The Irish Witch

by Dennis Wheatley

  Davout nodded. ‘So that is the way of things. Even so, you could not have known that the boy was likely to be hanged, and merely to obtain his release I marvel that you should have risked showing yourself in northern Germany.’

  ‘I see no reason why I should have feared to do so,’ Roger replied, inwardly fuming at having to carry on this conversation when every minute was so precious. ‘Your Highness’s being in command of this territory is guarantee enough that, apart from exceptional circumstances, all French officers are safe here.’

  ‘You are right, but you mention exceptional circumstances—and they apply to you.’

  ‘In what way, may I ask?’

  ‘Surely you have not forgotten that in 1810 you were tried by a Prussian court for the murder of your wife and the Baron von Haugwitz, found guilty and condemned to death?’

  Roger frowned. ‘I recall very vividly, Highness, that most unpleasant experience, resulting from my being unable to prove my innocence. Also that I owe my life to your having induced the King of Prussia to commute my sentence to ten years’ imprisonment.’

  ‘I felt that I could do no less for a French officer whom I knew to have served my Emperor well on numerous occasions. But I was thinking of the present. When we met again last year in Russia, you told me that you served only a few months of your sentence, then succeeded in escaping when being transferred from one prison to another, through an attack on the convoy by a mob of rebellious students. Now that Prussia has betrayed us and become our enemy, owing to the great scarcity of food bodies of Prussian troops frequently raid my territory in the hope of securing supplies. Should you run into one of these raiding parties and someone in it chances to recognise you, I’ve not a doubt but that they’ll carry you off with them to serve the other nine years or more of your sentence.’

  Giving a hasty glance at the clock with frantic anxiety, Roger saw that it was now past five. As it was late October there could not be much more than an hour of daylight left. Swallowing hard, he said, ‘That is a chance, Highness, that I must take. I beg you now excuse me.’ Then he saluted and ran from the room.

  Below in the stables he found a sergeant farrier, who picked out for him a good, strong horse and had it saddled up. Since being shot through the calf, Roger had ridden only on a few occasions and then at a walk. He had not yet even attempted to wear riding boots, but swathed his legs in spirals of blue cloth. Now, ride he must and at the fastest pace he could manage, for Charles’s life hung on a matter of minutes.

  While the horse was being saddled he got out his map to make certain of the road to Bergedorf. It lay on a main road south-east of Hamburg and he must have passed within three miles of it that morning. Mounting the horse he found it more mettlesome than he could have wished, and had difficulty in holding it back to a trot as soon as he had passed out of the great gateway.

  Now that he was trotting for the first time, the pressure of his wounded leg on the horse’s side hurt less than he had expected; so, having covered half a mile and knowing only too well the necessity for speed, he broke into a canter. Another mile and the leg began to hurt him so he eased the pace, for he dared not risk his wound opening again and cause him to lose his grip, with the risk of being thrown from the saddle.

  Luckily, the way was fairly flat, with no steep gradients which would have put a further strain upon him. But by the time he had covered half the distance he was sweating profusely and with each jolt of the horse a sharp stab of pain ran up his leg.

  With half-closed eyes and clenching his teeth, he pressed on, trotting and cantering alternately. At last he sighted the Schloss, standing on a rise above a village, but it was still two miles off. Glancing down at his burning leg, he saw that the blue bandage was now stained with crimson. As he had feared, the wound had re-opened and must be bleeding freely. By the time he was clattering on the cobbles through the village street the whole of his lower leg was covered with blood and it was dripping from his boot. But there could be no question of pulling up. Rounding a bend he came opposite the gates of the Schloss. At the sight of his uniform a sentry presented arms. But Roger ignored him. It was all he could now do to keep in the saddle.

  Ahead, leading up to the Schloss stood a long avenue of lindens. His sight misted by pain, he saw that several score of troops were gathered in the avenue. They formed two long lines and there were several smaller groups beneath the trees. As, with his last reserve of strength, he galloped up the slope, his vision cleared. The nearest group of soldiers was standing below a body that swung from the branch of a tree. The next group was hauling on a rope to hoist a second victim. Beyond, hatless and with their hands bound behind them, stood seven escapers among other groups. In the queue awaiting death Roger saw Charles.

