“Tch!” tutted Ignatius. “Is nothing sacred?” Finishing his tea, the vicar of Hobbes End stood up and stretched, his gangly frame towering over the kitchen table. “Right,” he said, “I’ve got some things I need to do. Cay’s waiting for you over at her parents’ shop. She’s so excited about having someone new to introduce to the other villagers, she may just explode. Elgar wants to go too, so have fun and I’ll see you later.”
Patting Jonathan tenderly on the shoulder, the vicar of Hobbes End walked out of the kitchen. He’d left the paper on the table, and Jonathan couldn’t help but look at the article about the stolen meteorite. There was something odd about it, but he couldn’t quite figure out what.
His pondering was interrupted when a grinning Elgar jumped up onto the table.
“Well, Johnny-boy,” he said, “I have officially finished my breakfast kipper. Ready to meet the neighbors?”
Chapter 8
OLD FRIENDS AND BOOKENDS
Jonathan walked down the vicarage drive with Elgar by his side. The fuzziness in his head was slowly wearing off, and he felt strangely peaceful.
“Why does Hobbes End feel so much like home?” he asked Elgar. “I’ve only been here two weeks, but it feels longer.”
“It does that to everyone who comes here for more than a couple of days,” said the cat. “It wouldn’t be much fun if you spent all your time being homesick, would it?”
“I can’t explain it,” said Jonathan. “It just feels like I know the village somehow.”
“Are you sure you had Earl Grey tea this morning and not one of Grimm’s more . . . exotic blends?”
Jonathan chuckled. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Where do we go first, then?”
“First we say hello to the gargoyles, then we wander over to see Cay. Hey, guys, I’ve got someone I want you to meet!”
Despite knowing that the gargoyles were somehow alive, Jonathan still gaped in astonishment as the two squat statues that perched on top of the vicarage gateposts turned round, hopped down to the ground with muffled thumps, and walked over to greet him.
“Good morning, Jonathan,” said the gargoyle on the left. “I’m Mr. Montgomery.” He held out a granite paw, which Jonathan hesitantly shook. “And my sturdy, angry-looking friend here is Mr. Stubbs.”
“I am not sturdy!” growled Stubbs. “I just have big bones.” He glared at Jonathan as if daring him to disagree.
“I know it’s difficult, Stubbsey, but try to be polite to Jonathan—he’s a guest,” said Elgar.
“Sorry,” mumbled Stubbs, extending his own paw for Jonathan to shake. “I’m just a bit shy, that’s all.”
“Shy?” choked Elgar. “You’re one of the biggest showoffs I’ve ever met. Even more than me, and that’s saying something, I can tell you.”
“Mr. Elgar does have a point,” said Montgomery, nodding sagely.
“Ooh, you take that back!” barked Stubbs.
“I will not!” huffed Montgomery, putting his paws on his hips and squaring up to his friend.
“You’ll take it back or there’ll be fisticuffs,” warned Stubbs.
“La-la-la, I can’t hear you,” replied Montgomery, putting his fingers in his ears.
“Right, that’s it,” said Stubbs, rolling up imaginary sleeves.
“Time to be off,” said Elgar, butting Jonathan in the back of the legs. “We need to get out of the danger zone.”
Jonathan did as he was told but cast a quick glance over his shoulder just in time to see Stubbs punch Montgomery in the face. An indignant Montgomery returned the favor with gusto, and a toe-to-toe slugging match ensued. It sounded like someone repeatedly dropping a pile of bricks.
“Are they always like that?” asked Jonathan.
“Nah,” said Elgar. “They’re just excited because there’s a new face staying at the vicarage. They’ll pummel each other for a few minutes, then either get bored or Grimm will tell them to cut it out and get back to guarding the place. Anyhoo, next on our tour we have the village green.”
In front of Jonathan, the residents of Hobbes End wandered to and fro across the wide expanse of grass, enjoying the summer sunshine and bidding each other good morning.
“All very idyllic, isn’t it?” said Elgar. “But it’s home. Oh, there’s Mr. Peters. Let’s go say hello.”
Jonathan looked along the road to where an elderly man dressed all in black and sporting a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses was sitting on a bench and peeling an apple.
