Witch's Business (11 page)

“Count yourself lucky,” said Jess. “You're free from passionate kisses, at least.”

Frank continued to grumble, however, until Jess remembered the strange lady guest and the Eyes. She told Frank about it, to sweeten his temper. Frank was so impressed that he nearly fell off his bicycle. He had to turn into the curb and stop.

“
That's
what it was!” he said. “That's what came over Buster! I couldn't think what got into him. Nor could he, either. How splendid! It's like having a secret weapon.”

“You mean the Eyes?” said Jess. “Really? You mean they worked?”

“Of course they did!” shouted Frank. The whole street rang. “They warded off evil. Don't tell me Buster's not evil.”

Jess supposed he was. Certainly he was, if he belonged to Biddy. She and Frank pedaled on toward Bridge Street and Jess thought about it most of the way. If this was true, then they really did have a sort of secret weapon—but, at the same time, it made it all much more serious. Real evil. The lady had meant what she said, even though she was mad and intense.

Frank interrupted by saying, “What do you think of Martin? I rather like him.”

“Yes,” said Jess. “But I like Vernon better.”

“Trust you to be different,” said Frank.

“But I do,” said Jess, catching up with the conversation and discovering she meant what she said. “Martin's just a follower. He does what you say. You like him because you like ordering people about.”

“I like that from
you
!” said Frank. They would have had a bitter argument if they had not, at that moment, reached Bridge Street. It seemed to be empty, apart from everyone's dustbins left out to be collected, and one small boy sitting gloomily in a go-cart outside the pub on the corner.

“I bet they're still out,” said Frank. They left their bicycles at the curb and went over to the narrow front door of Number 2. “Your turn to knock,” said Frank to Jess.

Jess went up the two steps. She had her hand on the knocker when the small boy in the go-cart looked up and saw them. “Here!” he said.

“What do you mean?” said Frank. “There's nothing wrong in knocking at a door.”

“No, it's me wants you,” said the boy. “Come on over.”

Jess let the knocker go, gently, so as not to let it knock, and they walked rather suspiciously over to the small boy. He seemed too small to count, somehow. He was very dirty. His nose was running, and there were tear marks down his filthy face. As they came up, he wiped his nose on his sleeve, which, as Jess said afterward, was a dreadful habit, but she supposed he had no handkerchief.

“That was my letter,” he said. “But I been out with Mum. And you was out all day. I went back to your shed.”

“I know. I'm sorry,” said Jess. “We did call after lunch, when you were out. What's your name? Are you desprit?”

“Don't I look like it?” said the small boy. “I'm Kevin, I am.”

Frank remembered him. Last time he had seen Kevin, he was being pulled across the river, probably in this same go-cart, on the way to see Biddy. He had not been at the hut this morning, though. He was the very smallest one in the gang, and Frank rather thought he was Stafford's youngest brother. “You're in Buster's gang, then,” he said.

“I were,” said Kevin. “Until he gone mad and give them to Biddy Iremonger.”

“Not you, though?” Frank asked.

“
Not
me,” said Kevin, with great feeling. “I was dead scared. The half of us were all dead scared. But he got the big ones to go in with him. She got nine of them.”

“We know,” said Jess. “What did you want us for?”

“To get 'em back,” said Kevin. “You
got
to. There's Stafford going funny in the head with it, and old Ray got the shakes all night, but they can't do nothing because Buster give 'em away. And this afternoon, we was out shopping with Mum, and there came a whistle, sort of, and Stafford and Ray just gone and vanished. Mum was real upset.” At the memory, tears began to run out of Kevin's eyes again. Some went down the white tracks left for them, others made themselves new ones, and he snuffled. “I had to say they was okay,” he said. “And I didn't know
where
they was.”

Jess could not help feeling sorry for him. “But if they gave themselves,” she said as kindly as she could, “I can't see what
we
can do.”

“Think of something,” Kevin begged them. “You said difficult tasks, and if you can get a tooth out of Vernon Wilkins, you can do anything.”

“Except it wasn't Vernon's,” said Frank. “It belonged to Silas.”

Being told of this deception upset Kevin even more. The tears ran so fast from his eyes that his face was nearly cleaned by them. “Oh, slime it!” he said. “Cor degutting darn it! Then Silas got face-ache.”

“He's got a face about three sizes too big,” said Frank. “And he's ill.”

“He stick up for me in the playground,” said Kevin miserably. “I don't like to think it's Silas got it. See here. You get that tooth back so as Stafford and Ray belong to their own selves again, and I'll give you five pence. I got one. Mum give it me to get sweets with for not vanishing, too.” To prove he had the money, Kevin showed them, folded in his grimy hand, a white new coin.

Jess and Frank looked at it longingly. “Can we?” said Frank.

“No,” said Jess, remembering what the lady had said. “We're under contract to get the tooth back, anyway.”

“But not to get Buster,” said Frank.

“I think it would be a bad act disguised as a good one,” said Jess, “if we took money for it. Don't you think so, Kevin?”

“Not if you get 'em back,” said Kevin. “I'd give you more than five pence to do that, if I got it.”

“We ought,” said Jess piously, “to do it as a good deed, to balance all our bad ones.”

“How
can
we do it, anyway?” said Frank. “And if he wants to give us the money, why not let him?”

