Witch's Business (5 page)

“This is—this is a sort of progress report,” he said. “We saw her, and she said she wouldn't take it off you. That's as far as we've got.”

Frankie leaned forward, with her eyes bigger than ever. “Then go on and do something awful to her. Now you know.”

“At least you didn't let her deceive you,” said Jenny. “Lots of people won't believe she's a witch, but that's just because she looks jolly and they think she's joking.”

“But she isn't joking,” said Frankie. “She's wicked. Really.”

Somehow, now they had talked to Biddy, Jess and Frank found this easier to believe. Jess still knew, somewhere in the back of her head, that Biddy must simply be mad, but she did not know it strongly enough to say so. All she said was “Yes, I know. She said she's got it in for your family.”

Both little girls nodded. “Yes, she has,” Frankie said. “So now do something.”

“All right,” said Frank, “but”—he hesitated, and then said, in a rush, in a rather official-sounding voice, because he felt so mean—“but we've got to do it on conditions, because we can't take your sovereign.”

The little girls stared. “Why not?” said Jenny. “It's worth much more than a pound.”

Jess saw the point. She shook her head firmly. “It's not legal tender,” she said. She was not quite sure what that meant, but she was sure it was the right phrase, and it sounded beautifully official. Frankie and Jenny were impressed by it and stared mournfully at her.

“So we'll do something to Biddy,” Frank went on pompously, although he was out in goose pimples again at the mere idea, “if you promise us to stop calling names after—what's his name, Jess?”

“Martin Taylor,” said Jess.

“Who?” said Jenny.

“Ginger,” said Frank. “Up at the big house. You know.”

“Oh, him!” Frankie stuck her head up.

Jenny leaned forward indignantly and nearly overbalanced from the windowsill. “We hate him. He's horrible. He lives in our house. It should be
our
house, but
he
lives there just because we haven't got any money anymore.”

“We're going to drive him out,” said Frankie.

“Don't be silly,” said Jess. “You can't drive him out, because it's his parents, not him, the house belongs to. He can't help living there. It's not fair to go calling him names. He isn't allowed to hit girls.”

Jenny grinned. She looked like a wicked elf thing, all curled up on the windowsill. “We know he can't,” she said.

“He calls
us
names, too,” said Frankie. “And we're not going to stop. So there.”

Jess immediately marched away to the damp door. “All right. Then we're not going to do anything to Biddy. We wouldn't touch her with a barge pole. So there.”

There was a painful silence. Jess opened the door and tried to go through it slowly, without looking as if she was waiting. Frank loitered after her. Still neither of the little girls said anything. Frank and Jess had gone most of the length of the stone passage before there was any sound at all. Then, suddenly, behind them, they heard rapid footsteps—light, heavy, light, heavy. Jenny, down from the windowsill, was following them as hard as she could go.

She ran up to Jess, seized her hand, and smiled up at her. When she smiled, Jess thought, Jenny looked almost as sweet as Vernon's littlest sister. “Please,” Jenny said. “Please, Jessica Pirie, do something to Biddy and I'll promise anything.” Then her face became all stiff and famine seeming. “Make her die, so that my foot can be better again.” Great huge tears came streaming down her cheeks.

Frankie came up without a word, put her arm round Jenny, and led her back to the playroom again. Jess and Frank followed, feeling mean and big.

Jess said, “I don't think it would work, making her die. She'd not be able to take it off then. She said—” Jess looked at Frank. It had been nasty, the way Biddy had said
never
.

Frank shivered. “Jenny,” he asked. “What's your heirloom? Or don't you know?”

Frankie answered, because Jenny had her odd apron to her face and was giving out shuddering sniffs into it. “It's an emerald necklace,” she said. “Mine's diamonds. Only it went. All the things went.”

“Went where?” said Jess.

Jenny shook her covered face. “Don't know. They went. Mother went, too.” She gave a big muffled yell, and the whole of her shook.

Frank fidgeted. Everything about these little girls seemed odder every second. He felt he could hardly bear another minute in that gloomy room with the big wheel blocking the window. “Well, the best thing would be to get it back,” he said, “but if you can't, we'll have to think of something else to do to her.”

“Make her break her leg,” said Frankie.

“Or something,” Jess said, as cheerfully as she could. “We'll do something, provided you stop calling after Martin Taylor.”

“All right,” Frankie agreed. “We'll stop, then. It's worth it, isn't it, Jenny?”

Jenny, with her face still covered, nodded violently.

Jess and Frank escaped from the damp house and went home by the road, in the hurling wind. They were so relieved to be outside again that Jess sang and whirled her arms as they went.

“At least we've fixed Martin,” she said.

“For no money,” Frank said. “Isn't that paint lady their mother, then?”

“No. She's their aunt,” said Jess. “But Daddy knows Mr. Adams. He's a bit strange, too. Frank, let's put Biddy off and stay closed for today. I've had enough of Own Back for now.”

“I've had so much enough,” said Frank, “that I wouldn't mind closing down for good.”

“We'll do that,” said Jess. “We'll just polish off this bit of business, and then we'll close down.”

The next morning, Frank and Jess were in the potting shed discussing what to do about Biddy. While they talked, Jess carefully wrote out a very elaborate curly notice, which was to read
CLOSED FOR GOOD
. She had so far only got to
FOR
, and neither of them could think what to do to Biddy.

