The Chocolate Collection. Trisha Ashley

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 rudely.

      ‘You must not underestimate him, my dear Hebe – nor me. He is not just a harmless exhibitionist, but uses what powers he has for unworthy ends, corrupting and debasing impressionable young people.’

      Hebe was now looking worried. ‘A Mr Drake snapped up the title of Lord of the Manor when it came up for auction – for a hugely inflated price, even though it confers no benefits whatsoever – and he has purchased an isolated house at the edge of the village, Badger’s Bolt. Drake is not an unusual name and I thought nothing of it, but now I wonder if it could be Mann-Drake?’

      ‘It is quite possible, for though the Old Smithy is in the most fortuitously powerful position, the whole village is, as you might say, magically wired,’ Grumps said thoughtfully. ‘That would be very bad news for us all, believe me, Hebe. My presence would be the least of your problems.’

      ‘It may not be him and so we will deal with that situation if it arises,’ she said, rallying. ‘But even if it does prove to be true, although you may be the lesser evil, we still do not want you or your museum in the village. But I expect our new vicar, when he arrives, will know how to deal with you!’

      ‘Bell, book and candle?’ he smiled. ‘My dear Hebe!’

      ‘Wait and see. I myself am not entirely without power around here, dabbler in alchemy or not,’ she snapped, so obviously that barb had pierced her armour.

      ‘Same old Hebe – and what a very angry aura!’ Grumps said admiringly as she drove away after some clashing of the gears. Then he turned back to the matter in hand. ‘The signs are satisfactory, so let us go back indoors, Chloe. I have work to do.’

      ‘But Hebe Winter, Grumps – won’t she make trouble for you? I mean, she’s very important in Sticklepond, isn’t she? She seems to run the place, according to Poppy. Poppy and Felix are on the Parish Council and they tell me about things.’

      ‘The museum will be good for the village and, in any case, she has no teeth in this matter. Nor does the vicar, if he should try to interfere. They will have much more to worry them should their Mr Drake turn out to be Mann-Drake.’

      ‘Is Mann-Drake his real name?’ I asked curiously.

      ‘He was plain Drake when we were at Oxford, but I believe he later hyphenated it with his mother’s maiden name.’

      ‘Jake mentioned that he was researching him for you and he didn’t sound like good news.’

      ‘He was always a nasty piece of work, though his great charm of manner initially fools many people. But do not fear: I know how to protect my own,’ he assured me, and then went off to see if the removal men had finished with his study so that he could reoccupy it.

      I went back to the cottage, plugged in my radio, and began sorting out my chocolate-making supplies and stock. All the little drawers and cupboards were really handy for storing moulds, packaging, sacks of couverture like big, richly fragrant chocolate buttons, ribbons and Wishes.

      I’d printed out a fresh copy of the Mayan chocolate charm Grumps had given me, with the new part added, and now Blu-Tacked it to the front of one of the cupboards over the Bath. If Grumps and his Spanish friend ever manage to translate the last bit, I might frame the whole thing.

      I stacked my entire stock of gold boxes of Chocolate Wishes on the shelves around the shop area, along with the empty boxes for the large chocolate angels with personalised readings inside, which I made to order: it was lovely to have enough room for everything, at last!

      All the time I was working, my mind was still running on the conversation between Grumps and Hebe Winter, so when everything was shipshape I got out my Angel oracle cards and shuffled them.

      They seemed to indicate major problems to overcome, but that success would be entirely possible.

      Felix closed his shop in the afternoon and came to offer any help I needed – he is so sweet! I’d been out for masking tape and paint by then, so I got him to help me finish the pentagram on the museum floor.