by Anna Dale
‘My bees aren’t bad-tempered,’ insisted Pam. ‘They must have been provoked.’ She took hold of Jarrett’s hand. ‘You come along with me, young man, and I’ll put ointment on those stings, and maybe this little encounter will teach you to keep your hands to yourself in future, eh?’
Not receiving the sympathy that Jarrett felt was due to him, he thrust an accusing finger at Susan.
‘That girl grabbed me and hurt my arms. Then she flew me up into the sky. If she’d dropped me I would’ve gone splat.’ Jarrett ended with a feeble attempt at a sob.
No one believed his claim (except Arthur, Miss Quint and Pam, who stayed silent). The old couple shook their heads and muttered a rhyme about telltales and dicky birds, and Dave lifted his lip in a sort of snarl. Lind glared and pushed up her sleeves, and a couple of children sniggered.
‘That’s naughty!’ said Jarrett’s mother, turning on her son. ‘Well . . . all the other things you did today were naughty, but lying about this lovely girl who saved you from those bees is really, extremely naughty, Jarrett, and Mummy isn’t pleased with you.’
Jarrett scowled and kicked a tuft of grass with the toe of his trainer. As he was led away between Pam and his mum, he turned his head and put out his tongue at Susan.
‘Do it back to him!’ urged Arthur; so Susan did.
Later, when Pam sought them out to thank Susan for stopping Jarrett from being stung all over and for preventing the farm’s owner, Dr Webb, from being sued, she assumed that Miss Quint was the mother of Arthur and Susan.
‘Your youngsters are a credit to you,’ said Pam, seizing Miss Quint’s hand. ‘I’m Pam . . . Pam Carruthers, by the way.’
‘Mrs Carruthers! You’re Mrs Carruthers? Woo-hoo! We’ve finally found you!’ Arthur was so excited that he turned a cartwheel – badly – almost kicking Susan in the face.
Pam was somewhat startled. ‘You’ve been looking for me?’ she asked.
‘Almost all morning!’ said a beaming Miss Quint. Their handshake became more vigorous. ‘We’re friends of Mr Hardbattle, the owner of Hardbattle Books.’
At the mention of Mr Hardbattle’s name, Pam’s expression changed to one of elated surprise. ‘Good gracious!’ she said. ‘The advert in Farmers Weekly! I should’ve guessed you were something to do with the bookshop when I met Susan! It’s not every day you bump into a girl with magic wings!’
When all had been revealed, and Pam and Miss Quint had stopped laughing at Arthur’s remark that their handshake might qualify as the longest one in history, Pam led them to a patch of woodland, which was out of bounds to the public. In a clearing in the middle of the spinney was a one-storey cabin where a woodsman had once lived. Dr Webb had had the idea to include the cottage in the tour of the farm, but it had been pointed out to him that lots of visitors traipsing through the spinney would upset the woodland creatures, and Dr Webb’s idea, along with the planned renovation of the cottage, had been scrapped.
‘What do you think of it?’ asked Pam with a grin.
The woodsman’s cottage was small, but its roof was in good repair and its unglazed windows had shutters to keep out the wind and the rain. There was a well behind the cottage and an outhouse, and a garden overwhelmed by weeds.
‘Ooh! Isn’t it dark?’ said Susan when Pam pushed open the door and everyone trooped inside.
Arthur and Miss Quint made favourable comments as they walked from one room to the next. Not having realised that they were looking for somewhere run-down, Susan was surprised to hear them rejoicing over the size of the spiders and laughing when a rickety old bedstead collapsed.
Their voices became livelier with every minute that passed and when they had completed their tour of the cottage and emerged into the sunshine again, Arthur and Miss Quint could not contain their jubilation.
‘Talk about grotty!’ said Arthur. ‘That cottage was really dusty and there were hundreds of crawly things!’
‘Quite unfit for human habitation,’ said Miss Quint. She turned to Pam and hugged her. ‘We’re agreed: it’s perfect!’