“An eye for an eye,” said Frank. “What about a foot for a foot? Suppose I went and stamped on her toe?”

“She might turn you purple,” said Jess. “She might even
be
a witch. What did they use to do to witches in the olden days?”

“Duck them in a pond,” said Frank. “Could we push her in the river?”

“Flop,” said Jess. “Squelch. She'd lose her glasses. And she'd be
mad
, Frank.”

“I thought you said she was, anyway,” Frank was saying, when there was a hurried dull thumping on the path outside and the window of the shed was darkened.

“Martin Taylor!” Jess sprang up eagerly and hastened to the window. “At least we can tell him
he's
all right,” she said as she pushed it open.

But Martin, it seemed, had not come for his Own Back. He leaned down from his pony to look in the window, and they could tell by his face that something or other was wrong. “Can you two come to the Lodge?” he said. “Vernon's waiting there. He'll explain. But we thought you ought to see Silas.”

“See
Silas
!” said Jess. “Whatever for?”

“Oh, I can't explain,” Martin said. “Just come and see.” And before they could ask him more, he was gone again, with a further swift thumping and a scatter of cinders.

Frank and Jess looked at each other, mystified, but rather appalled, too. If they had known Martin better, they might have thought he was having them on; but he was nearly a perfect stranger, and the way he had talked was as if he were too upset about whatever it was to tell them about it. So, after a second, Frank muttered that he supposed they had better go and see. Jess simply put up the
AWAY
notice instead of the
CLOSED
notice and they went to get their bikes.

When they came within sight of the big iron gates, Martin was standing outside with Vernon. The way they both stood was dejected and anxious, and the way Vernon dashed up and seized Jess's handlebars was almost angry, too.

“What did you do with that tooth?” he said. “Give it to Buster?”

“Yes,” said Jess, and Frank added, “And you needn't eat us.”

“Then Buster
was
telling the truth,” Martin said to Vernon. It was clear they were both too worried to bother to quarrel with the Piries.

“I knew he was,” said Vernon. He turned to Frank and Jess. “You come and take a look at Silas,” he said. “Buster said to me he give the tooth to Biddy Iremonger to give me face-ache. You come and see.” And, as soon as Frank and Jess had leaned their bikes against the gates, he led them to the Lodge. At the door, he jerked his head to Martin. “Go and talk to my mum,” he said. “If she sees them, she'll throw them out.” The haughty Martin, rather to Frank's surprise, went into the Lodge without a word. As Vernon beckoned them to follow him also, they could hear Martin saying something quite near, and Mrs. Wilkins answering, rather crossly, “How you think I do it today, Martin, with Silas sick in bed?”

Both Jess and Frank were quite sure they ought to go away at once. But Vernon seized them each by an arm and pulled them through a door and into a darkened room beside the front door where, as Jess said afterward, she felt like thieves in the night. Vernon went across to a window and drew one of the curtains. Frank and Jess, thoroughly alarmed and nervous, found they were in a bedroom with bunk beds round the walls. All the beds were empty except the bottom bunk nearest the window, which had Silas lying in it.

“Now see,” Vernon whispered.

All Frank and Jess could see of Silas was his face, but that was quite enough. Jess said afterward she had never seen a face so swollen as Silas's was, not even Frank's when Frank had mumps. The only right thing about it was his big resentful eyes, and these stared accusingly up at the Piries. The rest of his face was tight and shiny and blown out like a balloon—so blown out that it was more purple than black.

“Oh, dear!” said Jess. She had her hands to her own face in sympathy. “Isn't it mumps?”

Vernon shook his head. “He had them when I did last year. The doctor doesn't know what it is. But I know. It was Biddy did it.”

Silas said nothing. He stared miserably. Frank did not wonder. Neither he nor Jess could think of anything else to say. They stood there in the middle of the bedroom feeling like trespassers, and Jess, at least, wondered if she did not feel like a murderer also. And all the time Silas simply stared at them with his great black accusing eyes.

Meanwhile, Martin must have made Mrs. Wilkins really angry. Her voice suddenly came nearer, talking and talking, until it was clear she was right outside the bedroom door and likely to come in any minute. Frank and Jess felt more like trespassers than ever.

“Quick,” said Vernon. “Come on.” He opened the window and scrambled out, into the flower bed beneath. Jess and Frank scrambled after him, faster than they had ever climbed out of a window before. Vernon reached back inside to draw the curtain again, and Silas's big reproachful eyes watched all three of them as he did it.

They hurried out to the road beyond the iron gates. While they waited for Martin to finish being scolded and come and join them, Vernon said, “You got to get that tooth back.”

There seemed no doubt that he was right. “All right,” said Frank. “But how can we get it?”

“Go down to her hut,” said Vernon. “They said she was a witch, but I never believed it till now. What do you think she'll take to give it back?”

“I don't know,” said Frank.

Jess said, “Vernon, you wait here with Frank, and I'll go home and collect all our valuables. I think that's fair, Frank, because we did let Buster get his hands on that tooth.”

Frank mournfully agreed. He owned a tiepin which he did not much mind losing, but he had a feeling it would take his watch as well, which he did mind losing. But it could not be helped. He could not condemn poor Silas to spend the rest of his life with his face that shape—particularly as it looked as if it must hurt rather a lot, too. So, while Jess cycled off to collect what she could which might be valuable, Frank sat on the roadside with Vernon and asked him if he had a plan of action.