by B G Denvil
“Of course not,” replied Oswald. “Bad tempered old crow. Nothing like you. And your father – who isn’t your father – already informed you about being adopted.”
Rosie sank down, confused. “She’s just not the type of person I’d expect to adopt a baby. What would she want a baby for? Or was it my father’s choice? And who am I? Another witch’s baby? Or the child of ordinary humans?”
“Questions, questions, too many questions,” objected the toadstool. “I’m going to sleep.”
“We need the silver cup,” sighed the spoon. “We really don’t operate very well unless the three of us come together.”
“I never found it,” Rosie shook her head. “I searched and searched, but even my mother didn’t seem to have it when I looked.”
“Not your mother,” Oswald reminded her.
But the fear and the confusion, and the thought of living in a tree for weeks were all too much for Rosie, and she promptly burst into tears.
Woken by sobs, the owl fluffed up its wings, looked around and was so startled by what it saw that it jerked wildly and hit its head on the roof of the tree-cave.
“Oh dear, by all the lilac bushes in Wiltshire,” it said in a horrified rush, “I’ve been invaded by aliens.”
Rosie stopped crying and apologised. “I mean no harm,” she said at once. “But I had to hide. Do you mind? I’ve got nowhere else to go, but I promise I won’t stay too long.”
The owl twitched its ears, which were rather long and stuck up from its head in two little dark twists. His feathers, a mottled brown, white and black, were all sitting up on the defensive, and the huge white feathered circles around his staring eyes, seemed a little manic.
“Bother.” Then he settled again, deciding there was no instant danger and added gently, “You got anything to eat?”
Rosie turned to the spoon. “Have we?”
“The menu is vast,” answered the spoon. “What would you like? Dead rats? Live mice? fish? Tadpoles? Frogs? Bread and cheese? Come on, make a decision.”
Eyeing the owl sideways, Rosie muttered, “Fish and dead rats, but not real ones. They just have to taste real. And I’d love some bread and cheese.”
The spoon rose and dipped, with all items falling from its scoop. Rosie grabbed the bread and cheese before the owl could get it, while the owl then gobbled everything else. A rat’s tail was dangling from his beak when he stared at Rosie with those huge eyes, and said, “I’m pleased to meet you. I presume you’re a witch. I’m Dodger.”
“I’m Rosie,” Rosie said, mouth full. “Don’t you go out hunting at night?”
“Not if I can help it,” Dodger said. “It’s shockingly cold. I see no reason to suffer when it’s nice and warm in here. I must say you seem to have an exceptionally useful spoon.”
“It would be even more useful,” Rosie sighed, “if I could find the missing silver cup.”
A thin draught of cold wind had sneaked its way into the yew nest, and both Rosie and Dodger snuggled down, inching closer and closer together for extra warmth. Eventually, as the idea of sleep became more and more attractive, they became positively entangled, and with feathers tickling her nose, Rosie slept with Dodger close beside her.
She had not expected to sleep again, for the confusion and fear felt too great. Yet she sank into an almost immediate doze, for the warmth and protective comfort of the owl brought such peaceful ease, almost like a whispered promise.
It was much later when both Rosie and Dodger woke. Dodger rubbed his head against Rosie’s and nibbled at her eyebrow. “Breakfast?” he suggested.
Obediently the spoon also woke, and within moments, both Rosie and the owl were sitting together cheerfully eating scrambled egg on toast with bacon on the side and a cup of orange juice. Dodger turned his beak up at the orange juice, so Rosie drank both cups.
Chapter Sixteen
That same morning, although a little earlier, Peg and Edna met on the landing outside their two doors and greeted each other warmly.
“I must admit,” added Peg in a conspiratorial mumble, “I have now decided you know a good deal more than you’ve admitted so far, my dear. But you are most certainly intending to help. There’s no shadows leaking through.”
“Quite right, my dear,” smiled Edna. “We are beginning to understand each other very well. I came here for a very special purpose.”
