So they turned down the lane leading to Figg’s Bottom, but as it happened they never reached Turley’s Farm. They walked on in a leisurely way. With nothing but the winding road ahead and fields on either side, it was easy to forget the building behind them. They stopped to listen to two sparrows gossiping on the hedge. A snail was making rude remarks to a blackbird from the safety of an overhanging stone. Once a rabbit popped its head through the bars of a stile.
‘Humans!’ it said in disgust, and popped back again. John stood on the stile to call to it, but said instead, ‘I’m sure I can hear a stream. Let’s go and find it.’ So they crossed the stile and followed a path through the meadow on the other side.
They found the stream without much difficulty. Its clear, cider-coloured water rippled gently over a pebbly bed. They took off their shoes and splashed about happily. Rosemary picked a bunch of water forget-me-nots and wild peppermint. They tried to dam a tiny tributary, and let the piled-up water join the main stream again with a whoosh!
It was not till some time later, with toes and fingers very pink and crinkly, that they sat down in the middle of a little plank bridge. With their legs dangling, they ate tomato sandwiches and homemade rock cakes. They were facing upstream, and when they had nearly finished, John said suddenly, ‘Someone must be sailing toy boats higher up! Look, there’s a big one just coming around the corner.’
There certainly was a black thing, which looked like a toy boat, drifting toward them.
‘Let’s catch it when it gets to the bridge!’ said Rosemary.
They lowered themselves down into the stream in readiness. But it was not a boat. It was a shoe, a very large one with a brass buckle that needed sewing on again. They caught it as it drifted under the bridge.
‘Let’s wade upstream and see if we can find the owner. Whoever owns it must have enormous feet!’ said John.
They lifted the dripping shoe out of the water and started to wade upstream.
8
The Rocking Chair
They splashed their way along very pleasantly for some distance, until, coming out of a green tunnel made by the overhanging branches of willow and hazel, they were startled to find themselves in the sunshine again, and almost on top of the owner of the shoe.
‘Mrs Cantrip!’ said John and Rosemary together. For that is who it was. She was sitting on a rock with the remaining shoe beside her and with her large feet dangling in the water. Beside her, a little higher up the bank, was a small, neat, plump person. She had round cheeks, she wore a round felt hat and a neat tweed suit, and she sat very upright, with a bunch of what looked like green leaves in her lap.
‘It’s you, is it?’ said Mrs Cantrip sourly.
‘We rescued your shoe for you,’ said John politely, holding it out to her. ‘It was floating downstream.’
‘Interfering again!’ said the old woman. ‘It was floating lovely!’
‘But we thought whoever it belonged to would want it,’ said John in surprise.
‘And we didn’t even know it was yours,’ added Rosemary. ‘You couldn’t get home without it.’
‘That’s all you know. There’s more ways of getting about than walking,’ said Mrs Cantrip. ‘Besides, I know where there’s another lovely pair of shoes for the taking, and no questions asked.’
The little person leaned forward and said eagerly, ‘If you mean the ones on the rubbish heap where we left the –’ She broke off suddenly and clapped her hand over her mouth.
At the same time, Mrs Cantrip deliberately threw her other shoe into the stream with a loud splash. ‘You can fish that out, as you’re so fond of finding things,’ she said rudely.
Red with annoyance, John splashed over and pulled out the second shoe.
‘I think you are very ungrateful!’ said Rosemary hotly.
‘It was entirely my fault, dears!’ said the round-about person. ‘I’m sure Katie is very grateful, really. Such a character! She was trying to stop me saying something when she threw her shoe into the stream. My foolish tongue, you know.’ Then, turning to Mrs Cantrip, ‘Such nicely spoken children. Do introduce me, please, Katie dear!’
Mrs Cantrip sniffed.
‘Boy nuisance!’ she said, nodding toward John. ‘And girl nuisance!’
Rosemary turned her back on Mrs Cantrip and said, ‘I’m Rosemary, this is my friend John, and we aren’t a nuisance, at least not on purpose.’
‘And my name is Dibdin,’ said the little person, ‘Miss Dorothy Dibdin.’
‘You aren’t Mrs Cantrip’s new lodger, are you?’ asked Rosemary suddenly.