  In front of the two lines of soldiers stood several officers. One, obviously the commander of the garrison, was walking slowly up and down. He came to a halt as Roger approached and stared enquiringly at him. Roger pulled up beside him and slid from his horse. As his wounded leg touched the ground, it gave under him and he caught at the arm the officer extended to him. Next moment, as they stood face to face, they recognised each other. The garrison Commander was a Colonel Grandmaison, with whom Roger had served in Austria.

  ‘Why, ’tis the Comte de Breuc!’ Grandmaison exclaimed. ‘How come you here, my dear fellow, and in such a state?’

  With one hand Roger drew the Emperor’s order from his pocket and thrust it at his friend; with the other he pointed at Charles and gasped, ‘That man … the last but three in a row. The Earl of St. Ermins. This … this is a reprieve … an order that he is to be handed over to me.’ Then he fainted.

  When he came to, he was inside the Schloss and being carried up a stone staircase on a stretcher. Soon afterwards he was laid on a table. Colonel Grandmaison and several other people were gathered round him, one of whom was an army surgeon. He was given what he realised was an opium drink, then most of his clothes were taken off. Several men held him down while he Squirmed and yelled during the agonising process of having his injured calf disinfected and sewn up again. After he had been put to bed in another room he managed to ask Grandmaison if Charles could be sent to him.

  The Colonel agreed, and five minutes later the soldier who had been left to supply Roger’s need of anything let Charles in. His face was still drawn and pale from having recently so narrowly escaped death, but his eyes lit up and he was about to rush forward and pour out his thanks to Roger for having saved his life, when Roger put a finger to his lips enjoining silence.

  Having sent the soldier from the room, Roger beckoned Charles to his bedside, made him kneel down and said in a low voice, ‘I have told the Emperor and Marshal Davout that you are my nephew; but they, and everyone else in the French Army believe me to be a Frenchman, born in Strasbourg, the son of a Frenchman who married your aunt. In England it is known only to a few statesmen that I am a Count and Colonel in the French Army. Everyone else believes me to be an English eccentric who has spent the greater part of his life travelling in distant lands. Remember these things, Charles, for my life depends on them, and avoid talking about me whenever possible.’

  Charles, weeping with gratitude, readily promised; then, having given Roger another opium drink, sat by him until he managed to get off to sleep.

  The days that followed were agonising for Roger and very anxious ones for Charles. Twenty-four hours after his arrival at Schloss Bergedorf, Roger’s leg began to swell and the wound go purple at the edges. There could be no doubt that the blue dye in the strips of cloth he had wound round his leg had got into his bloodstream and poisoned it.

  He had to submit to the pain of having the gangrenous strips of flesh cut away and the wound being restitched. But that failed to avert the menace. The following day the signs of poisoning appeared again, and the surgeon gave his opinion that the only certain way of saving Roger’s life was to amputate his leg below the knee. However, on being pressed by Charles, the sawbones admitted that there was just a c
hance that further cutting away of the flesh might make amputation unnecessary. Upon this the wretched Roger, his brain a prey to delusions caused by opium and three-parts drunk on brandy, yet still capable of feeling acute pain, submitted for the third time to the surgeon’s knife and needle.

  A period of great anxiety followed, but on November 1st, Roger’s sixth day at Schloss Bergedorf, the surgeon was satisfied that the second operation had been successful. These days of constant pain had cost Roger a stone in weight. Combined with the loss of blood and fear of being crippled for life, they had left him very weak. It was no surprise to him, therefore, when he was told that it would be several weeks before he could hope to travel and, anxious as he was to get home, he made no protest.

  * * *

  It was during the time when Roger was so desperately ill that an event occurred in London which was to bring Susan into dire peril.

  One morning towards the end of October, just as Jemima was about to go out shopping with Lady Luggala, a running footman arrived with a letter for her. It was from her mother, and asked that both of them should come to her as a matter of the utmost urgency. As their carriage was already at the door, they drove straight to Islington.

