As they turned into number 101, John said, ‘We never made any plans last night after all about keeping the kittens safe. Let’s look in before we go up to breakfast and tell Woppit to be specially careful.’
Rosemary nodded.
‘And we must get those screws for the lock straight away,’ she said as they ran across the lawn. They could see the greenhouse from the bottom of the path.
‘Oh!’ she said. ‘The door’s open! Come on!’
Together they raced down the path and looked inside. The flower pots they had stacked in one corner so neatly were upset and were scattered over the floor. The basket, in which the kittens slept, was on its side. The blanket was not there.
‘Calidor! Pergamond!’ called Rosemary sharply.
There was no reply. Only a plaintive squeak from the swinging door broke the silence. Frantically, they searched in every corner, they parted the strands of the creeper that grew up the sides of the greenhouse, they turned the watering can upside down, they even peered through the grating in the floor and as they searched they called. But there was no sign of the kittens.
‘It’s no use,’ said Rosemary. ‘They’ve gone!’
14
Gone!
John and Rosemary stood and looked at each other in horrified silence. And then the silence was broken.
‘What’s that?’ said Rosemary sharply. ‘Listen!’ It was a strangled ‘mew!’ which seemed to come from somewhere outside the greenhouse. The two children ran through the open door and looked around anxiously. Propped against the wall was a large, cracked, earthenware pot, the kind that gardeners sometimes use for forcing rhubarb. The hole at the top was covered with a brick, but it was from underneath that the sounds came.
‘Quick!’ said John. The mews were growing stronger.
They lifted the pot, but it was not the kittens they could hear. It was Woppit. The old cat was trying to free herself from the folds of the kittens’ blanket in which she had been rolled.
‘Woppit, dear!’ said Rosemary, as she unwound the struggling animal. ‘The kittens have gone! What has happened?’ But Woppit was too ruffled and woebegone to explain.
‘My little, kingly kittens!’ she wailed. ‘My furry darlings! They’ve gone! They’ve taken them away, and old Woppit still alive to tell! The shame of it!’
She rocked herself, moaning, from side to side. Rosemary lifted the rumpled animal on to her lap, but Woppit refused to be comforted.
‘I’m quite sure you did everything you could!’ said Rosemary. ‘But tell us what happened!’
‘They were sleeping in their bed,’ said Woppit, ‘so sweet and snug as two little sardines in a tin, and the moon was shining down on them so round and white as a bowl of milk, and there was me standing guard, and humming a little song and never dreaming –’ She broke off, lifted her untidy whiskers to the sky and wailed again.
‘Oh, do go on, Woppit!’ said John. ‘If only you’d tell us what happened, perhaps we could do something!’
‘Peaceful as a kitchen hearthrug it was,’ she continued. ‘And then suddenly the door opened, and there was them humans!’
‘What were they like?’ asked Rosemary.
‘There was a tall thin one with Persian fur that needed a deal of licking, and a short sleek one.’
‘Persian fur?’ repeated John.
‘I guessed as much,’ said Rosemary. ‘It must have been Mrs Cantrip. Her hair sticks out around her face when it’s untidy, rather like a Persian cat, and “sleek” is a very good description of Miss Dibdin. But how did they find out the kittens were here?’
‘Search me!’ said John shortly.
‘Go on. Woppit. What did they do?’
‘Do?’ went on Woppit, rocking herself from side to side in her distress. ‘They stood over the basket, and Persian stirs my precious pets with her great bony finger and says, “We’re in luck, my dear! It’s them sure enough. It’s Carbonel’s kittens!”
‘And Sleek says, “How do you know, dear?”
‘“By the three white hairs at the tips of their little tails. The sign of all royal cats and kittens. Didn’t they teach you anything at Oxford?”
‘And Sleek claps her hands and says, “What a stroke of luck!” and she laughs, as pleased as if she’d found a couple of kipper heads in a bowl of cream. “Let’s take ’em and go!” she says, and she bends down to scoop up my little furry loves.