‘Why, how clever of you!’ said Miss Dibdin warily. ‘Just for the summer holidays, you know. Between you and me, it’s not very comfortable, but it has its advantages. It was such a stroke of luck finding it. I always like to have a hobby during the summer – I am a schoolteacher, you know – and Mrs Cantrip is teaching me to –’
She broke off again as Mrs Cantrip burst into a very loud, artificial cough. ‘There I go again,’ she continued. ‘But no harm done. Such a lovely day! We came here to enjoy the country, to meet some friends and pick a bunch of flowers. You promised to show me where I could find that particularly damaging dodder, dear,’ she said to Mrs Cantrip, and at the same time she rose to her feet and dusted her skirt.
Mrs Cantrip grunted, but she heaved herself up, pushed her bare feet into her wet shoes with complete unconcern, and muttering something about ‘Bogshott Wood’, started to climb the bank, with her shoes squelching at every step.
‘Good afternoon, children,’ said Miss Dibdin briskly, and followed her up the bank.
‘Exactly as though we were six-year-olds,’ said John, as they watched the two cross the field, the one so tall and untidy and the other so short and trim.
‘Whatever can Mrs Cantrip be teaching her?’ said Rosemary.
‘Search me,’ said John. ‘But you can bet she’s up to no good. Well, it’s nothing to do with us. Come on. We’ve left our picnic things and shoes by the bridge.’
Since they had reached the bridge earlier in the afternoon, all the little animal voices had been hidden by the chuckling of the stream. Standing on the top of the bank, they became aware of a bird sitting on a swaying twig and calling, ‘No good! No good!’
‘Do you mean Mrs Cantrip?’ asked Rosemary.
‘Ugly pair! Ugly pair!’ sang the bird. Then, with a frightened whirr of wings, it darted off, just as a cat came dashing down the field with three others in hot pursuit. The frightened animal found himself in the loop of the stream. He paused, looking for some way to cross, but the hesitation lost him the advantage, and his pursuers were upon him. With a yowl and a screech, what had been four cats became one threshing, rolling ball.
‘The poor thing!’ cried Rosemary in distress. ‘It’s three against one! The great cowards! Oh, do be careful, John!’ she said, for John had taken off his coat, and with some idea of protecting his hands, flung it over the spitting threshing animals.
Whether it was the coat that was responsible or not, the rolling cats, who had been steering a zigzag course toward the stream, reached the edge of the bank, and cats, coat and all bounced down the bank and fell into the water with a splash. There was a screech from all four animals. Then three of them scrambled out and, even faster than they had come, dashed away in the direction of the road, leaving a trail of wet grass behind. The fourth cat stood shivering on the bank. John and Rosemary ran toward him.
‘You poor thing!’ said Rosemary.
‘Let’s rub him with my blazer,’ said John. ‘It’s so wet already that more water won’t hurt! Keep still old chap!’
‘Thank you kindly,’ said the cat, through the folds of John’s blazer. ‘If there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s water.’ An untidy head emerged from the navy-blue flannel. ‘Me that was ship’s cat for two years on the Mary Jane. Trawling, she was.’
John interrupted. ‘Rosie! A walleye and a torn ear!’ He stood up with the coat in his hands. ‘And not
one colour, but a bit of most! You must be Tudge!’
The strange cat shook his wet paws in turn. ‘What if I be? Personal remarks is rude!’
‘I’m sorry!’ said John. ‘But Woppit told us about you.’
‘Her,’ said Tudge with great scorn. ‘So high and mighty since she took up with royalty, she is, I wonder she still remembers me.’
‘Oh, but she does!’ said Rosemary. ‘She asked us to give you a message if we met you. She said you could come and see her if you liked, and we should love you to. You see, she is helping us look after the two royal kittens. Why, what’s the matter?’
The cat looked furtively around and beckoned them down to the water’s edge.
‘It do be safer to talk here, though damp to the paws. The water makes such a swirligiggle we aren’t like to be overheard by them as means them precious kitlings no good. Listen here. For why do you think I were being chased, like as if I’d been caught with cream on my paws in the dairy?’
