Tom Brown's Body

2. Witches' Brew

*

Why are the Laws levell'd at us? – are we more dishonest than the rest of Mankind?

IBID. (Act 2, Scene 4)

MRS BEATRICE ADELA LESTRANGE BRADLEY had long cherished the notion of writing an account of an ancestress of her own, one Mary Toadflax, who bore the early seventeenth-century reputation of having been a witch.

Finding herself with some welcome leisure one summer, Mrs Bradley therefore had begun her researches into this fascinating history, and had progressed far enough to be able to pass the results on to a specialist in such matters.

He was able, at the end of eighteen months of painstaking work, to direct her to the village of Spey, where, in the possession of an old woman named Lecky Harries, was a book of spells and charms which, he had reason to believe, might have been the property of Mary Toadflax in her heyday and which, for some unknown reason, had escaped the fire which consumed its owner.

The details which he was able to supply tempted Mrs Bradley to leave her clinic in the care of her chief assistant, and travel north and east to the cottage where the book reposed. She had no adventures on the way. Spey was clearly marked on the Ordnance map, and she arrived there without difficulty under the guidance of her chauffeur George.

Enquiry by George at the village public house set them upon the road which led to the cottage, and at about three in the afternoon of a bright October day Mrs Bradley was knocking on the door of Lecky Harries.

'But she's a witch,' they had told George at the inn. 'Better not take any risks. If thy lass won't have thee, try another. Old Mother Harries might give thee the wrong brew!'

'After which, madam,' said George, describing the incident, 'there was bucolic mirth of a Miltonian type. I purchased a round of drinks for my informants, and, as it was almost closing time, escaped a return of hospitality.'

Mrs Bradley was not more superstitious than her levelheaded factotum, yet she felt a keen stirring of interest when the door of the cottage was opened by a pale-faced but dark-complexioned man with greasy black hair and yellow-ringed black eyes who asked her, none too civilly, what she wanted.

'Your paramour, incubus,' said Mrs Bradley brightly. There was a senile, shrill chuckle from the opposite side of the room, and a little, bent, bright-eyed old woman got up from the chimney corner and, grasping hold of a long stick, sagged forward over the carpetless floor to greet the visitor.

The dark gentleman slammed the door behind him, and was gone.

'Come you in, my pretty,' said the hag unnecessarily to Mrs Bradley, 'for I can tell you're a woman by the pattern your posy of fingers makes on my heart.'

'You can't see me?' Mrs Bradley enquired; for the bright eyes were as brilliant as her own.

'I can see nought, nor haven't, this twenty years,' pronounced the sibyl, 'but I can tell by your voice how warm you are. Burning for love, eh, my lassie? Come to old Mother Lecky for a wee small drink, have you? Sit down, and tell your grandma your troubles.'

'I want facts about Mary Toadflax,' said Mrs Bradley distinctly. She could have sworn that the bright eyes searched her face. Then Mother Harries nodded.

'You shall have them,' she said. 'But first you must stay here a night and a day, and give me the knowledge that you have in you – the knowledge of men and of things. You vibrationing thing, then! You are warm! You have long life before you – a great expectation of days. But I know now that you are old as the fools count age. Speak: will you stay, and exchange with me secret for secret? For secrets you have in your heart.'

'I will stay until dusk and return after dark,' said Mrs Bradley, imitating the witch's oracular delivery.

'Wait till I wet the pot, then,' said Mother Harries, 'and we will drink tay together.'

'You've been on the stage,' said Mrs Bradley suddenly. Mother Harries, who was hobbling towards the door which led to the kitchen of her cottage, turned her head, and again gave the impression that she was looking Mrs Bradley straight in the face.

'Until my sight was reft from me,' she said. They drank very sweet black tea with a good dollop of gin in it, and then Mrs Bradley mentioned again the purpose of her errand. She not only wanted details of the life and exploits of Mary Toadflax; she wanted to see her magic book.

Lecky Harries did not deny that there was such a book, and she did not, in so many words, admit that she had it in her possession.

'Next time you come we will speak of it again,' she said; and Mrs Bradley could get no more out of her. There were several built-in cupboards in the two downstair rooms of the cottage, and others, Mrs Bradley surmised, in the bedrooms. One of them must house the precious book. She had a pretty good idea of its market value, and she was prepared to put on top of this a contribution which would satisfy the sentimental value that the book would have for her. She did not desire a bargain. She was aware that bargains were usually fraudulent either to the purchaser or the vendor.

''Take what you want,' says God, 'and pay for it,' 'she suddenly observed, with a chuckle. 'Next time I come, I should like, at any rate, to see the book. I should also be interested to hear how it came into your possession.'

'I inherited it,' replied Mrs Harries.

'Then we must be related.'

'Oh, I knew that directly you came in,' said the sightless old woman with conviction. As there was neither proof nor disproof of this statement, Mrs Bradley paid it the perfunctory attention of a 'Really?' and prepared to take her leave.

'Another cup?' said her hostess. Mrs Bradley declined gracefully. Very strong tea laced equally strongly with gin was not her usual afternoon beverage.

'I hope, madam,' said George, respectfully aware of something preoccupied in his employer's manner when she returned to the car, 'that your researches are about to be blessed.'

'Cursed, George,' said Mrs Bradley, as he arranged the rug over her knees. 'That elderly woman has the local reputation, didn't you tell me, of a witch?'

'That was pub talk, madam.'

'She also claims to be a relation of mine.'

'I wouldn't be greatly surprised at that, madam. I have often been aware of the eldritch in you.'

Mrs Bradley gazed at her man as stout Cortez gazed at the Pacific. George had often surprised her, but never more so than at this particular moment.

'George,' she said solemnly, 'you have hit it. And now, since there is not only the eldritch in me but a particularly nauseous witch's brew of strong sweet tea laced with gin, get me back to the house at once, and have the car ready again at ten o'clock to-night.'

*

'Well, go on, knock,' said Merrys. Skene tapped delicately on the cottage door with his bare and, by this time, cold knuckles. There was no reply.

'It isn't any good,' he said. 'I expect they've gone to bed.'

'There's a light downstairs, you ass.'

'I expect they left it on by mistake,' said Skene, who disliked the whole aspect of the situation in which they found themselves.

'Oh, rot. Here, let me try,' said Merrys, covering his knuckles with his school cap and then pounding vigorously on the door.

'I say, you know, they'll be pretty sick if they have gone to bed,' said Skene, nervously.

'Be your age,' retorted his friend; and pounded again. This time the sound of footsteps rewarded the bold effort. The door was opened by an old woman carrying a candle.

'Come in,' she said. 'The candle is to light you, not me. I require no illumination ever contrived by man. Step past me into the house, and sit down. When you have sat you may cross my palm with silver, if you will.'

Suddenly, over her shoulder, there appeared the face of another old woman; a yellow face with brilliant black eyes and a little beaky mouth now writhing back its lips in silent laughter.