Witch's Business (13 page)

“Oh, is she?” said Mr. Adams. “Well, it'll have to stay lost.”

They could not help exchanging glances at that. They listened to more thumping and watched another slate dive past the window. Then they heard the ladder and the voices going away. For a while, there was no noise at all.

“Praised be!” said the Aunt. “Maybe you'll sit still now.”

They were doing their best to sit still, when the door was flung open and Frankie stood in the doorway, very grimy, with her apron in ribbons. “Aunt,” she said.

“What is it
now
?” said the Aunt. “Go away.”

Frankie, however, was looking at Frank and Jess, not at the Aunt. “I just came to say,” she said, “that Father's gone for a walk. He went down to the river.”

“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.”

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 them, 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.