Cherringham--The Curse of Mabb's Farm Read Online Free

this weirdness? Curses? Evil witches? Farm accidents and fires?
    “Emily, did my parents know you were going to ask me to do this?”
    “Good Lord, no.”
    “And Caitlin?”
    “Of course not. She thinks it’s all the work of the Devil.”
    “I’ll have to talk to Jack first,” she said, though she wondered whether it would be his cup of tea. Then again …
    Emily smiled and stood up.
    “Wonderful,” she said. “Now — it’s time I was off. You’ll probably want to get started. When do you think you’ll solve the case?”
    Another laugh.
    Solve the case indeed.
    What case?
    But Sarah realised that whether she liked it or not, she had just been hired — not that there was ever any money in it — to solve the Curse of Mabb’s Farm.

5. War Games
    Jack squatted down at the edge of table and peered across the river and into the distance.
    “Recognise the view?” said Sarah.
    “Amazing,” said Jack. “Hardly anything’s changed. Apart from the farm buildings around Ingleston. Otherwise it could almost be Cherringham today.”
    He stood up and nodded appreciatively. In his youth, he’d dabbled for a while in table-top war-gaming — but nothing on this scale.
    In front of him, transformed into hand-made models, spread the familiar landscape of Cherringham, with its rolling hills, its water meadows, the lazy curves of the Thames and the medieval stone bridge.
    But this wasn’t present-day Cherringham.
    This was Cherringham as it had been in the seventeenth century.
    “Yes,” said the creator of the table who stood next to him. “If you ignore Cromwell’s forces camped in the water-meadows. And the Royalist flags up on the crest of the hills. Not all that different …”
    Jack looked at Sarah — she was clearly just as impressed.
    When she had told him about their ‘commission’ from the Vicar’s wife he’d felt straight away that this might be an opportunity to find out a little more about Cherringham’s history, curses and all.
    And who better to talk to than her father’s friend and local historian Will Goodchild?
    Discovering that he was actually in the middle of running a massive English Civil War battle using an accurate model of the area in the 1640s was a real bonus.
    “My father said you knew more than anybody about the area,” said Sarah.
    “Really? Kind of him,” said Will, taking off his glasses and wiping them on a little cloth he kept in his jacket pocket. “He’s no slouch at the local history either. Still — I’m sure he didn’t send you here to pass on his compliments. What exactly are you after?”
    Jack realised that the historian’s skills didn’t stretch to being sociable. So he decided to just jump right in.
    “You’ve heard all this stuff about Mabb’s Farm going round the village?”
    “Heard it. Hard to avoid it.”
    “And what do you make of it?”
    The historian laughed. “Not much. This country has always been full of superstitions and superstitious people. Nothing new there.”
    “So,” Jack said, “this talk of a Curse?”
    “Throughout time, my American friend, people have liked to blame the bad things that happen to them on something, anything — the fates, the gods, the stars, curses—”
    “And witches?” Sarah said.
    She does like to just jump in there, Jack thought.
    “Ah, that story. The ‘Three Witches of Mabb’s Hill’. Well, if you were to do the research, you would discover that those three women were really just old spinsters dabbling with herbal remedies whose only bad luck was where they were living.”
    “On Mabb’s Farm?” Jack said.
    “Yes, but it’s more about where their small farmhouse — at that time it was half the size it is now — sat near. Have you walked up from the farm to the hilltop?”
    “Not yet.” Jack looked at Sarah. “Is there something we should see there?”
    “Oh, I’ll say. Amazed it doesn’t draw more tourists, though … I imagine to the untrained eye doesn’t look like