Witch's Business

  “What if he has?” said the Aunt. “Why do you have to tell me?”

  Frankie, staring significantly at Vernon, answered, “I just thought he’d be late for lunch if you let him go now.”

  “Frankie,” said the Aunt, “go away, or I’ll paint you in stripes.”

  NINE

  The next twenty minutes were almost unbearable. They sat helplessly in front of the Aunt, knowing that every minute made it more certain Biddy knew they were still searching, and quite unable to get away. Jess suggested twice to the Aunt that it was lunchtime and they ought to go, but all the Aunt said was, “Won’t be five minutes.”

  “No,” muttered Frank. “You’ll be half an hour instead.” And they all knew that this would allow plenty of time for Biddy to summon Buster and the other eight. They felt completely trapped. Jess gave up suggesting it was time to go, and they all, instead, concentrated on being kept there as long as possible. At least they were safe inside the Mill House, even if they were late for lunch. Everyone wriggled and jigged and tried to interrupt the Aunt as much as they could.

  “What’s the matter?” asked the Aunt. “Got a flea?”

  “Crick in the neck,” said Vernon.

  “Could we stretch our legs for a minute, please?” Martin asked.

  The Aunt looked at her watch. Then she popped her cigarette into the paint pot. “Okay,” she said. “You win. I can see you want to be off. We’ll call it a day.”

  Jess was almost sure she looked at her watch to see if she had given Biddy time to be ready for them. She could see that Vernon thought so, too. None of them had the heart to be very interested in the painting. They crowded round it politely, and the Aunt told them it still needed working up. To Frank’s mind, it looked just the same as before, only thicker.

  “Very nice,” said Martin, trying to be hearty. “I wouldn’t know that was me.”

  “It isn’t,” said the Aunt. “That’s you on the other side.”

  Martin said, “Oh!” rather blankly, and they were all very glad when the Aunt wandered out of the room to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder to them to let themselves out.

  “What shall we do?” Frank said rather hopelessly.

  The playroom door opened and Jenny put her head out, looking whiter and fiercer than they had ever seen her. “Come in here,” she said. When they had all trooped in, she said, “Now do you believe me? He’s told on us now.” Jess suddenly realized how it must feel when you could not trust your own father. She felt quite shocked by the idea, and then, after a second, very angry—angry because of Jenny, and angry because of Mr. Adams, too, who she knew was a nice man, left to himself.

  “Are you sure he has?” Martin asked.

  “Take a look,” said Frankie, who was beside the window.

  They looked. If they bent their heads sideways, they could see round the big mill wheel into the bushy garden. They were just in time to see Stafford dodge back behind a flowering currant. After that, not even Frank and Martin doubted in the slightest that Mr. Adams had indeed told Biddy they were searching for the necklace. No one doubted Frankie when she told them that Buster was in the field outside the front door with four more of the gang. It gave them the most peculiar feeling. It was like being besieged, Frank supposed, with traitors inside the castle, but it did not feel like that in the least. It felt worrying and hopeless, and not at all exciting. Martin put it best when he said, “I’m going to get into trouble if I’m late for lunch.”

  “We have to go,” Vernon agreed.

  “Back or front way?” asked Frank.

  “Front’s open,” said Vernon. “We can run.”

  Vernon seemed to be right, but Jess was worried about the little girls. “What about them?” she asked him.

  “We’ll stay indoors,” said Frankie. “We’ll be all right.”

  “But don’t budge out,” said Vernon. “They’ll be after you, if we get by.”

  “And what about the necklace?” Jenny asked dolefully. “We’ve looked everywhere except on the roof.”

  “No, you haven’t,” said Vernon. “No one searched the painting room. It must be there somewhere.”

  “Oh, how silly!” said Jess. “And no one can look there, if it’s being used for painting all the time.”

  “She’s not always there,” said Jenny. “We’ll look when she’s out.”

  “No, you won’t,” said Vernon. “You look when we’re here. We’ll come back this afternoon and get her talking. You look then. How do you think you’ll manage against two grown-ups and a whole gang of boys?”

  Jenny and Frankie looked fierce and did not answer.

  “He’s right,” said Jess. “Do wait till we’re here.”

