Chapter 10

The man had led her into his house after that. Flora could now see, walking behind him, that he wasn't some evil giant but a tall man around six feet three if she were to guess. He had yet to say a word. He had just beckoned. She said goodbye to the horse who nuzzled her shoulder. The man blinked and looked puzzled, then he turned towards the farmhouse where she found herself now.

They walked to the end of the long passage, passing a door on the left with an oil lamp in the window, placed on a desk in what looked like an office. The light she had seen when she was on the moor perhaps, although it didn't seem to give off much light. She felt she had gone back in time with all these oil lamps. He carried on to a door on the right which opened out onto a warmly lit kitchen. She was surprised to see that the kitchen was completely modern. There were brand new units, modern copper light fittings and the latest range oven. There was also an ancient black-leaded range, used, it seemed, mostly for the fire that was now burning brightly in the open grate. The modernity seemed somehow out of place with its situation high on the moors.

She saw the light was coming from oil lanterns. He lit two large candles placed on the table and seeing her watching this action with a puzzled expression, he explained.

‘Power cut – generator problems' he said. Short and sweet but it was an explanation. Then he grunted again.

‘You're dripping all over the floor.'

She didn't stop to question how this was phrased but took it as a criticism.

‘That's probably because I've been wandering the moor throughout the storm. Lost, scared, freezing-cold, and strangely enough, dripping wet - and I became colder and wetter since the owner of the farmhouse forbade me to go inside it.'

Her voice had risen in indignation towards the end of this little speech and she stuck her chin out towards him in defiance. He seems to be taking a deep breath possibly to calm himself. It didn't work.

‘Just think about it for a minute, will you?' he said in a dangerously low voice, ‘It's night-time. There's the worst storm I've known in years raging out there. No sane person would be out in it. This farm is in the middle of nowhere and suddenly… you're confronted with a spectral grey figure, with long black hair plastered to her head, luminous pale eyes shining in the light of the lantern and a dreadful expression on her face. Did you expect me to invite you in for tea and scones?'

His voice had risen too now and his eyes stared into hers with an indignant expression. Almost black eyes, Flora thought as she stared back into them but with hints of brown in the lamplight. His mouth and jaw were set and his chiselled cheekbones twitched in anger. Something floated into her mind. Spoken in Mary's voice. Good looking Folklore Man.

‘You're the Folklore Man – and you are just a man, not a spirit of the moor.'

He laughed scornfully.

‘Hang on before you start laughing at me. You said, "Don't you dare cross that threshold!" Did you think I was a spirit?'

Her mouth twitched as she said this. He gave a resigned sigh.

‘I thought you were the Grey Lady who is supposed to wander the moors. I saw you yesterday didn't I?'

She nodded.

‘Or you could have been a witch.'

He gave a rather disarming apologetic smile now.

‘That's okay. I thought you were a demon from Hell with a devil dog and a spectral horse.'

They looked at each other and started to laugh. He shook his head.

‘Come on, let's get you out of those wet clothes.'

She teased him again with a look of mock horror on her face. He looked embarrassed, totally at odds with his strong and masterful attitude earlier.

‘I would love to. Have you got anything I can change into, please?'

He disappeared into a room across the hallway, reappearing a couple of minutes later. He walked to a large kettle on the range hot plate.

‘I've put some of my things on the bed and I'll put this hot water into the sink in the bathroom. No bath tonight I'm afraid, but at least it will warm you up a little.'

He walked back, with the kettle, into the bedroom and through it into what must be the bathroom en suite. He obviously didn't have - or want - many visitors. Ten minutes later, warmed up slightly and with her hair towelled as dry as she could, she went back through to the kitchen with her wrung-out clothes. She had washed her underwear and would try and put it in an inconspicuous place to dry. The other things, including her coat, were put over a drying rack and winched towards the ceiling in front of the range.

The man handed over a very welcome cup of tea and introduced himself as Calum Hythe.

‘Normally known as Cal. I am indeed the folklore man and blessed with an overactive imagination. I don't know whether I was more terrified of you being a witch or a grey lady - or more excited that I had met one of them.'

He smiled ruefully.

‘ I'm Flora Goode - and you do know witches don't look like the old pictures in storybooks, don't you?'

‘What? With a long dark cloak and long black hair?' An ironic smile appeared on his face as he looked at her hair, spread across her shoulders.

‘The ‘cloak' was a showerproof coat from my local outdoor camping and hikers shop. I now know why it says showerproof and not torrential-storm-proof. So- every woman with long black hair is a witch?'

‘Of course not. I gather stories and legends. I get carried away sometimes. I promise you, I'm not a modern-day witch hunter.'

He looked up at her. He'd obviously heard the stories circulating in the village, famous for its witches. That was just history though, wasn't it?

‘You're just wanting to know the old stories then?'

‘Not just the old stories.' He frowned. ‘Are you from the village?'

‘I've just moved here. My great aunt - well I call her a great aunt - left me her cottage and shop in her will.'

‘The Gallipot place?' He leaned towards her, suddenly interested.

‘Yes, her name was Sybil Gardwicke.'

