The Irish Witch

by Dennis Wheatley

  Roger was surprised to find that couples did not live together. Early every summer there was a great ceremony. The young squaws were paraded, and the virtues of each in turn extolled by one of the old women. The girl was then chosen by one of the braves, who took her off into the forest. On their return she went back to the squaws’ tepees and in due course had her child; but not until the child was a year old was the father, or any other man, allowed to take notice of her again. Even if the parents met on a narrow path she had to stand aside while he pretended that he had forgotten even her name.

  A large part of the squaws’ time was occupied in collecting birch bark, and they were often to be seen doing so with a young papoose strapped to a board on their backs. The bark was used to make canoes, tepees and wigwams, the latter having a framework of pine poles. The long, thin roots of tarmac trees were used to sew the strips of bark together, then the seams were waterproofed with the heavy resin from gum trees.

  In the winter the squaws made leather sacks to hold corn, waterskins, clothes and fishing lines. Many of the young ones were good-looking; but, close to, they smelt unpleasantly of rancid grease, owing to their custom of plastering their hair, during the period when the moon was waxing, with the fat of animals whose virtues they wished to possess: a deer’s for swiftness, a beaver’s for industry, and an owl’s to make them wise at night.

  Apart from this unpleasant habit of smearing grease on their hair, Roger found the Indians surprisingly clean. Both the men and women bathed regularly in the river, rubbing their bodies with a type of fern that made a soapy lather. At times they also took sauna baths in tepees set apart, where they turned water into steam by pouring it over heated stones. Instead of shaving, the men plucked the hairs from their faces with bone tweezers, and without even wincing, for it was part of a brave’s training to show no evidence of feeling pain.

  To qualify for the red feather, they went through hideous ordeals. Leaping Squirrel had held a red-hot stone under his armpit for ten minutes, without flinching. Until well into middle age, they kept themselves extraordinarily supple and muscular by constant exercise. Their favourite game was lacrosse, played so ferociously with wooden clubs and a stuffed deerskin ball, that broken heads were not uncommon.

  At their first meeting, Morning Star had asked Roger his intentions, and he had replied that, as soon as Mary’s ankle was strong enough, they wanted to go to Montreal. The old squaws had had long experience in healing broken limbs, and on the ninth day after her arrival they declared her fit to travel. It was then arranged that on the following morning everything should be made ready for their departure, and that Leaping Squirrel would accompany them.

  After the evening meal that day, which Roger always ate in the Longhouse with Morning Star and the elders, the Sagamore dismissed his subordinates, saying that he wished to talk alone with Roger.

  When they had smoked in silence for a few minutes, the old man said, ‘Morning Star owes the life of his beloved son, Leaping Squirrel, to the noble one, and wishes to pay this debt.’

  Roger bowed. ‘Sir, Leaping Squirrel saved the lives of my squaw and myself by getting us safely across the rapids, so there is no debt to repay.’

  ‘There is a difference. Comrades always help one another to overcome danger from the harsh aspects of nature. From the malice of man it is not normal for Pale Faces to give a red man unknown to them their protection.’

  ‘It was Leaping Squirrel’s declaring himself to be a Christian that enabled me to save him.’

  ‘The Great Spirit counselled Morning Star wisely in sending Leaping Squirrel to gain knowledge of the ways of the Pale Faces at the Mission. My thought was not that he should be converted, but when he becomes Sagamore be more able in negotiating with the Chiefs of the Pale Faces. But it is possible to pay homage to new gods while retaining the beliefs of one’s ancestors. That is so with Leaping Squirrel.’

  Roger nodded. ‘I understand that. I have travelled much and come to realise that God may be worshipped with many different ceremonies and under different names.’

  ‘The noble one speaks as Morning Star expected; for at first sight he recognised him to be a Twice-Born. During many lives he has sought the help of the Great Spirit through a great diversity of forms. Is the noble one yet capable of leaving his body at will?’

  ‘No; but when in the East I met a number of saintly men whom I believed to be capable of doing so.’