  “We know,” said Frankie.

  Then there seemed nothing for it but to try to get through the gang outside. Everyone took a deep breath. Then Frank, either because his last hour had come, or because he wanted to put his last hour off a little—he was not sure which—took out of his pocket the five pence Mr. Adams had given him and passed it to Vernon.

  “Here you are,” he said. “Here’s what we owe you.”

  Then Jess remembered she had Vernon’s fifty pence still, and gave that back to him, too.

  Vernon was pleased. “I meant to ask you,” he said. “There’s a car Silas wants, costs forty-five.”

  “Oh, let’s go!” Martin said irritably.

  So they went. They threw open the front door and tried to make a dash for it, round the Mill House to the road. But it was no good. Buster and the other four rose out of the grass almost at their feet, with air guns and peashooters. Bullets rattled, all shapes and sizes, and most of them hit their targets. Buster shouted. They heard Stafford answer from the garden, and heavy crashings as the rest of the gang hurried through the bushes to help their leader.

  “Run!” yelled Vernon. He and Martin made off with their heads down.

  “After ’em!” roared Buster.

  Jess snatched Frank’s arm as he tried to follow Martin and Vernon. “Let go!” said Frank.

  “No, you fool! Cover their retreat,” said Jess, and she swung Frank round and pushed him straight at Buster. All Frank could do was to put his arms over his face against the bullets and wonder which to kick: Jess or Buster. He decided to kick Buster and landed out blindly with one foot. Buster was out of reach. Jess pushed Frank onward. Frank took his arms down and saw that Buster was backing away, with his face twisted up. Stafford and his party, looking puzzled and indignant, were backing away, too, toward the garden. On the other side, Frank saw Vernon and Martin almost at the road. He and Jess were alone inside a ring of nine angry boys, who all seemed to be backing away from them.

  “You done it again,” complained Buster. “What do you keep doing?”

  “That would be telling,” said Jess. “But you might as well go away. You’re not going to be able to touch us.”

  “Zombie-parts-pancake Piries!” said Buster. “That’s what you think!”

  “I’ll show you,” said Jess. “Come on, Frank.” And she yanked Frank a step or so in Buster’s direction. To Frank’s delight, the whole gang immediately backed away again, swearing horribly, as if he and Jess were armed with prickles. One boy shouted to them to stop. All of them looked angry and puzzled.

  “Why is it?” said Frank.

  “Eyes!” said Jess. “Come on.” And she advanced again. Frank grinned as the gang hastily gave back another step. He could not see why the little Eyes should work, but it was plain that they did. Buster and the rest were very uncomfortable indeed. Frank could have kicked himself this time for not remembering their secret weapon. In the distance, Frank saw Martin mount his pony and Vernon climb on a huge, rusty bicycle. Jess saw them, too, and stopped.

  “See?” she said. “Now you just leave us alone.”

  “I’m maggot-slime disemboweled if I will,” said Buster.

  It seemed to be deadlock. Jess and Frank stood under the walls of the house. The gang stood all round the
m, glowering. Martin and Vernon, meanwhile, made their getaway down the road. Frank supposed he ought to be thankful, but he was not. He could have done with their support. And there they stayed, for several long, long minutes, until Frankie suddenly altered things by leaning out of the Aunt’s bedroom window. Jess said afterward that she ought to have poured boiling oil—or at least cold water—on the gang’s heads. Frank pointed out that it would have hit them, too.

  What Frankie did was to shout, “Leave them alone, you great ugly cowards!”

  The gang looked up. “Sweet slime-guts Fanny Adams!” jeered Squeaky Voice.

  “Get her!” said one of the others.

  Stafford’s brother Ray pointed his air gun and fired. Frankie ducked down. There was a splintering crack, and several pieces of glass fell down onto the grass, leaving a white starry hole in the window.

  “Curried-bowel nit!” said Stafford to Ray.

  There was a very difficult silence. The gang, instead of just standing, were standing ready to run, glaring accusingly at Frank and Jess. Frank and Jess looked accusingly back. Frankie seemed to have gone. The house was quiet as the grave.

  At length, Buster said to Frank, “Now look what you made us do!”

