The Witch's Revenge (24 page)

“Yes, my sweet,” he agreed. Morag could feel his hot rancid breath on her cheek and she turned away, disgusted. His teeth were yellow from tobacco stains and a lack of brushing and there was a large poisonous spot on his cheek. He smiled when he saw her looking at him.

“Missed me, have ye?” he asked.

“Definitely not!” the girl replied. “Let me go. You have no right to keep me here.”

“We have every right, my dear,” replied Moira. She too was still her awful self. Her hair, dyed bright red, stuck up like wire. Her makeup was garish and looked like it had been applied with a trowel. There were stains on her tatty green dress. “You belong to us. You're our own dear daughter come back to us.”

“I was never your daughter,” snapped Morag, who was not afraid of this pair anymore. “And I never will be!”

“Sorry, pet, but he must have put the wheelbarrow somewhere else,” said the woman, opening the door. “Is something wrong?” She looked puzzled.

“No!” said Moira, grinning. “Things couldn't be better. In fact, a miracle has happened. This here is our own dear missing daughter, Morag, come back to us at long last. What do you make of
that
? She must have wandered off and lost her memory. We've missed her terribly around the guesthouse.”

“That we did, my dear,” Jermy simpered.

“Get your hands off me,” growled Morag, kicking and
twisting to break free of Jermy's tightening grip. “These two are
not
my parents. Please help me. Call the police. Do something!”

The shocked woman glanced from Morag to Jermy and Moira and then back to Morag again. She looked unsure of what to do next. Then, to Morag's surprise, she burst out laughing.

“Well, I'm glad you finally got that brat back,” she said, patting Jermy on the shoulder. “Your house was a tip! No one wanted to visit you anymore.” She smirked at Morag. “Now, make sure you keep her under lock and key this time, Jermy, my old friend. Don't want her running away again.”

“Don't worry about that, Drea,” Jermy replied, a nasty grin spreading over his face. “She won't get out of our sight this time. She's far too
precious
to us.”

Morag looked up at him as he said this. Precious? Jermy had never made her feel precious in her whole life. What did he mean by it? She didn't have time to ask, for Jermy was already dragging her toward the door, closely followed by Moira, whose spiked high heels clack-clack-clacked. Morag yelled for help as Jermy shoved her into the kitchen. He pushed her onto a chair and before she knew it she was being tied to it with a washing line.

“Don't think you'll get away with this,” she hissed before Moira bent down to gag her with a red neckerchief. “My friends will come looking for me. They'll find me, and when they do … mphhgghghh!”

Moira tied the gag behind Morag's head as Jermy knotted the rope.

“That should hold her,” he sneered.

“Do you think we should call
her
now?” Moira said from somewhere behind Morag.

“Yes, do it straightaway, my love,” Jermy replied, rubbing his bony hands together in glee. “She needs to know we've got her. The sooner we tell her, the sooner we get our reward.”

“Won't be long now!” Moira laughed. Morag listened to her footsteps clack down the corridor to the living room. There was a muffled conversation between the two women and then she heard the unmistakable sound of someone speaking on the telephone.

“Hello? Is that …?” Moira said excitedly before she lowered her voice. The rest Morag couldn't hear.

Jermy propped his long lanky body up against a kitchen unit and stared at Morag. He looked very pleased with himself. “I can't believe you just walked in here,” he gloated. “After all this time, too. What a thing to happen! Me and Moira had just about given up hope of seeing you again.” He laughed. “It didn't go down well when you ran away,” he continued, more serious. “Oh no, they didn't like that. You were supposed to stay with us, you see, until they could work out what to do with you.
She
didn't want anyone to know about you, not with the boy and his wife missing. Said it was for your own safety, but we reckoned she just wanted you out the way.”

Morag had no idea what he was talking about. There was the clack-clack of heels again as Moira came back.

“It's all set,” she simpered from the doorway. “They're coming to get her tonight.”

