by Anna Dale
‘Ah! It’s all making sense now,’ said Arthur. ‘They’re the reason why you got in such a state and phoned my house mega-early this morning! You’re scared of Mr Hardbattle finding out that you broke his rules.’ Arthur heaved a sigh of relief, which turned into an enormous yawn. ‘I don’t understand why you’re making such a fuss. All we’ve got to do is find their books and do some unwishing.’
‘That’s easy to say, young man, but not so easy to do,’ said Miss Quint. She pulled her fingers through her unkempt hair, giving herself a wiggly parting.
‘Yeah, all right,’ accepted Arthur, finally condescending to step inside the shop. ‘It might take some doing to find those books, but it wasn’t worth dragging me out of bed. I rode really fast to get here, and I haven’t even had my breakfast yet. Mum was going to make pancakes. We hardly ever have those . . .’
Arthur stopped grumbling and gazed around the shop in amazement. It was in total disarray. Books had been tossed on the floor and wedged into places that they did not fit. They were no longer arranged in any logical order. It looked as if a whirlwind had swept through the shop, leaving a scene of devastation in its wake.
‘Oh, Miss Quint!’ said Arthur, turning on the spot with his mouth hanging open. His eyes rested on Trunk who seemed to be just as shocked as he was. The elephant stood at the nearest end of his shelf, immobile and blank-faced, with his trunk outstretched.
‘This is bad,’ said Arthur. ‘Why didn’t you say? The magic’s really flipped out this time. It must have made one heck of a racket in the night. No wonder you look as if you haven’t slept.’
‘I haven’t!’ said Miss Quint. ‘I’ve been awake for hours. You see, the magic didn’t make this mess. I did.’
‘You!’ blustered Arthur, glaring at her angrily. ‘What on earth for? Have you gone loony? It’s lucky Mr Hardbattle’s not back yet. He’d have a fit if he knew what you’d done.’
‘Don’t tell him! You mustn’t tell him!’ pleaded Miss Quint. She sank on to the floor and started to snivel, groping up her sleeve for a handkerchief. ‘I panicked!’ she wailed. ‘I’ve been looking for those blessed books all night long. They’re not here, Arthur. I’m certain of it. I’ve searched everywhere. There isn’t a nook or a cranny that I haven’t poked around in. Tinseltown Ticket, Champagne for Geraldine, Rockfall! and High Jinks must all have been sold.’
‘If we’d sold them we would have written their sales in the ledger,’ pointed out Arthur.
‘They must have been stolen, then,’ Miss Quint said miserably.
‘Stolen? No!’ said Arthur, aghast. ‘Borrowed, maybe.’
‘Whatever’s become of them, they’ve gone!’ Miss Quint lamented. She screwed up her face and dissolved into tears. The sight of Miss Quint falling apart was far more alarming to Arthur than seeing the bookshop in a terrible mess.
‘Don’t cry!’ he said, patting her shoulder awkwardly. He began to collect up some books from the floor. ‘We’ll have this place tidied up in no time, and things will sort themselves out. You’ll see.’
Miss Quint sobbed a little louder. She did not show that she appreciated Arthur’s attempts to comfort her. Nor did she raise a finger to help him pick up the books. She seemed determined to sink into a mire of woe.
Trunk was still in a cataplectic state, standing as rigidly as a pointer dog that had just scented a pheasant.
‘Why don’t you have a word with poor old Trunk?’ said Arthur. ‘He’s not looking well. He could do with some cheering up.’
Miss Quint shook her head and did not change her position. Fearing that she might stay slumped on the floor in a wretched heap for the remainder of the morning, Arthur made further suggestions to try to encourage her to get to her feet. ‘Perhaps you’d feel better if you took a bath or changed your clothes or had something to eat,’ he proffered brightly.
‘I’m not hungry,’ mumbled Miss Quint. ‘After supper I ate a whole packet of chocolate biscuits.’
‘Suit yourself!’ said Arthur, his patience exhausted. He turned his back on her and stooped to retrieve some books from under a chair. There was only an hour and a half until the shop was due to open and he could not afford to waste any more time attempting to perk up Miss Quint.