“Morning, Mr. P.,” said Elgar. “This is Jonathan. He’s staying at the vicarage for a while.”
“Ah, our new arrival,” said Mr. Peters, stiffly getting to his feet and shaking Jonathan’s hand. “Welcome. I hope you’ve recovered from your injuries?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Watch out for that girl and her kite, though. She’s a menace.” He nodded knowingly, sat down, and went back to his apple.
“Okay, I will,” said Jonathan, looking perplexed.
“He means Cay,” said Elgar as they continued their walk. “Let’s get over to the shop before she starts chewing the wallpaper with boredom. Oh, and whatever you do, don’t stare at her dad—he doesn’t like it.”
“Why would I stare at her dad?” asked Jonathan, sounding worried.
“You’ll see,” said Elgar, a cheeky grin on his face.
They stepped into the village shop just as a thin woman clutching a packet of plant food came out. The woman took one look at Elgar, scowled, and scurried off toward the church.
“Have I done something wrong?” asked Jonathan.
“Nah,” said Elgar. “That’s Mrs. Silkwood. You know, the one with the aspidistra? She doesn’t like me very much.”
“Why?”
“Long story. I’ll tell you later.”
Jonathan was just about to insist that Elgar tell him the story right then when a thundering of feet came down the back stairs. Seconds later, Cay burst into view from the open doorway behind the counter.
“Hello!” she cried out. “Where’ve you been? You’d better not have gone anywhere without me.” She smiled at Jonathan, the freckles across the bridge of her nose prominent after hours of running around in the sunshine.
“Hi,” said Jonathan, suddenly feeling shy for some reason.
“We just saw your mate Mr. Peters,” Elgar said to Cay. “He’s not happy about you dive-bombing him with your new kite.”
“Shhh! Dad’ll hear.”
“Too late!” growled a voice. A very tall man in shorts and T-shirt loped from the private rooms at the rear of the shop and vaulted effortlessly over the counter. He had a bushy, silver-black beard and piercing eyes with curious yellow irises. He held his hand out for Jonathan to shake. “Hello, I’m Kenneth Forrester, Cay’s dad. Welcome to Hobbes End.” He bent to whisper in Jonathan’s ear, “You’re a godsend; Cay’s been driving us nuts having nobody to play with.”
Jonathan shook Mr. Forrester’s hand but couldn’t stop looking at his eyes. They glittered bright yellow, reflecting the light pouring through the shop window.
Elgar coughed politely. “Staring,” he reminded Jonathan.
“Oh, um, sorry, hello,” stammered Jonathan, also noticing that Mr. Forrester had exceptionally hairy arms.
“Still staring,” hissed Elgar.
Mr. Forrester smiled and ruffled Jonathan’s hair. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll soon get used to our . . . peculiarities.” He turned to Cay. “I’m off for a run. Don’t pester your mother, or Mr. Peters for that matter.”
Cay tried, and failed, to look innocent.
“Have fun and don’t upset anybody.” Mr. Forrester sighed, rolling his eyes. The bell on the ceiling jingled and he was gone.
“I’ll just go get Mom,” Cay said to Jonathan. “She wanted to say hello too.” She disappeared into the depths of the cottage, reappearing hand in hand with a woman who looked just like an older version of her daughter. Mrs. Forrester was barely taller than Cay; she had the
same auburn hair, hazel eyes, freckles, and quizzical smile. Unlike her daughter, however, Joanne Forrester was silent.
She kissed Jonathan gently on the cheek before standing back and moving her hands in complex patterns in the air.
“Mom says welcome,” said Cay, translating her mother’s signing. “And that your eyes are incredibly blue.”
“Thank you,” said Jonathan, wishing he understood sign language.
Mrs. Forrester smiled and reached out, gently touching Jonathan’s face. She signed again.
“Mom says not to be afraid,” said Cay. “You’ll be safe here, and you’ll never need to be alone unless you want to.”
Jonathan smiled and nodded at Mrs. Forrester. She smiled back, signed briefly to Cay, and after pausing to scratch Elgar behind the ears, disappeared into the rooms behind the shop.