When possible dates for transferring the magic had been discussed, Pam borrowed the horse-drawn cart and took them to the bus stop, where they hopped on the express bus back to Plumford, which ran every hour. Sitting was uncomfortable for Susan so she stood in the gangway and clung on to a pole. She was envious of Arthur and Miss Quint. They had bagged a seat together and were talking about the cottage and the look of joy that was bound to appear on Mr Hardbattle’s face when they revealed to him their marvellous news. Susan had to endure being stared at by all the other passengers. She was relieved when the bus reached the stop outside the toy store, which was only a short walk from Hardbattle Books.
‘As soon as we get in, we’ll unwish those dratted wings,’ Miss Quint promised Susan as they stepped off the bus. ‘The magic’s been left to its own devices for the whole morning so it should be in a receptive mood.’
‘I’ll be jolly glad to be rid of them,’ said Susan. She dragged her feet tiredly as she walked beside Miss Quint, ‘but I feel very lucky to have had the chance to fly. It frightened me out of my wits, but it was grand all the same.’
Arthur was walking slightly ahead of the others because Scallywag had sensed that she was nearing home and had started to pull on the lead. ‘I think you were very brave today,’ Arthur told Susan over his shoulder.
‘Do you?’ said Susan. Her cheeks reddened. ‘Gosh!’
‘After we’ve unwished the wings, I suppose we’d better ring the police and tell them about Mr Hardbattle’s van being stolen,’ said Arthur, walking backwards for a few paces.
Miss Quint let out a groan. She had forgotten about the van. She had been on a high ever since she and Arthur had solved the problem of where to relocate the magic, and had even convinced herself that Mr Hardbattle might be persuaded to overlook the fact that wishes had been made in the shop, contrary to his instructions. Knowing how much Mr Hardbattle loved his van, Miss Quint realised that no amount of good news could make up for its disappearance. She was about to agree with Arthur that the police should be called when they turned into Meadow Street and saw a familiar bottle green van parked outside the bookshop.
‘Well, I never!’ declared Miss Quint. ‘The thieves have brought it back!’
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Chapter Fifteen
Laying Down the Law
The van had a scratch on its bonnet, a dented hubcap and a muddy bumper. Miss Quint was appalled at these discoveries because she knew how highly Mr Hardbattle prized his vintage delivery vehicle. She guessed that it would take a great deal of detective work to find out the identity of the lowlife who had taken the van, but she turned out to be wrong. The culprits – there were three of them – owned up to the crime immediately without showing any remorse at all.
‘But you’re not insured, you don’t know how to handle her and, more importantly, you didn’t ask!’ railed Miss Quint, her nose put out of joint.
The three law-breakers took no notice of her and continued with their card game. They had drawn up some chairs and were playing whist at Arthur’s homework table.
‘Which are trumps, again?’ Mr Claggitt asked his companions.
‘Clubs,’ said Jimmy, fanning the cards in his hand.
Miss Quint reached between the two men and snatched up the keys to the van, which she had spied on the table soon after she had set foot in the shop.
‘It’s tantamount to stealing,’ she told them sternly.
Mr Claggitt stopped examining his cards to give Miss Quint a cursory glance. ‘Nonsense, woman!’ he said. ‘We only borrowed it!’
‘Borrowing implies that you gained my permission, which you most certainly did not,’ Miss Quint said. She broke off from giving them an irritated stare and stepped aside to let Arthur pass through the doorway and into the street. He had bee
n instructed to fetch a sponge and bucket of water from the kitchen and to do what he could to restore the shiny appearance of the van’s front bumper.
‘Blimey, Missus!’ said Jimmy, sorting his cards into suits. ‘It ain’t worth getting your pants in a twist! We brought your van back, didn’t we?’
‘You did, but not in the same condition,’ Miss Quint pointed out, ‘and, for your information, the van isn’t mine. It belongs to Mr Hardbattle: the man who owns this shop.’
‘All this palaver, and it ain’t even hers!’ Jimmy murmured to his friends, rudely rolling his eyes.
It was obvious from their behaviour that they did not believe that they had done anything wrong and were only too willing to forget the whole affair, but Miss Quint refused to be sidelined and would not let the matter rest. She insisted that the house guests should come clean and admit to her why they had taken the van.