‘“Not without reckoning with me!” I says, and I ups and claws her hand good and proper. Well, she lets out a screech so loud as if she’d got her tail caught in the door. But Persian tumbles my darlings on to the floor, whips the blanket out of the basket and drops it on top of me. Mind you, I got in a left and right that’ll leave a mark for a bit, but it weren’t no good. She rolls me up and puts me in that dark place, and then she cackles through the hole at the top, “You can tell them children they may be clever, but Katie Cantrip has still got a trick up her sleeve! I might have known they’d get themselves mixed up in this!” And then she claps something on top of the pot so that I can’t even hear what happens to my little purring, furry sweetings!’
The old cat lifted her muzzle and wailed again.
‘Look, Woppit, dear. You don’t have to tell us how frightful it is. We know. But we must go back to the flat now. We’ll come back as soon as we can after breakfast.’
‘We’ve simply got to keep our heads,’ said John.
‘The best thing you can do is to wait here until Blandamour comes, and tell her what’s happened,’ Rosemary added.
‘We’ve had some excitement, too, I can tell you!’ said John.
The two children ran toward the house. When they reached the path from which they had set out the night before, Rosemary stopped.
‘Look at that, John!’
‘What, those two great skid marks on the gravel?’
‘Yes, don’t you see what it means?’
‘Well, I suppose it means that we’ve got to get the garden roller and roll it flat again,’ said John crossly. ‘It must have been the weight of the two of us in the chair last night. Oh, come on, Rosie. I could eat a huge breakfast. Hope it’s fried eggs.’
‘But it wasn’t us!’ persisted Rosemary. ‘Those are the marks of the rocking chair coming back with Mrs Cantrip! I think it did the same to her as it did to me. Of course it’s a dear, but I don’t think it’s very bright. When you tell it to go home, it simply goes back to wherever it started from. It doesn’t stop to think which house belongs to which person.’
John whistled, fried eggs forgotten for the moment.
‘So when Mrs Cantrip told it to take her home, it brought her to your house by mistake, and I expect the broom with Miss Dibdin followed.’
Rosemary nodded.
‘And I suppose the two of them thought they’d look around while they were here, so that’s how they found the kittens. Almost by mistake! What rotten luck!’
‘We’ve got to think of some way out of this as we’ve never thought before,’ said Rosemary.
‘Well, it’s no use trying to think on empty stomachs. Do come on!’
Rosemary hurried, and together they burst into the flat. The adventures of the night before had paled before this new anxiety. They rushed into the kitchen where Mrs Brown was frying eggs and bacon.
‘Mother! The kittens have gone!’ said Rosemary. ‘They aren’t anywhere to be found. Whatever shall we do?’
Her mother lifted a fried egg and slid it carefully on to a piece of fried bread. Then she looked up, and said with maddening grown-up detachment, ‘Do, darling? Well, first of all you had better get dressed and then both of you must have a thorough wash! Where have you been? I don’t mind you getting up early, Rosie, but I think you’re a bit big to go wandering about the garden in your night things.’
‘Yes, Mummy, but the kittens –!’
Her mother smiled. ‘I expect they’re somewhere in the garden, darling. Don’t worry. Run off and dress now.’
Rosemary ran.
As soon as they were able after breakfast, which, for John at least, was a thorough-going affair of cereal, bacon and egg, toast and marmalade, the children escaped to the garden. As they went into the greenhouse, Blandamour ran to meet them. Merbeck sat in respectful attendance in the background, and Woppit lay on the floor with her front paws over her nose moaning quietly to herself.
‘Has she told you what’s happened?’ asked Rosemary.
‘She has told me, poor, faithful creature,’ said Blandamour. ‘My unhappy little ones!’
‘It is a bad business, Your Majesty,’ said Merbeck. ‘It could not be much worse!’
‘Oh, couldn’t it?’ said John. ‘You haven’t heard half of it yet. You see, last night –!’
He began the story of their adventure, and then Rosemary broke in and finished the tale. And as they recounted Grisana’s wicked plot, Woppit stopped moaning and sat up to listen, and Blandamour fixed them with unwavering blue eyes, motionless except for the angry twitching of her long white tail.