  There they found the witch’s house a scene of great activity. The servants were packing silver and linen into hampers in the hall, while the witch and her high priest, the lean Father Damien, were busily parcelling up magical implements and packets of precious drugs in the drawing room.

  No sooner had the door closed behind her visitors than the witch cried angrily, ‘My dears, it is a shocking blow that we have suffered. That fool Cornelius Quelp has allowed himself to be trapped.’

  ‘Oh dear!’ exclaimed Jemima. ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘A French émigré, one of the old, sour kind who refused to return to France when the Emperor proclaimed an amnesty and has long been in the pay of the English, wormed his way into the Dutchman’s confidence. He was arrested yesterday and charged at Bow Street with being a French secret agent. The evidence against him was irrefutable and it is in the Tower that he is now. A friend of his brought the news to me in the middle of the night.’

  ‘Obviously you are leaving, so I take it you fear he may betray us,’ said Maureen Luggala unhappily.

  It was Father Damien who answered her. ‘The Mynheer is a courageous man and much attached to us, so I do not believe he would betray us lightly, but the brutal English may force him to.’

  ‘The English are not brutal in that way,’ Jemima volunteered. ‘They have long given up torturing prisoners.’

  ‘There are other means of securing information from prisoners,’ the priest retorted. ‘They could promise to release him if he provided them with a list of his associates.’

  ‘It is that I fear,’ the witch put in, ‘and Father Damien and I would head the list, since it was from us that he obtained the greater part of the information he took to France.’

  ‘Oh my! Oh my!’ Lady Luggala wrung her hands. ‘Then all of us are ruined.’

  ‘Nay. ’Tis I who am ruined. Another year or two in London and I could have made a fortune out of the Hell Fire Club. Now I must abandon it and leave the country.’

  ‘You mean to return to Ireland?’

  ‘Yes, although since the English rule there, even that may be dangerous if Quelp discloses his dealings with me. Where else could I go?’

  ‘You might find a smuggler who would run you over to France,’ Jemima suggested.

  ‘It would take time to find one, child, and time is precious. Besides, the stars are no longer favourable to the Emperor. He is far from finally defeated yet, but Leipzig was, I am convinced, the turn of the tide for him. This latest combination of so many nations allied against him must end in his downfall. Those stupid Bourbons will then return. But they are not such fools as to neglect having all the secret papers they secure gone through most carefully. Quelp’s will show the sums paid to me for the information supplied to him. Then, should I be in France, I’d be in constant danger of being identified and sent to the gallows. No, Ireland it must be; and that, Maureen, is why I sent for you.’

  ‘You mean to take Jemima and me with you?’

  ‘No, no!’ the witch spoke impatiently. ‘The fact that you both met the Dutchman here a few times is no proof that you were involved in his activities, any more than were the men and women who came to participate in our Hell Fire orgies. Neither of you is in any danger; but I need your help in securing a safe refuge in Ireland. I dare not settle in Dublin. It is too well that I am known there. And I’ve no mind to pig it in some peasant’s cottage. It occurred to me that Father Damien and I could lie low in that castle of your late husband’s, at Luggala. But I’ll need a letter of authority from you for us to occupy it.’

  Greatly relieved that she would not, as she had feared, have to flee the country, Maureen replied eagerly, ‘What an excellent idea. I’ll write to the bailiff with pleasure. But you do realise, don’t you, that the castle has not been lived in for many years, so a lot will have to be done to make it really comfortable.’

  ‘That is of no great moment. Father Damien and I will need the use of only a few rooms, and your bailiff can get people in from the village to clean them up for us.’

  While they were talking, the priest had left the room and returned with a decanter of Madeira. As he poured the wine for all of them, the witch finished packing the last bag of herbs into a straw basket. Sitting down, she asked Jemima:

  ‘Tell me, child, how do your relations with young Susan progress? It is some weeks since we have talked of this.’