‘Claggitt here rose early and suggested that we should drive into the country,’ said Mrs Voysey-Brown in her trademark drawl. A smile thinned her lips at the remembrance of their adventure. ‘It was such fun being out and about when everyone else was tucked up in bed!’
‘It’s habit,’ Mr Claggitt said. ‘A good mountaineer’s always up before sunrise. Finest part of the day.’
‘But what did you do?’ asked Miss Quint.
Mr Claggitt grunted. ‘Stretched our legs. Looked at the scenery.’
‘Had a shufti round some stately homes,’ Jimmy said.
‘And now we’d like to be left alone to get on with our game,’ said Mrs Voysey-Brown, glaring coldly at Miss Quint, ‘so why don’t you stop being such a frightful bore and make us something to eat?’
The trio began their card game, and Miss Quint’s fighting spirit faded. ‘You’re not to take it again,’ she told them, pocketing the keys. ‘Mr Hardbattle’s due to arrive home this evening, and I want him to find his van exactly where he left it!’
Cheerfully swinging an empty bucket, Arthur re-entered the shop. He had scrubbed the front bumper of the van until it gleamed. When he had come to pour the dirty water down the drain, he had seen a glittering object in the gutter and picked it up.
‘Anyone lost a piece of jewellery?’ Arthur asked. He unfurled his fingers to show them his find. The brooch was in a bow shape, and set with round white gems.
‘Ooh!’ exclaimed Susan. ‘Isn’t it pretty!’
‘Are those diamonds?’ asked Miss Quint. She bent to get a closer look, but before she could examine the brooch, a hand shot out and grabbed it.
‘It’s mine!’ said Mrs Voysey-Brown, and pinned it to her dress.
The card game continued until, crowing triumphantly, Jimmy took the final trick. He asked if anyone else wanted to join in the next game, and Arthur, who liked to play cards at school during break, told Jimmy to deal him in. He enjoyed playing whist, but was less enamoured with the game of fifty-two-card pick-up, which involved Jimmy throwing the whole deck of cards up in the air and telling Arthur to get down on the floor and pick them up. When they had first met, Arthur had thought that Jimmy was funny, but after enduring his pranks and jibes for three straight days, Arthur had begun to tire of him.
While Arthur played cards, Miss Quint escorted Susan to the kitchen, where she checked the child’s skin for bee stings. Finding only one, Miss Quint daubed the sore spot on Susan’s knee with cool, white cream. Then she progressed to the much more difficult task of unwishing Susan’s wings. She guessed that they would have a greater chance of success if they concentrated their efforts in the areas of the bookshop where the largest, smelliest clusters of magic were to be found.
For their first attempt to get rid of the wings, Miss Quint elected to stand Susan in the bath, where magic could always be counted upon to make a nuisance of itself (pulling out the plug when someone was having a soak was a favourite prank). Despite their best efforts, unwishing the wings in the bath did not work so Susan and Miss Quint moved on to the pantry and afterwards to a corner of the landing which smelt particularly rank. They also tried to get into the attic, but found that it was padlocked.
It was only a matter of time before the magic began to interfere in the card games downstairs. Just as Arthur was about to put down an ace that would have won him the game, the ace changed itself into a two, and later when he had collected three queens, they skipped across the table and plunged back into the pack. Soon afterwards, Arthur lost interest in playing and went in search of Susan. He found her leaning against the couch on the landing, both wings still attached.
‘I thought you were going to unwish those,’ said Arthur, flopping down next to her. (Miss Quint had replaced the couch’s seat cushions, fortunately.)
‘We tried,’ said Susan. ‘We both did our darnedest.’
‘Given up, have you?’ said Arthur. ‘Where’s Miss Quint now?’
Susan flapped a hand in the direction of the kitchen. ‘She’s busy making sandwiches for Mrs V-B and the rest of them. She said that they didn’t deserve to be fed and shouted at me when I tried to help.’
‘Don’t take it personally,’ said Arthur to Susan. ‘It’s not you she’s cross with, it’s that selfish bunch downstairs.’
