By the Pricking of My Thumbs tat-4 Read online

  'I must find out about that house,' Tuppence had thought. 'Someday I must come back here and look at it. It's the kind of house I'd like to live in.'

  With a jerk the train lurched slowly forwards.

  'I'll look out for the name of the next station so that I'll know where it is.'

  But there had been no appropriate station. It was the time when things were beginning to happen to railways-small stations were closed, even pulled down, grass sprouted on the decayed platforms. For twenty ninutes-half an hour-the train ran on, but nothing identifiable was to be seen. Over fields, in the far distance, Tuppence once saw the spire of a church.

  Then had come some factory complex-tall chimneys-a line of pre-fab houses, then open country again.

  Tuppence had thought to herself: 'That house was rather like a dream! Perhaps it was a dream. I don't suppose I'll ever go and look for it-too difficult. Besides, rather a pity, perhaps someday, maybe, I'll come across it by accident!'

  And so she had forgotten all about it until a picture hanging on a wall had reawakened a veiled memory.

  And now, thanks to one word uttered unwittingly by Albert, the quest was ended.

  Or, to speak correctly, a quest was beginning.

  Tuppence sorted out three maps, a guidebook, and various other accessories.

  Roughly now she knew the area she would have to search.

  Jane's school she marked with a large cross-the branch railway line, which ran into the new line to London-the time lapse whilst she had slept.

  The final area as planned covered a considerable mileage north of Medchester, southeast of Market Basing which was a small town, but was quite an important railway junction, west probably of Shaleborough.

  She'd take the car, and start early tomorrow morning.

  She got up and went into the bedroom and studied the picture over the mantelpiece.

  Yes, there was no mistake. That was the house she had seen from the train three years ago. The house she had promised to look for someday. Someday had come. Someday was tomorrow.

  Book 2. The House on the Canal

  Chapter 7. The Friendly Witch

  Before leaving the next morning, Tuppence took a last careful look at the picture hanging in her room, not so much to fix its details firmly in her mind, but to memorize its position in the landscape. This time she would be seeing it not from the window of a train but from the road. The angle of approach would be quite different. There might be many hump-backed bridges, many similar disused canals-perhaps other houses looking like this one (but that Tuppence refused to believe).

  The picture was signed, but the signature of the artist was illegible. All that could be said was that it began with B.

  Turning away from the picture, Tuppence checked her paraphernalia: an A.B.C. and its attached railway map; a selection of ordnance maps; tentative names of places-Medchester, Westleigh-Market Basing-Middlesham-Inchwell. Between them, they enclosed the triangle that she had decided to examine. With her she took a small overnight bag since she would have a three hours' drive before she even arrived at the area of operations, and after that, it meant, she judged a good deal of slow driving along country roads and lanes looking for likely canals.

  After stopping in Medchester for coffee and a snack, she pushed on by a second-class road adjacent to a railway line, and leading through wooded country with plenty of streams.

  As in most of the rural districts of England, signposts were plentiful, bearing names that Tuppence had never heard of, and seldom seeming to lead to the place in question. There seemed to be a certain cunning about this part of the road system of England. The road would twist off from the canal, and when you pressed on hopefully to where you thought the canal might have taken itself, you drew a blank. If you had gone in the direction of Great Michelden, the next signpost you came to offered you a choice of two roads, one to Pennington Sparrow and the other to Farlingford. You chose Farlingford and managed actually to get to such a place but almost immediately the next signpost sent you back fumingly to Medchester, so that you practically retraced your steps.

  Actually Tuppence never did find Great Michelden, and for a long time she was quite unable to find the lost canal. If she had had any idea of which village she was looking for, things might have gone more easily. Tracking canals on maps was merely puzzling. Now and again she came to the railway which cheered her up and she would then push on hopefully for Bees Hill, South Winterton and Farrell St. Edmund. Farrell St. Edmund had once had a station, but it had been abolished some time ago! 'If only,' thought Tuppence, 'there was some well-behaved road that ran alongside a canal, or alongside a railway line, it would make it so much easier.'