  “Made you!” said Frank. “Made you dance a hornpipe!”

  Everyone looked uneasily up at the broken window again. One or two of the gang began to back away. Jess thought that, with luck, she could have them on the run in a second or so.

  “Frankie’s gone to tell,” she said. “You’d better go.”

  It was clear that there was nothing the gang would have liked better to do. But for some reason they did not.

  “You got to come, too,” said Buster. “Prisoners. We caught you.”

  “I like that!” said Frank. “If we’re prisoners, you’re Julius Caesar.”

  “You got to come,” repeated Buster.

  “He may be Julius Caesar,” said Jess. “His face is rather like a lemon squeezer, don’t you think, Frank?”

  “But we’re not prisoners,” said Frank. “You just try.”

  All Buster could do was glower and snuffle through his nose. The gang was all round the Piries, but none of the nine seemed to be able to come nearer than three feet away.

  “You got to,” said Buster, rather desperately, glancing at the house and forgetting to swear in his hurry.

  “We’ve got to go home to lunch,” said Jess, “and there’s nothing you can do to stop us, Buster Knell. So there!” She took hold of Frank’s arm and set off, very firmly, toward the road. The nearest boys backed away as soon as she moved. Jess simply went on walking, pulling Frank, and all the gang could do was to close in round the Piries, about three feet off, and follow them, calling names. Neither Frank nor Jess liked being called names, but they put their heads in the air and went marching on, pretending to take no notice.

  “You’ll vampire-stomach well pay for this!” said Buster, for about the hundredth time.

  “You’re paying already,” said Frank. “And I hope you frizzle and fry.”

  “What do you mean?” said Stafford.

  “You know perfectly well,” Jess retorted. “Slaves. And you might think of how your mother feels next time you vanish, Stafford Briggs.”

  “You shut up!” said Stafford and Ray together. Jess thought they looked very uncomfortable.

  “How do you know?” Buster demanded. “What’s it got—”

  Then, suddenly, the gang fell very quiet again, except that Squeaky Voice muttered, “Look out!”

  Jess and Frank looked up and saw Mr. Adams wandering down the road toward them. He was so near that the gang had no time to get away. Nor had Jess and Frank, although Mr. Adams was the last person they felt they wanted to meet just then. Everyone stood still, while Mr. Adams came up to them, vaguely smiling.

  “Hallo,” he said. He seemed not to have the least notion that it was his doing that Jess and Frank were surrounded like this by Buster’s gang.

  Everyone said, “Hallo” in reply, the gang as well, in grudging mutters. Frank could see that the gang were all ready to run as soon as he or Jess told Mr. Adams about the broken window. Frank left it to Jess to tell. His feeling was that Mr. Adams deserved his window broken for going to Biddy.

  Jess, however, felt the same as Frank. She was sure that Frankie or Jenny would tell Mr. Adams as soon as he got home, anyway. So, when Mr. Adams asked if the painting was finished, she said, “Yes,” and added coldly, “but we have to be getting home to lunch now.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Mr. Adams. “So have I.” And he seemed about to walk on.

  Frank decided that Buster and the gang ought not to get away with their crimes entirely. So he said, looking meaningly at Buster, “I think you ought to take care of Frankie and Jenny, Mr. Adams.”

  Buster gave himself away, by saying indignantly, “Hey! I ain’t done nothing to them yet.”

  Mr. Adams did not seem to realize. “They’ve become friends of yours, have they?” he asked, meaning the gang as well as the Piries.

  The gang looked sulky. Jess could have shaken Mr. Adams. “Yes,” she said. “Very great friends, Mr. Adams. And you should look after them. You neglect them awfully, you know.”

  There was another broken-window kind of silence. Mr. Adams blinked at Jess, and Jess stared firmly back at him. The gang felt they had had enough and began to sneak away, past Mr. Adams, up the road. Frank wanted to go as well, but did not dare. He had to wait while Mr. Adams slowly decided what to say.

  Then, oddly, Mr. Adams did not say anything at all. He just gave a sort of nod, or a sort of head shake, toward Jess and went wandering on toward the Mill House. Frank and Jess stood by themselves in a road blessedly cleared of the gang.