“I'll save it,” Kevin suggested. “If you get 'em back, I'll give it you for a reward, like the newspapers.”

“That's it,” said Frank. “We owe it to Vernon. It's not for us.”

“Well, mind you don't lose it or spend it,” said Jess, weakening.

“I won't. Promise,” said Kevin. “And you
will
try to do it, will you?”

“We'll try,” said Frank. “But we ought to warn you we may not manage it. We'll have the gang themselves trying to stop us, now they belong to Biddy, you see.”

Kevin grinned. “I bet you do it,” he said. “You always got good ideas. Even Buster says so.”

With this to encourage them, Frank and Jess got on their bicycles and pedaled off home.

“It's all very well to be holy,” said Frank, “but this isn't an Own Back, Jess. He's scared stiff and miserable, and it's not even for him, really.”

“That's just temptation,” said Jess. “And you oughtn't to get delivered to it, Frank, like a parcel or something. We should do it to help him, out of the kindness of our hearts.”

“What about the kindness of
his
heart?” said Frank. “If he wants to give us five pence out of it,
I'm
not going to stop him.”

I am, thought Jess. Secretly, she had decided that the whole thing was too big and dangerous for them. If Biddy could whisk people away from shopping with their mothers to chase other people through games of croquet, and if she could do this because she had at least one grown-up and possibly two in her power, then she must be a very strong witch indeed. Jess felt it was time she and Frank became Limited. She decided to try to make their parents understand.

“Mummy,” she said, that evening, “suppose Biddy Iremonger really
was
a witch. What would we do?”

“Nothing, of course,” said Mrs. Pirie. “There is no such thing as witches.”

“There
are
,” said Jess. “And I think Biddy
is
. I know four things she did.”

“Jess!” said her mother. “Biddy is a poor old lady, a bit mad, and very well educated indeed. She knows Greek.”

“And magic,” said Jess. “Bad magic, Mummy.”

Mr. Pirie suddenly rose out of his chair. “Jessica, that's enough! If I catch you talking like that again, I'll stop your pocket money till Christmas.”

Jess had to stop, partly because of the threat and partly because it was plainly no good trying to convince her parents. So, before she went to bed, she caught Frank and gave him the little brown Eye.

“There,” she said. “That's all I can think of. If we keep together, we'll both be protected. Thread it on your tiepin and wear it. I'll wear my bracelet, with the blue Eye on it.” She made sure Frank did as she told him, then and there.

“Who did you say liked ordering people about?” said Frank.

“Vernon Wilkins,” said Jess, and went to bed.

The next morning, before they set off for the Mill House, Frank asked Jess if she had put up the
CLOSED FOR GOOD
notice.

“Oh, good heavens!” said Jess. “Not yet. And I do want it up, because it looks as if it says we closed because we want to do good in future.”

“It could just as well mean we only do bad things,” Frank objected as he followed Jess down the garden. “Why not just take down the first notice?”

“Not yet,” said Jess. “It
was
such a good idea. I want everyone to know.”

“There's someone knowing now,” said Frank, as they reached the shed.

Sure enough, someone was outside the window, reading the notice. When they got near enough, they saw, to their surprise, that it was Mr. Adams. He was laughing, in a dreamy sort of way, as if the notice amused him.

“Good morning,” he called through the glass.

Jess politely opened the window and said “Good morning” back. But, she thought, if he wants to be a customer, we'll just have to say we're closed.

“I've got a message for you two,” said Mr. Adams, “but I can't for the life of me remember what it was.”

“From Frankie and Jenny?” suggested Frank. Mr. Adams really was the most absentminded-looking person he had ever seen. It did not surprise him at all that he had forgotten the message.

“No,” said Mr. Adams. “It wasn't them.”

“Your aunt,” said Jess. “I mean—er—Miss Adams, is she? She wants to paint us.”

“Probably,” said Mr. Adams. “I know she's expecting you, so it must be. Perhaps if we walk down together the message will come back to me.”

A little shyly, Frank and Jess let themselves out into the allotment path and walked along beside Mr. Adams. He seemed, as Jess said, to be a nice man, but he was so vague that he rather alarmed them. He said suddenly, “Her name's Mrs. Andrews. She's a widow.” And they had not the faintest idea what he meant at first.

“You mean your aunt?” Frank asked.

“She's my sister,” said Mr. Adams. “She wants to paint you.” As he said this, he opened the gate into the allotments, to go down the path.

“And Vernon and Martin,” said Jess. “It's much
nicer
by the road.”

“But this way's shorter,” said Mr. Adams. “Come on.”

They felt they had to follow him, even though it meant going past Biddy's hut. Jess had a sudden horrible suspicion. Suppose Mr. Adams had come to lure them into Biddy's clutches? The idea made her shake in her shoes, until she remembered the way Buster had been driven off by the two Eyes. If Mr. Adams had been evil, he would not have been able to walk so near them. And, remembering the Eyes, Jess felt better, because—surely—they would protect her and Frank from Biddy. All the same, she would have given a great deal not to have to go this way with someone supposed to be in Biddy's power.

Frank felt the same, although he thought he did not believe Mr. Adams was in anyone's power. His feelings came out when he asked, rather rudely to Jess's mind, “Why aren't you at work, like everyone else?”