The Irish Witch

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘Where is Her Ladyship?’

  ‘Up in her bedroom, Sir.’

  ‘Is she ill?’

  ‘No … No, Sir. But she … she spends a lot of her time in bed now.’

  Instead of asking what the devil Mary was doing in bed at five o’clock in the afternoon if she was not ill, Roger took the stairs two at a time, strode down the corridor and, without knocking, flung open the door of the bedroom he shared with Mary.

  She was half-lying in bed, propped up by three pillows. The dreamy look on her face was replaced by a startled stare as her eyes met Roger’s. Jerking herself upright, she exclaimed:

  ‘Why, bless my soul! If it’s not the man who calls himself my husband!’

  Her words were slurred, and Roger’s glance had taken in the fact that a decanter two-thirds full and a half-empty glass of port stood on a table beside the bed.

  ‘What the hell’s the meaning of this?’ he snapped. ‘You’re drunk! How can you so shame yourself with the knowledge of the servants?’

  Mary lay back and smiled seraphically. ‘Not … not drunk, darling. Jus’ a little tipsy. Tha’s all.’

  ‘You’re drunk!’ he retorted angrily. ‘And I gather this afternoon is no exception. You make a habit of it. God alive, Mary! What in the world has driven you to become a drunkard?’

  ‘Nothin’ else to do. Man I married leaves me after a … a few months, an’ goes galli … gallivanting about on … on the Continent.’

  ‘Oh, come now, Mary,’ he said more gently. ‘You know I had no option but to go in search of Charles.’

  ‘Oh yes, you did. You … you pref … preferred to leave your wife rather than dis … displease that gilded whore the … the Duchess of Kew.’

  ‘Mary! How dare you refer to Georgina as a whore.’

  ‘’Cause she’s a whore. Every … everyone knows it. Besides yourself she’s had a … a score of men in her bed. But … but, talking of bed, now you’re home you … you might as well get your clothes off an’ … an’ come into mine.’

  ‘For two people who care for each other to get gay on wine before making love is one thing,’ Roger replied icily. ‘To go to bed with a drunken woman is quite another, and a pastime I have never wished to experience.’

  Stepping back he slammed the door and, white with rage, stamped downstairs.

  In the library he poured himself a stiff brandy. His hand was shaking and his mind bemused. In his wildest dreams he had never imagined such a scene as had just taken place. What a homecoming! True, he had quarrelled with Mary before leaving for Spain, and he had been mainly to blame. But Georgina had brought them together as he was about to board the frigate, and they had made it up.

  What should he do now? Best leave her to sleep it off and talk some sense into her in the morning. With him at home she would soon be cured of this habit of drinking. But, no. Tomorrow he had to go to Dublin. When he told her that, there would be the most frightful scene. And he had counted on her this evening to take his mind off this terrible business of Susan and Charles. Now he would have to dine alone and brood about it half the night.

  The thought was unbearable. To hell with it. He would return to London and sleep at Amesbury House. As the season had not started, it was unlikely that Droopy would be there, but he could sup at White’s and, for once, distract his mind by gambling; then, with a bottle or two inside him, get some sleep.

  Tossing off the brandy that remained in his glass, he marched out to the stables, shouted for Dan, had him saddle a horse, and ten minutes later was cantering off toward the park gate.

  On reaching Amesbury House a pleasant surprise awaited him. The footman who answered the door told him that his Lordship was in London and at home. The reason for this emerged when Roger was shown into the library and the friends had exchanged greetings. Lord Amesbury had died in December, so Droopy was now the Earl, and had come up to take his seat in the House of Lords.

  When they had settled down Roger began to pour out his woes to his old friend, first describing his most recent trouble of arriving home to find that Mary had taken to drink.