  The day wore on and Tuppence became more and more baffled. Occasionally she came upon a farm adjacent to a canal but the road having led to the farm insisted on having nothing more to do with the canal and went over a hill and arrived at something called Westpenfold which had a church with a square tower which was no use at all.

  From there when disconsolately pursuing a rutted road which seemed the only way out of Westpenfold and which to Tuppence's sense of direction (which was now becoming increasingly unreliable) seemed to lead in the opposite direction to anywhere she could possibly want to go, she came abruptly to a place where two lanes forked right and left. There was the remains of a signpost between them, the arms of which had both been broken off.

  'Which way?' said Tuppence. 'Who knows? I don't.'

  She took the left hand one.

  It meandered on, winding to left and to right. Finally it shot round a bend, widened out and climbed a hill, coming out of woods into open downlike country. Having surmounted the crest it took a steep downward course. Not very far away a plaintive cry sounded. 'Sounds like a train,' said Tuppence, with sudden hope.

  It was a train. Then below her was the railway line and a long goods train uttering cries of distress as it puffed along. And beyond it was the canal and on the other side of the canal was a house that Tuppence recognized and, leading across the canal was a small hump-backed, pink-bricked bridge. The road dipped under the railway, came up, and made for the bridge.

  Tuppence drove very gently over the narrow bridge. Beyond it the road went on with the house on the right hand side of it.

  Tuppence drove on looking for the way in. There didn't seem to be one. A fairly high wall shielded it from the road.

  The house was on her right now. She stopped the car and walked back onto the bridge and looked at what she could see of the house from there.

  Most of the tall windows were shuttered with green shutters.

  The house had a very quiet and empty look. It looked peaceful and kindly in the setting sun. There was nothing to suggest that anyone lived in it. She went back to the car and drove a little farther. The wall, a moderately high one, ran along to her right.

  The left hand side of the road was merely a hedge giving on green fields.

  Presently she came to a wrought-iron gate in the wall. She parked the car by the side of the road, got out and went over to look through the ironwork of the gate. By standing on tiptoe she could look over it. What she looked into was a garden. The place was certainly not a farm now, though it might have been once. Presumably it gave on fields beyond it. The garden was tended and cultivated. It was not particularly [unclear] but it looked as though someone was trying rather unsuccessfully to keep it tidy.

  From the iron gate a circular path curved through the garden and round to the house. This must be presumably the front door, though it didn't look like a front door. It was inconspicuous though sturdy-a back door. The house looked quite different from this side. To begin with, it was not empty.

  People lived there. Windows were open, curtains fluttered at them, a garbage pail stood by the door. At the far end of the garden Tuppence could see a large man digging, a big elderly man who dug slowly and with persistence. Certainly looked at from here the house held no enchantment, no artist would have wanted particularly to paint it
. It was just a house and somebody lived in it. Tuppence wondered. She hesitated.

  Should she go on and forget the house altogether? No, she could hardly do that, not after all the trouble she had taken.

  What time was it? She looked at her watch but her watch had stopped. The sound of a door opening came from inside. She peered through the gate again.

  The door of the house had opened and a woman came out.

  She put down a milk bottle and then, straightening up, glanced towards the gate. She saw Tuppence and hesitated for a moment, and then seeming to make up her mind, she came down the path towards the gate. 'Why,' said Tuppence to herself, 'why, it's a friendly witch!'

  It was a woman of about fifty. She had long straggly hair which when caught by the wind, flew out behind her. It reminded Tuppence vaguely of a picture (by Nevinson?) of a young witch on a broomstick. That is perhaps why the term witch had come into her mind. But there was nothing young or beautiful about this woman. She was middle-aged, with a lined face, dressed in a rather slipshod way. She had a kind of steeple hat perched on her head and her nose and her chin came up towards each other. As a description she could have been sinister but she did not look sinister. She seemed to have a beaming and boundless good will. 'Yes,' thought Tuppence, 'you're exactly like a witch, but you're a friendly witch. I expect you're what they used to call a "white witch".'

