Jessica Haggerthwaite Witch Dispatcher

First the Bellstone Gazette had called to say that after talking to their owner, Mr Flotsam himself, they had decided not to publish her advert. This was bad enough. Then came her interview with the bank manager.

Mrs Haggerthwaite had been looking forward to this. She was sure that once the bank understood the wonderful opportunity that she was presenting, they would be falling over themselves to offer her money. Money that she could use to hire an office in which to see clients. Money that she could use to advertise her new business, too. If the Bellstone Gazette would not help, then she would give Bellstone Local Radio a try. She had even thought of a jingle.

Mr Humbert, the bank manager, was short and plump with an irritable expression and eyes that reminded her of Liverwort. They bulged and stared, and they bulged and stared all the more when he finally understood what Mrs Haggerthwaite wanted.

‘But Mrs -’ he checked his notes - ‘Mrs Haggerthwaite, let me get this straight. You are actually asking this bank to give you a loan - a fairly substantial sum of money - in order that you can go into business as - as a witch?’

‘Exactly,’ said Mrs Haggerthwaite through clenched teeth. She thought Mr Humbert was not very bright. After all, she had spent the last ten minutes explaining this.

‘It’s not preposterous at all! I’ve already explained. I’m a witch of long-standing but I never thought of going professional before. Then I realised what a wonderful opportunity it is. You see, there just aren’t any other witches in Bellstone.’

‘I’m well aware of that,’ said Mr Humbert nastily. ‘None that we’re lending money to, anyway.’

‘The point is,’ Mrs Haggerthwaite snapped, ‘that no other witches means there’s no competition.’

‘There’s no competition for Fairy Godmothers. Or Frog Princes. And I wouldn’t give money to them either.’

‘Not at all. I never find the idea of throwing money away funny.’ Mr Humbert ignored Mrs Haggerthwaite bristling at him across the desk. He added thoughtfully, ‘You know, I don’t think I’ve heard anything quite so ridiculous since the person who wanted to set up an import business in spotted toads. I mean - toads!’

To prove her point she produced Liverwort, who had been nestling quite happily in her coat pocket, and put him down on Mr Humbert’s desk. Mr Humbert stared at Liverwort as if he could not believe his eyes. And a moment later, despite all her protests, Mrs Haggerthwaite found herself back out on the street.

But Mrs Haggerthwaite was nothing if not determined. She decided to try her luck with the Small Business Advisor, who worked for the Council giving grants to ‘new entrepreneurs with potential’. Mrs Haggerthwaite was convinced she had plenty of potential.

And certainly the Small Business Advisor was much nicer than Mr Humbert. ‘Goodness,’ she murmured, ‘a professional witch! That’s a new one. I suppose it would be a personal service, would it, rather than a manufacturing facility?’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Haggerthwaite. ‘It would. Of course I do manufacture the potions and powders I use, but I’m not intending to sell them in bulk.’

‘A personal service then,’ said the Advisor. She opened a file. ‘Let’s see. We have hairdressers and massage therapists and travel agents and manicurists. That’s not really you, though, is it?’

‘Not really. I mean, I do healing potions but I’m not a doctor. It’s more a matter of healing people who are under a curse, that sort of thing’

‘Although a posset of nettle and comfrey is very helpful against colds. Actually it’s meant to ward off vampires, but I find it works equally well for both.’

‘I see,’ said the Advisor again. She was beginning to look a little nervous. ‘So you don’t really fit with the acupuncturist either.’

‘No,’ said Mrs Haggerthwaite cheerfully. ‘I don’t stick pins into people. Just into their wax images. It feels to them like red-hot pokers!’

The Advisor turned pale and began to shuffle her papers together in a fidgety way.

‘I’m only joking!’ said Mrs Haggerthwaite hastily. ‘I never do black magic! I wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘I see,’ said the Advisor. She did not look entirely reassured. ‘Well, I would like to help you, I really would, but I’ve never heard anything quite like your case before. And I’m afraid we have very strict guidelines for giving out grants. It has to be an approved business. I just don’t think witchcraft counts. I’m sorry, really I am.’

As she walked home she could not help feeling a bit depressed. It was raining, and the water was running down the back of her collar, and creeping up through the holes in her boots. For the first time, Mrs Haggerthwaite wondered if she was doing the right thing. It occurred to her that nobody was on her side. Mrs Haggerthwaite was not a person who cared greatly what the world thought of her, but she had never before felt that absolutely everybody, even her husband, even her children, was lined up against her.

