Part Three

“It’s high time you were up,” Alicia chided from the doorway, causing Trixie’s drowsy brain to sink into hopeless confusion.

She opened her eyes and took stock of the situation. Daylight flooded in through the window. Morning. The room was unfamiliar – a room in Aunt Hepzibah’s house. There had been a cat. And Honey was coming – if she could convince Aunt Hepzibah that it was a good idea.

Trixie jumped out of bed and began to prepare for the day. She peeked into Aunt Hepzibah’s room before going downstairs, to find her aunt asleep and the cat gone. She headed for the kitchen to get herself some breakfast.

“Finally, you’re here. Now, I have prepared a list of the chores you will need to do today while I am away,” Alicia began, heedless of Trixie’s rather hostile expression. “The entire house will need to be vacuumed, of course, with particular attention to the bedrooms. Also, the dusting that you neglected yesterday will need to be done. Dust first, of course, then vacuum. If you manage your time well, you will be able to do the washing, as well. Once you have that in hand, some groceries will be needed.”

“Didn’t you need to leave very soon?” Trixie enquired, interrupting the flow of instructions, which looked like going on indefinitely. “If you just leave the list with me, I’ll see what I can do.”

“This is very important, Trixie. An invalid’s health can be so easily compromised.”

“I’ll take care of everything,” she answered, hoping to avoid having to define what she actually meant by that statement. “Don’t worry about us and enjoy the wedding today and the christening tomorrow and work on Monday.”

“I’m not sure this is the best idea,” her aunt fretted. “Are you sure you’ll be able to cope with the work?”

“I’m sure,” Trixie answered. “Now, you don’t want to be late for the wedding, do you?”

Alicia glanced at her watch. “No. That would be most undesirable.” She sighed. “I am not at all certain I am doing the right thing.”

“We’ll be just fine,” Trixie repeated.

“If you’re sure…”

Trixie nodded. “Yes. I’m sure.”

At last, her aunt conceded the point, handed over the extensive list and departed.

Trixie ate a quick breakfast and bounced up the stairs.

“What a lot of energy you young people have,” Aunt Hepzibah greeted with a smile, as Trixie peeked into her room. “And what an old hen Alicia is. Do you know, she waited an hour and snuck in here and took away my lovely kitty.”

“I’m really sorry about all that. I didn’t mean to let him in the house.”

“Bah! He comes and goes as he likes. In the summer, I leave a window open for him.”

“And I didn’t mean to let Aunt Alicia know I was looking for him, either,” Trixie added, with a grin. “Which reminds me that I need to apologise: I knocked over some stuff in the study.”

The old lady waved the matter away. “It was all higgledy-piggledy anyway. And just so you know, I wasn’t at all worried by the noise. I made up that bit about the wildebeest to annoy Alicia.”

Trixie giggled. “I’m pretty sure it worked.”

“Good. Now, what’s this I hear about a friend of yours coming?”

“Oh! Did Aunt Alicia explain?” Trixie sat down in the chair by the bed. “She doesn’t think I can look after you by myself, so I thought my friend Honey could come and help – she’s really good at household-y kinds of things – only Honey has a baby that she’d need to bring with her and she’s not sure you’d like that and wondered if there was anywhere else to stay in town.”

“The way Alicia told it, you were inviting an upper-class, privileged heiress type to supervise you.” Aunt Hepzibah winked. “Or, at least, that’s the sense I got from her.”

“No, Honey’s not like that at all. I mean, well, yes, she is an heiress, I guess, but that’s not the most important thing about her.”

“Good. But I knew that already from knowing you, Trixie. You wouldn’t put up with that kind of nonsense.”

Trixie laughed. “No, I wouldn’t. So, where is there for her to stay? I don’t remember seeing a motel or anything.”

“There is one, but don’t you dare suggest it to her. She’ll stay here, of course.” She frowned. “I don’t have a crib, but I suppose we could borrow one from somewhere.”

“I didn’t even think about that sort of thing,” Trixie answered. “But he’s had his first birthday. Do one-year-olds sleep in cribs? And maybe Honey has something she can bring.”