‘Then Grisana thinks that with me and my kittens out of the way, she and her Broomhurst crowd will be able to walk into my country and take possession, without a claw being raised in its defence! She is so unused to a well-governed kingdom that she mistakes the contentment of Fallowhithe cats for lack of spirit! And I, Blandamour, am to disappear! She talks as if I were a kitten with its eyes closed. I assure you I can defend myself!’
The white cat was pacing up and down now with flattened ears and bristling back.
‘There will be many to defend you, Your Majesty, should it come to that. But the first part of Grisana’s plan has succeeded,’ said Merbeck. ‘The royal kittens have gone.’
‘My poor little children. What will become of them?’
‘Your Majesty!’ said John suddenly.
All through Rosemary’s account of their adventures, he had been busy digging out a loose tile from the floor with the toe of his shoe. His face was very red. ‘Your Majesty, it’s my fault, about the kittens I mean. If I had finished mending the lock, as I meant to last night, it would never have happened.’
‘It’s just as much my fault,’ said Rosemary loyally.
‘Somehow or other, we’ll find the kittens and bring them back safely,’ went on John. ‘Won’t we, Rosie?’
Rosemary nodded.
Blandamour looked searchingly at them both.
‘If anyone can, I think you will. When the Kings return, my dear husband will thank you as you deserve for all you have done for us. When that day comes, all will be well again. Until then, we must keep this grasping Grisana at bay!’
‘Your Majesty,’ said Merbeck, stepping forward. ‘I am old, my claws are blunt and my flanks are lean, but my blood races like a young animal at the tale of such wickedness! If your subjects know of this foul plot too soon, there will be bloodshed. And that we must avoid. Hot-headed young animals would bandy words with Broomhurst cats, and that would lead to blows. There would be border incidents, sallies into enemy country and eventually open war. I have seen it happen before.’
‘Then what shall we do?’ asked Blandamour.
‘For the moment the hardest thing of all. Nothing,’ said Merbeck. ‘Only a few trusted animals must know of this plot until the time is ripe!’
‘But my poor stolen kittens!’
‘They can only be recovered by cunning, not force,’ said Merbeck.
‘But they are going to try to kidnap Queen Blandamour as well!’ said Rosemary.
‘Not until the day of the attack!’ said Merbeck. ‘And that will not be until the night of the day the last house is finished.’
‘You are right, Merbeck,’ said Blandamour. ‘When my dear husband returns he must find every cat in his kingdom unharmed! I shall go about my usual business until the day the last house is built.’
‘But –’
‘Thanks to you, my faithful John and Rosemary, we shall be ready for them. Woppit will stay here and act as your messenger. I shall keep in close touch with you, and if my spies hear any news of my precious kittens –’ her voice broke but she pulled herself bravely together – ‘you shall hear at once!’
‘Come on, Rosie,’ said John. ‘We must find Mrs Cantrip, and see if we can get her to let anything out!’
‘I suppose we must,’ said Rosemary reluctantly.
15
Miss Dibdin’s Magic
When John knocked at Mrs Cantrip’s door, there was no answer. But knowing that this did not necessarily mean she was not at home, he went on knocking, quite politely but firmly. Presently they heard footsteps on the other side of the door, not Mrs Cantrip’s shuffling tread, but the sharp click of high heels in a hurry. The door opened, and there was Miss Dibdin. She was wearing a large, embroidered apron, and her face was rather red. She held a wooden spoon in one hand.
‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ she said ungraciously. ‘I thought it was the postman, or I should never have come down. What do you want?’
‘We want to speak to Mrs Cantrip, please,’ said John.
‘She’s out, and I can’t stop talking here. I’ve got a most important piece of magic on the simmer. Go away.’
‘Oh, but please –’ began Rosemary.
‘There now, it’s boiling over. I’m sure I can smell it! You’d better come inside.’
A strange, sharp smell reached the children’s noses, and as Miss Dibdin closed the door behind them, it became almost overpowering. She led them at a run, not into the kitchen, but up a flight of dark, steep stairs, into a room they had never seen before.
It was clearly a bed-sitting room. There was a bed in one corner, a wicker chair, a wardrobe and a table. The bed was made of tarnished brass, and two of its knobs were missing. A piece of folded cardboard shored up one of the table legs. There was a very old-fashioned gas fire in which the flames flickered in a blue and rather chilly way among the broken burners. Sprouting from the side of the fireplace was a gas ring. Propped up on the mantelpiece above, was a large, open book.
