Chapter 7

  Two hours later, I was freshly showered and dressed in a pair of slim, dark brown trousers, a short-sleeved pale green silk blouse, and a pair of practical flat-heeled ankle boots. At Ken's suggestion, I'd let him do my long white hair up in a loose princess bun that left the back of my neck bare, and had a few strands of loose hair falling on either side of my face. It was a very different style than my usual long braid, but I found I liked it when I examined it in the mirror. It made me look a bit older and more worldly.

  I decided to take a slow walk into town instead of driving, because it would give me a chance to convince my stomach to settle down. This was just a town meeting I was going to. No big deal, right?

  Penny and Sparkle seemed to find my nervousness amusing, and played tag in their natural forms most of the way into town to try and distract me, before finally settling down. Sparkle, as always, attached to the Master Key dangling from the platinum choker that was comfortably snug around my neck. Likewise, Penny slipped into my shadow and vanished from sight, prepared to keep a vigilant eye on my surroundings.

  So I wasn't completely freaking out with nerves when I stopped outside the door of the pub and looked through the front window at the assembled people. The interior of the pub had been rearranged for the event, with the usual little round tables absent in favor of a long table, with a tabletop lectern in the middle of it, at the end of the room where the dartboard hung. The rest of the room was taken up by rows of chairs with an aisle down the center.

  Many of them were already filled. Which didn't help my nerves at all. I saw Malcolm O'Day just coming out from behind the bar and heading for the front of the room, where Laurie Harris, the town librarian, was already standing with an older man and woman I hadn't met.

  "Bit intimidating, isn't it?" D.T.'s voice asked from behind me, startling me enough to make me twitch as I turned to face her. She was dressed in her formal uniform, and I was right, it looked really good on her. She had her uniform cap tucked under her left arm.

  "Yeah," I said, relief flooding me at the sight of her. "Yeah, it is. For such a small town there's still so many people I haven't met."

  She chuckled. "It's not that small a town, really. Including the outlying farms, Oakwood has a population of almost a thousand people. I really need a second constable."

  I tipped my head a little, then realized that she'd turned a bit, and saw the new stripes on the shoulder of her uniform. "Oh my god," I said, reaching out and turning her a bit more to get a better look, "you made sergeant!"

  She beamed at me. "They made it official just this morning," she said proudly. "That's what's kept me so busy the last couple of months. What do you think? How do they look on me"

  I grinned at her. "Fantastic. Congratulations!" I went up on my toes and kissed her cheek. "So, you're going to get some help?"

  She nodded. "Small town policing is really different than I was used to, but I like it. What I don't like is essentially having been on duty 24/7 for the last few months…not that I got a single after-hours call. As soon as my promotion came in this morning, I formally asked to have a couple of regular constables assigned here. That way I can set up shifts, spread out coverage, and have some help in the event of…actual crime."

  She paused for a moment, then shrugged a little. "No idea if they'll actually assign me anyone. The official crime rate here in Oakwood is so low that there's only been three reported crimes in the last fifty years, and they were apparently handled the same day they were reported. That and the fact that the station at Glastonbury is somewhat less than 30 minutes away running blues and twos is why they've only ever had one constable out here at a time. It's the unofficial stuff that never goes on official reports that my bosses are concerned about."

  "My side of things," I said seriously. "They're aware of that?"

  She made a face and tipped her head back and forth. "Probably? They've kind of danced around it, without ever saying anything directly or asking any questions that I might've had to give crazy-sounding answers to. But I'm pretty sure they know there's strange things afoot in the world as a generality, and here specifically. To be honest, I think that and my willingness to stay here might have a lot to do with my bump to sergeant."

  I glanced back at the pub before saying. "When we have time, maybe after the meeting, I need to tell you about my visitor last night. I had another ICOA rep knocking on my gates when I got home from our date."

  She winced. "As bad as the first?"

  "Worse," I said. "And they're not happy that so many residents of the town seem to be clued in." I looked at her. "I'm sure they won't exactly be over the moon if they find out the police have an eye on the supernatural world."

  We shared a worried look, then turned together to face the door of the pub.

  "Shall we?" D.T. asked after a moment.

  "That's what we're here for," I joked.

  She stepped forward and opened the door for me. "After you, princess."

  I grimaced. "Oh, please…"

  She laughed. "I haven't been able to get the image of you in that dress out of my head since yesterday. You really did look like a fairy tale in it."