  ‘Morning Star is blessed by having advanced to that state. Out of his body he has travelled far and wide. He has observed in their own country the black faces such as are brought to slave in the cotton fields of the Americani; the yellow men who live across the great waters beyond the setting sun, and the Pale Faces in their vast tepees made from baked earth and stone, forming villages compared to which Montreal is no more than a few wigwams.’

  With intense interest, Roger enquired, ‘What opinion, Sir, did you form of the way of life of these distant peoples?’

  ‘Among the black faces there is much ignorance and cruelty, among the yellow men much wisdom but also cruelty. Yet there is more misery among the Pale Faces than there is among any other people, and in time they will destroy themselves.’

  Greatly surprised, Roger asked, ‘Why, Sir, should you think that? The civilisation of Europe is far in advance of any other. We have learned how to harness the forces of nature, so that we can manufacture innumerable useful articles in great quantities, with far less toil than the more primitive races.’

  ‘That is the seed of your future destruction. Whole tribes of your people spend their lives delving in darkness far underground. Others labour from childhood to old age in tepees fifty times the size of this Longhouse. In them they work streaming with sweat as they feed roaring fires, deafened by the thunder of machines, rendered breathless by steam hissing from huge iron cauldrons and poisoned by noxious fumes. It is too late for them to stop. They must go on until all your people, but for a very few, are forced to become machines themselves. They will build more and more of those great tepees until you have no forests, no open country left. Their bodies will deteriorate from lack of sunshine, of clean air, or healthy exercise. How much better is our way of life: to cultivate the land and enjoy its produce, to hunt in the forests and fish in the rivers, to fashion our simple requirements by hand, and dance and feast here round our totem poles.’

  Many of the expressions actually used by the Sagamore Roger found difficult to understand, but in the main he absorbed their meaning; and, recalling the journeys he had made in the Midlands and north of England, where the Industrial Revolution had taken place toward the end of the previous century, he felt bound to agree.

  After a moment’s silence, the Sagamore resumed, ‘But it is not of these things that Morning Star wished to speak to the noble one. It is clear that, although a Christian, he recognises that form of worship to be new compared with others. Therefore, he cannot believe that the Christian Father God created the world.’

  ‘No,’ Roger replied. ‘He was simply adopted by the early Christians from the Jehovah of the Jews, and there were many other beliefs far older than theirs.’

  ‘The noble one speaks truly, and the origin of all is embodied in our totem pole. Does he know its meaning?’

  ‘Leaping Squirrel told me that the eagle at the top represents the Spirit of the Air, the wolf the Spirit of the Land, the whale the Spirit of the Sea, and the frog at the bottom the union of Earth and Water.’

  ‘The Frog represents more than that, for he moves by leaping, so he is also symbolical of Air. Thus he is the basis of all things. I cannot confer upon the noble one the ability to leave his body at will, but I am a son of the Frog and can confer his power on one other person before I die. This way Morning Star will pay his debt.’

  ‘I …’ Roger hesitated. ‘I … no, Sir. No, this should go to your heir, Leaping Squirrel.’

  The Sagamore’s heavily-lidded eyes showed a gleam of appreciation, but he shook his befeathered head. ‘Leap
ing Squirrel is wise and brave. He will make a good Chief and Morning Star has no fears for him; whereas his spirit tells him that a time may come when the noble one’s need may be great. I have spoken. Now, bare your right arm.’

  As Roger obeyed, the old Indian drew a sharp knive from his wampum belt, bared his own left arm and made a slight nick in it, then he nicked Roger’s arm. Globules of blood welled up from both arms and they held them together for a minute so that their blood mingled. Then the Sagamore rose, and said, ‘Come with me.’

  Outside the Longhouse the village was now very quiet. All but a few braves, squatting by the watchfire, were sleeping. The moon was nearly full and only occasionally obscured by small, scudding clouds. By its light Roger followed Morning Star out into the woods, and along a winding path through them for about half a mile until they came to a big lake. On the shore the Sagamore halted and made sounds like the croaking of a frog.

