“I’ve been waiting for you, Jeremy.” It was Tabitha Twitchit.
Jeremy sat down beside her and rubbed her ears. “What are you doing here, Tabitha?” he asked. “You belong across the street at Mrs. Lythecoe’s, don’t you?” A silly question, that, since the village cats belonged wherever they happened to sit down, which could be anywhere.
“I dropped in on my way home from Bosworth’s birthday party to visit Treacle and her new kittens,” Tabitha said, purring warmly. “I brought her a bit of birthday cake.” Indeed she had, for if you looked closely, you could see traces of crumbs on the pillow where Treacle was nursing her babies. The kittens were too young to eat cake, but Treacle had enjoyed it very much.
Jeremy smiled at the mother cat and her kittens. “Nice,” he said. Thinking out loud, he added, “Maybe Mrs. Llewellyn will let Deidre and me have one of those kittens when we’re married and living in Slatestone Cottage. I’m sure there will be mice. There always are.” He was right, for every cottage in the village was staffed by at least one tribe of mice, and possibly two. A cat was a prudent investment.
“You and Deirdre are getting married!” Tabitha exclaimed. “Why, that’s wonderful news, Jeremy! I’m delighted to hear it.” And she jumped into his lap and began to purr quite loudly, rubbing her face against his arm.
Jeremy chuckled and stroked her. “I guess it’s time I thought about getting some tea. Mrs. Llewellyn will probably be home late, and I’m hungry.”
At the mention of Mrs. Llewellyn, Tabitha stopped purring. “I found something a minute ago,” she said. “I got up on the table to look out the window, and I saw something. I want you to have a look at it. Please.” And with that, she put out a claw and snagged his sleeve.
Jeremy disengaged the claw. “Silly old Tabitha,” he said affectionately. “But now you must excuse me. I’m going to find something to eat.”
“Not just yet,” Tabitha insisted, and jumped to the floor, planting herself firmly in front of him. “It’s over here, on the table in front of the window.”
Jeremy frowned. It looked as if the cat was trying to get his attention. What was this all about? Was she wanting to show him something? The next minute, she had leapt up on the small writing table that sat in front of the window. She put her paw on a piece of paper. “This.” Her whiskers twitched briskly. “Read this.”
Now, it must be admitted that our Tabitha is not much of a reader. Unlike Thackeray the guinea pig and Bailey the badger, she does not live in a library or spend her days and nights with her pretty nose in a book. However, she had been raised from kittenhood by Mrs. Abigail Tolliver, who lived in Anvil Cottage before Sarah Barwick came there. Mrs. Tolliver used to read aloud, and Tabitha loved to sit on her mistress’ shoulder and follow the words on the page as Mrs. Tolliver said them. In this way, Tabitha had learnt to read printed words, although her vocabulary was limited to the words that occurred most often. She was especially expert in words like the and and. So whilst she had an idea of what might be written on this particular paper, she wasn’t sure.
“Read this!” she commanded again, louder. “And tell me what it says.”
Jeremy frowned. “I don’t read people’s letters,” he said. “That’s against all the rules.” But his glance strayed to the paper, just the same, because the cat was so insistent, and—now that he looked at it—this one was so odd. It was written in pencil, on a piece of plain paper that had one rough edge, as though it had been creased and torn from a larger piece of paper.
His eyes caught the first words. “What the devil?” he muttered. And then he did something he knew he should not do, should never do, in any circumstance.
He read it.
And then he sat dumbfounded, for he didn’t know what to do.
20
In Which We Learn More About Letters
At Hill Top Farm, Beatrix sat at the table, her pen in her hand, the paper in front of her. She had been a writer all her life, beginning a journal when she was sixteen, writing letters almost every day of the week, crafting the stories in her little books. Words came easily to her, phrases popped unbidden into her mind, graceful, thoughtful phrases that usually flowed readily from her pen onto the paper without any need for revision.
But not today. Not this letter. She had already made several starts, scratching out words, even whole sentences, and once balling up an entire sheet and throwing it into the fire. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t know what she wanted to say—she had already decided that. The challenge was finding the right words, for she kept thinking of how her father would turn red and sputter and how her mother would wail and take to her bed with smelling salts. And she knew very well what they would say when they wrote back to her, or to her face when she returned to London. That a country solicitor was as far beneath her as a book publisher had been, for she came from an illustrious family of “Bar and Bench.” That marriage at her age was out of the question. And that marriage was out of the question in any event, for if she married and moved to the Lakes, who would look after them? The arguments, most of them, would be the same ones that they had raised when she and Norman became engaged—except now, they were older, and the prospect of her leaving would raise even greater fears.
But at last, after many false starts, Beatrix had crafted a letter that satisfied her. Slowly, thoughtfully, she read it out loud to herself. Then she reread it and scratched out a few words.
Dearest Papa and Mama,
Bertram has written to tell me that you have heard that I am engaged to be married, and that the news has upset you. I am deeply sorry for that. I would not have wished it, as I’m sure you know. But now that you have been made aware of the situation, it is only right for me to tell you all of it.