  Jemima pulled a face. ‘Alas, I cannot tell you that they do progress. It is now long since I established myself as her best friend. We see one another frequently and talk with the greatest intimacy. She has no secrets from me—that I’ll swear. And in many things I can influence her without difficulty, yet I am no nearer dominating her mind than I was six months ago.’

  ‘That is disappointing. I’d hoped with time you would achieve hypnotic power over her, and so be able to make her commit acts which would ruin her in Charles’s eyes when he returns.’

  ‘I have tried, Mama, but my efforts have proved in vain. It is not that she is a prude or sexually frigid. Indeed, she confessed to me not long since that, at the time Charles made that unfortunate scene here during a meeting of the Club, she was in half a mind to take a lover and, heaven knows, there are a dozen beaux into whose arms I have tried to push her. Yet she’ll not give more than a kiss to any of them. She says that when Charles went to the wars, she vowed to herself that she’d remain a virgin until his return, however long that might be.’

  ‘It may not now be very long, for all the portents tell me that, in a matter of months, the war will be over. I’ve not told you of it, child, but in recent weeks I’ve been much worried for Charles. Some great danger seemed to hang over him; something quite unforeseeable, for owing to the ritual that you and I performed upon his leaving, he is protected from all the normal hazards of war. But he has passed through this period of adversity unharmed.’

  ‘Thanks be for that,’ Jemima sighed. ‘Yet, since my hopes of having the gossips dub Susan a society whore have failed so lamentably, my chances with him will be no better than when he went away.’

  The witch patted her daughter’s cheek. ‘Do not lose heart, little one. We will lure Susan to Castle Luggala. You must bring her there as your guest, and then …’

  ‘But, Mama, she would recognise you at once. How could she fail to do so, having seen you that night when Captain Hawksbury brought her here and she ruined your celebration? She’d flee the place the moment she set eyes on you.’

  ‘Nay, you are in error there. She might wish to flee, but I’d find no difficulty in holding her at the castle against her will.’

  Father Damien chuckled. ‘And we would put her to good use. I recall her well from the night she made that grievous scene here. The thought of her nude makes me lick my lips. I’d take great joy in
relieving her of her virginity.’

  ‘You lecherous fellow,’ Maureen Luggala smiled at him. ‘The very thought of you forcing her makes me feel randy.’

  The lean priest gave a grin, leaned forward and took her by the arm. ‘If that’s the case, m’dear, let’s go upstairs to my room. It wouldn’t be the first good bout we’ve had together, and maybe we’ll not have a chance to have another for some time.’

  Maureen gave a breathless little laugh, and stood up. ‘I regret only that, in the circumstances, it must be a short one.’

  When they had left the room together Jemima remarked to her mother, ‘How Maureen can possibly enjoy being had by that repulsive man passes my comprehension.’

  Katie O’Brien shrugged. ‘My dear, had you been had by him yourself you would understand it. He is a stallion of the first order and positively tireless. To any woman passionate by nature he is a gift from the gods. I have even seen women faint with pleasure under him. His control is perfect and he can bring me to a climax four times to his once.’

  ‘What!’ Jemima’s eyes widened and she exclaimed. ‘D’you mean you’ve actually allowed that loathsome creature to make love with you?’

  ‘I have indeed. And so has every female member of the Hell Fire Club. It is he who initiates them.’

  ‘Mama, you amaze me! How can they possibly bring themselves to submit when knowing nothing of his special power to drive them half crazy with sexual enjoyment? The very feel of his slobbering mouth on mine would make me vomit.’

  ‘They are warned beforehand that they may find their initiation an ordeal, so steel themselves to it. Besides, there is an occult significance to the act. In the old days it is said that to become a member of a coven a woman had first to copulate with Satan. That too may have actually occurred, as in witch trials the accused frequently confessed it and told of their initiation as a mixture of ecstatic delight with hideous pain. They described Satan’s member as huge, as cold as ice and barbed like an arrow, so that its motion tore their vaginas and they bled profusely even while screaming from a succession of erotic climaxes more rewarding than any human had ever given them.