Page 67 of A Spell of Midlife Mayhem

‘Where are you going in such a rush, Heather? Is something wrong?’

‘No, not at all. I, um, remembered something I have to do. I’ll be back soon.’ I descended the stairs after Charlotte, who had already drifted to the landing halfway down.

‘Don’t leave me alone up here!’ Penny called. A pang of guilt stabbed me in the chest. Penny would be nervous about being alone so close to the room in which someone had murdered Ronald only yesterday.

‘Wait!’ I shout-whispered to the countess as she strode to the front door.

Should I ask Lydia if I could take an hour or two off for an appointment or something to explain my sudden absence? She wasn’t anywhere in sight, and Charlotte wasn’t waiting. I continued past Melissa, who was busy selling a ticket to a new visitor, and outside, then down the steps to the gravel pathway.

A small group of ghosts hung around under a tree to the side of the path leading to the house, apparently invisible to the visitors nearby. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Charlotte and Thomas, the earl, stood together. The earl appeared decades older than the countess, though in life they had an age gap of only four years. Unfortunately, in death, it appeared their ghostly forms bore the age and condition in which they’d died. The countess appeared strong and fit, whereas the earl was a slightly hunched figure with a walking stick who might struggle with anything more taxing than a garden stroll.

The dog, Scruffles, dashed about playfully near the earl’s feet. Beyond them, the young girl, Maisey, scratched at the spots on her face. She’d probably done that for centuries. They would never disappear.

‘Allow us to be off!’ Charlotte said, hands on hips. ‘I shalt guide the way to the Apothecary’s Potions and Scrolls.’

I wasn’t so sure this was practical. I didn’t want to be non-inclusive, but I was leaving work without authorisation, and I didn’t want to be gone too long. ‘My Lord,’ I said, addressing the earl directly, ‘are you able to manage the journey on foot?’

‘Zounds, nay,’ he harrumphed. ‘I hast a wheelchair contraption. Lady Chirtle can push.’ He snapped his fingers, and a ghostly ancient wheelchair appeared before him. It consisted of little more than a tatty leather seat and a basic wooden frame comprising arms, handles and wheels. The earl settled gently into it. Charlotte took up a position behind it.

‘I guess that’ll work,’ I muttered.

We set off, Maisey leading, the countess and the earl at the rear, and me between them with Scruffles running back and forth around everyone’s legs, in a bizarre procession to Richmond village. The countess chatted incessantly, requiring me to respond, which drew odd glances from people we passed by, who could only see me talking and gesticulating to myself. Behind me, the earl complained about everything from the weather to the state of the river to the outrageous dresses young women wore nowadays to the raven who appeared to be flitting alongside the river, keeping pace with us.

Was that Raven himself? There was no way of knowing.

Charlotte turned off the riverfront after we reached the village and ducked into a narrow side street. She turned into another one that ran parallel to the river behind the main riverside shops. The few buildings here appeared to be industrial, and the few retail ones had outlaid little on signage, marketing and even paint.

She came to a halt outside a two-storey building, an old villa that had been converted into a shop. ‘Verily, we hast arrived.’

I opened the door and went in. A chime rang. My ghost companions came through the window next to the door, traversing through the glass as if it wasn’t there. I hadn’t known passing through walls was really a thing for ghosts, but it was. Nothing much surprised me about these guys now.

A man of about sixty with silver-grey hair under a pointy black hat spied Charlotte and approached us. ‘Welcome back, Charlotte. I was expecting you.’ He glanced at me. ‘Who are you?’

I introduced myself and explained how I knew Charlotte and her companions. The man, who introduced himself as Herbert, must also be a witch—a male one.

‘You’re interested in finding an old book?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ How did he know? Lucky guess? ‘I understand you buy second-hand books. I’m looking for one that may have been brought in here sometime since yesterday morning.’

‘What’s the title? I bought a few books yesterday.’

‘I don’t know the title, but I would recognise the book if I saw it. It was old, leather-bound and had a silver-etched title. It’s said to be—’

‘A witch’s spell book,’ Herbert finished for me. ‘Wow. I’d definitely be interested in that if someone offered it to me, but nothing of that description has come my way for ages.’

I sighed. It was just my luck that this lead also went nowhere. ‘Are there any other stores like yours in Richmond or nearby where I could ask about it?’

‘No. This is the only reputable specialist shop of its kind in the greater London and Surrey area. If you leave me your contact details, I’ll call you if someone comes in with a witch’s spell book of that description.’

‘All right. Thanks.’ I scribbled my name and phone number on a notepad on the counter.

‘No problem. So, you’re at the beginning of your witchy studies?’

Damn, Herbert has uncanny intuition. ‘Yes. I’m still waiting for the first lesson of the correspondence course to arrive.’

Herbert clapped his hands with glee. ‘Oh, it’s exciting to meet a witch at the start of their learning.’

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