“Call her and invite her,” Hepzibah urged. “We’ll sort out the details as we go.”

Trixie nodded. “Did you want some breakfast now? Aunt Alicia didn’t say whether she’d given you anything.”

The old lady sniffed. “She tried to give me toast with some artificial spread on it and watery cooked tomatoes when I first woke up. I don’t know what she did to make the tomatoes so terrible; boiled them, I expect. I told her I wouldn’t be ready to eat until half-past eight at the earliest and she told me to tell you to reheat them!”

“Well, it’s about that time now.” She got to her feet. “What can I get you?”

“I’m not so hungry this morning. Just bring me two slices of hot toast, spread thick with butter and peanut butter.”

“Coming right up,” Trixie answered, and headed downstairs.

She dialled Honey’s number as she worked.

“Hey, Hon. How’s it going?”

“Fine,” her best friend answered. “How many library books were there supposed to be? I’ve found four.”

“Four?” Trixie paused with two slices of bread in her hand. “I was going to say three.”

“Well, which ones do you want me to take back?” She read out the titles.

“You’re right; there are four. Take them all back, please.”

Honey giggled. “How many library fines have you racked up now?”

“Don’t ask.” She pulled out the butter and peanut butter and dumped them on the table. “Aunt Hepzibah says you should stay here, but we don’t know yet where Elijah will sleep.”

“Oh, I’ve got all that under control,” Honey answered. “You just need to tell me what you need brought, then I’ll drop by the library and be on my way there. So, I guess I’ll be there by, say, eleven or eleven-thirty.”

“Sounds great.” She frowned, thinking. “Can you bring me three more changes of clothes? I can’t think of anything else I need right now.”

“Already packed,” Honey replied.

“Great. Thanks, Honey. See you in a couple of hours.”

Her friend said goodbye and Trixie dropped the phone onto the table as the toast popped up. She slathered it with butter, spread on the chunky peanut butter, then cut it into rectangles. She snatched up the plate and hurried upstairs with it.

The old lady was already sitting up in bed, sipping from a tea cup.

“Oh! I forgot to get you something to drink.” Trixie set down the plate of toast on the bedspread. “Did you want–”

“Hush, child. Alicia made me tea and I don’t care if it’s hot or cold.” She gestured to the chair and Trixie sat down. “Now, what’s all this nonsense Alicia was blathering on about with vacuuming and dusting?”

Trixie shrugged. “She gave me a list. I didn’t read it and I’m not intending to. Honey and I will do what you think needs doing and when Moms gets here on Tuesday, she’ll sort everything else out so Aunt Alicia doesn’t know. And you can trust Moms not to panic about a little bit of pet hair.”

“Considering what I’ve heard about your household when you were younger, I’d certainly hope she wouldn’t!” She smiled. “Now, what shall we do today? I suppose we have a couple of hours until your friend arrives?”

She nodded. “At least two hours.”

“Time enough to make that Greek shortbread I mentioned yesterday.” She munched her toast, nodding. “Yes, that’s just what I’d like today. It reminds me of the Mediterranean sun, the islands… and of Dmitri – he was a man I met; an older man; very handsome. I learned a lot from him.”

“Oh,” Trixie answered, at a loss to know how to respond.

Hepzibah roared with laughter. “The look on your face! And if Dmitri knew what you were thinking about him, the poor man would roll in his grave.”

“It’s your fault. You worded it that way on purpose!”

The old lady grinned. “Yes, I did. Now. Go and tidy the kitchen and see if you can find my recipe book. It should be in the first top cupboard when you go in the door. The recipe’s in there somewhere. I’ll be down in ten minutes.”

“You don’t want me to help you?”

Hepzibah shook her head. “I’m feeling much more like myself already. I’ll call you if I change my mind.”

Trixie nodded and headed downstairs once more. She sang to herself as she did the dishes and wiped down the table. She left the dirty water in the sink to do the last few things when she brought them down. The recipe book came easily to hand, but it took her some minutes to find the one she wanted. The old, hardback notebook bulged with extra pages and none of it was in any particular order that Trixie could discern. Hand-written recipes for German cakes sat next to North African stews and clippings from American magazines. Some were written into the book and others onto loose sheets. Of the additions, about half had been glued or taped in, some of them upside-down or sideways.