It is true that I am engaged to William Heelis. The event took place some while ago and the matter is now settled between us. As you know, Mr. Heelis is the solicitor who has arranged for my recent purchases of land and property, and is a well-known and widely respected person here in the Lakes. In fact, I think it is fair to say that there is no more respected person of the law in this whole region than he. Over the past several years, I have become acquainted with him both in the way of business and in a more personal way. We have learnt to value each other’s opinions, interests, and experiences and have come to take a great deal of pleasure in each other’s company. I am sorry that you have not yet met him, but . I hope you will agree to meet him later this year.
Having said that Mr. Heelis and I are engaged, I must also assure you that our marriage is not imminent. No wedding has been planned, no living arrangements have been made, and we have not discussed a date by which we might think to marry. I am fully aware of your needs and expectations, and you must know how completely I am devoted to your care. And if I have all the ordinary longings for a home of my own with the man with whom I wish to spend my life, I fully intend to fulfill my duty to you. I trust this will reassure you and somewhat ease the pain that this unexpected news has caused you.
I am writing this letter to let you know what has happened, what I feel, and what I intend. I wish not to discuss this matter when I return to London, but to consider it a settled thing, and to go on living quietly together. I promise to do all in my power to ensure your health and happiness. Please know that I am now, and shall always remain,
Yr. affectionate and dutiful daughter,
Beatrix
She then recopied the letter, omitting the lined-through words. She read it once more, then put it down and took up her pen again. This time, she wrote to her brother.
My dearest Bertram,
I am enclosing a letter that I hope you will read aloud to Mama and Papa at the earliest opportunity. It informs them that the news they have heard is correct, and that Mr. Heelis and I are engaged. I hope it will also reassure them that I do not intend to marry in the near future.
I am sorry that they heard this from someone else, and that you find yourself in the middle of such an unpleasantness. But I th
ink perhaps it is better that you are there, and I am here. By the time I return, they may have begun to accept the situation, at least so far as is possible. I mean what I say: that I do not want to discuss the matter but to consider it a settled thing. (This is probably a vain hope, but it is my hope, nonetheless.) Please do what you can to help them come to terms, as far as they are able, with my decision.
Yr. loving sister,
Beatrix
Feeling as triumphant as if she had just signed her own emancipation declaration, Beatrix folded both letters carefully, one inside the other, and put them into an envelope, which she addressed to Bertram, at Number Two Bolton Gardens. The envelope would go into tomorrow’s post and arrive the day after that. Even if her parents wrote back immediately (as they probably would, a long letter, full of angry recriminations), it would take another day for their letter to arrive. It would be four days, most likely, before she heard. Four days before she had to deal with the problem again.
So for now, she would simply put the matter away on a dark shelf in the farthest corner of her mind, where she wouldn’t stumble over it inadvertently, and fill the intervening hours and days with something pleasant—garden work, and a walk around the farm. She hoped Will would have time to come by, so she could tell him what she had done. He had been kind enough not to urge her to tell them, but he would certainly be pleased to have it out in the open at last. He would—
Her thoughts were interrupted by a light rap at the door. Her heart leapt. Had thinking of Will conjured him up? But when she opened it, she saw Jeremy Crosfield, standing outside in the darkness. At his heels was Grace Lythecoe’s cat, Tabitha Twitchit.
“Oh, hello, Jeremy,” she said, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.
“Do you have a moment, Miss Potter?” Jeremy asked soberly. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“And there’s something I need to say to you,” Beatrix replied as he stepped inside. Tabitha came with him. “I had a visit from Deirdre this afternoon. She tells me that you and she will be married in June. So I must say congratulations, my very dear boy. I am happy for you both.”
That brought a wide smile to Jeremy’s face. “Thank you. I know that we have some hard times ahead, but we care for each other and we’re willing to work.”
“Of course you are,” Beatrix said, taking his coat. “And of course, you know that I hope very much that you won’t neglect your art.”
He brightened still more. “Oh, I won’t, Miss Potter!” he exclaimed. “I won’t!” And he told her about the sale of his painting of the Dark-red Helleborine.
“Why, Jeremy, that’s wonderful!” Beatrix replied happily. “There are a great many rare plants and fungi tucked away among the rocks and fells, and all begging to be painted. The land is changing and they may not always be there. I know you will be busy with teaching and your new home, but I hope you will make time for your art.”
But even as she said this, she found herself smiling ruefully. In years past, she had always made time for her art, finding it a great solace and an escape from the demands of her parents. But as time went on, she found more creative delight in the work she did on the farm than in the drawings for her little books. Indeed, if she were truthful with herself, she would have to say that it was becoming a chore to settle down to drawing fictional animals, although it was never a chore to pay attention to the real ones. And her publisher’s calls for more books and more books had begun to weigh on her almost like a physical burden.
But Jeremy was just at the beginning of his artistic work, she reminded herself, while she had been drawing and painting for many years. It was right that he should make time to pursue his art, and it was good that he would have the support of a wife who had his interests at heart.