  As a result, my cheeks were flaming and I was giggling as I went through the door, which undoubtedly made me look much more relaxed and approachable than I felt. Which, I suspected, had been her plan.

  Malcolm spotted us right away and waded through the crowd to the door. "Caley, Constable…excuse me," he corrected himself, smiling, "Sergeant! Congratulations are in order, I see. Welcome, both of you, we're almost ready to get started. Sergeant, there's a seat at the table for you, and I reserved one for you in the front row, Caley. I'd like to introduce you to the rest of the town council and parish clerk before we start."

  "Of course," I said, rather relieved that I wouldn't be sitting at the big table too. "Lead on, Malcolm."

  We wove our way through the chairs, greeting people I recognized and smiling politely to those I didn't, until we reached the long table at the front.

  "Clark, George, Laurie, Roberta, come say hello," Malcolm said, gesturing to the people gathered there. "Everyone, this is - in case you couldn't guess - Caitlyn Reid," he nodded to me, then to D.T., "and some of you have already met Sergeant D.T. Burroughs. Caley, you already know Laurie Harris, our librarian."

  I shook the older woman's hand warmly. "I'm sorry I haven't had time to swing by the library yet to hear those stories about my parents."

  "I'm certain you've been busy beyond all reason," she replied with a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. "I must say, you look a lot more sure of yourself than you did last October."

  "Thank you," I said, blushing again. "I've had a lot to absorb."

  Her eyes twinkled with amusement, suggesting that she knew a few things about Oakwood Hall's secrets, but said nothing about it. Instead, she moved on to shake D.T.'s hand as Malcolm continued, nodding to the older man in the group.

  "This," Malcolm said, "is George Roberts. George is retired RAF." George looked to be in his late sixties, trim and barely taller than I was but strongly built, with short, iron-colored hair and the sort of weathered complexion I imagined a life-long farmer would have. His clothes fit that mold, less formal than what others were wearing, blue jeans instead of trousers, work boots that looked like they'd been quickly cleaned for the event, and a checked shirt with its sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

  George shook my hand warmly. "Twenty years retired," he said with a chuckle. "Practically a lifetime. I've spent the intervening years back on the ancestral farm outside of town. Like as not, if you shop in town you've been buying my milk."

  I had occasionally wondered about the old-fashioned glass bottles of milk that appeared in the refrigerator, with their 'Roberts Farm' label printed on them. "I have been, and thank you. I don't have much of a frame of reference, but it tastes good to me."

  He chuckled. "I have to ask…was it as much of a shock coming home for you as it was for me?"

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  I made a mental note to have a word with him about how he'd adjusted to coming home. Maybe it could help with some the speed bumps I'd hit. Or maybe not…mine were probably a lot weirder. Still, I felt a wave of affection for him. "You have no idea," I said earnestly.

  He grinned and released my hand, then moved on to speak with D.T..

  The next person up was an older woman - I again guessed late sixties - whose salt and pepper hair was done up in a tighter and more severe bun than mine. The lines of her conservative gray pants suit and cream colored blouse fit that severity, and there was something pinched about her expression, which was exacerbated by the slim black cat eye frames of her glasses. But her handshake was firm. "Roberta Sawyer," she said before Malcolm could introduce her. "I used to teach primary school up the road in Glastonbury. Now I help manage the town budget."

  "It's nice to meet you," I said. "I was almost a teacher myself. I'll be finishing a Masters in Medieval History this fall."

  "Well," she said primly, "it's nice to hear that you value education."

  "Very highly," I said as sincerely as I could.

  She nodded approvingly and moved on without another word, giving D.T. the sort of look she had probably once reserved for misbehaving students. I wondered about that, until I remembered Malcolm telling me about Blake Saywer, the town's last constable, who'd transferred away not long after I came home. This was probably his mother. I tentatively dialed down my estimate of Roberta's age and wondered why she'd retired.

  "And this is our parish clerk, Clark Turner," Malcolm said, drawing my attention to a young man who I guessed was in his early thirties. He had messy, sandy brown hair, dark eyes behind narrow, rectangular glasses, and wore chinos with a blue shirt and darker blue tie.

  He shook my hand warmly and gave me a pleading smile, "Do me a favor and try very hard not to make any Clark the clerk jokes. I've heard them all since I took the job."