Although Peg’s hair was a murky grey turning thin white, and she was very small and a little hunched, Edna, once she removed her richly feathered hat of many colours, had bright red hair which hugged her face affectionately. Tall and slim, she appeared much younger than her probable age of more than two hundred, and possibly a lot more. But although the two women were quite different in size and appearance, they were growing inseparable.
Twizzle, hopping from one foot to another, was sitting on Edna’s head. Edna did not appear to have noticed, but her bright scarlet hair contrasted neatly with Twizzle’s pure white feathers.
“I shall flit down,” Peg said, “and see if Rosie is up yet. No doubt she’s already making trips to the well. Those buckets must be extremely heavy. Never mind. Soon she’ll be able to fetch water by magic.”
“And get someone else to do it anyway,” Edna nodded.
This, however, was not unknown to Peg now, as she had spent many hours talking with Edna while Twizzle had become bored and sat on the back of the chair muttering, “Hiya, mate, give us a cold beer.” So Peg shrugged and flew down the stairs to knock on Rosie’s door.
After four knocks with no answer, Peg decided she must already be up working, but just in case, she pushed the door open and peeped inside. She promptly gasped, turned in a flurry and called Edna.
The room was almost entirely upside down. The bed was now attached to the ceiling, and all its covers had fallen off onto the floor with the mattress hanging on by just a few feathers. The little table was stuck to one of the side walls, its legs sticking out, and the small items it had supported were now also on the rug below. One rug was held down since the bed covers had fallen on it, the other rug was flapping about trying desperately to find its proper place. Objects such as candles and Rosie’s spare clothes lay in a heap in one corner, and the few papers which Rosie had managed to get from Whistle’s collection were no longer where she had hidden them beneath her pillows.
Peg stared, and Edna stood beside her, staring over her shoulder. “Disaster,” said Edna in fury. “We have to find the girl as quickly as possible.” She clasped both hands to her forehead, attempting to magically decipher Rosie’s whereabouts. Peg took the more practical choice, so marched down to the ground floor and started to shout.
“Rosie, Rosie, Rosie. Where are you Rosie?
It was, however, Alice who came from the kitchen. “Yes indeed,” she said. “Where is the girl? I have no beds made, no water collected, and no one to help serve breakfast.
Peg certainly didn’t offer. “I assume you don’t know,” she said, “that your daughter’s bedchamber has been turned into a madman’s chaos. It has been searched and left in a terrible state. And meanwhile Rosie is nowhere to be found.”
“No,” Alice flung her head back and threw both arms in the air. She shrieked, “Don’t tell me that my own beloved daughter has been killed as well?”
Montague and Emmeline had both jumped up from the dining table where they had been sitting waiting for breakfast.
“Who’s Rosie?” demanded Montague.
“That dear little girl,” moaned Emmeline. “I consider her one of our nicest residents.”
“Which is exactly what she is,” said Peg. “We have to find her. It could be urgent. It’s not as if she might just have gone for a walk or visit the crows or the bats. With her room left in such a state, something is desperately wrong.”
“Oh dear,” sighed Montague. “Not another nasty wretched murder?”
Edna straightened her shoulders and glared at everyone. “If that girl is found dead like the others,” she said, “I
shall burn this whole house down.”
With equal anger, Alice strode forwards, her hands on her hips. “Don’t you threaten my property, madam. Rosie may be my daughter, but I am the householder here, and since I am a personal friend of the local sheriff, I will have you arrested on suspicion of murder.”
“I wasn’t even here when you had the first one,” Edam said, looking suitably autocratic.
Having trudged down the stairs on foot, being another resident incapable of flight, Boris Barnacle looked rather frightened. “Another death? Oh no, I hope not. Not the pretty little maid?”
“Rosie is not a maid,” Peg now objected. “She’s the owner’s daughter. Just sit down and keep out of the way.”
Boris nodded. “Woofy woof,” he said without emphasis. “I always do as I’m told. Plumpetty Plod.”
“Is the man mad?” whispered Edna.
“Who cares,” Peg said loudly. “I’m off to find Rosie.”
Alice did not seem too worried. “The girl’s useless at the best of times. I expect she’s up playing with Cabbage, or she’s gone for a walk to the village.”