The cat sighed. “I love her.”
“Right,” said Cay. “Shall we go and see who’s about?”
Jonathan nodded, then before he could say anything Cay grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the shop.
“Where first, Elgar?” she asked the cat.
“Hmm, Gabriel, I think. He’s coming round for dinner tonight, so it would be good for Jonathan to meet him before then.”
“Okey-dokey,” replied Cay, striding off toward the church. “We should see Gabriel first anyway. It’s, like, respectful, since he made the village in the first place.”
“What’s up with your dad’s eyes?” asked Jonathan, who hadn’t been listening.
Cay jerked to a halt. “What do you mean?” she asked, sounding defensive.
“Well, they were this odd yellow color, and they reflected the light and, um . . .”
Cay let him suffer for a moment before grinning and poking him in the ribs. “Dad’s the reason we came to Hobbes End,” she said. “He’s a werewolf. I would have told you earlier, but I wanted you to meet him first. You never know how people are gonna react.”
Jonathan stared at her with his mouth agape. He was off to meet an angel—a real angel—and now he’d met a werewolf!
“You’ll have to forgive my young friend,” Elgar said to Cay. “He’s having quite a morning.”
Cay laughed out loud. “I bet he is,” she said. “Come on, let’s go see Gabriel. I won’t bite!”
Too stunned to say anything, Jonathan followed his new friends as they strolled through the lych-gate, round the church, and toward a large thatched cottage nestled against the forest’s edge.
As they walked, Jonathan noticed that Ignatius was standing quiet and still in the far corner of the churchyard. He had a bunch of white roses in his hand, and he looked sad.
“What’s wrong with Ignatius?” whispered Jonathan.
“Oh!” said Cay. “I thought he would have told you himself.”
“Told me what?”
“Ignatius’s wife and son were killed in a car crash three years ago. He misses them ever so much, and he visits their grave every day. That’s where they’re buried.”
“How old was Ignatius’s son?” asked Jonathan, wondering if he should go over and say something.
“David was five,” said Elgar. “It hit Ignatius really hard. It’s the reason Grimm’s staying at the vicarage.”
“Why’s that?”
“Grimm and Ignatius grew up together here in Hobbes End,” said Elgar. “Grimm was serving in the army when he heard of the accident, but he left immediately and came back to look after Ignatius. Three years later, he’s still here.”
“Old friends and bookends,” whispered Cay.
Jonathan looked at her.
“It’s what Grimm says sometimes when he thinks nobody’s listening,” she said.
Jonathan nodded. Lying in bed for two weeks had given him plenty of time to see how Ignatius and Grimm treated each other. Old friends and bookends was exactly what they were.
“C’mon,” said Cay. “Don’t worry about Ignatius. He’ll be okay. Now, let’s see if Gabriel’s in.”
They reached the thatched cottage. Lifting the heavy iron knocker, Cay beat out a lengthy tattoo on the door. There was a brief pause, then a voice from high up called out, “Hello, who is it?” They looked up to see a flustered elderly man leaning out the gable window. “I’m trying to work on your birthday present,” he called down to Cay. “If you keep bothering me every ten minutes, it’ll never get finished!”
Jonathan, finding himself slightly afraid and not a little in awe, gave a self-conscious wave and said hello. He felt better once he saw that the angel was smiling at him. In fact, he thought to his surprise, Gabriel just looked normal. Though there was something about him . . .
“Good morning, young man. I trust you are being well looked after by Miss Forrester and her feline assistant.”
“I am not an assistant,” sulked Elgar as Cay grinned.
“Yes, thanks, Mr. Gabriel,” Jonathan replied. “There’s a lot to take in. But it’s fun, and Ignatius and Grimm are really nice.”
“Good,” Gabriel nodded. “Well, I am very busy right now, but I’ll be seeing you later for dinner. Oh, you’re invited too, Cay.”
She beamed at the angel.
Gabriel withdrew his head and made to shut the window, but Jonathan blurted something out. He just couldn’t help himself. From the second he’d looked up and seen Gabriel’s face and heard his voice, he’d felt this odd sensation of familiarity, and he didn’t want to let it go. He had to say something to keep the old man there, so he said the first thing that came into his head.