  I laughed politely. His job, as I understood it, was roughly the equivalent of a larger town's mayor. "I promise I'll try, at least," I said.

  "I'll take it," he said with obvious relief. I wondered just how often he heard those jokes. "I've really been looking forward to meeting you," he continued. "As I understand it, part of the parish clerk's job is to liaise with the lord and lady of Oakwood Hall and arrange…shall we say, any additional services that the town requests of them."

  I wondered, not for the first time, at the serious use of titles and how often I was being formally referred to as 'Lady Reid.' It had mostly been Margrave and residents of Faerie, but here it was bleeding into the real world.

  I needed to ask Ken if Oakwood Hall came with some sort of hereditary title other than Guardian.

  "I wasn't aware," I said, "but sometimes it feels like what I wasn't aware of before coming home could fill an ocean. So please don't take it personally that I haven't met you before now."

  Clark shook his head. "Malcolm tells me you've been incredibly busy. I can't even imagine. But I'd like to get together with you soon to open official lines of communication, as it were."

  "My schedule is very flexible," I said, more than willing to do so. "Just say when and I'll make time."

  He looked relieved. "Thank you very much, Lady Reid."

  "Please call me Caley," I said firmly. "I really don't want to stand on titles…especially since I don't know if I'm entitled to them or not."

  He laughed. "Then you should call me Clark. And I think you actually might be."

  "Finding out is definitely moving up my 'to do' list," I said.

  "And here's our last member," Malcolm said, "Father Martin Hill, our parish priest."

  I turned, and would have known the man was a priest whether Malcolm had identified him as one or not. The black shirt, pants, and white clerical collar would have marked him as a priest…Roman Catholic, at a guess…even if I hadn't grown up around them. He was tall, at least six feet, and I had a hard time judging his age, because while his hair was solid white and there were wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, his long face was otherwise soft and largely unlined. His eyes, however, showed a depth of knowledge that usually only comes from age…along with, as he shook my hand firmly, a canny understanding of who I was.

  "Lady Reid," he said politely, "it's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard a lot about you."

  A statement which absolutely did not help my already rocky relationship with the Church. I was told that people who grew up in Catholic orphanages, the way I had, turned out one of two ways: Devout, or impious. You can guess which I was.

  "I'm not entirely sure how to take that," I said carefully, immediately suspicious of the man for no reason I could put a finger on, other than years of Catholic education. "And I'm a little surprised the church here isn't C of E or Protestant."

  He smiled politely. "It's a relatively recent development. I've only been here about ten years myself. I was something of a colleague of your father's."

  That didn't help either. The last man who'd introduced himself as a colleague of my father's had tried to kill me. "I see." Of course, he might actually have been a colleague of my father's, in which case he could be a valuable resource.

  He seemed to recognize my growing discomfort and released my hand. "You should come by for tea sometime. Bring the sergeant with you, if you'd like. I'm sure we'll have a great deal to discuss."

  "We'll do that," D.T. said from behind my right shoulder, offering her hand past me. "Sergeant D.T. Burroughs."

  "Father Martin Hill," the priest said, shaking her hand and releasing it. "Well, it's lovely to meet you both. But it looks like we're about to start."

  A few moments later I found myself sitting front row center, on the aisle, where I could get up easily and right next to Judy O'Day. It was, honestly, something of a relief to have a friendly and well-known face beside me.

  Poor D.T. looked uncomfortable sitting at one end of the table, with Father Hill at the other end. I gave her an encouraging smile, which she returned with a small nod.

  Most of the next hour was filled with the kind of semi-rural British small town minutia that I'd only read about in Father Brown and All Creatures Great and Small. D.T. was introduced and made a brief speech about how welcome Oakwood had made her feel, and how she was looking forward to really settling in and getting to know everyone. Father Hill said something about an annual fund-raiser, and Laurie Harris asked for donations for redoing the library's roof.

  I caught her eye as she was finishing and nodded slightly to let her know I'd dump a chunk of change that way even if nobody else did. It was something I could do for the town. She smiled warmly in return.

  Finally, Malcolm O'Day stood and lifted his hands. "Before we continue, I've been given the pleasure of introducing everyone who hasn't already met her at my pub to the daughter of Franchesca and James Reid." He gestured to me to stand up, so I did and turned to face the room as he continued, "Everyone, this is Caitlyn Reid, and she is officially in residence at Oakwood Hall at last."