“And the money? Did you ask about the money?” he barked.

“Course I did, what do you take me for? A moron? We're getting everything that's owed us,” she said. Morag heard her hands clap. “We're going to be rich, my love!”

Jermy closed his eyes and inhaled deeply as if he were sniffing up every little last bit of her words. He exhaled. “Say it to me again, Moira, my dear.”

“We're going to be … RICH!” she cackled.

Morag closed her eyes. She didn't care who they had phoned and what the money was for. All she wanted to do was get Montgomery back to Marnoch Mor. She thought about Aldiss waiting by his side at the harbor while Montgomery's life ebbed away. She opened her eyes and looked around the kitchen for something that might help her escape. There was nothing on top of the kitchen units and there were no knives in sight that might have cut the rope.

“What're you two going on about in there?” came Drea's voice, filtering through from the living room.

Moira and Jermy immediately shut up.

“Er … nothing!” Moira called. To Jermy, she whispered: “Let's go back through. We may as well wait in comfort. Leave the brat here. She's going nowhere.”

“Good idea,” replied Jermy, heading toward the door. He gave Morag's chair a swift kick as he passed on his way out, making her jump.

I've got to get out of here
, thought Morag,
but how?

Morag's arms were numb from being bound, and her legs felt like they were being stabbed by thousands of tiny needles. She wondered what time it was and how long she had been there. Would her friends realize something bad had happened and look for her? Through the small kitchen window she could see into a sparse back garden. There was not a soul in sight. Morag sighed.

In the living room, a television was switched on and Morag accepted that she was in for a long wait.

And she was. Hours passed as the girl drifted into an uncomfortable sleep filled with dreams of being pursued by an unknown foe. In one, she was being chased through Murst Castle, but something was wrong with her legs. It felt as if she were wading through thick mud, the type that clung on and didn't let go. She could hardly move; every muscle in her body strained to keep going forward, yet all the time
her pursuer was gaining. She turned round to see who it was and screamed as the red-eyed Devlish bore down. He was shouting something at her, but no sound was coming out of his mouth. Morag awoke with a start and it took her a few seconds to realize where she was and what had happened. The kitchen was in semidarkness and Morag guessed it was late afternoon. She tried to cry out, but the neckerchief was still firmly lodged in her mouth.

There was the distant murmur of voices in the living room. A door squeaked and footsteps walked down the corridor toward her. Her back was still to the door, but she knew someone was standing behind her.

“Time to get you ready, girl,” Jermy growled. “Moira! Come and help me!”

Moira trotted into the kitchen, dangling a cigar from her thin fingers. From the corner of her eye, Morag watched her drop it on the floor and grind it into the tiles.

“Now, I'm going to remove this gag,” she said in Morag's ear, “and you're not going to scream or call for help because if you do, we're going to hurt you. Do you understand?”

Morag nodded. Moira untied the kerchief and removed it. Morag coughed and stuck out her dry tongue, trying to lick her lips to get rid of the horrible taste.

“And when I untie you,” said Jermy, glee in his eyes, “you've to eat something and clean yourself up. We've got a very important visitor coming and you have to look your best so she knows how kind and generous we've been to you!”

Morag opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of
it. She could not imagine why anyone important would want to visit Moira and Jermy. She glared up at them as Jermy untied her.

“Stop with the dirty looks,” Moira laughed, “you're cracking me up!” She played with a long golden chain that was hanging around her neck under her collar. “I still can't believe it's really you!” she said, and smirked, pulling on the necklace to reveal a large smooth red stone.

Morag gasped. She had seen a necklace just like it somewhere else. She tried to remember. It was in Mephista's room in Murst Castle. Isabella had been wearing an identical one in the painting.

“Where did you get that?” she asked.

Moira looked a bit shifty and put the necklace back under her top. “What,
this old thing
? Jermy gave it to me for our first anniversary,” she replied a little too quickly.