  A moment later a large frog jumped out of the water. It was followed by others, until the whole shore for yards round was covered with a mass of them, leaping and croaking, and Roger marvelled that so many could come up out of one lake. Morning Star then addressed them:

  As he began to speak, they all fell silent, and their protruding eyes stared up at him. Roger never knew what he said, because he spoke in his own language; but when he ceased speaking, the frogs all gave one loud croak, then tumbling over one another, jumped back into the lake.

  Morning Star’s lined face broke into a smile. Putting an arm round Roger’s shoulders, he said, ‘The noble one is now my brother and my equal. The Frog People have accepted him. Henceforth, when evil threatens, he can thwart it by calling on the great spirit that embodies the Power of the Frog.’

  10

  Plot to Supplant a Rival

  On the morning of the day that Roger and Leaping Squirrel got Mary across the St. Lawrence, Jemima came downstairs grimly determined to face Susan and learn her reactions on being given the letter received the previous night.

  While taking her morning chocolate and fresh rolls in bed, Jemima had had a running footman despatched to Berkeley Square, and he had just returned to report that Miss Brook and the Duchess were not at Newmarket, but at the latter’s old home, Stillwaters, near Ripley in Surrey.

  Jemima was already dressed for the road, and had a night bag with her. The Luggala coach had been ordered round from the nearby mews, and by eleven o’clock she was on her way out of London.

  Very soon she had left the streets behind and was covering the miles of semi-open country to the south of the capital where, between ancient villages, numerous mansions standing in small parks were scattered among farms, orchards and market gardens. Gradually the buildings grew fewer and fields separated by patches of woodland lined the road until they reached Ripley.

  There Jemima’s coachman pulled up at the Talbot Inn, to enquire the whereabouts of the house, and was told that they had passed the entrance to the estate half a mile back. The man then remembered noticing the handsome iron gates described. Ten minutes later, they had been opened by a lodge-keeper, and the coach was rolling up a long drive, bordered on either side by woods.

  In the Spring sunshine, the country was looking its best, and Jemima had enjoyed the twenty-mile drive. Now she looked about her with special interest, for she had often heard of Stillwaters and how, in the latter years of the previous century, its beautiful mistress had held fabulous parties there, entertaining royalties, ambassadors and ministers.

  Among the trees there were big patches of primroses and, farther on, glades in which hundreds of daffodils were in bloom. As the coach emerged from the drive, Jemima caught her first glimpse of the stately mansion and the terrace, with its stone urns and statues, which ran the whole length of it. Through the other window of the coach, she saw the close-cropped lawns running down to the lovely lake that gave the place its name. At this sight, the bile of covetousness almost choked Jemima. If only her hopes that Charles would marry her had been better grounded, not only would she have become the mistress of his mansion in Berkeley Square and his seat at White Knights Park but also; when his mother died, of this magnificent domain.

  The footman on duty met the coach at the door. Jemima learned from him that Susan was out riding, but he offered to take the visitor’s name in to the Duchess; and five minutes later she was being received by Georgina.

  When Jemima wished to please, she was an adept at it; her manners were admirable and her conversation intelligent. On these grounds and her dark good looks Georgina, being confident that no woman could replace Susan in her son’s heart, had thought Jemima very suitable to provide him with a temporary amusement, particularly as her psychic sense told her that the girl was very far from being a prude, and was therefore just what Charles needed as an outlet for his urges until the time came for him to marry.

  In consequence, she gave Jemima a smiling welcome, and said at once, ‘My dear, I can guess the reason to which we owe the pleasure of seeing you here. Only this morning one of my grooms brought me from London a packet from Charles. In it there was a letter for myself and one for you. The foolish boy must have sent it with mine instead of one for Susan, and you have received the one for her. Am I not right?’

  ‘Indeed, Your Grace has guessed aright.’ Jemima curtseyed again and, with a flourish, produced the letter for Susan from her reticule.