Once she actually found the recipe, she set about finding the ingredients and heating the oven. She puzzled a little over what equipment she might need, as the recipe had little in the way of a method.

Hearing movement overhead, she decided to fetch the last few dishes and get them out of the way. The bedroom was empty when she reached it. Trixie gathered up the plate, the tea cup and a couple of glasses, balanced them carefully and started back downstairs.

A few steps down, one of the glasses shifted and she paused, trying to keep it all under control. Just as she decided that the disaster had been averted for the moment, a sound caught her attention.

“Now, what is she up to?” Trixie murmured. “And where is she?”

She considered putting her load down and going to see, but decided against that course of action. Firmly pushing down the curiosity, she continued to the kitchen and finished her work.

Not long after the last plate had been returned to the cupboard, Aunt Hepzibah hobbled into the room.

“Good. You’ve found it.” She wrenched open a drawer and began pulling things out of it. “I’m in the mood for baking. We might make a couple of things.”

The two set to work, chatting companionably as they beat and mixed and rolled. The house filled with delicious aromas. By the time the doorbell rang, hours later, they had two racks filled with cooling Greek shortbread and an orange cake in the oven.

Trixie glanced at the time and let out an exclamation. “Oh! That will be Honey already. I’ll just go and let her in.”

Hepzibah nodded, from her seat in the corner and helped herself from the nearest rack.

“What have you been doing?” Honey asked with a giggle, once the door was open. “You’re covered in – is that flour or powdered sugar?”

“Both, probably.” Trixie grinned, dusted herself off roughly and reached out to take Elijah. “Come to Aunt Trixie.”

He leaned into her outstretched arms and she swung him onto her own hip. At once, he plunged one of his hands into her curls.

“Come and meet Aunt Hepzibah,” Trixie continued. “Did you have a good trip?”

Honey nodded. “Not too bad, thanks. We only got a little lost once – we took a wrong turn by the church – but it didn’t take long to find our way back. Oh, it smells so good in here.”

They stepped into the kitchen and Trixie performed the introductions.

“I’ll make you a coffee, Hon,” she added, at the end. “And you can try our shortbread.”

“After I’ve brought everything in,” her friend answered. “Otherwise I won’t want to do it at all.”

“I’ll go,” Trixie offered. “You sit here.”

“And I’ll make the coffee,” Hepzibah decided. “I’ve been sitting quite long enough.”

Honey tried to make one last token protest, but Trixie swung the little boy back into her lap, grabbed the car keys and departed. A few minutes later, she returned, outrage written large on her face.

“Is there anything you left at home?” she demanded of her best friend. “If Dan arrives back early, he’ll think you’ve been burgled!”

“Oh, he will not. And I didn’t bring that much. It’s just in comparison to you and you hardly brought anything at all. And I have two people to consider, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Trixie tickled the little boy’s tummy. “He’s so little. Why should he take up so much space?”

Without waiting for an answer, she returned to the car and carried the rest of the things in. Some she carted upstairs to the room Aunt Alicia had been using; the rest she left stacked at the bottom of the stairs for Honey to decide where she wanted them.

Entering the kitchen once more, she found her aunt in the middle of an anecdote about a camel, a pair of trousers and, for reasons she could not quite make out, a portrait of the Queen of England. The other three, including the baby, laughed at the end of the story and Trixie made a note to find out how it began.

“Aunt Hepzibah’s been telling me about herself and her friends,” Honey told Trixie, as the latter dropped into a chair. “Did you know that they were just like us?”

Trixie shook her head. “In which way?”

“Well, there were three of them – and when you count Di and us, there’s three of us, too – and two of them got married at about the same time and one had a baby right away (me, and your grandmother) and the other waited a while (that would be Di and Lena), and the third (that’s you and Aunt Hepzibah) went on adventures.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” Trixie answered, trying to look normal and calm.

