The Irish Witch

by Dennis Wheatley

‘Now, by evil chance, my hopes of that are sadly jeopardised. Charles has secured a commission in the Guards and … ’

  ‘I know it, and we will talk of that anon. Let us first go into the prime reason for your coming to see me. It is the circumstances of your birth that you wish to learn and why, for all these years, Maureen has passed you off as her daughter. Now she has given it away that I am your real mother, I see no point in concealing from you how that came about.’

  ‘I thank you … Mama. I have wondered about my parentage ever since, by another slip, Lady Luggala revealed to me that I was not her daughter. It occurred when she caught me out in my first affair. The youth was handsome and merry, but only a stable boy. She reproached me angrily, not so much for the act as for my choice of a lover, declaring that my lack of good breeding showed in it, for no daughter of hers would have allowed herself to be seduced by a menial.’

  The witch laughed. ‘My dear, like many a woman of her class, Maureen is a stupid snob. ’Tis a man’s physique and mentality that matter, not his blood. But she was right in that you cannot claim yours to be blue, for I was born out of a slut in a Dublin slum.’

  ‘How came it then that you were able to foist me off on Lady Luggala as her daughter?’

  ‘My grandmother was a follower of the Old God and learned in the secret rituals. When I was still quite young, she came from her home in the country to live in Dublin, and passed on to me much of her wisdom. That enabled me to transform myself from a child of the gutter into a seemly young woman, and secure a post as Maureen’s lady’s maid. By various means I was already able to foretell the future, and she was greatly intrigued by predictions I made for her coming to pass. They were mostly in connection with men whom she was eager to have as lovers. You must know her well enough to be aware that she is almost obsessed by thoughts of cooling the heat that generates between her thighs. A time came when I induced her to come with me to a meeting of my coven, where I promised that a spell could be put upon a young man she desired but who had so far rejected her advances. The spell had the desired effect, and she became a member of the coven. From then onwards it was in my power she was, because she knew that did she threaten me I could have her denounced as a witch. Then, without involving me, my associates could have brought enough evidence to have had her hanged.’

  At the revelation of this terrible blackmail, Jemima paled a little, but she listened eagerly as the witch went on:

  ‘It was about that time that both Maureen and I conceived. She desired a child, hoping that it would be a male and provide an heir for her husband, Sir Finigal. I could have rid myself of mine, but had no wish to, because I was in love with the man by whom I had become pregnant. Maureen gave birth five days before I did. She, of course, had her child in her lovely bedroom with me, a midwife and a doctor fussing round her. I had you in my ill-furnished upstairs room, without anyone in the household knowing. But Maureen; being aware that my time was approaching, had agreed to engage my grandmother as a temporary sewing woman. She looked after me and by her arts rendered the birth almost painless.

  ‘That night I carried you down to Maureen’s room and, while she slept, put you in her baby’s cradle. Next morning she was amazed to find that the child she believed to be hers had grown and changed from fair to dark, so I had to tell her what I had done. Naturally, it was very angry she was, but she dared not reveal the substitution from fear that I would have a curse put on her, or worse.’

  ‘But did not Sir Finigal notice the difference in appearance of his lady’s child after you had changed it for myself?’ Jemima asked.

  ‘He was not there to do so. He had died some weeks earlier after being thrown from his horse in the hunting field.’

  ‘And what became of Lady Luggala’s infant?’

  With a smile the witch drew a slim finger slowly across her throat. ‘My grandmother took it away. To achieve some things the personal intervention of Lucifer is required. That entails a Black Mass and the offering up of the blood of a newly-born babe. The two infants might have been born as much as a month apart. Others than myself could have been prevented from seeing at close quarters the child in Maureen’s room, but not Sir Finigal. For the deception to succeed he had to be disposed of. My grandmother had promised to offer up an infant in payment for his death.’

  Jemima felt her spine creep and stammered, ‘Then … then you … you agreed that she should use her powers to kill my father?’