“Have you had your tea?” she asked as she hung his coat on the peg behind the door. “I have fresh bread and butter and some new-made cheese.” When Jeremy said “yes, please” to the offer of bread, cheese, and tea, she went to pour a cup, and then thought of something else he would like. “Oh, and Mrs. Jennings has left a large apple pudding, made with our own Hill Top apples.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Jeremy said, smiling. “I usually have tea at the Llewellyns’, but they’re both out this evening.” He sat down at the table, sober-faced again. “I’m afraid that I’m on a serious errand, though. I need to ask your advice about something. Something very important.”
“Tea first,” Beatrix counseled, thinking that perhaps he wanted to ask her about his upcoming marriage or his art. “Then we’ll tackle your serious errand.” She looked down at the cat. “And I suppose you would like something too, Tabitha.”
“If you please, Miss Potter,” Tabitha mewed politely, and happily bent to the saucer of milk that Beatrix put down.
A little later, Jeremy sat back with a sigh. “Thank you,” he said, pushing his plate away. “That was a fine tea. Mrs. Jennings’ cheese is outstanding.”
“It’s Kitchen’s cheese, too,” Beatrix said firmly. “The cheese can never be any better than the milk it begins with, no matter the talents of the cheesemaker.”
“And Kitchen’s milk is tip-top,” Tabitha purred. “I’ve sampled the milk of every cow in the village, and I know.”
Beatrix rested her forearms on the table. “Now, are you ready to tell me about your errand?”
“I wish I didn’t have to,” Jeremy said, shaking his head. “Really, Miss Potter, I don’t know what to make of it.”
“I do,” Tabitha said, getting up from the hearth and pushing her face against Jeremy’s ankle. “I know exactly what to make of it. And so will Miss Potter, when you show it to her. Please do.”
“Make of what?” Beatrix asked curiously.
“This,” Jeremy said, and pushed a piece of paper across the table to her. On the paper was written, in Jeremy’s hand: “Dear Mrs. Lythecoe, If you don’t cancel the wedding by next Monday, you will be very sorry.”
Beatrix stared at it, a shiver of apprehension crossing her shoulders. “Where did you get this?” she asked.
“I copied it,” Jeremy said. He bit his lip. “I know it was wrong to read the letter, but it was lying right out in plain sight on the table. I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t help seeing it.”
“He couldn’t help seeing it because I told him to look at it,” Tabitha said proudly. “He wouldn’t be here showing it to you, if it weren’t for me.”
“After I read it, I didn’t know what to do,” Jeremy confessed. “I shouldn’t have read it—I know that. But once I had, I had to do something. I couldn’t just go away and pretend I hadn’t seen it, but I couldn’t tear it up, either. So I copied it and left the original where I found it.”
Beatrix took a deep breath. “And where was that, Jeremy?”
“At High Green Gate,” Jeremy said miserably. “On the table in the Llewellyns’ parlor.”
The minute he said that, Beatrix understood. Everything fell into place.
“I see,” she said softly. “I understand.”
“Good,” Tabitha said. “I’d like a little credit, please.”
Jeremy was still staring at the paper. “Can you think of what should be done?” he asked at last.
“I believe so,” Beatrix said. “And I’m very glad you’ve brought this to me, Jeremy. It was wise.” She sighed, not wanting to think about what had to come next. “But it’s too late this evening to do anything about it. I think you should go back to High Green Gate and pretend that nothing at all has happened. Can you do that?”
He nodded. “I can try, anyway.”
“Meee-ow,” Tabitha said.
“Good.” Beatrix smiled. “And thank you, Jeremy, more than I can say. You’ve solved a very unhappy mystery that has been troubling Mrs. Lythecoe for some time.”
“Me!” Tabitha cried petulantly. “What about me? Don’t I get any credit?”
“I’m sorry about that,” Jeremy said. “I’m glad I could help.” He looked do
wn at Tabitha, who was curling around his ankles. “We ought to thank Tabitha as well, though. If it hadn’t been for her, I wouldn’t have looked at the letter.”
“Indeed.” Miss Potter bent and stroked the cat. “Thank you, Tabitha.”
“It’s about time,” Tabitha said tartly.
21
“A Half-Mad Wizard”
When the news of the Water Bird’s crash got around the village (which of course it did, and quicker than a dog can wag its tail), everyone was delighted. It was human nature to be glad that the nuisance noise was gone. It was also human nature to speculate about how Mr. Baum had come to take such a tumble from the top of Oat Cake Crag, the night before his aeroplane fell out of the sky. And it was human nature—at least in the village of Near Sawrey—to talk about it, and talk, and talk, and talk.
So early the next afternoon, Bertha Stubbs put on her everyday blue hat with the purple ribbon and a heavy shawl and went up the hill to Tower Bank House, where she sat down for a cup of tea and a fresh-baked raisin scone with her friend, Elsa Grape, the Tower Bank cook-housekeeper. Bertha had heard about the aeroplane crash from her husband, Henry, who had heard about it from his cousin Tommy, who worked on the aeroplane. What’s more, Tommy had told Henry that the engine failure occurred because water had got into the petrol barrel. Tommy thought he knew how that happened, but he wouldn’t say.
“Dust Henry know who dunnit?” Elsa demanded. “If he does, he ought to tell Captain Woodcock.”
The Tale of Oat Cake Crag Page 23