  The woman came down in a hesitating manner to the gate and spoke. Her voice was pleasant with a faint country burr in it of some kind.

  'Were you looking for anything?' she said.

  'I'm sorry,' said Tuppence, 'you must think it very rude of me looking into your garden in this way, but-but I wondered about this house.'

  'Would you like to come in and look round the garden?' said the friendly witch.

  'Well-well-thank you but I don't want to bother you.'

  'Oh, it's no bother. I've nothing to do. Lovely afternoon, isn't it?'

  'Yes, it is,' said Tuppence.

  'I thought perhaps you'd lost your way,' said the friendly witch. 'People do sometimes.'

  'I just thought,' said Tuppence, 'that this was a very attractive-looking house when I came down the hill on the other side of the bridge.'

  'That's the prettiest side,' said the woman. 'Artists come and sketch it sometimes-or they used to-once.'

  'Yes,' said Tuppence, 'I expect they would. I believe I-I saw a picture-at some exhibition,' she added hurriedly. 'Some house very like this. Perhaps it was this.'

  'Oh, it may have been. Funny, you know, artists come and do a picture. And then other artists seem to come too. It's just the same when they have the local picture show every year. Artists all seem to choose the same spot. I don't know why. You know, it's either a bit of meadow and brook, or a particular oak tree, or a dump of willows, or it's the same view of the Norman church. Five or six different pictures of the same thing, most of them pretty bad, I should think. But then I don't know anything about art. Come in, do.'

  'You're very kind,' said Tuppence. 'You've got a very nice garden,' she added.

  'Oh, it's not too bad. We've got a few flowers and vegetables and things. But my husband can't do much work nowadays and I've got no time with one thing and another.'

  'I saw this house once from the train,' said Tuppence. 'The train slowed up and I saw this house and I wondered whether I'd ever see it again. Quite some time ago.'

  'And now suddenly you come down the hill in your car and there it is,' said the woman. 'Funny, things happen like that, don't they?'

  'Thank goodness,' Tuppence thought, 'this woman is extraordinarily easy to talk to. One hardly has to imagine anything to explain oneself. One can almost say just what comes into one's head.'

  'Like to come inside the house?' said the friendly witch. 'I can see you're interested. It's quite an old house, you know. I mean, late Georgian or something like that, they say, only it's been added on to. Of course, we've only got half the house, you know.'

  'Oh I see,' said Tuppence. 'It's divided in two, is that it?'

  'This is really the back of it,' said the woman. 'The front's the other side, the side you saw from the bridge. It was a funny way to partition it, I should have thought. I'd have thought it would have been easier to do it the other way. You know, right and left, so to speak. Not back and front. This is all really the back.'

  'Have you lived here long?' asked Tuppence.

  'Three years. After my husband retired we wanted a little place somewhere in the country where we'd be quiet. Somewhere cheap. This was going cheap because of course it's very lonely. You're not near a village or anything.'

  'I saw a church steeple in the distance.'

  'Ah, that's Sutton Chancellor. Two and a half miles from here. We're in the parish, of course, but there aren't any houses until you get to the village. It's a very small village too. You'll have a cup of tea?' said the friendly witch. 'I just put the kettle on not two minutes ago when I looked out and saw you.' She raised both hands to her mouth and shouted. 'Amos,' she shouted, 'Amos.'

  The big man in the distance turned his head.

  'Tea in ten minutes,' she called.

  He acknowledged the signal by raising his hand. She turned, opened the door and motioned Tuppence to go in.

  'Perry, my name is,' she said in a friendly voice. 'Alice Perry.'

  'Mine's Beresford,' said Tuppence. 'Mrs. Beresford.'

  'Come in, Mrs. Beresford, and have a look round.'

  Tuppence paused for a second. She thought 'Just for a moment I feel like Hansel and Gretel. The witch asks you into her house. Perhaps it's a gingerbread house… It ought to be.'

  Then she looked at Alice Perry again and thought that it wasn't the gingerbread house of Hansel and Gretel's witch.