  Her question was answered with a shrug. ‘Child, anyone who seeks the power to ensure that all his wishes in life are fulfilled must put his scruples behind him. The mite was too young to realise what happened to it and, in any case, Sir Finigal was not your father.’

  ‘Was he not?’ Jemima exclaimed in surprise. ‘Lady Luggala has often spoken to me of him as an insatiable lecher. She once said that when he had tired of her he could not keep his hands from under the petticoats of any new maid who had been in the house more than a week. I am amazed that he did not invade the bedroom of a girl as lovely as yourself.’

  ‘Oh, he did. He had me many a time, but it was not by him that I became pregnant.’

  ‘I see. The reason for substituting your own child for Lady Luggala’s is obvious, and I am deeply grateful to you. Had you not, I might well now be a servant girl instead of a society belle. But it surprises me to learn that neither of my parents was of gentle blood; that is, unless the man who begot me on you was of the Dublin aristocracy.’

  ‘Fie, fie, girl! I see you have imbibed something of Maureen’s snobbery. That you have health and good looks is all that counts, no matter where they came from. But, if you set a value on lineage, you may well be proud, for in your veins runs some of the noblest blood in all Ireland.’

  ‘It was then an Irish noble who sired me?’

  ‘Nay. ’Twas no empty-headed lordling, but a hero whose efforts to liberate our people cost him his life. No lesser man than Wolfe Tone.’

  ‘Wolfe Tone!’ Jemima cried, her blue eyes lighting up. ‘Then I am proud indeed. He was the greatest patriot of them all.’

  ‘Child, you never spoke a truer word. A genius he was and had the heart of a lion, yet tender and gay. He was the very darling of a boy. Do you know much of him other than that he died for Ireland?’

  ‘Only that he aroused in our people a great enthusiasm for the cause, came over with the French in an attempt to liberate us, was captured by the brutal English and, rather than allow himself to be hanged, cut his own throat while in prison. But that I am his daughter makes me impatient to hear all you can tell me of him.’

  ‘’Twas in the winter of ’90/91 that I first met him. Rising twenty-eight he was then and already a well-known figure in Dublin. At both Mr. Greig’s school and later at Trinity College he had been incorrigibly idle, yet he seemed to acquire knowledge as lesser men breathe in air. In the middle of the eighties he eloped with and married a girl of fifteen called Matilda Witherington. Martha he called her, but had not enough money to keep her, so they had to live with her family. Finding that insupportable, he went off to London and became a student-at-law in the Middle Temple. There he loafed again until he became reconciled to his father-in-law, returned to Dublin and in ’89 took his degree of L.L.B. He practised as a barrister for a while on the Leinster circuit, but he detested the law and threw himself into politics.

  ‘In 1790 there occurred the affair of Nootka Sound, about which I doubt you have ever heard. The place was a sheltered anchorage thousands of miles away on the Pacific coast of Canada. Both Spain and England claimed it and came to the verge of war. Wolfe’s pamphlet on the subject, published under the name of “Hibernicus”, first drew the attention of other patriots to him. In it he argued that Ireland was not bound by any declaration of war on the part of England, and ought to insist on remaining neutral.

  ‘It was during the following winter that we secretly became lovers. I conceived so great a passion for him that I ceased to go with any other men and, when I knew myself to have become p
regnant by him, refused to let my grandmother abort me. My greatest regret is that I failed to persuade Wolfe to join my grandmother’s coven, for had he done so we could have invoked power to further his projects and protect him personally. It was no case of his; being a bigoted Catholic. On the contrary, his secret intention was, when Ireland had become free, to work for a general revolt against all Christian creeds; although, in order to first achieve political freedom, he strove to unite Catholics and Protestants. His rejection of my pleas was due to the fact that he was fully occupied in forming a club with William Drennan, Peter Burrowes, Thomas Addis Emmet and other patriots.