She paused under a shop canopy. She thought about the fact that it was nettle soup for tea again.

But then her pride kicked in. ‘Bank managers!’ she sniffed. ‘Who needs them! I can run my business from home. As for adverts - I’ll make my own!’

* * *

When Jessica and Midge arrived home, it was to find their mother scribbling away at a new list. Next to her, on the kitchen table, was a large pile of paper with Liverwort perched on top of it as a paperweight.

‘So how is the witch business going?’ asked Jessica. ‘Did you get lots of customers today?’

‘I didn’t get any customers,’ said Mrs Haggerthwaite coldly. ‘I didn’t expect to. It takes a while to build up business.’

‘I expect it does. Especially,’ added Jessica nastily, ‘when you can’t even advertise in the paper.’

‘I don’t need the stupid Bellstone Gazette!’ Mrs Haggerthwaite swept up Liverwort (who croaked reproachfully) and waved a piece of paper at Jessica. ‘Look at this! I made it myself.’

Jessica looked and her heart sank. It was a poster, with a big picture of Mrs Haggerthwaite, the one that Mr Haggerthwaite had taken last Christmas. In it she wore dangly earrings and her favourite blouse - the one with shiny moons and stars all over it - and she had her lucky amulet round her neck. Her big nose was much in evidence, and her big teeth, and she looked very witch-like. Over the top was written Mellandra Haggerthwaite, Professional Witch in spiky letters. Underneath it said consultations, charms, spells, predictions, escryings, gramarye and curse-breaking followed by their own address and telephone number.

Jessica swallowed. There was no doubt about it, once this got round Bellstone, life would not be worth living.

‘I’m going to put it up all over town!’ said Mrs Haggerthwaite, adding to her misery. ‘I’ve had a hundred of them printed in that shop at the corner. By the end of the week there won’t be a single person in Bellstone who hasn’t heard of Mellandra Haggerthwaite, Professional Witch!’

Jessica was still struggling for a reply when the door bell rang. So she gave up struggling and went to answer the door instead.

It was Miss Barnaby. She was looking rather nervous - not at all like the stern and remorseless scientist that Jessica had hoped for. And when she stepped into the kitchen, and saw Mrs Haggerthwaite - well, she looked positively frightened.

‘Ah, Mrs Haggerthwaite - so sorry to disturb you. I should have phoned first, I know. It’s just that I’ve been hearing things - about your, er, new line of business - and I was hoping we could have a little chat -’

Mrs Haggerthwaite jumped up and flung out a welcoming hand. It turned out to have Liverwort still in it, and Miss Barnaby leapt back with a shriek.

‘I’m delighted to see you,’ said Mrs Haggerthwaite, dumping Liverwort quickly on the table. ‘How wonderful that my very first customer should be Jessica’s teacher!’

‘Oh, well actually - that wasn’t - at least, I did want to talk to you about witchcraft but -’

‘No need to be shy! Just tell me what I can do for you. A philtre, a potion, a look into the future? Perhaps you are under a curse? Or you have a bad case of warts?’

‘Mum,’ said Jessica firmly. ‘You don’t understand. Miss Barnaby isn’t a customer -’

‘Now, Jessica,’ interrupted Mrs Haggerthwaite. ‘Why don’t you and Midge go upstairs. Miss Barnaby and I have things to discuss.’ Her hand gripped Jessica’s shoulder firmly as she shoved her towards the door.

‘You tell her!’Jessica looked at Miss Barnaby for help. But to her astonishment, her teacher would not meet her eyes.

‘Actually, dear, I think your mother and I would get on better by ourselves. We’ll have a little chat about the whole thing - looking at it from every angle -’

This was the last thing Jessica wanted. And if there had been only Miss Barnaby to contend with, she would have had her way. But, as Midge could have warned her, there was one person who was every bit as stubborn and determined and pig-headed and downright obstinate as Jessica herself. That person was Mrs Haggerthwaite. And she was bigger than Jessica too.

To her huge annoyance, Jessica found herself on the other side of the kitchen door.

* * *

There being nothing else for it, Jessica stomped off to see her dad. He was weeding Aunt Kate’s vegetable patch, but perfectly happy to stop and chat with Jessica. He was less happy when she lost no time in ordering him home.