‘The Wildflower Witch?'

‘Maybe…? But she wasn't a witch, she was a healer. That's what all the flowers were for. If she made potions they were just using the ingredients that are present in a lot of modern-day medicines, to help to heal people. She didn't have a broomstick or a cat as far as I know. Unless it was just for sweeping the yard. With the broomstick, not the cat.' she finished.

‘I'm well aware of it' he smiled disarmingly, ‘I'm wanting to write a history of The Witches of Farstone but a cloak of silence has been spread over the locals and I'm being blocked at every turn. I don't think they like me very much.'

He shrugged his shoulders. Flora didn't think it would bother him if he was liked or not unless it stopped him from getting his own way.

‘Maybe if you let the people know it would be a sympathetic history, not a sensationalist history.?'

‘I don't write sensationalist nonsense, it's always impeccably researched and sympathetic. It's not just a history though.'

‘You mean there are still witches there?'

‘Of course, there are witches everywhere. But this village has a tradition of witchcraft which is the strongest and longest-lasting in England, and the superstition is that they are not allowed to die out or the village will fail. I don't believe your great-aunt was the last one. Have you come to take her place? Are you a witch?'

He said it jokingly but his eyes were serious.

‘Of course not, or I've never thought of myself that way at least. I'm a healer – and although I've now been told she was a healer too, I only actually met her once.'

Calum seemed to consider for a moment.

‘You're no relation to the bookshop woman then? You look a little like her.'

‘ No relation at all thank goodness' she said, thinking of her reception.

A noise from a low open door at the back of the room made her jump. It was a sort of a strangled howl.

‘What the…!'

‘My dog Finn, the one you nearly loosed onto the moors.'

‘Was that really a dog?'

‘ Yes, that was a dog. Although anyone would be forgiven for thinking he was a large blob of jelly.'

‘Oh, most dogs are scared of storms' she said sympathetically.

‘This one is scared of his own shadow' he laughed.

Flora looked over to the black space inside what looked like a broom cupboard. She could just make out two eyes shining in the candlelight.

‘You'll have to stay here tonight. The rain is still coming down in torrents and the track will be a river. Besides which, I couldn't leave Finn on his own or take him with me for that matter. You can have my room. I'll sleep on this chair.'

Flora thanked him with no hesitation. She felt strangely safe with him now, compared to her initial feelings on first seeing him. She stood up and turned towards the whimpering noises.

‘Come on' she said in the direction of the cupboard.

‘It's no good. He won't leave the safety of his den for anyone tonight. You may have calmed my horse, which I still can't believe by the way, but you will have a harder job getting Finn to come near you. He's very nervous around other people, especially when there's been a thunderstorm.'

‘Finn, come on. It's all right. Come and get warm.'

‘ He won't–‘ Calum stopped as the huge grey and damp Irish wolfhound unfolded himself from the cupboard and made tentative steps with his big clumpy paws in Flora's direction. He stopped just in front of her so she gently sat down on the chair and held her hand out, talking to him softly all the time. He came forward. Calum sat there open-mouthed, hardly daring to breathe.

‘You are a witch' he whispered.

She looked up at him and he noticed her attractive pale grey eyes and the way her mouth dimpled when she smiled at him.

‘ I have a way with animals, always have had. I'm calm around them and can empathise with them.'

She kept talking to Finn who put his nose against Flora's hand and nudged it before sitting down in front of her.

Calum shook his head in amazement as Finn put his great head on her lap in a touching show of trust.

*

The next morning all signs of the storm had vanished and an azure blue sky looked down upon a rain-washed moorland. Calum had said he would take Flora down to the village in his four-track, which was hidden inside the larger barn but the mud track was still awash with flowing rivulets. He took her over the crest of one of the hills immediately behind his farmhouse and from there he pointed straight down to where she could see the roofs of village houses in the distance.

‘If you follow the sheep tracks directly, it leads you back to the wood behind your Cottage. I use it sometimes if I'm walking. It cuts a mile off the distance so that it's only two miles as the crow flies. It leads around the edge of the wood, past Peggy Harker's place and down to the track opposite the inn. You can just wander down through Pookey wood though, seeing as you own it.'

Flora thanked him profusely. After a very shaky start, they found they had a lot of common interests and had talked well into the night. At the moment, wearing her own dry but muddy clothes, she couldn't wait to get home and have a bath.

She had gone earlier into the stable to say goodbye to Fury who was thankfully calm after his ordeal and was waiting to be fed. Now, she said goodbye to Finn who looked sad to see his new friend go. She cast a look over her shoulder then turned fully around with her back to the farmhouse, shielding her eyes from the sun. Calum looked puzzled.

‘What are you looking for?'

‘Oh, nothing. I just took shelter by some rocks but I can't see them now. I think they might be just beyond that ridge' she frowned. ‘Anyway, please call into Gallipot cottage if you're in the village, won't you?'

‘ I will. I don't come in often as I'm writing a book at the moment - but yes, I will see you again.'

I hope so at least, he thought as he watched her stride out towards the village.

He's definitely not a demon, thought Flora, as she turned back and waved.