Arthur tried to ignore his growling stomach and immersed himself in his back-breaking task. The magic did not assist him. In fact it made his job harder by changing the weight of the books so that they were either so heavy that he could barely lift them or so light that they kept floating out of his reach. If he lost his temper, the magic reacted by irritating him even more. He was dive-bombed by the ducks, assailed by the rubber bands and at one point, Arthur was rooted to the spot while two dozen drawing pins played tag around his feet. Gradually he learned that if he ignored the magic’s tomfoolery, it was far more likely to leave him alone.
By a quarter to nine the shop was remarkably shipshape, and Arthur felt that he deserved a medal as well as a sit down and a cup of tea. As he looked about him, reflecting upon his achievement, he noticed that Miss Quint had gone. Avoiding the drawing pins, which had formed a circle and were whizzing anticlockwise at a mesmerising speed, he trod wearily up the staircase in search of some breakfast.
There was a smell of burnt toast coming from the kitchen. When Arthur went in, he found Jimmy, Mr Claggitt and Mrs Voysey-Brown seated at the table. They were grasping cutlery impatiently and Susan was scurrying between them with a plate of charred bread in her hand.
‘Lightly toasted, I said, not singed!’ grumbled Mr Claggitt, smearing his toast with great lumps of marmalade.
Jimmy laughed, took a slice and scraped off the worst of the burnt bits with a knife. ‘Just like me ma used to make!’ he said.
‘I won’t,’ said Mrs Voysey-Brown when Susan held out the plate to her. ‘Darling, I feel I should point out that catering is not your thing. Be an angel and open a window, would you? Before we all expire from the fumes.’
They were all delighted to see Arthur.
‘Any good with a frying pan?’ Mr Claggitt asked him. ‘The Quint woman’s deserted us, and Susie’s efforts aren’t up to much.’
Having spent the best part of an hour tidying the bookshop on his own, the last thing that Arthur wanted to do was to cook breakfast for everyone.
‘How about some cereal?’ he said, producing a box from a cupboard and filling a jug with milk from the fridge. He noticed Susan’s downcast face and gave her a friendly nudge.
‘Don’t let them get to you, Suze,’ Arthur whispered. ‘You just need some practice, that’s all.’
When breakfast was almost over and the remnants of the toast had been crunched up by Scallywag, Miss Quint appeared at the kitchen door. She had changed into her nightdress, and looked jaded and grey. ‘You’ll amuse yourselves, won’t you?’ she mumbled tiredly. ‘I’m off to bed. I’m bushed.’
Leaving the others to mutter discontentedly, Arthur followed Miss Quint on to the landing and grabbed her arm. ‘Who’s going to open up the shop?’ he asked.
Miss Quint focused her red-rimmed eyes on Arthur. ‘Shan’t be fit for anything till I’ve had some sleep,’ she said. ‘Shop’ll have to stay closed. Can’t be helped.’
Arthur groaned. Miss Quint’s ill-timed nap meant that the shop would be unmanned and that their trip to the farmhouse would have to be postponed again. The excursion to Thornwick could be put off until the next morning, but losing a day’s takings seemed a rash thing to do when every penny was so important.
‘Where are the keys, Miss Quint?’ Arthur asked suddenly. ‘Me and Suze and Jimmy, maybe . . . we can look after the shop.’
Miss Quint led Arthur along the landing to the broom cupboard. Not wishing to sleep in the chair downstairs during daylight hours, she had transformed the cupboard into her bedroom. Three sofa cushions from the couch served as her mattress, and draped over these
was a sleeping bag.
After a quick rummage in the pockets of her dress (which dangled from a hanger on the doorknob), Miss Quint found the shop keys and pressed them into Arthur’s hands. ‘Do whaddever you want,’ she said thickly, and gestured that he should go.
Arthur unlocked the door at nine o’clock sharp and sat down at the desk, awaiting the first customer. The cash register occupied the left-hand side of the desk and next to it was the ledger in which every sale was recorded. Lined up by an inkwell were the drawing pins, staples and assorted writing implements. Arthur picked up a pencil, intending to play noughts and crosses with himself, but the pencil would only write Latin words and phrases, so he swapped it for a crayon which was less intractable.