It was true that Mr Haggerthwaite was homesick. It was true that Aunt Kate would not let him cook, or watch football on TV, or wear his heavy gardening boots in the house, and that he was beginning to feel bloated from too much cake. It was true that the spare bed had lumps in it. It was true that he was tired of Aunt Kate saying, ‘What a load of old hogwash, Tom Haggerthwaite! Your place is with your wife and kids!’ It was true that he missed his children every bit as much as they missed him. And yet when Jessica coaxed and ordered and wheedled and even shouted at him, he just shook his head mulishly. Or else he shrugged and looked miserable.

‘The fact is, your mother doesn’t want me home,’ he said. ‘She’s made that clear. She doesn’t think I can earn a living. She doesn’t think I deserve consulting about her plans. She doesn’t even think I can grow tomatoes without her help!’

Jessica told him that she and Midge wanted him home, that they were sure he could make a living, that they would always consult him - and that they were happy to let him grow tomatoes his own way, too. But it did no good. Mr Haggerthwaite was ready to walk Jessica all the way back to her front gate - but he would not step through it.

None of this made Jessica very happy. And it did not make her feel any better when she found Mrs Haggerthwaite alone in the kitchen, bustling around with her herbs and potions, humming as she worked and clearly in a very good mood indeed.

‘I really must thank you, Jessica, for telling Miss Barnaby about me. Thanks to you I have my very first client!’

Jessica gritted her teeth and said nothing. Instead, while Mrs Haggerthwaite was searching for something on the pantry shelves, she went to look at her mother’s spell book, which was lying open on the table.

‘Jessica! How dare you read my spell book! Matters like this are secret. We witches need to be discreet.’ She snatched the spell book away then shovelled a sweet-smelling powder into a bowl. ‘Anyway Miss Barnaby’s ever so nice. Why shouldn’t she have a nice boyfriend?’

‘If she doesn’t have a boyfriend it’s because she lacks gumption!’ Jessica declared. ‘And loyalty,’ she added.

‘Nonsense! I think she’s delightful. And she’s just the customer I need. This could be only the beginning. Apparently her best friend needs some fortune-telling - and her sister could do with a good-luck charm, for her driving test next week. Why who knows where this might lead!’

Jessica groaned. Plan A had gone horribly wrong. And, like her mother, she had a feeling this was only the start.

* * *

That evening, Mrs Haggerthwaite made them march for hours around the town, helping her with the posters. Jessica argued and Midge complained but Mrs Haggerthwaite would not listen.

Nobody wanted Mrs Haggerthwaite’s posters. The library said they did not display hoax posters, which made Mrs Haggerthwaite really cross. The supermarket said they did not want to offend their customers: after all, Bellstone was a traditional town. And as for the Church notice board - the woman there looked as if she was going to explode when she understood what Mrs Haggerthwaite was advertising.

‘We’ll have none of that here,’ she said fiercely. ‘And what the vicar will say when she hears, I really don’t like to think.’

But, as Jessica had feared, Mrs Haggerthwaite was nothing if not determined. She bought five packets of tea in the corner shop, and five bags of currants in the health-food store, so they just had to put up her poster. She stopped asking in supermarkets, but nipped in when the assistants’ backs were turned. She sent Midge in as undercover agent to the library, because he was too young for the librarians to get angry with him. And she pasted up posters in bus shelters, on the railings next to the town hall and on the boarded-up shop on the corner that was still waiting to be sold. Jessica had a sneaking feeling that this was probably illegal, but as Mrs Haggerthwaite pointed out, there were flyers up for rock concerts, so why not for witchcraft?

‘Anyway, we witches don’t worry about petty regulations,’ said Mrs Haggerthwaite grandly. ‘Live dangerously, Jessica!’

* * *

Before she went to bed that night, Jessica altered the sign on her door. It now read:

JESSICA HAGGERTHWAITE
PROFESSIONAL WITCH DISPATCHER

All manner of witches dispatched with scientific methods for modest fees.

Then she opened her notebook and under Plan A wrote Failed - Miss Barnaby was useless. Mum nobbled her and she didn’t even put up a fight. Then, on a new page, she wrote Plan B. She sat for a while with her eyes shut, but no ideas came.

Never mind. She would sleep on it. In the morning, she was certain, Plan B would appear.

CHAPTER FIVE