  ‘The news of the success of the French Revolution enormously increased the urge among our people to throw off the yoke of England—especially among the Scottish Presbyterians in northern Ireland. On July 14th they celebrated in Belfast with great rejoicing the anniversary of the fall of the Bastille. It was then that Wolfe issued his great manifesto, which ran, “My objects are to subvert the tyranny of our execrable government, to break the connection with England, the never-failing source of all our political evils, and to assert the independence of my country.” And, although himself nominally a Catholic, he had the honour of being elected an honorary member of the first company of the Belfast Green Volunteers. It was in Belfast, too, that he assisted in the formation of a union of Irishmen of every religious persuasion; then he returned to Dublin and, with James Tandy, founded the club of United Irishmen, which became the mainspring of all endeavours to achieve the Republican principles of liberty and equality.

  ‘All over Ireland there were demonstrations against the English but, by ’94, Wolfe and his friends realised that if our tyrants were to be overthrown armed help was needed from France. He prepared a memorandum declaring Ireland ripe for revolution, which was to have been taken to Paris by the Reverend William Jackson, but Jackson was caught, tried as a traitor and died in prison. Wolfe then emigrated to the United States and in Philadelphia secured from the French Minister there an introduction to the Committee of Public Safety which then ruled Revolutionary France. Although he could speak hardly a word of French, he convinced the famous Carnot, who was Minister for War, that, given armed support, a rebellion by the Irish would prove successful, and Ireland could then be made a base for the invasion of England.

  ‘General Hoche was nominated by the Directory to command the expedition, and Wolfe given a commission as Adjutant-General. The preparations met with long delays, but at length, in December ’96, they sailed with forty-three ships and fourteen thousand men. Alas, those delays brought ruin to our hopes. Mid-winter tempests four times dispersed the fleet, and it straggled back to Brest.

  ‘It was not until ’98 that another attempt was made. In May of that year the Wexford insurrection took place, and Wolfe used the news of it to re-arouse French interest in Ireland. General Bonaparte had sailed to Egypt with the finest regiments of the French Army and the greater part of the French Navy, so Wolfe could be given only inferior ships and a few thousand men. Again misfortune befell our hero. The expedition arrived off Lough Swilly early in October but, before the troops could be landed, a powerful English squadron arrived on the scene. Wolfe commanded one of the batteries in his ship and fought it for four hours most gallantly; but she was then forced to surrender and he, with the other survivors, was made prisoner.

  ‘He was taken to Dublin, tried and condemned to death by his enemies. As an officer in the French Army, wearing the uniform of that country, he insisted on his right to be shot; but the vindictive English decreed that he should be hanged as a traitor. Rather than suffer such a disgrace, he took his own life. So ended the life of the valiant man who, for a brief season I was privileged to have as a lover and whose daughter you are.’

  The account of Wolfe Tone’s ceaseless endeavours to free his country had brought Jemima to tears. Dabbing at her fine eyes with a wisp of handkerchief, she murmured. ‘Thank you, dear mother, for revealing to me that my father was so splendid a man. How I wish I had had the opportunity to throw myself at his feet in admiration, and aid him in some way.’

  The beautiful witch smiled. ‘Although it is long dead that he is, you aid the cause for which he died. As indeed I have done for many years. France still remains Ireland’s only hope, and may yet free our people. In his ill-starred attempt to conquer Russia, the Emperor lost a great army, but I know him to be back in Paris and, with his boundless energy, now raising another army. The coming summer may well see a revival of his fortunes and the defeat of his enemies on the Continent. We must continue to aid him by sending to Paris all the intelligence we can glean of England’s plans and resources. You are well placed for such work and, through Maureen, have sent me many useful items of information. Monsignor Damien was praising your efforts only a week ago.’

  ‘Monsignor Damien? Who is he?’ Jemima asked with quick interest.

  ‘I first met him in Ireland some years ago, and brought him to England with me. He is a Frenchman who came over to escape the Terror, and was later unfrocked for insufflating pretty women who came to his confessional, in order to seduce them.’

  ‘Insufflating. What is that?’

  ‘Breathing upon them. The practice arouses sexual desire. When I learned of this I decided that he might be the very man to act as High Priest for me, and he readily agreed. He already had contacts with the French in Dublin, through whom he was sending information, and has since made contact with a Dutchman, through whom we correspond with Paris.’