Her heart had clenched within her when Honey compared herself to Trixie’s own grandmother, even though she had thought the same thing yesterday. Hearing Honey say it suddenly made the comparison more real and the thought of out-living her best friend by decades did not bear contemplating. She suddenly had a surge of insight into her grandmother’s dying wish that her daughters look after her friend. That wish had, in a roundabout way, brought Trixie to this house at this time.

“What’s wrong, Trixie? Don’t you want any more adventures?” Honey asked, with a strange note in her voice.

Trixie shrugged. “One day. The last little while has had too many of the wrong kind.”

“That can put you off for a little while,” her aunt agreed. “A time or two, I thought I’d never travel again, after something terrible happened, but as the time goes on it doesn’t seem so bad and off I went again.”

“I’m sure I will, too,” Trixie answered. “But right now, I’m looking for something a bit more tame.”

“Like grocery shopping?” Honey suggested. “I thought I saw a store where I can pick up something for tonight’s dinner. Is there something particular you’d like, Aunt Hepzibah?”

The old lady waved her hand. “I’m easy. Just so long as it doesn’t have lettuce. Can’t stand the stuff.”

Honey smiled. “No lettuce. Got it.”

Hepzibah got to her feet, poured herself another cup of coffee and slid four pieces of shortbread onto a plate.

“I think I’ll go and sit by the window for a time, then I’ll go upstairs and have a rest. You two get yourselves some lunch when you’re ready. And you can run out to the grocery store together, if you want to. I’ll be just fine.” She waved to the orange cake, which was cooling on another rack. “Turn that out of its tin sometime. I’ll ice it later, when it’s had time to cool.”

“Did you want me to get some lunch ready for you?” Trixie asked.

Her honorary aunt grinned and held up the plate. “You already did. At my age, if I want to eat cookies for lunch, I will.”

“Fair enough,” Trixie answered.

“Are we supposed to be letting her do things like that?” Honey wondered in a low voice, after the old lady had left the room.

Trixie shrugged. “If you ask Aunt Alicia, no. She thought Aunt Hepzibah should eat lots of vegetables and that I should dust and vacuum and wash everything. In the whole house.”

Honey giggled. “I can see how well that went. She really is like you – Aunt Hepzibah, I mean; not Aunt Alicia, who isn’t like you at all – even down to thinking dusting is a waste of time.”

Trixie did not directly answer, but led the way to the place she had left Honey’s belongings. Honey let Elijah down on the floor to toddle.

“Do you really think I’ll end up like her?” Trixie asked, at length.

“I never said that,” Honey answered, at once. “I said you are like her, not that you’ll live like she has. For one thing, now is a lot different to back then.”

“I guess so.” She sighed and sat down on the stairs, where the baby looked ready to attempt a climb. “Part of me wants to just travel around and take interesting jobs and never settle down until I’m old.”

“And part of you panicked when Jim collapsed and had to have all those tests and things,” her best friend added, “and you started wondering whether you’d taken the wrong opportunities.”

“There didn’t ever seem to be any opportunities,” Trixie muttered. “Not while it was happening.”

“You could have gone to college near him.”

Trixie snorted. “He had a girlfriend. I didn’t want to hang around and watch.”

“It didn’t last.”

“Yes, but I didn’t know that was going to happen. By the time it did, I’d chosen somewhere else.”

Honey grabbed the largest of the bags, a long, rectangular one with something hard inside. “The bedroom’s upstairs, right?”

As Trixie nodded, she dropped it a few steps higher than where her friend was sitting and dropped down next to her.

“You could have moved back any time.”

“Whenever I had that chance, there was always a reason why I couldn’t.”

Honey rolled her eyes and moved up two steps to keep up with her son. “Well, what’s stopping you now?”

Trixie looked away. What was stopping her? She tried to formulate an answer to that question.

“What are you afraid of?” Honey asked, bumping the large bag a few steps higher. “It’s not like it would be a long-distance relationship now – you only live twenty minutes away from each other. And it’s not like you have competition – he hasn’t had a girlfriend in years. And it’s not like you have a boyfriend.”

“No. And after what happened last time, I’m not sure I want one ever again,” Trixie grumbled.

Honey laughed. “Jim is far too sensible to try to lock you in a closet. Not that he would want to – he never has been the kind to try to control people.”