Susan felt purposeless without Miss Quint to follow around and when Arthur asked her if she would give him a hand in the shop, Susan said yes straight away. Showing gumption that she had not displayed before, she started to put some maps in numerical order. Arthur had hoped that the other three would help out too, but they revealed soon after breakfast that they had other plans.
Jimmy, Mr Claggitt and Mrs Voysey-Brown said that they were going to spend the day touring the sights of Plumford. Arthur considered this to be a bad idea. He hated the thought of the three book characters roaming the town unchaperoned, but there was very little that he could do to stop them. He argued that apart from a Saxon church and a bungalow, which had been the birthplace of a famous comedienne, there was nothing else of interest to visit. However, the three grown-ups would not be persuaded to change their minds.
Mr Claggitt wrenched open the door with a powerful tug, causing the bell to reverberate like an alarm. ‘Best foot forward!’ he said determinedly as if he were setting out on an expedition rather than a walk around a small English town.
‘Goodbye!’ called Arthur. ‘Be careful, won’t you? Don’t get lost!’
Business was not brisk in the bookshop. By midday, Arthur had served one person, who had asked if the shop stocked washing machines. After lunch, Arthur was inspired to give the windows a wipe so that people passing by would be more likely to come in. This proved to be a successful ploy. Four customers entered the shop in the afternoon. One returned a book for a refund, one opted to purchase a book on trains, and the other two (a husband and wife) were scared away by a rug, which kept altering its pattern while they were looking for a book on stamps.
By closing time, Arthur had decided that a career in retail was not for him. He glared enviously when the three sightseers returned in buoyant mood. Mrs Voysey-Brown’s neck was swathed in a new silk scarf and the two men were sporting gold-coloured wristwatches. It seemed that fictional money was accepted in Plumford’s stores just as readily as the regular kind.
Miss Quint surfaced after nightfall, by which time Arthur had gone home and Susan had put herself to bed.
The next day, Arthur detected a change in Miss Quint. She was waiting at the door of the shop to let him in when he turned up at a quarter to nine. She welcomed him with her arms outstretched and Arthur retreated swiftly, not wishing to receive a hug. Only when the threat of an embrace had subsided did he feel that it was safe to draw closer.
‘I’m sorry, Arthur!’ Miss Quint said. ‘I was a nitwit yesterday, wasn’t I?’
‘Not a nitwit, exactly,’ said Arthur.
‘I let you and Susan run the shop all by yourselves. A couple of youngsters!’ she said. ‘It wasn’t right.’
With his hands stuffed in his pockets, Arthur leaned against the doorpost. ‘We managed,’ he said in a nonchalant way. ‘We sold one book and a lady brought one back. There were holes in all the pages. Pin-sized holes.’
Miss Quint frowned. ‘Those drawing pins are devils. I’ve half a mind to lock them away. There’s an old tea caddy in the kitchen that would hold them –’
‘Please don’t!’ said Arthur. ‘They wouldn’t like that. The magic was ever so well behaved yesterday, on the whole.’
‘Oh, all right,’ Miss Quint conceded. ‘I promise I won’t shut them up.’ She gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze. ‘I’ve been a prize ninny. I’ll admit that. Fretting about the trouble I’ll be in when Mr Hardbattle gets back from his travels! I should have remembered what a nice man he is. Not the sort to blow his top. Thank heavens I went to my meeting of the Women’s Institute last night. They set me straight. Gave me a good talking to.’
‘You told your friends about the shop?’ asked Arthur. He stopped leaning against the doorframe and stood up straight. ‘You explained about the magic? And they believed you?’
‘I mentioned bits and pieces,’ Miss Quint told him.
When Arthur had tried to tell his friends at school about the magic, they had laughed in his face and said that he was being daft.
‘And they didn’t think you were nuts?’ he asked.
‘Naturally not,’ replied Miss Quint. ‘They were very supportive, in fact.’
Precisely what had been said at the meeting was never disclosed because at that moment Susan appeared at Miss Quint’s shoulder, holding a cardboard box in her arms and Scallywag on a lead.
‘Ah, there you are!’ Miss Quint said. She chivvied the children and dog out of the shop and on to the pavement.
‘What’s in the box?’ asked Arthur.