  After a moment’s silence, Jemima said, ‘Tell me now, dear mother, can you aid me in the matter of Charles St. Ermins?’

  ‘The Powers help those who help themselves. He is an honourable young man. If you could seduce him …’

  Jemima shook her head. ‘In the limited time I have at my disposal, ’tis most unlikely that an occasion will arise when I’d have the chance.’

  ‘Then you must procure something for me impregnated with his essence.’

  ‘Lady Luggala suggested a snippet of his pubic hair, but I can think of no means of procuring it. We are not sufficiently intimate for me to request it of him without his thinking me immoderately immodest, and so unfitted to become his wife.’

  ‘True; and to give him any such idea would be fatal to our plans. Nail parings or a handkerchief he had used would have no such suggestive association, but are second best. Even something he has worn could be used by me to cast a spell of sorts upon him. But something impregnated with his emanations I must have if I am to aid you. Eager as I am to help you, child, I must leave it to your ingenuity to get possession of some such thing and bring it to me.’

  For another hour the mother and daughter talked on. They had not only the features but minds that had much in common, so they delighted in each other, and when they parted it was with expressions of deep affection.

  One week later Jemima came to the witch’s house again. She had seen Charles only twice since her last visit, as their mutual attraction had not reached a point of meeting in secret. Much as Jemima would have welcomed an afternoon drive alone with Charles, it was for the man to suggest any such rendezvous, and Charles had done no more than pay special attention to her in society, express his admiration for her and, on several occasions, embrace and snatch kisses from her when sitting out in secluded corners during dances.

  But the previous night Lady Luggala had given a rout at her house in Soho Square. On the excuse of giving Charles some Irish linen handkerchiefs to take away with him, Jemima had got him up to her boudoir. She had hoped that he would take the opportunity to seduce her there, but his code forbade him to go so far with a young lady of breeding; so they had got no further than a passionate session on a sofa, which had left them both panting.

  Having failed to entrap her quarry to a point where she could afterwards say to him with starry-eyed innocence, ‘Charles, my love, we must let my mother and yours know that we are now engaged,’ Jemima had had to resort to her second string. When they had got back their brea
th, she said with a deep sigh:

  ‘Charles, I am desolate at your going away. I shall miss you most terribly. I pray you, give me something of yours that I may treasure in your absence.’

  ‘I’ll do so willingly, sweet Jemima,’ he replied. ‘But what?’

  After a moment’s apparent thought, she exclaimed, ‘I have it! Let me cut off a lock of your dark hair. I’ll put it in a locket, then wear it between my breasts at night and dream of you.’

  Pleased and flattered to find her feeling for him deeper than that he had aroused in his other flirts, Charles readily agreed. Then, as they would not be seeing each other again before he left two days later, they embraced again in affectionate farewell.

  The following afternoon, when Jemima related to her mother all that had taken place, and produced a small, enamelled box in which reposed a dark curl snipped from the back of Charles’s head, the witch took it and said:

  ‘In the circumstances, you have done well, my daughter. Were this his pubic hair, mingled with some of yours, I could bind him to you. That I cannot now do. But at least I can use this hair for his protection, so that he is neither killed nor injured while he is at the war. While there ‘tis most unlikely that he will meet with anyone he wishes to marry; so, on his return, you will have another chance to make him yours. Come here again late tomorrow night; by then I will have kneaded his hair into wax and formed a puppet of it upon which we will perform a magic.’

  When Jemima came again to the house, her mother showed her a wax figure, about nine inches high. Etched down the back was the name, Charles St. Ermins. They talked affectionately for some time while drinking a bottle of wine, then, a little before midnight, the witch took Jemima down to the temple.

  It was lit as it had been for the New Year’s Eve meeting. But in front of the altar there stood, instead of the curiously-shaped stool, a brazier filled with glowing coals, above which was an iron pan on a tripod. Both women stripped themselves naked, then performed certain curious rites that included the use of a leather phallus.