“Yeah, I know.” They shifted up a few more stairs. “I just still feel like I need to get my life under control.”

“But it’s not completely out of the question, is it? Because I still have hope of you one day being my sister-in-law.”

Trixie laughed. “Hey, it’s not my fault that we’re not. You’re the one who decided not to marry any of my brothers – and there were three to choose from.”

“I would have liked having your mother as my mother-in-law,” Honey mused, “but I’m happy with how things are. Except for my unhappy brother and best friend.”

“Honey,” Trixie warned.

She held up both hands. “It’s not the right time yet. I get that. But I’m concerned for you, you know.”

“Maybe you should be more concerned that the baby’s run off somewhere while we weren’t looking,” she answered.

Honey scrambled to her feet, leaving the bag behind, and jogged the rest of the way up, calling his name as she went. Trixie picked up the bag and followed at a slower pace. She dropped it in the room Honey would be using and then joined in the search.

“Where could he have gone?” Honey wondered. “I can’t find him anywhere.”

Trixie frowned, thinking. “Have you tried the attic stairs?”

She led the way, having just remembered the way that the door at the bottom of the stairs did not catch properly, but tended to swing shut by itself. She pulled the door open. There, at the edge of the second-bottom stair, was a baby handprint in the dust.

“He came this way,” she pointed out, jogging up to the top of the house.

At first glance, he was not there either. But a short search revealed the little boy on hands and knees, pulling things out of a box.

“Oh, no!” cried Honey. “What are you up to, you little monkey?”

He turned to his mother and held up something round and blue, then made to throw it like a ball.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Honey told him, lunging forward and snatching the item, which turned out to be a sphere of enamelled brass, from his hand. “That is not a ball. Your ball is downstairs. And look at you: all covered in dust.”

“Why don’t you take him down and clean him up,” Trixie offered. “I’ll tidy up here.”

“Thanks. I think I will,” Honey answered, picking him up so that he faced away from her.

Trixie added a few quick directions on where to find the bathroom and where she’d left Honey’s other belongings, then turned to the task at hand.

This was not one of the boxes she had looked through the day before. The battered cardboard carton lay on the floor in the corner of the room, tucked hard against the place where the sloping ceiling met the wall. Either it had already been torn, or Elijah had gotten into it by pulling it to bits. Its contents, along with fragments of cardboard, lay strewn in a semi-circle around where he had been sitting.

Poking around, she found a newer, empty carton and started loading the things into it. Much like the boxes she had seen, they ranged across several continents, not being grouped in any particular way that Trixie could see, but perhaps on what had come to hand when they were being packed. She paused to examine an intricately carved wooden box, running her fingers over its surface, then wiggling off its lid.

Inside were letters. A gasp rushed between Trixie’s lips. She should not be looking at this. The top one was folded in thirds or quarters, in such a way that the middle of the page was uppermost. A few words caught Trixie’s eye: ‘I still think about her sometimes and wish we could have saved her somehow.’

She snapped the lid closed and tucked the wooden box into the carton.

“It probably has nothing to do with anything,” she told herself, aloud. “It’s probably something I know nothing about. It wouldn’t make sense, even if I read the whole letter.”

She frowned and dumped a large bowl made out of wire and beads on top of it, to keep it out of sight. Next, she tried to distract herself with some carved animals, made out of some kind of smooth wood. Luckily, they had been right at the bottom of the box and the baby had not found them yet. She ran her fingers over their elegant lines and packed them into the new box.

The last few items came to hand, then she flattened the remains of the old box, checking around to see that nothing else remained. No damage had been done, except to the outer box. She carried it back down the stairs, trying not to think about the letter, not to mention the photograph she’d seen the day before and all the other clues that the attic might be hiding.

As she passed, she noticed her aunt’s door was now shut. Presumably she had begun her rest.

Trixie dumped the torn box outside the back door, then went looking for Honey. The door to her room was closed, but after tapping on it she went in.

“He didn’t break anything, did he?” Honey asked, as soon as Trixie arrived.

She shook her head. “I don’t think there was much in there that would break. And the things that he did touch, he didn’t damage.”