“Not this early,” Edna said, and she and Peg hurried from the kitchen out the back where the two sad graves lay in the rising sunshine. The grass was quickly growing over the two slight mounds, and Whistle’s little hillock already sprouted a daisy.
On one side of The Rookery was the well, and on the other side a row of three privies. The front gazed out onto Kettle Lane. At first, Peg ran one way and almost fell into the well, whereas Edna ran the other way but turned back because of the smell.
Meanwhile, discussing the advantages of magic, Rosie and Dodger were becoming the best of friends. Dodger was particularly interested to hear all about Cabbage. “And she’s a she?” he asked. “I’m a he. Hes and shes usually get along. I’d like to meet your Cabbage.”
Rosie thought Cabbage might very well enjoy meeting Dodger too, but said, “I’m afraid I can’t leave this nice cosy tree until someone tells me it’s safe. But I could explain how to get to her, and then you could just mention that I sent you.”
Dodger’s smile was quite impossible to distinguish from his normal wide-eyed expression, but Rosie assumed he was smiling. “Brilliant idea,” he said. “I shall go this evening. Now, explain the route.”
“With someone flying easily like you,” Rosie explained, “I think you’d only take a moment. Cabbage lives in the thatched roof of the main house called The Rookery, right in the middle of the actual rookery on Kettle Lane.” Rosie pointed in the right direction. “I’m sure she’ll be pleased. Cabbage is awfully sweet.”
“And so am I,” said Dodger. “So we’re bound to get on well.” He thought of something and turned his head in a feather less than a full circle, and added, “But what sort of owl is she?”
“Same as you. A long-eared owl. Big and lustrous with beautiful eyes. Yes, just like you.”
“And,” Dodger continued, “I should be delighted to help all those who help me. So where is this silver cup you keep mentioning. I gather it’s important?”
“Well, yes.” Rosie was curled on the moss, hugging her knees. The silver spoon and toadstool appeared to be asleep, but Oswald remained very much awake. “The trouble is, I have no idea where it is. I searched over and over. But my silver spoon and the silver toadstool can do wonderful magic, if only they have the silver cup with them. Then it has to rain – not sure why – and with all three of them together, they can make wonderful things happen. And now that I’m in danger, I need wonderful things even more urgently.”
The gruff little voice from Oswald muttered, “Not rain, silly-billy-Rosie. Water. Any kind of water. But rain would be good. After all, this is England, isn’t it?”
Ignoring this interruption and with a wiff and a toowit, Dodger settled down to think. “Where would you guess,” he asked eventually, “in or out?”
“I assume you mean the house, but it doesn’t matter, because it could be either.”
“A large cup?” he said. “or a tiddly one?”
Immediately Rosie asked Oswald. The hat pin was more helpful than usual. “It is quite large,” Oswald said, “but no more than a breakfast cup of ale. All nice shiny silver, and inside on the bottom is a nice big ‘W’ standing for Whistle. Heavy too, being solid.”
“I think it’s probably in the kitchen,” Rosie sighed. “I’ve searched in so many places, and I can’t see my mother allowing anyone else to look after it. She’d want it under her thumb. I know she must have it, unless Whistle himself hid it before he was killed.”
“Silly idea,” sniffed Oswald. “Whistle needed it every day. No point hiding it away.”
“Kate didn’t have it,” Rosie said. “And it isn’t in my mother’s bedroom, unless it was in the last chest under the bed which I couldn’t open. Very possible I suppose. So either there or in the kitchen.”
“Not a problem,” Dodger lay his head on Rosie’s shoulder. “I shall discover this elusive cup. I shall befriend the glorious Cabbage. And I shall keep you safe.”
Rosie gave him a hug. She realised he was quite thin inside all those fluffy layers of feathers and down, and she asked Oswald to summon up some more pretend dead rats.
As the day grew warmer, Rosie started to doze. At once Dodger put his left wing over her, and she snuggled into the shadow. Both slept as the sun angled within the little wooden hollow, and soon everything was a shimmer of warmth.
