Witch's Business (8 page)

“I do
not
,” said Vernon, looking rather scandalized. “But,” he said to the Aunt, “we would like to speak to Frankie and Jenny, please.”

“Give 'em a knock, then,” said the Aunt. “Have them in here and talk while I get you down. Makes it more natural, anyway.”

They seemed to be absolutely caught. Jess could have shaken the boys, Martin for just standing looking haughty—she was beginning to think that it was when he was shy that he looked haughty, but she could have shaken him all the same—and Vernon and Frank for being stupid and getting them caught. She tried to kick Frank, but he moved out of reach to knock on the playroom door. Jess overbalanced against Vernon and started his nose bleeding again.

The Aunt looked interested. “So that's where it all came from,” she said. “Like a key?”

“No, thanks,” said Vernon. “It's stopping.”

“Don't stop it,” said the Aunt. “Let it come. It's a splendid color.”

Frankie and Jenny came to the playroom door. When they saw Frank, they looked eager, but as soon as they caught sight of Martin and Vernon, their heads went up and their faces went pale and fierce.

“Why did you bring
them
?” said Jenny.

“They're in league against us,” said Frankie.

“No, they're not,” said Frank. “Not now, anyway. We're all in league against—against—anyway, we've got to talk to you. Heirlooms. Witch. You know. Your aunt wants to paint us, though.”

“Oh,” said Frankie. “She does that. She caught the milkman yesterday.”

Jess pitied the milkman. The two little girls followed the others into the easel room, which was very cold, but much lighter than the playroom, and there it was all very awkward. Nobody could say anything straight out, because the Aunt was there, sketching fiercely, and mixing blood-red and carrot red paint; and Frankie and Jenny would not talk to Martin, and not much to Vernon, either. Every time Frank or Jess tried to whisper to the girls, the Aunt asked them to sit still.

“Won't be five minutes,” she said, at least twenty times.

Frank became quite desperate. To make matters worse, Jess and Vernon were beginning to find the Aunt painting so interesting that they could not take their eyes off her. They seemed to be forgetting entirely what they had come for. Frank looked at Martin, and Martin made a face back. Neither he nor Frank found anything to interest them, except perhaps the discovery that the Aunt did sometimes touch her cigarette—when it was finished, she popped it in a paint tin and lit another. Apart from this, which was not very interesting, it all seemed rather dull.

Frank had another try. “Heirloom,” he said to Jenny. “How was it lost, and when?”

Jenny shook her head. “It just went. When we moved from
his
house.” She nodded at Martin, and Martin scowled.

“Splendid!” said the Aunt. “Keep scowling.”

“When was that?” Frank asked.

“I don't remember,” said Jenny. “I was too little. But it was after Mother went.”

“Why do you want to know?” asked Frankie.

This was difficult. “Because,” said Frank. “Because—”

“We're joined in,” said Vernon unexpectedly. “We find it, do her down, and cure you. She did it to my brother, too, see.” The two little girls put their heads up. “You got to listen to me,” said Vernon, “because we're on the same side now. Is the stuff up at the big house?”

“Sit still, shadow,” said the Aunt. “Just five minutes.”

“I don't know,” said Frankie. “We were both too small. We think it is.”

“Hidden?” asked Frank.

“
She
did it,” said Frankie intensely. “She's at the bottom of everything.”

“It wasn't sold?” Jess asked, tearing her mind away from the Aunt.

“No. It went,” said Jenny. “Like the money and the other things.”

“Money always goes,” said the Aunt. “That's what it's for. Leave them alone, Jenny. They're jerking about like puppets.”

For some time, everyone sat without speaking. Then Martin turned to Frank. “Ask them what she's at the bottom of. Remember the man.”

Frank turned to the girls. “Did you hear? Because I'm not a wireless. What's your father got to do with her?”

Frankie and Jenny leaned forward. Frank could see they meant to be fierce but did not like to let the Aunt see. “He doesn't believe,” said Jenny.

“But he does lots of things for her,” Frankie added. “We think she makes him.”

“She's after all of us,” said Jenny, nodding at the Aunt, to show she meant her, too.

“But
why
?” Jess demanded.

The Aunt stood back. “
Just
five minutes. Then I'll have finished this daub.”

Everyone sat stiff and quiet again. This time, the Aunt meant what she said. After five minutes, she wiped her brush, popped her cigarette into the paint pot, lit another, and said, “There. That's that for the moment. Like to look?”

They crowded awkwardly round the canvas. All Frank could see was a pattern of red and blue triangles, and several black ones. They were all wearing blue somewhere, so he supposed the blue was their clothes and the black must be Vernon somehow. Jess thought it was a little disappointing, and Martin was trying not to yawn—or not to grin; it could have been either. Vernon seemed to think it was fine.

“You like it?” the Aunt said to him, and Vernon nodded. “Needs working up,” said the Aunt. “But it's coming on nicely. Come again tomorrow.”

One of them sighed. Jess said, “I'm not sure we—”

“Nonsense,” said Martin unexpectedly. “Of course we'll come.”

“Good,” said the Aunt. “Show them out, Frankie, and then we'd better see if there's any food.”

“There isn't much,” they heard Jenny say as they all trooped to the door.

