and justice, the protector, the keeper of watch and ward. A role as old as the first elder at the first campfire. A role that, long before our dying sun’s last gasp and the earth was absorbed, surely humans would take to the stars.

Chapter 38

Flossie and Amanda on Bodmin

‘Does your furry friend go with you everywhere?’ Flossie asked Amanda, as they took the road north out of Parhayle, at about the same time as Thomas and Kyt were approaching the gates of Flamgoyne.

‘Pretty much,’ she admitted. ‘I promise he won’t get hairs on your back seat.’

Ha, thought Tempest. He didn’t complain about his human’s hairs all over his bed. Of course, she fondly imagined it was her bed. Humans could be almost endearingly simple-minded. It was one of the things that made them such entertaining pets.

Flossie had deftly paved the way. She had called her friend, Janet, for a chat and mentioned that she had a visitor, who wanted some background about the place she knew as a young child near the school. Flossie thought she might pop in on Alison and see if she had time for a few minutes’ natter. Janet made sure her daughter was alerted to the possibility that a very good, old friend might call, and be sure to give her a cup of tea and the good biscuits and any information she wanted. Flossie was kind and generous to her friends and rarely asked for favours.

So it was that she and Amanda, upon presenting themselves, were instantly admitted to the office of Mrs Alison Taylor, benevolent helmsperson of Fowey Bridge School.

As they entered, the lady herself, short, curvaceous and comely, with mid-brown hair, instantly rose. On her way around the desk, Mrs Taylor deftly switched on her kettle, sitting on the top of a filing cabinet.

‘Aunt Flossie, how nice to see you. Mum said you might pop in.’

‘Nice to see you, my lover, and this is my friend, Amanda. Amanda, this is Mrs Taylor.’

‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Taylor.'

‘Oh, Ali, please. Come and sit down’.

Alison poured the hot water into three mugs jauntily adorned with ‘Santa’s Favourite Teacher’, ‘Teaching creates all other professions’, and ‘Best headteacher 2019.’

Alison stood by while they brewed.

‘How are you, Aunt Flossie? How’s the fishing?’

‘Da lowr,’ she replied in Cornish.

‘All right?’ said Ali.

‘’Zackly. Well done. You teachin’ the language here now?’

Alison sighed. ‘Trying to get funding. We need people who know it. Here! Aunt Flossie. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to come in one day a week and teach, would you?’

‘Well now. I’d have to ask my boys if they can spare me. And I’ve taught my own, of course, but … well, I might be able to.’

‘We wouldn't be able to pay you much,’ said Alison regretfully. But Flossie shook her finger at that.

‘No, no, I won't hear of it. Passin’ onto the young. If it’s fun and they likes it, and I do too, then I’ll lend a hand.’

‘Thank you, Aunt Flossie, you are a treasure, just for considering it.’

‘I’ll let you know. Anyway, how's the school? You still teaching as well as ’eadmistressin’?’

‘Oh, we all pitch in here, and to be honest, it’s the best bit. Anyone non-dairy?’ asked Alison, looking at her guests.

‘Do you have —?’ Amanda began.

‘Almond milk, all right?’

‘Lovely.’

‘Our Mr Ponya, he teaches P.E., he won’t touch anything that comes out of a cow, so I always keep an alternative for him.’

She poured milk into the mugs, flicked open the biscuit tin on her desk and presented it to her visitors.

‘Oo, garibaldis and fig newtons!’ exclaimed Flossie.

‘Wonderful,’ said Amanda.

Alison put the bowl of sugar lumps out for them with spoons, and they helped themselves.

Having established so amicable an atmosphere, Flossie got down to business.

‘Now then, Alison. What we’d like is a bit o ’istory. Goin’ back a bit, but you might recall the business with the old school: Growan ‘Ouse?’

‘Oh, oh, yes. That was the ... er ....’

‘Dowrkampyers,’ Flossie supplied.

‘Yes, yes, that’s right. Terrible thing, the fire. But, yes, now let me think …. We did have a couple of children who transferred out of that school to us. Before that, we had a few transfers, mostly little ones, to Growan. Couldn't blame them, chance of a private education and I did hear it was good. Smaller classes than we could manage, more individual attention. Yes, there was something about that though … individual attention ...,’she trailed off. ‘But I’m afraid that’s