  At that Droopy nodded his narrow head with its birdlike beak of a nose, and said unexpectedly, ‘I am not greatly surprised. Until you brought her back from America she had not lived in England since she was married to that city merchant. It has ever been customary for persons of quality to look down upon anyone in trade; so, although she is daughter to an Earl, she could not be received without her husband. Naturally, she was not invited anywhere. By marrying her you restored her position in society, but between your return from America and your departure for Spain there was not time enough for her to make any intimate friends in our own circle. Georgina, I know, did her best to cultivate her, but for a reason you can well guess, Mary cold-shouldered the approaches of your lovely Duchess. I drove out to Richmond now and again to visit her until last November, but it was then that my father became ill, so I had to remain at Normanrood with him. Since his death I have been pestiferous busy on matters concerning his estate, so it is six months or more since I have seen her. Friendless, and neglected by you as she has been, what could you expect? What option had the poor girl but either to take a lover or take to the bottle? Now that you are home again and, praise be, for good, you’ll soon have her sober and loving again.’

  Roger nodded. ‘There is much in what you say, Ned; and I’ll confess I had not previously looked at the matter in that light. As soon as I can I’ll put things right and make up to her for my long absence. But, alas, I cannot do so yet. Tomorrow I have to leave for Dublin.’

  ‘Dublin!’ Droopy leaned forward, peering with his short-sighted eyes at Roger. ‘Why, in God’s name, must you go there?’

  With a heavy sigh Roger began to tell him all he had learned from Georgina about Susan and Charles. When he came to recount how, unknown to each other, they had gone to a New Year’s Eve meeting of the New Hell Fire Club, Droopy interrupted:

  ‘Wait one moment. This stirs a memory in my mind that may be of use to you.’

  ‘You know of the place, then?’

  ‘Yes, I am acquainted with several wealthy rakes who were members and, from their accounts of it, quite a number of titled dames participated in the Satanic revels. It was run by an Irish woman named Katie O’Brien and an unfrocked Catholic priest, one Father Damien. As they fled the country last autumn, it may well be that they went to Dublin and started another devil’s circle there. Quite possibly ’tis she who has Susan and the young Luggala girl in her toils. That, too, could account for Charles’s disappearance. Since he was in cahoots with her when she was here in London and may have found the girls with her in Dublin, maybe he decided to join the coven willingly, or perhaps she has some hold over him and used it to make him remain with them.’

  ‘You may well be right about Charles,’ Roger nodded. ‘But why did the witch and her priest flee the country? I would have supposed that, having so many influential patrons, they would have had ample protection.’

  ‘Against a charge of practising witchcraft, yes; but not for that which would have been brought against them. A great part of the Irish are loyal to the Crown, as witness the fine performance in battle of the Irish regiments under Wellington; but there are others who would have Ireland become a Republic and would have aided the French had they landed there. Katie O’Brien was such a one, and under cover of running her Hell Fire Club for bawdy decadents she was collecting information for our enemies. That emerged at the trial of a Dutchman named Cornelius Quelp, after he was arrested as a secret agent of the French. He had acted as her postman. But, as you would expect, all mention of what really went on at the Club was suppressed. Money talks and at the trial it was simply described as a gaming house.’

  ‘I feel certain that Charles would never have given such a woman information that might be damaging to his country; so, if she has a hold over him, it cannot be anything of that kind.’

  Droopy shrugged. ‘Who can say? He was then quite young and inexpe
rienced. He may have done so in all innocence and only realised his folly later.’

  After a moment Roger asked, ‘What of this woman, Maureen Luggala. Did you know her?’

  ‘Not well, but I met her on occasions at large gatherings.’

  ‘What thought you of her?’

  ‘She was passable good-looking and had a well-rounded figure. She was a somewhat vapid creature, and I imagine not difficult to persuade to let one share her bed, for she was always ogling the men—though in fairness I must say I never heard her name coupled with one.’

  ‘You term her vapid, and Georgina described her as stupid, and self-centred; yet, however wrapped up in her own affairs she may be, I find it difficult to credit that during all those weeks she remained entirely oblivious of the fact that the two girls had begun to dabble in witchcraft.’

  ‘They would naturally have taken every precaution to hide it from her, and it may be her shallow mind was entirely occupied by some other interest—a lover perhaps.’