‘Books, of course,’ replied Miss Quint. She felt in her pocket for the door key. ‘They need to be delivered to a house in Rabbit’s Cross. I thought it’d be nice if we all went, and on the way back we paid a visit to a friend in the countryside –’
‘Mrs Carruthers at Down-the-Ages Farm!’ cried Arthur.
Miss Quint winked at Arthur, and Arthur winked back.
Susan, who was standing between the pair of them, realised that something had happened which she had not understood. ‘Why did you and Arthur twitch your eyes like that?’ she asked.
‘It’s because we know a secret,’ said Miss Quint as she slotted the key in the lock.
‘Can’t we tell her?’ Arthur begged.
Miss Quint raised her eyebrows at Arthur, and turned to give Susan a long, hard look. ‘As you’re a good girl, and not the type to tittle-tattle, Arthur and I will tell you all about it on the way.’
Overjoyed, Susan skipped on the spot. ‘Ooh! Thank you! I won’t spill the beans. That’s a promise, truly it is!’
Arthur chuckled to himself. He felt glad. By now, he considered Susan to be a friend, and it seemed unfair to keep the rehoming of the magic a secret from her. As long as Susan did not learn that the magic had been responsible for bringing her to life, he did not think that involving her in their project would be an ill-advised thing.
Letting his gaze wander from Susan’s flushed, excited face, Arthur glanced to his left, and his smile faded rapidly.
‘Miss Quint,’ he asked in a puzzled voice, ‘where’s the van?’
‘Right there in the road where I parked it,’ replied Miss Quint, twisting the door key with a flourish and dropping it into her pocket.
‘Um . . . I think you’ll find it’s not,’ said Arthur.
Annoyed at having her word doubted, Miss Quint looked up. She gaped with shock when she saw the empty portion of road next to the kerb.
‘Oh my giddy goodness!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s been pinched!’
.
Chapter Thirteen
Ups and Downs
‘Mr Hardbattle worships that van!’ Miss Quint said. She clapped her hand to her mouth in dismay and spoke through her fingers. ‘He’ll blame me. He will! He’ll spread it around that I’m useless. He’ll kick me out and no one else will want to employ me. If Mirabel won’t have me back, I’ll be destitute!’
Arthur shook her elbow. ‘Miss Quint, you’re getting all gloomy again. A minute ago you were saying how nice and kind Mr Hardbattle is. It’s not your fault the van’s been stolen.’
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Susan set down the box of books on the pavement, and knelt beside Scallywag to give her a pat. ‘Gosh!’ she said. ‘What rotten luck! We shan’t be going to see your friend at Down-the-Ages Farm, now, shall we?’
Arthur smiled at her sadly. ‘Not unless we all sprout wings and fly there, we won’t,’ he said.
‘Like pigeons?’ said Susan. ‘Golly, wouldn’t that be fun? I wish I did have wings. I wish . . .’
Almost before the words had left her mouth, Susan bent one arm behind her back and began to scratch her shoulder blades. ‘Ooh! I think I’ve been bitten by something. I can feel lumps,’ she said.
‘No, it couldn’t happen,’ said Arthur. ‘We’re out of the shop. You’ve locked the door.’ He grimaced at Miss Quint and she glared angrily back at him.
‘Why did you have to put that idea in her head?’ scolded Miss Quint as she peered at Susan’s back. Two knob-like growths had burst through the yoke of Susan’s dress.
‘Me?’ said Arthur. ‘What about you? Why didn’t you tell her she mustn’t wish?’
They stared at each other obstinately and then, without saying a word, they seemed to accept that awarding blame would not achieve anything.
‘How do you think it could have happened?’ asked Miss Quint. ‘Did the magic squirm through the keyhole?’
‘Perhaps it was in the drainpipe,’ said Arthur, ‘or maybe you wafted a cloud of magic outside when you closed the door.’
Susan stood up. She twisted her neck as far as it would go in order to see the peculiar bony stems that were protruding from her back. They grew thicker and longer, with threads swelling along them like teeth on a comb. ‘What are those horrid things?’ she asked, biting her lip and blinking back tears. ‘Ooh, they hurt like billy-o. Take them off!’
‘They’re wings, dear,’ Miss Quint said as the slim, pale threads blossomed into tawny feathers. Scallywag backed away from Susan, barking huskily.