Tudge did not wait for them to answer. ‘Me, Turley’s cat on Turley’s land, going about my lawful business! I’ll tell you for why. Because I challenged them Broomhurst animals, polite but firm, as is my job. Talking they was, to two more hearing humans.’
‘Hearing humans?’
‘Them as hears us animals talking, like you, of course. And I didn’t like the look of them two, neither. One tall, thin and untidy as a scarecrow, and the other round and plump, like a cat full of cream.’
John and Rosemary looked at one another.
‘Did you hear what they were talking about?’ asked John.
‘Well, I’m not a one to go poking into other people’s affairs. But as I comes up, the plump one says, “How thrilling! Do let’s go!” and claps her hands, and the skinny one says, “We may as well see what she’s up to!” And then one of them cats ups and says, “Her Royal Greyness says you must be there by midnight, and not a word to anyone.” “But how would we get there?” says Roundabout. “The way we came here of course!” says Skinny, sharp like. And then they sees me standing there, and I’d barely given the usual challenge when them animals were on me.’
‘Did you hear anything else?’ asked John.
‘Only Skinny cackling and Roundabout saying, “Dear me, dear me.” Then I broke away and she called after ’em, “Tell Her Royal Greyness we’ll be there!” and she cackled again. You know the rest, thanking you kindly,’ said Tudge.
‘What do you think they were talking about?’ said John curiously. ‘And who is Her Royal Greyness?’
‘Grisana, Queen of the Broomhurst cats, smoke-grey she is, and a proper fierce one, although she seems so gentle. Not like our lovely Blandamour. But when the Kings get the Summons, it’s the Queens who reign till they come home. It’s my belief there’s mischief brewing. So cock-a-hoop them Broomhurst animals is. Singing rude songs and shouting insults at honest, workaday Fallowhithe animals. When the last house goes up, then look out for trouble!’
‘What do you mean?’ Rosemary asked.
‘I think I know,’ said John. ‘You mean when the last house is built that joins Broomhurst with Fallowhithe.’
‘Ah,’ said Tudge. ‘No dividing line between the two there won’t be. And with King Castrum off to the Summoning, and no one to keep them Broomhurst cats in order, or his Queen who’s left in charge, there’ll be trouble right enough.’
‘Good heavens!’ said John. ‘Listen, Tudge, if you hear anything more, will you let us know?’
‘I will!’ promised Tudge. ‘And guard them precious kitlings as if they were gold. You can’t be too careful!’
‘Oh dear!’ said John. ‘I wish we hadn’t left them for so long.’
‘Don’t you think we ought to be going?’ said Rosemary anxiously.
‘Bother! My watch has stopped,’ said John. ‘I think I’ve got it wet. We musn’t be late for Mr Featherstone. We have to get our shoes from the bridge. Let’s get going.’
John and Rosemary said good-bye to Tudge and splashed their way back to the little bridge. As soon as they found their shoes, they hurried back to the signpost, but there was no sign of Mr Featherstone.
The builders had finished for the day and gone home, so they examined a half-built house and tried to imagine it being lived in.
‘Let’s go and look at the cement mixer,’ said John, so they went into the field. John found the cement mixer enthralling, but to Rosemary it was rather dull, so she wandered off, and found herself by the rubbish heap once again.
‘I can’t see Mrs Cantrip in any of those shoes,’ she thought. ‘Not with high heels and open toes.’ Then she looked at the rocking chair which was still standing beside it. ‘I wonder who left it here?’ she said to herself.
She rocked it idly with one toe. It did not seem broken, so she sat on the seat. She began rocking gently to and fro. It made a pleasant little breeze, and she went a little higher. As she rocked rhythmically to and fro, she said idly, ‘Rocking chair, rocking chair,’ in time to the movement, and then thinking a little anxiously about the kittens, added, ‘I wish I was home. I wish I was there. Oh, that rhymes!’ And she said again, in time to the rocking,
‘Rocking chair, rocking chair.
I wish I was home, I wish I was there!’
And because the chant went so well with the movement of the chair, she said it a third time, rocking higher and higher, and then she gave the chair a tremendous push forward.
To her complete surprise, the chair rose steeply into the air, then banked sharply, nearly throwing her out. She held on firmly, too astonished to call out.