  Roger frowned. ‘Your suggestion gives me food for thought. You have implied that she sought to attract our sex, yet she was clearly careful of her reputation. As a widow and only a little over forty who apparently craved satisfaction, does it not strike you that she was the type of woman who might have been a member of the Hell Fire Club. Masked she could have preserved her incognito, and her good figure would have made her acceptable.’

  ‘If you are right, that would explain many things.’

  ‘Indeed it would. The reason for her leaving England would have been to follow the O’Brien woman to Dublin, and there continue the association. She, not her daughter, may be at the root of the trouble. If she is a Satanist herself, she would have initiated the two girls, and her letter to Georgina be a pack of lies designed to keep Susan in Ireland by alleging that she has disappeared.’

  ‘And when young Charles arrived, having been a previous member of the club he decided to throw in his lot with those people instead of bringing Susan home.’

  ‘That could well be, since he has long been in love with Susan. Under this evil woman’s influence she could have tempted him and, rather than lose her, he elected to remain.’

  Over supper the two friends speculated further, but neither could produce any other theory, so they turned to Napoleon’s defeat and abdication, while polishing off the best part of two bottles of Château Lafitte, followed by old port wine. These liberal potations ensured Roger a good night’s sleep. But in the morning, instead of going to the Bristol coach station, he walked across St. James’s Park to Birdcage Walk.

  It was in a house there that, when he had first become a secret agent, he had made his reports to a Mr. Gilbert Maxwell. Later he had dealt direct with Mr. Pitt and a succession of Ministers of Foreign Affairs; but he had often had occasion to collect documents and money from a Mr. Desmond Knight, who had succeeded Maxwell, and he now sent up his name to him.

  Mr. Knight was a tall, thin, greyhaired man. He received Roger courteously, then asked in what way he could be of service to him.

  ‘It is a private matter,’ Roger smiled, ‘but, knowing you as well as I do, I feel sure you will not refuse me your help. I am anxious to learn all you can tell me about a man named Cornelius Quelp: a Dutchman who was tried and convicted some months ago as a secret agent in the pay of the French.’

  Mr. Knight returned his smile. ‘Mr. Brook, we have many secrets here, but none from a man so intimately acquainted with such affairs as yourself. Mynheer Quelp was sentenced to three years hard labour and is now quarrying stone on Dartmoor. What do you wish to know about him?’

  ‘I understand that he acted as courier for a woman named Katie O’Brien, who collected information for our enemies. She lived in a house out at Islington. No doubt you know what went on there?’

  ‘Yes; she was known as the Irish Witch, and ran a Satanic circle, called the New Hell Fire Club. Unfortunately, before her connection with Quelp emerged at his trial, she got away to Ireland.’

  ‘So I gather. But why was she not arrested by our authorities there?’

  ‘Because we could trace her only as far as Dublin. From there she disappeared.’

  ‘I am told she is possibly there now, running another Satanic circle.’

  ‘If she is it must be under another name, otherwise we should have learned of it.’

  ‘Did you perchance secure a list of the members of the Hell Fire Club?’

  ‘Yes, although by no means a complete one. The members went to considerable pains to conceal their identities. They put on masks before entering the house. But discreet enquiries among the coachmen of the nobility gave us the names of some thirty-odd people who had been driven there at night and not returned until the early hours of the morning. Some, too, visited the house fairly frequently in daylight.’

  ‘Was Lady Luggala among them?’

  ‘Yes. She, I recall, was one of the regular visitors.’

  Roger’s guess had been right. He smiled grimly, then said, ‘Mr. Knight, reverting to espionage. It will naturally have occurred to you that the woman O’Brien must have obtained much of the information she passed on to our enemies from the members of her club. Were many of them prosecuted on that account?’

  The Secret Service chief shook his head. ‘No, Mr. Brook. The majority of them, I am sure, were entirely ignorant of that side of the woman’s activities, and anything she received from others would have been by word of mouth. There were a few that we suspected, but we had not a tittle of evidence against them.’