Miss Dibdin rushed forward and fell on her knees on the shabby rag rug which lay in front of the hearth.
‘It worked!’ she cried excitedly. ‘I’ve done it!’
‘Done what?’ asked John.
‘Look at the saucepan!’ she said dramatically. The children looked where she was pointing.
‘But there isn’t a saucepan!’ said Rosemary.
‘That’s just the point!’ said Miss Dibdin excitedly. ‘I’ve made it invisible!’
The children stared at the fireplace. The gas ring was lit. They could see the blue flames radiating like the petals of some strange blue flower, but they could see no saucepan, only what looked at first like a pale green jelly, apparently suspended just above the ring. But it was not a jelly. It was a liquid, which was steaming and bubbling as merrily as water before an egg is put in to boil.
Miss Dibdin plunged her wooden spoon in the liquid. There was a little hiss, and at once the spoon disappeared, though John and Rosemary could see from the vigorous twisting of her wrist that she was stirring the bubbling mixture. Miss Dibdin cooed with delight.
‘Good heavens!’ said Rosemary.
With little squeals of pleasure, Miss Dibdin began darting round the room carrying the invisible saucepan. The children could see the green liquid suspended in mid-air, about a foot away from the hand which seemed to be grasping the handle. With the invisible spoon, Miss Dibdin dropped a small blob of the mixture on the kitchen scales which stood on the table.
There was a tiny hiss and the scales disappeared. Next she tried a bunch of herbs that lay beside it. That disappeared, too. A brown paper bag, a saucer with something pink and rather horrid looking in it, all the things she had used to make her magic, disappeared one after another as she touched them with the dripping spoon. Her brush and comb on the rickety dressing table, the candlestick by her bed, one of the bedroom slippers by the chair, they all snuffed out as completely as the flame of a candle on a birthday cake.
‘How absolutely smashing!’ said John. ‘You are clever!’
Miss Dibdin flushed with pleasure. ‘I really think that even Katie will have to admit that it is quite creditable! She is always so crushing about my little efforts, though I must admit I have never succeeded in getting a spell to work before!’
As she spoke she gave a playful tap to the basket chair, and it was gone!
‘Won’t it be a little awkward living in a room with invisible furniture?’ asked Rosemary, as the brass bedstead disappeared, leaving the bedclothes, which had not been touched, still neatly tucked in and apparently floating on air.
‘Perhaps it will, dear. What a practical little thing you are! Just one more – I can’t resist it!’ And she made a playful dab at the wardrobe. It disappeared, too, suddenly revealing a row of clothes inside hanging on a row of invisible pegs, with a neat line of shoes apparently floating beneath.
‘You must admit, it’s enough to go to anyone’s head a little!’ She laughed. ‘Of course I should really have made the counter-spell first, to make things visible again, but I’ve got the recipe all ready here!’
She tapped with the wooden spoon on the large book which was propped up on the mantelpiece, quite forgetting for the moment its magic properties, and lo and behold! The book disappeared, too. This time she did not laugh. She gave a horrified gasp.
‘Oh, whatever have I done? How can I brew a counter-spell from an invisible book? Oh, silly me!’
‘Well, couldn’t you find another book?’ asked Rosemary.
‘You don’t understand,’ moaned Miss Dibdin. ‘No two spells are ever alike! You can’t brew a spell from one book and a counter-spell from another. It wouldn’t work!’
‘Where did you get your book from?’ asked John curiously.
Miss Dibdin put the saucepan back on the ring, felt for the invisible chair, and sank despondently into it. The result looked very odd indeed.
‘I found it in the library,’ she went on. ‘That was really what started it all. You must have noticed that most reference library users are rather elderly, and find stooping a little difficult? Well, I don’t believe the books on the bottom shelves of the Fallowhithe Library ever get looked at at all, and it was there I found this one, in a dark corner, covered with dust and cobwebs. I thought it would make such an interesting hobby for the summer holidays.’
The Kingdom of Carbonel Page 9