“That’s a relief. I was wondering what I’d do if he’d broken one of those precious things.”

“So, what should we do next?” Trixie wondered, rolling the ball across the floor for the baby to chase. “Lunch, or groceries?”

“Unpacking,” Honey answered. “I need to get set up here so that Elijah will have somewhere to sleep at nap-time – which is in about an hour. So, unpacking first, then lunch, then nap-time.”

Trixie rolled her eyes. “Really? Because I thought we could go out for a while. Can’t he sleep in the car or something?”

“No!” She unzipped the large bag and began pulling out something with tubes and fine mesh and plastic corners everywhere. “Unless you want him to wail half the evening. Trust me on this, Trixie. Don’t mess with nap-time.”

“Okay. Fine.” She watched as Honey unfolded the mystery item, which turned out to be a portable cot. “I’ll get started on lunch. Meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes, okay?”

Honey smiled and nodded.

When they met again, Trixie had a selection of bread and fillings laid out ready. Honey chose enough for herself, cut some things up for her son, set him on her lap with a plate within easy reach and put her own food a little further away.

“Do you want to do the groceries while I stay here, or the other way around?” Honey asked, after taking the first bite of the sandwich she had made.

“Depends. Who’s going to cook tonight? Because if I shop, you might not want to make what I get.”

Honey smiled. “How about if you stay and watch Elijah. I’ll shop and cook.”

“And while you’re out, you can see what else you can find out,” Trixie added. “There must be someone who knows something around here.”

“What makes you think they’ll tell me?”

Trixie shrugged. “You’re tactful. And pretty. Find an old man who looks lonely.”

“How many of those am I likely to find in the grocery store?” Honey did not allow time for an answer. “But more importantly, what do we want to eat? I could maybe do my tray-bake chicken. Or, maybe–”

“Yum,” Trixie practically moaned. “No. Do the chicken. Do plenty, then we can eat the leftovers for lunch tomorrow.”

“Okay. That’s easy enough.” She glanced around the kitchen. “Is there anything else we’re running short of?”

In the next few minutes, they made a short list. Trixie tidied up while Honey settled the baby for his nap. Aunt Hepzibah’s door remained closed.

“Okay, I’m off,” Honey informed Trixie, some time later. “He shouldn’t wake for at least an hour, but if he does you’ll need to keep him occupied.”

Trixie nodded. “I think I can do that.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She held up a hand as Trixie opened her mouth to object. “While at the same time staying on the lookout for anything or anyone that might help us.”

The front door closed behind her and Trixie stood still, listening to the silence of the house and wondering what she should do next. She began to wander aimlessly around the house, picking things up and putting them down again. The secrets of attic called to her, but she kept a firm grip on her curiosity.

On her third pass of the living room, something outside caught her attention. Remembering the failure of the day before, she kept silent and ran to the front door, easing it open just after a man passed in front of it, spray paint can in hand.

“What are you doing here?” Trixie demanded, making him jolt in surprise.

He spun to face her, looking around for a way out, but this part of the porch was edged with thick bushes not easily jumped over and Trixie barred the way to the stairs. He took a step backwards.

“Well?” She started approaching him. “Are you going to answer?”

“Who are you?” He took another step back. “What right do you have to ask me anything?”

She shrugged. “I don’t really want to spend another afternoon cleaning off graffiti. So, how about if you tell me what this is all about?”

“The old witch knows,” he spat, still backing away.

“Old witch? What old witch?”

The man bent his head to the house. “You shouldn’t stay here. It’s pure evil, the things she does.”

“You think the lady who lives here is a witch?” Trixie asked, incredulous. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

He frowned and took another step. “She’s got all kinds of heathen things in that house. Unnatural things.”

Trixie’s mind flitted from the images of flying broomsticks, gingerbread cottages and flying monkeys she had started with to the piles of beautiful objects from far-off places inside the house. Somehow, the concept still did not fit.

“That doesn’t make sense.” She reached out and grabbed the can from his unresisting hand. “And I haven’t seen a single thing in there that could be described as unnatural.”

“You just don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man muttered.