  “Jess,” Frank said. “That was awful cheek.”

  “I know,” said Jess. “And he deserved it. He does neglect them, you can see, and he knows he does. He deserves to have his window broken, too. I almost even think he deserves to be in Biddy’s power.”

  “I don’t know,” Frank answered. “I’m beginning to think no one deserves that much. Look at Kevin. I hope we didn’t give him away.”

  TEN

  They did not meet the gang again, but they were very late for lunch. Mrs. Pirie was so cross that Frank and Jess were unable to rush out again straight afterward, much as they wanted to. They had to do the washing-up instead.

  Jess sighed as she ran the hot water. “The injustice of it!” she said. “It’s Mr. Adams’s fault, and Biddy’s, and Buster’s, not ours at all. But I wouldn’t mind if I only knew what Martin and Vernon were doing.”

  “Searching the paint pots, I hope,” said Frank, looking with hatred at a stack of plates and a heap of saucepans beyond. “I wouldn’t mind if there wasn’t so much washing-up. I think Mummy feeds an army while we’re not here to see. We never ate with all these spoons, I know.”

  “Maybe it’s breakfast as well,” Jess suggested, squirting washing-up liquid into the water. “Glasses first, Frank.”

  “All ten of them?” said Frank. “You see what I mean? There were only three of us.”

  “Perhaps Biddy did it to spite us,” said Jess.

  That was exactly what it felt like. They got grimly on with it, but as soon as they had cleared one stack of dirty plates, they found another, nestling behind that. It was just like an evil enchantment.

  “Perhaps Mummy’s in Biddy’s power, too,” said Frank.

  “Oh, I hope not!” said Jess.

  Frank pointed a bunch of spoons toward the window. “Look.”

  Jess looked. There was nothing but the garden, and the concrete path, and somebody’s ugly old cat washing itself with one leg in the air. It was a very ugly cat, with its ears all chewed up. It was ginger and tabby and black and white—and Jess had a feeling she had seen it before.

  “It’s Biddy’s,” said Frank.

  Jess felt a row of shivers chase one another down her back. “But it’s just a cat,” she said. “Throw a spoon at it, Fr
ank. I would, only I’d miss.”

  “So would I miss,” said Frank. “It’s a witch’s cat. Let’s just take no notice.”

  “But it’s noticing us,” said Jess.

  “A cat can look at a king,” said Frank. “And it can’t talk.”

  “How do we know it can’t?” said Jess. With Biddy, she thought, anything was possible. She was sure the ugly creature had been sent to keep an eye on them and that, somehow, it would report to Biddy if it found them hunting for Jenny’s heirloom again. “Oh,” she said, “if it stays there, we’ll never cure Silas. And I never even asked Vernon how Silas was.”

  “He’d have said if he was better,” Frank said gloomily. Seeing that cat was like seeing failure staring them in the face. It was no good. Biddy was too strong and too cunning for them. He could not ever see them undoing the harm Own Back seemed to have done. But then, as soon as he reached that idea, Frank began to get angry. It all seemed to be Biddy’s fault, really. All he and Jess had done was to get hold of a tooth in the kindest possible way. It was Biddy magicked it. And long before they had thought of Own Back, Biddy had been at work on the Adams family, making Jenny limp, hiding her necklace, and getting Mr. Adams and maybe the Aunt, too, in her power.

  “I’m blowed if she’ll get away with it!” said Frank. He opened the window and hurled the whole handful of spoons at the cat.

  None of them hit it. They just clattered down all over the path and the flower beds. But the cat ran for its life. Frank was delighted at the way it ran. It streaked up the garden like a rabbit, and he saw it scramble frantically over the fence beside the potting shed. Frank dusted his hands together and went triumphantly out to collect the spoons.

  Jess, meanwhile, scrambled the rest of the dishes into the sink. By the time Frank came in with the spoons, she was nearly finished. She washed the spoons again, and they were finished.

  Jess dried her hands. “What shall we do?” she asked. “Go to the Mill House? If Vernon and Martin were coming here, they’d have come by now.”

  “Yes,” said Frank, wiping the spoons. “By the way, did we take down the Own Back notice, in the end?”