that was lying purring with delight in Jane’s arms . . .
Their total damnation grew on Mr. Gotobed’s stupid old face. He gave a whimper, like a baby. Began to edge away from the window.
‘Mr. Gotobed, I can explain everything,’ she wailed. And then despairingly, ‘Mr. Gotobed, wait!’
But already he was a frantically bobbing head above the hedge, on his desperate way down to the village.
‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’ she said wearily, putting the last horrible object back in the cupboard, and slamming the door shut as if that very act of will would undo the damage.
‘Looking for . . .’ said Timothy.
‘Treasure,’ said Jane defiantly. ‘And we found it.’ She dangled a worn leather bag with a drawstring defiantly under Rose’s nose. ‘Tim says they’re sovereigns, and worth about a hundred and fifty pounds each. Will we get a reward off Miss Yaxley for finding them?’
‘There’s a hundred and five in that bag,’ said Tim. ‘That’s over fifteen thousand pounds. Finders usually get ten per cent. I’m going to buy a new mountain bike with mine.’
‘And I’m buying a combined colored television and VHF radio from Dixon’s,’ added Jane.
Their eyes glowed with covetousness. For a moment, Rose felt truly scared of them. Damn them! Damn Miss Yaxley and her stupid brother who did nothing but make trouble! Damn the cat, damn this whole place, damn, damn, damn!
‘There’s another book, too,’ said Timothy. ‘And you can read this one.’ He tossed it to her, saying regretfully, ‘There’s no magic spells. It’s only an account-book . . .’
She caught it, and it fell open as it came into her hands. And there it was, full and real, in Sepp Yaxley’s crabbed handwriting:
To charming a wart for M.J. Two pounds
To B.S. for a mixture to cure his back Two pounds
To finding Miss A.M.’s purse Five pounds
But there was worse to come:
To putting a blight on N.P.’s beans Five pounds
To taking off the blight from N.P.’s beans Ten pounds
The old thief, not even honest in his foul witchcraft. Taking one man’s money to blight, and another’s to take the blight off.
And there was one thing that was worse still.
To curing Mrs. L.C. of her child Thirty pounds
She shut the book. She felt very sick.
She made lunch for the children, her hands moving automatically. She couldn’t eat any herself. Things whirled round inside her head, out of control.
While she washed up, she made up her mind. She would go and have things out with Miss Yaxley, once and for all. And then they would get out of this horrible place for good.
The children were down the garden again, playing with the cat. She called to them.
‘Going up to see Miss Yaxley. Won’t be long. Stay close to the house, and don’t do anything!’
They nodded absently. They had heard her; but, she suspected, only as one hears the irritating buzzing of a fly on a window. ‘Don’t do anything. Don’t touch anything,’ she shouted again. Timothy waved an idle lordly hand.
As she turned out of the ruined gate, she saw ahead the bent figure of an old man. He seemed to be working on the hedge that bordered the next field. Laying it, as Mr. Gotobed would have said. But he had none of the terrible hacking vigour of Mr. Gotobed. He flailed weakly, and often the result of his hacking was little more than a shower of severed leaves. Poor old thing, having to work at his age, and in his arthritic state. As she drew nearer, the sound of his puffing wheezing breathing came to her through the still air. Her heart filled with pity for him.
‘Good afternoon,’ she greeted him with extra warmth. He glanced up at her, from his bent position. And all pity froze inside her. He had an absolutely expressionless face; a face of red-veined marble; and his dull green eyes were as cold as stones. She felt she might as well have said good morning to the expressionless eyes of a basking lizard.
Then he dropped his head again, and went on feebly working; the sound of his gasps growing in volume.
A hundred yards on, she turned to look back at him. He had stopped work, and was standing with his elbows on the top of a nearby gate, his huge sharp billhook in his hand.
She was quite sure he was watching her house. That laying the hedge was simply an excuse, however sharp and murderous his billhook had been.
Suddenly, she felt uneasy about