Stroking the ribbon on one of her plaits between her forefinger and thumb, Susan nodded solemnly. ‘They’re in her bad books because they went off in the van,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ agreed Arthur, ‘and she hasn’t got much patience today what with Mr Hardbattle coming home soon.’ He stared at Susan’s wings and frowned. ‘It’s going to be awkward enough to tell him about his four extra house guests. Those wings of yours will be even more of a problem to explain. Let’s try to get rid of them, shall we?’
Arthur was inspired to stand Susan on the stair that turned to custard from time to time, and it was here that the magic finally yielded to their demands and took away the wings. It was a long, drawn-out process, each wing vanishing a feather at a time. When her ordeal was over, Susan was left with gaping holes in the back of her dress, so they sought out Miss Quint, who fetched her needle and thread and sewed them up. She did the best job that she could, but the stitches looked untidy and they wrinkled the material. Miss Quint promised that after their meal, she and Susan would go to a thrift shop to choose Susan some new clothes.
‘What time did Mr Hardbattle say he’d be home?’ asked Arthur.
Miss Quint did not seem pleased to be reminded. ‘His postcard said in the evening,’ she said. Then she pulled Arthur to one side, and lowered her voice. ‘I’ve been thinking, Arthur . . . I’m going to tell him that Susan is my niece, and the other lot are friends of mine from out of town.’
Arthur did not like the idea of lying to Mr Hardbattle. ‘Couldn’t we just tell him the truth? OK, he’ll be annoyed when he realises that we’ve broken his rules, but when he sees the fine place we’ve found for the magic, he’s bound to forgive us.’
Miss Quint was sceptical of Arthur’s plan. ‘We’ll see,’ she said uncertainly, ‘but whatever we tell him, that little trio will have to improve their manners. Mr Hardbattle won’t let them stay if they act all high and mighty.’
Having missed out on lunch, they had an early tea at half past three, which was eaten in a tense, strained atmosphere. When the last morsel had been consumed, Miss Quint asked for everyone’s attention and unfolded a list of dos and don’ts that she had compiled after her conversation with Arthur.
‘Just lately,’ she told them, eyeing the adults stonily, ‘I have noticed that certain members of the household have been getting rather above themselves. You may be staying as guests here, but that does not give you licence to ride roughshod over everyone else and do whatever you want.’
There was an uncomfortable silence. A bulging vein pulsed on Mr Claggitt’s forehead. Next to him, Mrs Voysey-Brown inspected her nails. Further down the table, between Arthur and Susan, Jimmy attempted to balan
ce a teaspoon on the rim of his cup, giving the impression that he was not listening.
‘I’ve drawn up a list of rules,’ Miss Quint said, ‘which I will pin to the cupboard above the sink. It would be in your best interests to read them. You’ve had it easy for far too long. From now on, I’ll expect you to help with the cooking and washing-up, and the making of the beds, and on no occasion will you be permitted to get behind the wheel of Mr Hardbattle’s van.’
Miss Quint’s announcement was greeted with several murderous looks. Then Mr Claggitt stood up. Muttering under his breath, he began to clear the table, scooping up armfuls of crockery and dumping them in the sink. He turned on the taps, and water poured from them in gleaming rods. Miss Quint’s apron would not fit round his middle and the rubber gloves split as soon as he tried to put them on.
‘Here’s a tea towel for each of you,’ Miss Quint said, handing a linen cloth to Jimmy and Mrs Voysey-Brown. Jimmy grinned and draped his round his shoulders like a cape, but Mrs Voysey-Brown was more reluctant and would only handle her towel with the tips of one finger and thumb.
Leaving them to their chore, Miss Quint led Arthur and Susan downstairs. The children were a little in awe of Miss Quint after her showdown with the three grown-ups, and hardly dared to open their mouths.
‘What’s up with you two? Cat got your tongues?’ Miss Quint said when they reached the shop floor.
They both shook their heads and Susan giggled nervously.
‘That was some talking-to you gave them,’ said Arthur.
Miss Quint seemed flattered by Arthur’s remark. She smiled self-righteously and primped her hair so that it curled neatly against the collar of her blouse. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It went pretty well, I thought. It was high time I stopped pandering to those idlers and told them what was what.’
She walked to the door and unlocked it, then turned over the sign, which told the public that they were open.