Close up, Trixie could see that he was not quite as young as she had previously thought. His smooth, unlined skin and rather sparse eyebrows gave him the illusion of youth, but she now felt sure he was a little older than her.

“Well, explain it to me. I want to know why this is going on.”

He shook his head. “There’s unnatural things here. Things no mortal should mess around with.”

“Something to do with Lily White,” Trixie guessed.

The man’s eyes turned to the house again. “It’s down to her that poor Lily’s lying there in the churchyard.”

“How do you know that?”

He stared at her for a moment, silent and still. “You heed my warning: don’t mess with things you don’t understand. And don’t stay another night in this house.”

Before Trixie could say another word, he vaulted over the end of the porch and ran off to the back of the house. Frowning, she went back inside, still holding the spray can.

“It was a little too much to expect of you, asking you to leave it alone, wasn’t it?”

Trixie turned in the direction of the voice with a guilty start.

A weary smile crossed the old lady’s face. “It’s all right, child. Don’t look so stricken.”

“I’m really sorry,” Trixie told her. “It’s just that I wanted the vandalism to stop and I thought that the best way to stop it would be to understand why it’s happening. But nothing that man said made any sense.”

Hepzibah chuckled. “No, I don’t suppose it would. His grandfather was a contemporary of mine and he never made much sense, either.” She sighed. “He was my friend Lena’s boyfriend for a time. I told her not to keep him around – he was the kind to go all moralising on you; never could stand that kind of thing myself. She didn’t listen, of course. And when she decided to marry someone else, did she ever have troubles! He wanted to blame me for it all, too.”

Trixie’s eyes widened. “Do you mean, that man’s still holding a grudge, all these years later?”

The old lady shook her head. “Nah. Walter Murray’s been dead fifteen years or more. But don’t worry, he’s passed the grudge down through the family.”

Trixie shuddered. “That’s horrible.”

“It is, a little.” Again, she sighed. “They’re a terribly insular family, the Murrays. Never step out of Barclay if they can help it. I doubt that boy’s been outside more than a few times in his whole life. And he’s probably never crossed the state line. They won’t have anything to do with outsiders, either, or anyone or anything foreign. Even if the family’s been here three or four generations.”

“I don’t know whether to be outraged or sorry for them,” Trixie answered, leading the way into the living room so her aunt could sit down. “But I think sorry is winning out. He was kind of pathetic.”

“Yes.” The old woman sank into a chair and frowned into her lap. “And that’s why I didn’t want you to call the police.”

Trixie nodded, still thinking. “The thing I still don’t understand, though, is how they came to the conclusion that it was okay to paint what really amounts to a threat on your house. Because, if he really believed what he told me – about you being a witch, I mean, and doing unnatural things – then why would he risk upsetting you?”

“Never said they were all that good at being logical.” Hepzibah gazed out the window for a few moments. “I don’t think they believe I have any special powers, or anything of that kind. They only think that I’ve got dangerous ideas from going to foreign places.”

“I think people are more likely to get dangerous ideas by staying put and never going anywhere,” Trixie answered, scowling.

“Of course I agree with you,” her aunt answered, “but people are capable of dangerous ideas either way.”

Trixie sighed. “I guess they are. But enough about your crazy neighbours. Do you need anything right now? Something to eat or drink?”

The old lady shook her head. “I’m fine. Tired of being coddled, but fine. And don’t you dare apologise!”

Before Trixie could reply, an unfamiliar car pulled up outside and both of their attention turned to it.

“Drats!” the old woman cried when she saw the figure of its driver emerge from it. “It’s the doctor. Quickly, child. Hide me. Pretend there’s no one home.”

Trixie peered out at the man and made a snap judgement. “Nope. You’re going to have to face him sometime and now is as good a time as any. If you leave it too long, it might be Aunt Alicia who’s here when he comes back.”

“Don’t you use common sense on me!” She let out a breathy sigh. “Oh, all right. Let him in.”

Grinning, Trixie headed for the front door.

“Ah, you’ll be one of the Johnsons, I expect,” the man greeted, as soon as he saw her. “Joe Brockhurst. Local doctor.”