Neither Edna nor Peg stopped to eat, drink or chat. They did not even fly, for such a fast way of travelling made it difficult to notice anything on the way. So the two women marched the stairs up and down in every direction. They questioned the bats, and they insisted on entering every single resident’s room. But although they had a good excuse, they were not always welcome.
Pixie was delighted to let them in. “I made this myself,” she pointed to the bed, four posts and a huge yellow velvet tester hanging above it. “Took me ages. I’m a seventy-six, so hardly useless, but the tester just never looked right. So I was determined to make it by hand. I’m exceedingly proud of the result. And my patchwork eiderdown, isn’t this beautiful?”
Gorgeous, on the other hand, was exceedingly shy and tried to explain why her room was practically empty. As a timid nineteen, she could hardly produce anything at all.
“Ask me,” said Peg. “I should be only too delighted to help.”
They moved on to the large Butterfield room, with a window so wide they could see half the garden. From there to Lemony who had transformed her room into a bright yellow mock bee’s nest for no obvious reason, but the smell of fresh honey was delightful.
“Honey?” She held out a jar. Both Peg and Edna were pleased to accept.
Most of the men’s rooms were considerably less tidy, although Mandrake’s quarters were a model of beautifully painted gloss. On the other hand, Ethelred, Montague, Boris and Percy were grubby, untidy and unattractive. Boris had a black ceiling and a few drips of black paint while Montague had all his precious clothes hanging from the ceiling in long rows. Percy was a little ashamed of his mess, but Ethelred was impatient, told them to hurry and get out since he was busy.
Having searched the entire house for Rosie, Peg and Edna proceeded to the stables. Dipper was out, but they looked in his room anyway. It was full of flowers growing in pots, under the bed, on two long shelves and on the window sill. Peg smelled the gush of wonderful perfumes and almost sat down there to breathe in some more. Edna, however, pulled her on.
They spent some time discussing the problem with the crows, but each one protested that they knew nothing and Rosie was certainly not hiding amongst them.
Finally, and with considerable hope, both Edna and Peg flew up to Alfred’s treehouse and knocked politely on the door. There was no answer, so Peg called softly, “Rosie, my dear. Are you there?”
No one answered, and so Edna opened the door with a finger flick, and the two women stepped inside.
The chaos within was simi
lar to everything they had seen in Rosie’s room, and both Peg and Edna stepped back in alarm. The snug salon on the ground floor and the cosy attic bedchamber both lay in ruins. Some furniture appeared stuck to the ceiling or walls, as Rosie’s had been, and smaller items were scattered everywhere across the floor. But Alfred Scaramouch, neither living nor dead, was present amongst the mess.
He had clearly received some warning and had escaped before the intruder arrived. And there was, most certainly, no sign of Rosie.
A small brown rabbit was hiding beneath the upturned jug of water. Peg help it out. “Well, well,” she said, smiling, “I’m exceedingly sorry for whatever you’ve suffered and whatever you’ve seen. But I’m exceptionally pleased to find I have a witness. Now, tell me everything that happened.”
“Alfie went out in the middle of the night,” quavered the rabbit. “And he never come back again. I was waiting in the hope of a little breakfast. But then this fellow comes marching in. Strong, he was, and kept puffing sparks and flames, real terrifying so I hid under the table, but then the jug fell on top and I couldn’t get out. This fellow, he wore big brown boots, all scruffy like. In a big hat and a big cloak, so I couldn’t see no more. But he wrecked the joint, like you can see. Got more and more angry. Clearly he couldn’t find what he were looking for. Was ages here, but then he done stomped off. This place used to be so nice and calm and safe.”
“Well, not anymore,” said Edna between her teeth.
.
Chapter Seventeen
Extremely disappointed and even more worried, Peg and Edna sat on the long low bench at the back of the grounds and watched the daisies growing on Whistle and Kate’s graves.
At some distance, a long walk or a short flight, Rosie was bored stiff. Comfortable as the nest was, there was nothing for her to do except talk to a hat pin, a spoon, a toadstool and an owl. None of them had anything interesting or pertinent to say. Dodger spent most of the day asleep, and although Oswald was very helpful in summoning various feasts, he kept telling her it was too early to explain anything in detail.