  I lifted a hand in greeting and smiled politely out at nobody in particular. "Please, call me Caley. Malcolm and the regulars at the Oak & Ivy have done an excellent job of helping me find my roots in Oakwood, and I can't tell you how happy I am to have come home."

  Behind me, Malcolm continued. "In the past, as most of you are aware, the Lady of Oakwood Hall has…shall we say, helped out with certain unusual things around the township of Oakwood. Caley has expressed her desire to resume that practice, and will be working with Clark Turner to find out where her particular talents can be best put to use, as it were. Caley?"

  I nodded firmly. "Oakwood has been incredibly welcoming to me, and you can't imagine how wonderful it's been to find a home I didn't know existed was waiting for me here. I'd like to give back to the town, and this seems to be the traditional way for me to do that. I'd also like to mention that I have the support of Sergeant Burroughs in helping out around town as needed."

  I heard Clark speak up then. "We're extremely glad to hear that, Caley. I know I haven't been keeping up with collecting reports of oddities from people, and since Caley is here with us tonight, does anyone have any pressing issues to call out?"

  A few hands went up, and Clark said, "Bert?"

  Bert Fletcher, the town pharmacist, who I'd met several times at the Oak & Ivy, stood up. "I know I asked you about this a few months ago, Caley, but…what kind of condition is the Hall's garden in? Is there any chance you might be able to resume supplying some of the rare herbal remedies your family used to have access to?"

  I smiled, rather relieved to have kicked this off on firm ground. "Hi Bert. The garden is actually in incredible condition, and I've been meaning to get in touch with you about doing just that. If I call you at the pharmacy tomorrow morning, can you give me a list of what you need?"

  He looked as relieved as I felt. "Absolutely, Caley. Thank you very much."

  I saw several of the older residents looking interested in that as well, and added, "If others are interested in that arrangement too, let Mr. Turner know so he can tell me. I'm sure we can make it happen."

  As Bert sat back down, hands rose again. This time, a young woman who didn't look much older than me stood up. "Ah…hello, Miss Reid. Sorry, Caley. My name is Moira Bradley. I actually just moved to my grandparents' old home here a couple of months ago. I recently found a…a box in the attic. Which…I know it sounds weird…" She trailed off, looking nervous.

  I smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring way. "Trust me, Moira, it can't possibly be as weird as some of the things I've found in my ancestral home. Go on."

  "Well, it's incredibly ornate, but in a really weird way that makes me uneasy to look at it," she said with obvious reluctance. "And it…it makes strange sounds whenever I get close to it."

  That didn't sound good at all. "If you're not busy this evening," I glanced at D.T., who gave me a little nod before I continued, "Sergeant Burroughs and I can stop by after the meeting is over and take a look at it."

  Moira looked incredibly relieved. "Thank you so much."

  "You're very welcome," I said.

  As she sat down, I heard a throat clear behind me and when I turned in that direction, saw Father Hill giving me a lopsided smile. "It might not be as urgent as some others, but perhaps you could make the time to take a look at the old social hall?" There was a general murmur of agreement from the crowd as he continued, "We've all seen the strange lights and shadowy forms moving around inside it at night the last couple of years, and we all know about the problems that have occurred every time we've tried to have it refurbished. While I don't mind meeting here, it'd be nice if we could stop imposing on the Oak & Ivy for town meetings and other events."

  Malcolm chuckled. "I don't mind being imposed on, but it would be nice to have the social hall back. And I'm sure Clark would like to have a proper office."

  "I'll absolutely make time to look into it," I said firmly, and all three men nodded their thanks.

  "I have a problem out at the farm," George Roberts said from where he sat beside D.T., "but I can wait until the meeting's over to talk to Caley about it."

  "Actually," Clark said, stepping in again, "that's not a bad idea. I had no idea there were so many things that people wanted looked at, and we don't want to overwhelm Caley right out of the gate. Bring your problems to me, and I'll make sure they're brought to Caley's attention."

  As I sat back down, relieved to be out of the spotlight again, I wondered about the other hands I'd seen raised. Granted it had been almost three years by that point since my father had been there to help out around town, but was Oakwood really that active, supernaturally-speaking? Or was this unusual?

  As the meeting resumed, I made a mental note to ask Ken if any of my predecessors had kept records of their work around town, and wondered what else was in store for me.