“Are you really an angel?”
Gabriel paused a moment before looking directly at Jonathan, one set of extraordinarily blue eyes to another. “I was, Jonathan. I was.” He didn’t say anything else, but just closed the window. As he did so, Jonathan thought that the expression on the angel’s face was one of the saddest he could imagine.
“Is he all right?” asked Elgar.
“I don’t know,” said Cay. “He’s been really quiet recently. But come on, loads of people to see. I think you should meet Professor Morgenstern next, and just to warn you, he probably won’t be wearing any socks.”
Jonathan smiled and let Cay pull him away from Gabriel’s cottage. Despite the oddness of Hobbes End and the ever-present worry over his parents’ absence, he had difficulty imagining that anywhere else could make him feel so completely at home.
Chapter 9
OMELETS AND ANGELS
Elgar walked back to the vicarage, having accompanied Jonathan and Cay on a marathon door-knocking session that had lasted most of the day. Everyone had been pleased to see that Jonathan was recovering, and he got the chance to say thank you for all the cards and presents he’d received. Full of tea and Battenberg cake, Elgar had left Cay showing Jonathan how to fly her kite.
“A catnap before dinner, I think,” he said, pushing his way through the flap in the kitchen door. Once inside, he climbed into a wicker basket that sat in the corner. The basket had once belonged to a little King Charles spaniel, the beloved pet of Ignatius’s mother, Constance. Constance had named the spaniel Renoir after her favorite Impressionist painter.
Renoir had passed away many years before, and when Constance left Hobbes End to live in Devon after the death of her husband, Salvador, she left the basket behind in case Ignatius ever decided to get a dog of his own. Ignatius had been considering the pros and cons of a springer spaniel when Elgar had arrived at the vicarage and claimed the vacant basket. After that, Ignatius quickly gave up on the idea of getting a dog.
“Ah, home sweet home.” The cat chuckled to himself. “I just wish I could get rid of the smell of wet dog.” He stretched, and with a loud crack his back paws punched through the side of the basket.
“Oops!” he exclaimed, surveying the damage.
“What have you done now?” asked Grimm, looking over his shoulder from the other side of the kitchen. Elgar gave him a sheepish grin and began trying desperately to free himself. Watching Elgar as he struggled and swore, Grimm
had enormous trouble suppressing a smile.
“Tell you what,” he said to the entangled cat. “Hold still and I’ll give you a hand.” He reached for a meat cleaver hanging to one side of the oven and made a great show of testing its edge with his thumb. Walking over to the basket, he kneeled down and raised the blade. “Don’t worry,” he said calmly. “You won’t feel a thing!”
Not reassured in the slightest, Elgar yowled and sprinted for the door using just his front legs and dragging the basket along with him. He shot through the cat flap, tearing the basket free and sending splintered wicker in all directions. The flap swung to and fro like a saloon door as Grimm laughed his head off.
Ignatius looked into the kitchen to see what all the fuss was about. Seeing Grimm hooting with mirth and clutching a meat cleaver, he decided that he probably didn’t want to know.
“Right, then,” said the vicar. “I’ll go and lay the table for dinner. Jonathan and our guests will be here soon.”
“Ah, yes,” said Grimm. “It’ll be a nice opportunity for Gabriel to see how well Jonathan’s settling in and have a chat with him at the same time. When do you think Gabriel will tell him the truth?”
Ignatius shrugged. “Hopefully he won’t need to. With any luck Jonathan’s parents will return soon and all will be right with the world. I guess at that point we’re going to have to apologize to Jonathan for all the deception.”
Grimm returned to his omelet making. “Who’d have thought it?” he muttered. “What an interesting summer this is turning out to be.”
The front door of the vicarage banged open, and voices drifted along the hallway. Ignatius, who had just finished laying the dining table, marveled at the ability of children to know precisely when food is about to be served. With a clatter, the heads of Jonathan and Cay—with Elgar at their feet—appeared round the door, closely followed by Gabriel. He was smartly dressed in a black suit, and his long white hair was neatly tied back.
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