Trixie nodded and introduced herself as she invited him inside. She was ready to lead him right to her aunt, but he stopped short in the front entranceway.

“How is she?” he asked in a low voice. “Just between you and me.”

For a moment, Trixie considered all the things she’d observed so far. “Improving. She’s well enough to resent having to be looked after. And she’s doing a lot of things by herself – getting out of bed and coming down the stairs; that sort of thing.”

He nodded. “Glad to hear it. That’s much more encouraging than if she just let you care for her. I’ll see her now and see for myself.”

Trixie led him into the living room, staying only long enough to ensure they had all they needed. Next she wandered upstairs to look in on Elijah, who continued to sleep peacefully. At a loose end, she poked around for something to do. The attic still called to her, but she did not want to be far enough away that they couldn’t easily summon her if needed. At length, she decided to wait in the kitchen.

But before she had found anything to do there, she heard the sound of Honey’s arrival and hurried to go and help her.

“Is there a visitor?” her best friend asked, nodding at the doctor’s car.

Trixie nodded and explained, even as she took the shopping from Honey and carried it into the kitchen.

“I thought I’d just stay out of the way, but there’s nothing to do,” she finished. “I was so relieved when you got back.”

Honey shook her head as she put the chicken in the refrigerator. “You can’t keep yourself occupied for ten minutes?”

“Apparently not.” Trixie bundled the rest of the shopping into the pantry. “Did you find anything out?”

Honey shrugged. “Kind of, but not exactly. There are two main theories in town, apparently, and it depends who you ask which one you’ll get.”

“Which one did you hear?”

“Oh, both of them.” Honey pulled out a small booklet, badly photocopied. “And I bought this for a dollar from a man with a squint who said, ‘Psst!’ at me around a corner.”

“Really?” Trixie asked, intrigued. She took it from her and began to look through it. “The Strange Case of Lily White – The Mystery of Barclay’s Unidentified Woman. This looks interesting.”

“Don’t let Hepzibah see you’ve got that,” Dr. Brockhurst advised, as he entered the room. “She never could abide anyone talking about all that old stuff.”

Honey made a sound of dismay, snatched it from Trixie and stuffed it back into her voluminous handbag. “I’m so sorry. We were just curious and wanted to know what it was all about.”

“In this case, I think it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie,” the doctor told them. “No one’s likely to solve the mystery now, after all these years. And what would be the point, if they did? The murderer must be long dead – if it even was murder, of which I’m not at all convinced.” He dusted off his hands, as if to get rid of the subject. “Now, what I needed to speak to you about is this: I want you to make absolutely clear to your aunt – Alicia, I think her name is – and to anyone else that is coming here to help that Hepzibah is not to be left in bed, or sitting around the place. She needs to keep moving.”

“That sounds good to me. And I’m glad that you say that, because that’s what Aunt Hepzibah wants to do.” Trixie grinned. “My mother is coming next, I’ll get her to explain to Aunt Alicia.”

He smiled. “That sounds like a good plan. I think, if we can get her to do a moderate amount of gentle exercise – and by that I mean walking – she should be ready to look after herself again within a week or two.”

“Aunt Alicia might not even need to come back,” Trixie noted, hopefully.

“You’re only saying that because you don’t want her to know you haven’t done any of the chores she set you,” Honey joked.

Trixie rolled her eyes. “Aunt Hepzibah and I are agreed about what’s important and what isn’t.”

“I certainly agree that it would be best for Hepzibah not to have Alicia return,” Dr. Brockhurst noted. “It was very kind of her to come, but it seems to have been a strain.”

Trixie nodded. “On both of them, I think. Thanks so much for coming, doctor. We’ll do our best to get Aunt Hepzibah recovered so she doesn’t need to go through any more of Aunt Alicia’s nagging.”

“I’m sure you will. I’ll be off, now.” He pulled a card out of his pocket. “I’m sure she’s got this somewhere, but if you need it, here’s my numbers. Feel free to call me at home if you have any concerns. Hepzibah is a friend, more than a patient.”

“Thanks.” Trixie tucked the card in her pocket and walked him to the door.

Continue to part four.

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