  Smiling again, Georgina took it. ‘How very sweet of you to have brought it all this way yourself. Susan is out riding with Lord Bellsavage and Mr. Foulks. But they will soon be back. You will stay and dine, of course. And afterwards, if you prefer not to make another twenty-mile journey this evening, we should be happy for you to stay the night.’

  ‘You are most kind; and, unaccompanied, I’d be a little scared of falling a prey to a highwayman after dark. So I brought a night bag, meaning to get myself a room at the inn. Naturally, I’d liefer accept Your Grace’s hospitality.’

  ‘That’s settled then.’ Georgina sent for Madeira and biscuits to refresh her guest and shortly afterwards Susan came in, accompanied by the two men. Mr. Foulks was quite young and evidently a beau of Susan’s. Lord Bellsavage was in his thirties and, Jemima guessed, having an affair with the beautiful Duchess.

  The two girls went into the adjoining room and there exchanged letters. Jemima read hers with some degree of satisfaction. It was much shorter than the one to Susan, and contained no expressions of fervid attachment; but it showed sufficient warmth for Jemima to believe that if Susan was secretly averse to marrying Charles she might yet get him for herself.

  For Jemima to have known that the letter she had received was intended for Susan she would have had to read it to the last paragraph. Realising this, Susan said to her:

  ‘Jemima, dear. This letter has apprised you of the secret that Charles and I have long been engaged; but we also agreed to indulge ourselves in the pleasure of flirtations for a while before entering on married bliss, so I do pray you breathe not a word to others of our intentions.’

  ‘You have my word that I will observe your wish,’ Jemima replied, a little coldly, ‘although I fear you must both have found food for laughter in my having such a predilection for your Charles.’

  ‘Nay. I know him to be too honest a man to have led you to suppose that he had serious intentions toward you; that being so, I can hardly think you would expect more of him than admiration and affection. Life at our age would be dull without kisses. And, believe me, I do not grudge those Charles may have given you, any more than he would me those I have let Harry Foulks and others take off me.’

  ‘Dear Susan, we are at one in our ideas,’ Jemima laughed, ‘and I pray that you may enjoy many a warm embrace before Charles returns to claim you.’ But secretly she was thinking, ‘You self-confident little fool. With luck, you’ll overplay your hand and find yourself desperately enamoured of one of the men you toy with so lightly. Then, if Charles finds out, he’ll repudiate you and be easy game for me.’

  Georgina had i
nvited some neighbours, mostly young people; over for dinner that day, so Susan lent Jemima an evening dress, and they sat down eleven to table. It proved a gay meal, and afterwards, to the music of a still-room maid who played the pianoforte and an undergardener who was a good fiddler, they danced. Jemima thoroughly enjoyed herself and, the following morning, drove back to London in a much more optimistic frame of mind than she had left it.

  However, she had been badly shaken by learning that Charles, far from looking on Susan as a sister, was secretly her fiancé, and gave the impression in his letter of being deeply in love with her; so, having told Maureen Luggala all that had occurred at Stillwaters, Jemima decided that afternoon to consult her mother.

  When she arrived at the house in Islington, the footman told her that his mistress had a gentleman with her, but he would let her know that Miss Luggala was asking to see her. After Jemima had waited for a few minutes in the hall, the man returned and showed her into the pleasant room at the back of the house where the Irish witch had first acknowledged Jemima to be her daughter and in which they had since frequently spent several hours together.

  On this occasion there was a short, tubby, middle-aged gentleman with her mother. He had rubicund cheeks and a genial manner. Jemima was introduced to him as Miss Luggala, and her mother went on:

  ‘My dear, this is Mynheer Cornelius Quelp, a Dutch gentleman, but French on his mother’s side. It is he who carries the information we gather to Paris, by means of a smuggler’s craft that runs cargoes between England and Holland. It was only last night that he landed in Essex, and is giving me the latest news from the Continent.’