Trisha Ashley 3 Book Bundle. Trisha Ashley
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I have seen her about.’
‘Our paths have crossed once or twice in the past.’ He delved randomly into the nearest packing case and came up with a particularly scary-looking Balinese mask. ‘Now, why would that be in the Fetish box?’
My reply was drowned out by a thunderous knocking at the museum door, which proved to be two workmen with the freshly repainted museum sign.
We went out to see the board fixed into place over the entrance door, standing at the edge of the pavement out of the way of the ladders.
Across the road old Mrs Snowball, who had evidently just finished her daily paving stone purge, called ‘Coo-ee!’ and flapped a hand at Grumps.
He bowed in her direction, gracefully doffing his fez, before turning back to admire his sign:
GREGORY WARLOCK’S MUSEUM OF WITCHCRAFT A CELEBRATION OF ALL THINGS PAGAN
There was also a folding wooden billboard that would stand on the pavement outside the door when the museum was open, enticingly listing the delights to be obtained inside and also the charges for entry.
I hadn’t had any hand in this, so I read with interest that the museum would open from two until four on five days a week, from Easter to September, and weekends only off-season.
ADMISSION: FOUR POUNDS NO CONCESSIONS NO CHILDREN UNDER 12 YEARS OF AGE PARKING AT REAR OF BUILDING
‘We have plenty of time to get it ready if you mean to open in early April, Grumps.’
‘Yes, though all the exhibits need arranging, and a guidebook and perhaps some pamphlets must be produced. But I am sure it can be done in time, and then Zillah says she will be happy to take charge of the desk when I am otherwise engaged.’
‘I don’t suppose it’s that much different from reading fortunes at the end of a pier, so she will probably enjoy it. And I can help out too, of course, if you need me,’ I offered.
‘You have your own little business to run,’ he said graciously.
‘Yes, but I can still give you a hand if things are really busy in peak tourist season. I’ll set up the Chocolate Wishes equipment this afternoon and then Jake’s going to see if he can reconnect us to broadband when he gets back, so I can print off my new orders.’
That had to be the first priority, and then getting the cottage sorted out. But after that, finally, I could get at my potentially lovely walled garden!
‘Jake will work at the museum in his university vacations, I have spoken to him about it. For one day,’ Grumps added, with a magnificently sweeping gesture at the Old Smithy, ‘all this will be his. Except the little cottage, of course – I am arranging to have that transferred into your name.’
Stunned, I turned to stare at him. ‘In my name? You mean…I’ll own it? But Grumps—’
‘But me no buts,’ he said grandly.
‘It’s so kind of you, Grumps!’ I stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, which he suffered me to do rather in Jake’s manner, though I know they both quite like it, really. Then an unwelcome and probably unworthy thought struck me. ‘But what if Mum comes back? Won’t she expect—’
‘Your mother has chosen her own path and deserves nothing more from any of us. If she returns after I’m gone, then I would strongly advise you to send her on her way again. Any share of my inheritance she might think she deserves has already gone to pay off her debts.’
This was very true…and already I was feeling possessive about my little cottage! I was happy for it to be Jake’s home for as long as he needed it, but there was no way I could share living space with my mother ever again.
Having finished their job the workmen packed up their tools and departed and Grumps fell back a bit, so that he could admire the sign again. The weak late February sunshine gilded his long, silver hair under the fez and shone off the bald patches on the seat and elbows of his quilted velvet robe. For the first time I noticed he had only thin, red leather Moroccan slippers on his feet and I was about to urge him to go back in, since the cold from the pavement would be striking upwards, when there was a screeching noise from the road behind us. A small white Mini had jarred to an abrupt stop and was quivering by the pavement.
A tall, silver-haired, imposing woman unfolded herself from it and confronted Grumps: Hebe Winter, soon to be not the only witch in the village. Though actually, going by the way old Mrs Snowball had been carrying on, Hebe may have had company all along without realising it. Perhaps she was the only solitary witch in the village.
‘Hello, Hebe,’ Grumps said, doffing his fez again, as he had done to Mrs Snowball.
‘You?’
‘Yes, me,’ he agreed, quite mildly for him. ‘How are you, my dear? Still dabbling in the shallows of alchemy, turning herbs into money?’
She didn’t appear to register what he had said, for she’d now spotted the museum sign and an expression of outrage appeared on her patrician features. ‘Can it be possible that it is you who have bought the Old Smithy – that you intend to live in Sticklepond?’
‘It can and it is. We moved in yesterday.’
‘We?’ She acknowledged my presence for the first time by favouring me with an unimpressed stare, but of course I was wearing old jeans and a fleece for unpacking and moving things, not dressed to receive august and slightly scary visitors.
‘With my family,’ Grumps explained. ‘This is my granddaughter, Chloe.’
That didn’t even merit another glance – she had weightier matters to get off her narrow chest now she had spotted the new sign. ‘You cannot seriously expect to open such an ungodly museum in Sticklepond, nor introduce your dubious ways into my parish, and think that I would do nothing to prevent it?’ she demanded. ‘I felt the threat coming, yet I thought it concerned our lack of a permanent vicar to guide and protect us, not the establishment of a Mecca to the Dark Arts in our midst!’
‘Oh, come off your high horse, Hebe,’ Grumps said testily. ‘You know I am not a threat to anyone, even if I am opening a museum of witchcraft. Does it not seem a good idea to you? I had thought you would approve.’
‘Approve of you bringing your dubious practices to Sticklepond? I think not!’
‘Then you may be pleased to learn that some of what you would prudishly consider to be my more dubious practices have, unfortunately, currently been curtailed by cold weather and old age.’
This was all very interesting and there was obviously some history between them. In an unusually expansive moment Grumps once let drop that when he first moved to Merchester and started his coven, one or two local witches he had invited to join him had taken exception to the nudity aspect of his rites. I expect it was an innovation too far, even though they must have seen that he was a scholarly, rather than an any-excuse-to-have-an-orgy type of warlock.
‘Be that as it may, I cannot approve of your ungodly ways,’ Hebe said firmly. ‘And there is nothing to celebrate in paganism!’
‘It would have been far worse if Digby Mann-Drake had bought the place. He wanted it, you know – only I clinched the deal with the Frintons while he was unable to act, due to a septic appendix. Dear girls, the Frinton sisters – we sorely miss them at our meetings.’
Her bright blue eyes widened. ‘The Frintons? You mean they were…?’
‘If you will practise in solitude, it is hardly surprising that you don’t know these things, Hebe,’ Grumps chided, but she didn’t seem to hear him, because another thought seemed to have struck her.
‘What was that you said about Mann-Drake?’ she asked sharply.
‘You have heard of him, then?’
‘Of course. He’s an even bigger charlatan than you!’ she said