There Frank rounded on Martin. “Whatever made you say we'd come
back
? Isn't once enough?”

“Stop it. He's dead right,” said Vernon, and he turned to Frankie. Frankie backed away inside the house and tried to shut the door in his face, but Martin dodged in and put his foot in the way.

“Leave off,” said Frankie, pushing at the door. “I'll call names if you don't.”

“No, you won't,” said Vernon. “We need to come back to ask you more about it. You know what it looks like?”

Frankie nodded. “Sort of. A necklace of green stones. Like glass, rather.”

“See?” Vernon said to Frank. Then he said to Frankie, “We'll look in the big house today. Then we'll have to look here. Can you look, too?”

Frankie turned her big eyes from Vernon to Martin as if she was going to refuse. Jess cut in hurriedly. “It's all right, Frankie. It's to do Biddy down. Honestly. If we find it, then you'll have got your Own Back.”

Frankie stopped trying to shut the door and thought about it. “Will she be furious?” she asked. “If you do find it?”

“Hopping mad,” said Frank, with a shiver running along his shoulders at the thought.

“Then I'll look for it again,” said Frankie.

Martin took his foot cautiously away from the door. “Come and help us,” he said, “this afternoon. You know the place at least as well as I do.”

Frankie thought again. “We may,” she said haughtily, at length. “See you tomorrow, anyway.” With that, she firmly shut the door.

The four of them turned away and went, rather drearily, round by the road to the Piries' potting shed. They were all feeling rather cold after sitting so long to be painted, and rather gloomy at failing to rescue the tooth. But Jess was thinking thankfully that, at least, once they had found the heirloom, wherever it was, that would be the end of Own Back for good and all.

She was wrong again. Someone had been while they were away. Whoever it was had left a letter for them, stuck under the window of the potting shed and fluttering in the wind. Frank was only just in time to stop it blowing away entirely.

“Oh, drat!” said Jess. “I forgot to put up the
CLOSED FOR GOOD
notice.”

Frank unfolded the letter. It was printed, very heavily and badly, in what appeared to be a foreign language. It said:

“It must be French,” he said.

Vernon looked over his shoulder. “It's not. It's just he can't spell. That's how Silas does it. You read it how it sounds.”

Jess and Frank, with difficulty, did so, and gathered that they were to go to 2 Bridge Street on urgent business about—

“What?” said Jess.

“Buster and B. Iremonger,” read Martin.

“But,” said Jess, “people just aren't called Am Desprit. It's not a name.”

Martin burst out laughing. “It's not his name. It's what he
is
. Desperate.”

“Daren't put his name,” suggested Vernon, “in case Buster gets to know.”

“Well,” said Jess, “desprit or not, we can't see him now. It's lunchtime.”

“And we're going to hunt heirlooms this afternoon,” Frank said. “He'll have to wait till this evening.”

It was Martin's lunchtime, and Vernon's, too. They had to go.

“Come straight up, after,” Vernon called.

Frank and Jess shouted that they would, but after lunch, when it came to the point, Jess insisted that it was only fair to call at Bridge Street first. She did not like the thought of anyone being desprit.

“I bet he is, if he's sold himself to Biddy,” Frank said. “Serve him right.”

“Oh, Frank,” said Jess, as she pedaled beside him, “suppose the penny's dropped, and he finds himself bound slave for all eternity.”

“It'll be more than a penny he'll drop,” said Frank. “I want five pence at least out of him.”

“But we can't
un
sell him,” Jess protested. “Not for five
pounds
.”

“Yes, we can,” said Frank, “if we get that tooth back. Perhaps we should ask fifty pence, come to think of it.”

But Frank was unable to ask for anything, because whoever lived at 2 Bridge Street was not at home. Frank clattered the knocker at the narrow front door of the thin little house, until a lady in curlers stuck her head out of the next-door window and told them the whole family was out. She shut the window again before Jess had a chance to ask which family it was.

Frank and Jess sighed, got on their bicycles again, and pedaled off to the big house. Vernon was waiting for them at the gates.

“How's Silas?” Jess asked him.

“Running a fever now,” Vernon answered miserably.

“How mean!” said Jess. “How wicked of Biddy! You must be glad it wasn't you, Vernon.”

“I wish it was,” Vernon said. Jess could see he was quite wretched about it.

“Look, it's our fault, too,” she said. “And we'll find that necklace and spite her.”

The problem, they soon realized, was where to start looking. The big house, across a large lawn, sitting up on a hill, was very big indeed. It was the kind of house which is all long, blank windows. Behind it, there were stables, sheds, greenhouses, and gardens. There seemed no end of possible places in which to hide necklaces.

“Is it old at all?” Frank asked Martin, who came sauntering down the lawn to meet them. “I mean, could there be secret panels and things?”

“Not that old,” said Martin. “There
is
paneling, but the builders had most of it out when we moved in. I know, because I was watching for hiding places. It was rather exciting, actually—except there wasn't anything. But Vernon's thought about it.”

Vernon, who was still very miserable, sighed. “Like this,” he said. “If it was Biddy hid the stuff, she'd have to do it quick, not to be noticed. And there's not many places left after the builders went at it. So I think we look in the ways out and in the sheds and gardens first.”