Jennifer Woodhouse Thesis (PDF 371Kb)
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1 OPERATION BELLADONNA by Jennifer May Woodhouse, B.A. Hons., Dip. Ed. The following novel is hereby submitted as a thesis in accordance with the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts (research) in the School of Creative Industries, Queensland University of Technology. Brisbane March, 2003 2 DISCLAIMER The work contained in this thesis has not been previously submitted for a degree or diploma at any other higher education institution. To the best of my knowledge and belief, the thesis contains no material previously published or written by another person except where due reference is made. Signed: ________________________________ Date: _______________________________ 3 I What on earth was she doing here anyway? Cassie scowled at the rain falling steadily outside the draughty bus shelter. It was dark and cold, and she was the only passenger who’d got off at Penzance. Where was her landlady, that mythical friend of a friend of a friend of her mother’s (her mum was a born networker), who was supposed to meet her here? Why had she travelled from the other side of the world, against her better judgement, to freeze her butt off in what looked like a real dump? It was turning out to be a long story – not to mention an even longer flight, and an interminable bus ride through the sodden English countryside. No wonder her ancestors had left for Australia! This place was the pits! And as for the long story, she was beginning to suspect she didn’t know the half of it. “Oh, hello, you must be Cassandra,” said a melodious voice at her side. “Welcome to Penzance! I’m afraid the weather is running true to type for this time of year, but there’s a fine spell forecast for the weekend.” Cassandra managed to mumble something before her landlady rattled on cheerfully. “I expect you like walking, most Australians do, don’t they? Outdoor types, and all that… But let’s get you home and into something dry and warm, you look as if you could do with a hot drink!” They squeezed into a stuffy little car with its windows all fogged up, and after a short, disorienting ride pulled up on what appeared to be the side of a hill. You couldn’t actually tell, because there was so much fog around, but the wail of a foghorn seemed to be coming from somewhere below. Gwen, the cheerful landlady, bundled Cassie in through a gate and a cottage door, to a scene of light and cosiness. By the time Cassie emerged from her downstairs room, Gwen had a fire going in the living-room hearth, and hot buttered toast and cocoa on a tray. 4 As they basked in the glow of the fire, Gwen asked Cassie what had brought her to Cornwall, alone and at the bleakest time of year. “Well,” said Cassie, with a little embarrassed laugh, “it’s a long story, but I don’t know the first thing about this place, so I’m going to need your help. For me, it all began with my great-aunt Belladonna…” II “Cassandra, there is something you must promise me,” Belladonna had rasped in a half-whisper to twelve-year-old Cassie. Cassie had not known how to reply. They’d told her Belladonna was dying, this time for real. There’d been many false alarms, but now that she was ninety-five, you could hardly expect another reprieve. So Cassie hadn’t wanted to refuse, although she wondered if it would be within her power to do whatever the eccentric old woman was about to request. She remembered how Belladonna had reached out a hand – a scrawny, ancient-looking hand with strange rings on the fingers – and clutched at her neck to draw her face closer. “Promise me you will do it!” “Do what?” Cassie croaked in a voice gone hoarse with alarm. Everyone in the family knew about the curse laid on Belladonna. It would be something to do with that for sure. And who wanted to get mixed up in that sort of stuff? Not Cassie. 5 “Promise me you will go there. You will go to St Levan and then you will seek out the Merry Maidens… You will go at dawn to Madgy Figgy’s Chair…” The old voice rose and Belladonna’s eyes grew strangely bright. She was definitely raving, Cassie thought. “You mean, you want me to go to Cornwall, Aunt?” There was the ghost of a nod from the head on the pillow. “Go… for my soul's repose… to St Levan… the Merry Maidens… and Madgy's Chair…” This was getting really spooky. Now Belladonna’s eyes were closing. Suddenly they opened again. “Repeat,” the voice intoned sternly, no longer a whisper. Cassie obeyed. “Good girl,” said the voice, tapering off into silence. This time, the eyes stayed closed. Cassie tiptoed from the room, her face preoccupied and pale. In fact, Belladonna had never awakened. “Died peacefully in her sleep,” the family had noted with some satisfaction. “And sharp as a tack to the last.” It was just that her heart had finally given out. But Cassie wasn’t so sure that her great-aunt's wits had been intact. Who in their right mind would make such a request of a twelve-year-old girl? Nevertheless, she wrote down Belladonna's instructions in her diary so as not to forget them, in case one day she had the chance to find out what they meant. Now five years had elapsed since Belladonna’s death. Cassie was seventeen, and about to finish high school. Exams were over. She thought she’d done well, although she didn’t know yet if she’d made it into the journalism school. She’d chosen journalism in the hope that it would one day coincide with her 6 many other interests. Cassie loved the arts, especially the theatre and literature, but also visual art. She didn’t think she had any special talent for anything, just loads of appreciation. But then something happened that threw her into confusion, just as she thought her life was running according to some kind of plan. One Saturday afternoon, Cassie’s mother, Belladonna’s youngest sister’s grandchild, had reminded her of that spooky scene before Belladonna died. “There's something I need to talk to you about, concerning your great-aunt,” Julia Miles had begun, her voice sounding uncharacteristically tentative. "You haven't forgotten Belladonna, have you?" “How could I forget?” said Cassie brightly. “Well, I really don’t know how to tell you this,” her mother said quietly, “but she left you a legacy – five thousand pounds, that’s more than fifteen thousand dollars – on condition that you use some of it to go to Cornwall before the new millennium begins. That's less than three months away, as you know. There is something she wants you to do for her there. Do you know anything about that?” Cassie, who had been lounging in front of MTV, sat up straight and pressed the remote control to deaden the sound. “What did you say?” “There’s something Belladonna wants you to do for her in Cornwall. Otherwise, according to the trustees of her estate, she feared that the curse might be perpetuated for another hundred years.” 7 “I remember there was a curse, but nobody actually told me what it was…?” “Belladonna’s mother was supposed to have been a witch.” “I didn’t know that!” “Well, you know I don’t believe in such things. Look at Belladonna, fit as a fiddle to the last. Not my idea of a woman under a curse.” “So?” “So the story goes that her mother used her powers to lure a young man away from another witch, the most powerful and feared in all the West Country.” “Do you believe that?” “It makes a good story.” “But what’s this got to do with me?” said Cassie peevishly. “Well, the witch whose young man was lured away went on the warpath, apparently. She put a curse on Belladonna’s mother.” “You mean she did some spells and things? Come on, Mum, this is the end of the twentieth century. That stuff went down in the Middle Ages.” “Do you want to hear this story or not?” “OK, come on, tell me the rest. But this is just so unreal…” 8 “The curse was supposed to affect those most dearly loved by the afflicted one, and to be handed down to further generations for a hundred years. It would strike down the person closest to the one who inherited it, and then pass to the most loved of the living.” “I don’t get it.” “Belladonna’s mother lost the man she 'stole' from Molly.” “Who?” “The other witch’s name was Molly, who claimed to possess powers entrusted to her by the dreaded Madgy Figgy.” Cassie wondered where she’d heard that name before, but never mind. “How did Belladonna's mother lose the stolen man?” she asked, at the same time struck by what seemed the absurdity of it all. “Well, Belladonna's parents got married, and Belladonna was their first-born. When she was twelve years old, her family migrated here, to Australia. The tin mines were closing down in Cornwall, and what with Molly the witch throwing her weight around, it all seemed for the best. But soon after they arrived, Belladonna's father was killed when the mine where he worked caved in. He was the only casualty, though I’d put it down to coincidence.