Witch's Business by Diana Wynne Jones Page A

name’s Mrs. Andrews. She’s a widow.” And they had not the faintest idea what he meant at first.
    â€œYou mean your aunt?” Frank asked.
    â€œShe’s my sister,” said Mr. Adams. “She wants to paint you.” As he said this, he opened the gate into the allotments, to go down the path.
    â€œAnd Vernon and Martin,” said Jess. “It’s much nicer by the road.”
    â€œBut this way’s shorter,” said Mr. Adams. “Come on.”
    They felt they had to follow him, even though it meant going past Biddy’s hut. Jess had a sudden horrible suspicion. Suppose Mr. Adams had come to lure them into Biddy’s clutches? The idea made her shake in her shoes, until she remembered the way Buster had been driven off by the two Eyes. If Mr. Adams had been evil, he would not have been able to walk so near them. And, remembering the Eyes, Jess felt better, because—surely—they would protect her and Frank from Biddy. All the same, she would have given a great deal not to have to go this way with someone supposed to be in Biddy’s power.
    Frank felt the same, although he thought he did not believe Mr. Adams was in anyone’s power. His feelings came out when he asked, rather rudely to Jess’s mind, “Why aren’t you at work, like everyone else?”
    â€œI’m on holiday,” said Mr. Adams. “Like you. I’m a teacher, you see, and you wouldn’t deny me the holidays you get, would you?”
    â€œOh, no,” said Frank, rather thinking he would if he could.
    They squeezed round the neglected fence and walked among the rubbish and the muggy smell. When they got to the big bramble bush, Jess was holding her breath with nervousness. But Mr. Adams went on calmly following the path, where it took a big bend away from Biddy’s hut and twisted through a heap of broken bicycles. When they were opposite Biddy’s hut, Mr. Adams jumped, as if he had trodden on a prickle.
    â€œOf course!” he said. “I remember now. The message was from Miss Iremonger. She says you are to stop searching.”
    Frank said, very loudly, hoping Biddy would overhear: “That’s all right. We have stopped searching.”
    â€œFor the moment,” Jess added, in a mutter, for the sake of truthfulness.
    â€œAnd what were you supposed to be looking for?” Mr. Adams asked politely.
    â€œEr …” said Frank, wondering if Biddy could hear still, “… er … the root of all evil.”
    â€œMoney, you mean?” said Mr. Adams.
    â€œSort of,” Jess answered. Jewels, she supposed, were the next thing to money.
    They followed Mr. Adams down to the bridge, under the bare willows, past the sprouting flags, and out across the planks. Mr. Adams said, “They may say money is the root of all evil, but it always strikes me as the root of most other things as well. I could do with more, whatever they call it. Couldn’t you?”
    â€œYes,” said Frank and Jess devoutly.
    Mr. Adams reached the end of the bridge and turned to face them. “Is that why you put up that notice?” he asked.
    Jess and Frank stopped in the middle of the bridge, feeling rather frightened. Mr. Adams was blocking one end. If they went back, there would be Biddy. They could not understand why he should be asking, unless Biddy had told him to find out more about Own Back.
    â€œYes,” said Jess. “We’d less than no money, you see.”
    â€œWe owed ten pence,” said Frank.
    Mr. Adams laughed and wandered dreamily out into the field. Frank and Jess ran over the rest of the bridge in order to reach the field before he remembered to block their way again. But Mr. Adams did not try to stop them. He waited for them to catch up, and then he said, “It’s rather a good idea.” Jess gave Frank a proud smile. “Yes,” said Mr. Adams, “in the days of witchcraft, people would take such