“All right,” said Frank, “but—” he hesitated, and then said, in a rush, in a rather official-sounding voice, because he felt so mean—“but we’ve got to do it on conditions, because we can’t take your sovereign.”
The little girls stared. “Why not?” said Jenny. “It’s worth much more than a pound.”
Jess saw the point. She shook her head firmly. “It’s not legal tender,” she said. She was not quite sure what that meant, but she was sure it was the right phrase, and it sounded beautifully official. Frankie and Jenny were impressed by it, and stared mournfully at her.
“So we’ll do something to Biddy,” Frank went on pompously, although he was out in goose-pimples again at the mere idea, “if you promise us to stop calling names after – what’s his name, Jess?”
“Martin Taylor,” said Jess.
“Who?” said Jenny.
“Ginger,” said Frank. “Up at the big house. You know.”
“Oh, him!” Frankie stuck her head up.
Jenny leant forward indignantly, and nearly overbalanced from the windowsill. “We hate him. He’s horrible. He lives in our house. It should be our house, but he lives there just because we haven’t got any money any more.”
“We’re going to drive him out,” said Frankie.
“Don’t be silly,” said Jess. “You can’t drive him out, because it’s his parents, not him, the house belongs to. He can’t help living there. It’s not fair to go calling him names. He isn’t allowed to hit girls.”
Jenny grinned. She looked like a wicked elf-thing, all curled up on the windowsill. “We know he can’t,” she said.
“He calls us names too,” said Frankie. “And we’re not going to stop. So there.”
Jess immediately marched away to the damp door. “All right. Then we’re not going to do anything to Biddy. We wouldn’t touch her with a bargepole. So there.”
There was a painful silence. Jess opened the door and tried to go through it slowly, without looking as if she was waiting. Frank loitered after her. Still neither of the little girls said anything. Frank and Jess had gone most of the length of the stone passage before there was any sound at all. Then, suddenly, behind them, they heard rapid footsteps – light, heavy, light, heavy. Jenny, down from the windowsill, was following them as hard as she could go.
She ran up to Jess, seized her hand, and smiled up at her. When she smiled, Jess thought, Jenny looked almost as sweet as Vernon’s littlest sister. “Please,” Jenny said. “Please, Jessica Pirie, do something to Biddy and I’ll promise anything.” Then her face became all stiff and famine-seeming. “Make her die, so that my foot can be better again.” Great huge tears came streaming down her cheeks.
Frankie came up without a word, put her arm round Jenny, and led her back to the playroom again. Jess and Frank followed, feeling mean and big.
Jess said, “I don’t think it would work, making her die. She’d not be able to take it off then. She said—” Jess looked at Frank. It had been nasty, the way Biddy had said Never.
Frank shivered. “Jenny,” he asked. “What’s your heirloom? Or don’t you know?”
Frankie answered, because Jenny had her odd apron to her face and was giving out shuddering sniffs into it. “It’s an emerald necklace,” she said. “Mine’s diamonds. Only it went. All the things went.”
“Went where?” said Jess.
Jenny shook her covered face. “Don’t know. They went. Mother went too.” She gave a big muffled yell, and the whole of her shook.
Frank fidgeted. Everything about these little girls seemed odder every second. He felt he could hardly bear another minute in that gloomy room with the big wheel blocking the window. “Well, the best thing would be to get it back,” he said, “but if you can’t, we’ll have to think of something else to do to her.”
“Make her break her leg,” said Frankie.
“Or something,” Jess said, as cheerfully as she could. “We’ll do something, provided you stop calling after Martin Taylor.”
“All right,” Frankie agreed. “We’ll stop, then. It’s worth it, isn’t it, Jenny?”
Jenny, with her face still covered, nodded violently.
Jess and Frank escaped from the damp house and went home by the road, in the hurling wind. They were so relieved to be outside again that Jess sang and whirled her arms as they went.
“At least we’ve fixed Martin,” she said.
“For no money,” Frank said. “Isn’t that paint-lady their mother, then?”
“No. She’s their aunt,” said Jess. “But Daddy knows Mr Adams. He’s a bit strange too. Frank, let’s put Biddy off and stay closed for today. I’ve had enough of Own Back for now.”
“I’ve had so much enough,” said Frank, “that I wouldn’t mind closing down for good.”
“We’ll do that,” said Jess. “We’ll just polish off this bit of business, and then we’ll close down.”
The next morning, Frank and Jess were in the potting shed discussing what to do about Biddy. While they talked, Jess carefully wrote out a very elaborate curly notice, which was to read: CLOSED FOR GOOD. She had so far only got to FOR, and neither of them could think what to do to Biddy.
“An eye for an eye,” said Frank. “What about a foot for a foot? Suppose I went and stamped on her toe?”
“She might turn you purple,” said Jess. “She might even be a witch. What did they use to do to witches in the olden days?”
“Duck them in a pond,” said Frank. “Could we push her in the river?”
“Flop,” said Jess. “Squelch. She’d lose her glasses. And she’d be mad, Frank.”
“I thought you said she was anyway,” Frank was saying, when there was a hurried dull thumping on the path outside and the window of the shed was darkened.
“Martin Taylor!” Jess sprang up eagerly and hastened to the window. “At least we can tell him he’s all right,” she said as she pushed it open.
But Martin, it seemed, had not come for his Own Back. He leaned down from his pony to look in the window, and they could tell by his face that something or other was wrong. “Can you two come to the Lodge?” he said. “Vernon’s waiting there. He’ll explain. But we thought you ought