  ‘Was Lady Luggala among those you suspected?’

  ‘Yes, for a variety of reasons. She was one of the witch’s most frequent visitors. They were both Irish and she was living beyond her means. Our undercover man at Coutt’s traced several drafts on the O’Brien’s account made payable to Lady Luggala.’

  ‘She is now living in Dublin and I am about to proceed there. I have reason to believe that, given your help, I could secure the evidence needed to convict her and, perhaps, others.’

  ‘Indeed! Well, the war, thank God, is over; but all the same if there are grounds for believing that she gave information to an enemy agent, she should certainly be brought to trial. What help do you need?’

  ‘Authority to enter her house, to search it, to question her servants and, if my suspicions are correct, to arrest her.’

  Mr. Knight hesitated. ‘Mr. Brook, as you are not an official agent of the Crown, you are asking a lot, particularly the right to take her into custody.’

  ‘If, having got the evidence we need I am not empowered to do so, before I can get a warrant from a magistrate she will have the chance to disappear, as the other woman has done. You know enough about me to be sure that I should not abuse such powers as you may give me.’

  ‘True, true, Mr. Brook. I am sure you would not. In the intimate circle in which we move, you are become almost a legendary figure. I recall that there have even been times when you have been given Lettres de Marque to speak on behalf of Prime Ministers. Unorthodox as your request is, it would be unreasonable in me not to grant it.’

  As he spoke Mr. Knight tinkled a bell on his desk. A secretary came in and, a quarter of an hour later, Roger left the house with the papers he had asked for in his pocket.

  He lunched at White’s, wrote a brief, loving note to Georgina, just to let her know he had stumbled upon one lead that he hoped would facilitate his search for Susan and Charles; then, having said good-bye to Droopy, he took the night coach to Bristol.

  Next morning, having booked himself a cabin at the ferry office, he had a clerk there produce the register of passengers who had taken tickets to cross during the last week in March and found that Charles had sailed on the 25th.

  Satisfied that no accident had befallen Charles before leaving England, he went aboard and ordered champagne and dry biscuits; having found from long experience that sipping the one and nibbling the other gave the best hope that the queasiness from which he always suffered when at sea would n
ot become actually sickness.

  On landing in Dublin he hired a coach and told the driver to take him in turn to the best hostelries in the city. The second at which they halted was the Crown and Shamrock. His inquiry produced the information that the Earl of St. Ermins had arrived there on March 26th and stayed two nights, then departed leaving no address. He had not been seen there since.

  Having taken a room, unpacked and had a meal, Roger went out and bought himself a cheap, ready-made trouser suit of brown cloth, a cloak of Irish homespun, a pair of heavy boots and a top hat made of shiny, black waterproof material. Taking his purchases back to the Crown and Shamrock, he changed into them, scruffed the boots and battered the hat a little, then slipped down the back stairs and into the stable yard.

  By then it was growing dark. Out in the street, after enquiring of a passer-by, he soon found his way to Merrion Square, in which Lady Luggala had her house. On finding the number he was greatly relieved to see chinks of light coming from between the drawn curtains of a room on the first floor, which implied that she was at home, but no sounds suggesting that an entertainment was in progress. There were also lights in the basement.

  From what Mr. Knight had told him, it was quite certain that Maureen Luggala was intimate with Katie O’Brien, and he felt convinced that she could tell him where to find the witch. With her, he had little doubt, were Susan and Charles. There was also good reason to believe that Maureen had furnished information to the spy Quelp; but he had no proof of that. He had a warrant for her arrest in his pocket, but he could not use it. By confronting her, as he meant to do, he was taking a great gamble. If she called his bluff, gone would be the only lead he had to tracing and rescuing from the devil’s clutches the two young people he loved.

  24

  Blackmail

  Roger walked down the area steps and pulled the bell chain. A few minutes later the door was opened by a footman in a striped waistcoat and shirt sleeves.