  This was just a perfectly ordinary woman. No, not quite ordinary. She had a rather strange wild friendliness about her.

  'She might be able to do spells,' thought Tuppence, 'but I'm sure they'd be good spells.' She stooped her head a little and stepped over the threshold into the witch's house.

  It was rather dark inside. The passages were small. Mrs. Perry led her through a kitchen and into a sitting room beyond it which was evidently the family living room. There was nothing exciting about the house. It was, Tuppence thought, probably a late Victorian addition to the main part. Horizontally it was narrow. It seemed to consist of a horizontal passage, rather dark, which served a string of rooms. She thought to herself that it certainly was rather an odd way of dividing a house.

  'Sit down and I'll bring the tea in,' said Mrs. Perry.

  'Let me help you.'

  'Oh, don't worry, I shan't be a minute. It's all ready on the tray.'

  A whistle rose from the kitchen. The kettle had evidently reached the end of its span of tranquillity. Mrs. Perry went out and returned in a minute or two with the tea tray, a plate of scones, a jar of jam and three cups and saucers.

  'I expect you're disappointed, now you've got inside,' said Mrs. Perry.

  It was a shrewd remark and very near to the truth.

  'Oh no,' said Tuppence.

  'Well, I should be if I was you. Because they don't match a bit, do they? I mean the front and the back side of the house don't match. But it is a comfortable house to live in. Not many rooms, not too much light but it makes a great difference in price.'

  'Who divided the house and why?'

  'Oh, a good many years ago, I believe. I suppose whoever had it thought it was too big or too inconvenient. Only wanted a weekend place or something of that kind. So they kept the good rooms, the dining room and the drawing room and made a kitchen out of a small study there was, and a couple of bedrooms and bathroom upstairs, and then walled it up and let the part that was kitchens and old-fashioned sculleries and things, and did it up a bit.'

  'Who lives in the other part? Someone who just comes down for weekends?'

  'Nobody lives there now,' said Mrs. Perry. 'Have another scone, dear.'

  'Thank you,' said Tuppence.


  'At least nobody's come down here in the last two years. I don't know even who it belongs to now.'

  'But when you first came here?'

  'There was a young lady used to come down here-an actress they said she was. At least that's what we heard. But we never saw her really. Just caught a glimpse sometimes. She used to come down late on a Saturday night after the show, I suppose. She used to go away on the Sunday evenings.'

  'Quite a mystery woman,' said Tuppence, encouragingly.

  'You know that's just the way I used to think of her. I used to make up stories about her in my head. Sometimes I'd think she was like Greta Garbo. You know, the way she went about always in dark glasses and pulled-down hats. Goodness now, I've got my peak hat on.'

  She removed the witch's headgear from her head and laughed.

  'It's for a play we're having at the parish rooms in Sutton Chancellor,' she said. 'You know-a sort of fairy story play for the children mostly. I'm playing the witch,' she added.

  'Oh,' said Tuppence, slightly taken aback, then added quickly, 'What fun.'

  'Yes, it is fun, isn't it?' said Mrs. Perry. 'Just right for the witch, aren't I?' She laughed and tapped her chin. 'You know I've got the face for it. Hope it won't put ideas into people's heads. They'll think I've got the evil eye.'

  'I don't think they'd think that of you,' said Tuppence. 'I'm sure you'd be a beneficent witch.'

  'Well, I'm glad you think so,' said Mrs. Perry. 'As I was saying, this actress-I can't remember her name now-Miss Marchment I think it was, but it might have been something else-you wouldn't believe the things I used to make up about her. Really, I suppose, I hardly ever saw or spoke to her. Sometimes I think she was just terribly shy and neurotic.'

  'Reporters'd come down after her and things like that, but she never would see them. At other times I used to think-well, you'll say I'm foolish-I used to think quite sinister things about her. You know, that she was afraid of being recognized. Perhaps she wasn't an actress at all. Perhaps the police were looking for her. Perhaps she was a criminal of some kind. It's exciting sometimes, making things up in your head. Especially when you don't-well-see many people.'