“Let me see it,” Morag demanded, putting out her hand.

“No, you can't,” Moira said, backing away, “it's mine.”

Morag shook her head. “It's not, is it?”

“It belonged to Jermy's own dear departed grandmother.”

“I don't believe you. You've stolen it!” Morag rose to her feet and took a step toward Moira. Jermy got between them.

“Now, just a minute,” he said. “Moira didn't steal it from
you
. She was just keeping it safe, that's all. Until you'd grown up. Isn't that right, Moira?”

“Oh yes, my love, absolutely. I was going to give it back when you were old enough.…”

“What?” Morag's mouth fell open. The necklace belonged to Isabella, but they were talking as if it were hers. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it was in the basket with you when we got you …,” said Jermy.

“From the orphanage?”

Jermy and Moira looked at each other. It was clear they knew something.

“We didn't exactly get you from an orphanage,” Moira said slowly, as if telling the truth would bring some major calamity down on top of them all.

“So where
did
I come from?” Morag wanted to know. “And if that's
my
necklace, why are
you
wearing it?

“
She
brought you to us after your parents went missing …,” Moira went on.

“Moira, my dear, I don't think we should say any more. Not until
she
gets here,” Jermy warned.

“What difference does it make now?” Moira replied. “She'll know soon enough.”

She went on: “This and that tatty old book you always carry about with you were the only things in the basket along with you.”

“So you stole it? You took something that had been left for me?” Morag erupted. She could feel rage rattling through her small body. “Give it back to me!”

She lunged at Moira, who let out a screech. As Jermy pulled her back, Morag missed hearing the ringing of the doorbell. She was not aware of the visitor's footsteps in the hallway. When she heard a polite cough she spun around.
The person standing in the doorway made her jump with fright.

“You!” she gasped. “It can't be.… You're dead!”

Standing before her in fine traveling clothes and a long dark cloak was Queen Flora. She smiled warmly. “Hello again, Morag,” she said, stepping into the dark kitchen. She waved a silver wand and the lights blinked on. Morag winced at the sudden brightness and shielded her eyes with her arm. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, then opened one, then the other. Still Queen Flora stood before her.

“You died. I saw you,” Morag said, her voice trembling.

“It would take so much more than a poisoned dart to kill me,” the Queen said smugly. “I am, after all, the most powerful witch in this country. It took me a few days to recover, but I suppose you could say I'm back.”

Morag stared at her for a few moments before it dawned on her that Queen Flora was just the person she needed.

“You've got to help me,” she said, grasping the Queen's hands. “Montgomery's ill, he's dying. I need to take him back to Marnoch Mor immediately. But I've been taken prisoner by these people and they're going to sell me to someone … I don't know who. But I need to get out of here.”

The Queen laughed lightly and prized her hands from Morag's grip. “My dear, I know all about it,” she said. “
I'm
the person they contacted, and I also know about Montgomery's impending death. How could I not? Marnoch Mor is crumbling as we speak.”

“You? I don't understand,” replied Morag.

“I don't expect you to. How could you, when I left specific instructions that you were not to know anything of your heritage,” she said sweetly. Seeing that the girl was still puzzled, the Queen went on: “It was I who handed you over to Jermy and Moira to look after when you were still a baby. I had no choice. The people could not know about you, it was too dangerous.”

She walked over to a window and stared out.

“When my son Nathan disappeared—” she began.

“
Your son
Nathan?” Morag cried. “I know where he—”

“Don't interrupt, dear,” the Queen snapped. “When he disappeared, I thought my whole world had crashed down around my ears. My only consolation was that
she
had gone too.”

“She?”

“Isabella, the commoner he married.” Flora brushed a tear from her eye and continued: “I was against the marriage from the beginning. He was promised to another, someone who would unite our great houses, but he chose to go against our wishes and the wishes of our kingdom to marry
her
. If only he had listened to me, things would never have come this far.”