Down below, John suddenly looked up and saw Rosemary, her feet curled around the front legs of the rocking chair and plaits flapping wildly. The chair righted itself and seemed to be flying steadily in the direction of Fallowhithe. He thought he saw her lips moving as she turned to look back at him, but he was too far away to hear what she was saying. But he saw her point behind him toward Figg’s Bottom.
‘Rosie, come back!’ he called, although he knew it was useless. He ran desperately in the direction the chair was taking, with some wild idea of keeping pace with it. But when he turned to look where Rosemary was pointing he stopped dead.
Mrs Cantrip and Miss Dibdin were panting up the hill from Figg’s Bottom. They looked up at the disappearing chair and waved angrily.
‘Stop thief! Stop thief!’ called Miss Dibdin shrilly.
They had not seen John, so he slipped back to the half-built house, and hid in what was going to be the kitchen. He held his breath as the hurrying feet came near. He could distinguish the flap, flap of Mrs Cantrip’s shoes and the click, click of Miss Dibdin’s neat, high heels. As they drew level with his hiding place, the footsteps stopped.
‘You must wait a minute, Katie. I’ve got a stone in my shoe, and if you think I’m going to run all the way home to Fairfax Market, you’re very much mistaken,’ Miss Dibdin said tartly. ‘You must admit it’s a pretty how-do-you-do. No rocking chair to take us home and no money for a bus, thanks to your saying witches don’t carry handbags.’
‘It’s them children again, I’m sure of it!’ growled Mrs Cantrip. ‘I knew there’d be trouble the minute I set eyes on ’em.’
John could hear the sound of an approaching car, but did not dare to look up to see if it was Mr Featherstone.
‘And now how are we to get there tomorrow night, I should like to know?’ Miss Dibdin asked. ‘The highest building in Broomhurst you said it was. We shall just have to hurry up with that broom. Oh, I know you can’t do anything, but you can tell me how to finish it.’
‘What, both of us ride tandem on a young broom that’s not been broken in?’ said Mrs Cantrip. ‘Madness, I call it! You’d ruin its temper for life. But we’ll get there somehow, if it’s only to get even with those children. Not that it isn’t as nice a bit of mischief as I’ve seen in a month of wet Mondays. Don’t be all day with that shoe!’
‘Well, I suppose there’s nothing for it,’ said Miss Dibdin briskl
y. ‘We shall just have to walk the six miles home. You can teach me that handy little spell for turning milk sour as we go.’
As John listened to their retreating footsteps, a car passed his hiding place and drew up a little farther on. He looked cautiously over the wall. The two women had started off at a rapid pace. He saw with relief that Mr Featherstone was standing by the van. He raced up to him.
‘Hello!’ he said. ‘Where’s Rosie? Had a good time?’
‘Super!’ said John. ‘Rosie… er… was given a lift home by someone she knows,’ he said lamely.
‘Really? How very strange of her,’ said Mr Featherstone in a puzzled voice. ‘Have you two had a row? You sound rather gloomy. Well, if she gets back safely I suppose that’s all that matters.’
John most heartily agreed.
It was a silent drive home. John was far too busy with his thoughts for conversation. Quite clearly, Mrs Cantrip, although she had retired from being a witch herself, was instructing Miss Dibdin, and both of them were planning mischief with the cats of Broomhurst. Worse still was his anxiety about Rosemary.
When they reached home, John thanked Mr Featherstone and rushed to the greenhouse to see if the kittens were safe. He burst in at the door.
‘Are they safe, Woppit?’ he asked. ‘The kittens, I mean?’
‘They’re safe enough,’ said Woppit.
‘Look here, no matter what happens don’t let them out of your sight for a minute,’ said John. ‘There may be trouble brewing. I’ll come and explain as soon as I can, but I must go now. I know I can trust you!’
‘Trust me?’ said Woppit indignantly. ‘And who better, I’d like to know. To the last whisker!’
9
The Walled Garden
Rosemary had seen Mrs Cantrip and Miss Dibdin burst into a run when they caught sight of the rocking chair climbing steeply into the air, but when she saw John hide himself in the half-built house, she gave a sigh of relief. It gave her something else to think about besides the dizzy feeling in her head and the sudden emptiness of her inside.
The Kingdom of Carbonel Page 5
