Never had they been so thankful to turn in to Uncle Zack’s gate.
‘I can’t wear gum-boots and a mac indoors,’ said John anxiously. ‘The pockets in my jeans are too small to hold anything. I don’t suppose Uncle Zack would notice, but Mrs Bodkin doesn’t miss a thing. I bet she’d spot the brickends, and make me turn my pockets out. Do you think if I ate an enormous dinner that would hold me down?’
‘If you ate the weight of two brick-ends, I should think even Uncle Zack would notice,’ said Rosemary. ‘I tell you what. Supposing you make some excuse to go straight to bed? You’d be safe from draughts if I piled my bed-clothes on top of yours, and tucked them well in all round. We’re terribly late. The Post Office clock said half past three, so we’ve missed dinner, and it’s nearly tea time.’
‘Help!’ said John. ‘I’m starving!’
Mrs Bodkin’s crossness at their late return evaporated as soon as John asked if he could go to bed. ‘I’ve got a splitting head-ache,’ he said, which was perfectly true.
‘Go to bed?’ repeated Mrs Bodkin. ‘I hope to goodness you aren’t sickening for something! But it’s the best place if you’re feeling poorly. You go straight upstairs, and I’ll come up presently and take your temperature.’
Getting undressed and between the sheets presented a good deal of difficulty; but with John clutching the bed-post with both hands, and Rosemary peeling off most of his clothes, it was managed at last. Rosemary tucked him hurriedly in and went to fetch her own blankets for extra weight. She was just returning with her arms full, when a gust of wind made a downstairs door slam, and she remembered she had forgotten to close John’s bedroom door behind her. She hurried in, only to find that the window opposite was open too, and John, with bed-clothes still trailing, had wafted halfway up to the ceiling. ‘Shut the door!’ he yelled. ‘There’s a through draught!’
Rosemary dropped the bundle she was carrying, banged the door to behind her, dashed to the window, slammed it shut and latched it securely. There was a ‘flump’ behind her, and she turned to find John once more lying on his bed. With no draught the blankets were heavy enough to bring him down again.
‘You’d only tucked the blankets in properly one side,’ he said faintly. He lay, eyes closed, looking rather white. ‘I can’t take much more of this,’ he said. His eyes, when he opened them again, looked so worried that Rosemary put her hand over one of his which clutched the slipping blanket. He didn’t seem to mind.
‘You won’t have to,’ she said. ‘It won’t be long till morning. It’s all my fault for making that idiotic wish. Of course, I didn’t really mean it to happen. It was just one of those silly things you say sometimes.’
‘I know,’ said John. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been bad-tempered. But you can’t think how beastly this is all being. It was clever of you, the way you got me down from the roof — in the station, I mean. And thinking of the brick-ends and things. You’d better put those extra blankets on top of me, and tuck them well in on both sides this time.’
Ten minutes later Mrs Bodkin came in with a tray.
‘Temperature first, tea after,’ she said briskly, and while John’s mouth was firmly closed round the thermometer, watch in hand, she looked round the room. ‘Well! I never saw such a mess! Dirt and stones all over the place! What on earth have you been up to?’
‘I’m awfully sorry,’ said Rosemary. ‘It was a ... a game we’ve been playing. I’ll clear it up, every bit. I promise.’
‘You’re a bit big for mud pies, aren’t you?’
Mrs Bodkin picked up John’s clothes which were scattered about the floor. ‘And look at your trousers and your sweater! Filthy, they are! And your things aren’t much better,’ she added as she caught sight of Rosemary. ‘Clean clothes for both of you in the morning, and don’t you forget it!’
She peered at the thermometer through narrowed eyes, holding it now near, now far. ‘Normal!’ she said at last. ‘That’s a good thing! Is your throat sore? No? Then you’ll do. I’ve brought you a pot of tea. More than you deserve, coming home at all hours! There’s some ham sandwiches and a few of those left-over rock cakes for you, Rosie; but I’ve put a nice dry biscuit for young John. Just in case,’ she added mysteriously. ‘We don’t want to take any risks, do we? He looks a bit flushed, doesn’t he?’
‘Flushed?’ growled John, when she had gone downstairs again. ‘She’d look flushed with seven blankets and two eiderdowns tucked in on top of her. I’m simply sweltering! And one “nice dry biscuit” when I’m starving!’
In the end, of course, they shared the ham sandwiches and rock cakes between them. Dumpsie was curled up at the foot of the bed, a small purring ball. Doing something so ordinary and everyday as pouring tea, and stirring in milk and sugar with the shared kitchen spoon, began to work its own gentle kind of magic, and they both began to feel better. They even got a bit giggly.
‘You’ve still got that beastly ring?’ asked John suddenly. Rosemary nodded. She felt in her pocket and held out the Golden Gew-Gaw in the palm of her hand. ‘Then for goodness’ sake, put it back in the box before you go making another crazy wish. When Dumpsie wakes up, we shall have to explain why we can’t hear her. She’ll have to invent a sign to make if she wants to speak to us.’
‘I don’t see why it should always be you in charge of the ring,’ said Rosemary.
‘Because, you twit, I’m the one who always has a pocket to put it in.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Rosemary reluctantly.
‘You can keep the paper hat if you like,’ said John.
‘All right,’ said Rosemary. She had just returned the box to John’s trouser pocket, when Uncle Zack came in.
‘Hallo, old chap! Mrs Bodkin tells me you aren’t feeling very well.’ He lowered his long body into the small chair by the bed. ‘I’m afraid I’m being rather a neglectful uncle, and leaving you both on your own most of the time; but I’ve had rather a lot of bothersome business to see to. I do hope you aren’t being bored?’
‘Bored? Good heavens, no!’ said John.
‘We’ve been much too busy,’ said Rosemary.
‘That’s a good thing,’ said Uncle Zack. ‘What have you been doing with yourselves?’
‘Oh, this and that,’ said John cautiously.
‘Exploring the old railway station mostly,’ said Rosemary. John, who was out of nudging distance, gave her a warning glance.
‘Well, I suppose there’s no harm in that, as long as you don’t do any damage,’ said Uncle Zack. They both thought guiltily of the broken glass roof. ‘Pity you aren’t well,’ he went on. ‘I’ve got to go to Broomhurst tomorrow to see my solicitor, and I’d planned an expedition for all three of us. I shall shut up shop. We might have gone to the pictures, when I’ve done my business, which won’t take long. There’s a good Western on, and Mr Sprules wanted us to go and have tea with him in his shop afterwards. I thought Mrs Bodkin would be glad to be rid of us so that she can get on with the cooking for the Sale on Saturday.’
‘I’m sure I shall be all right by the morning,’ said John eagerly, beginning to sit up. Catching sight of Rosemary’s warning head-shake, he hurriedly slid under the pile of bed-clothes again.
‘Well, we shall have to see how you are,’ said Uncle Zack.
‘Bother!’ said John later. ‘We ought to be spending tomorrow searching Tucket Towers for Carbonel. But I don’t see how we can say we won’t go to Broomhurst with Uncle Zack, unless I pretend I’ve still got a head-ache; and then Mother Boddles won’t let me go out.’
‘I think I should rather like a day off from all this magic business,’ said Rosemary, with which John rather shamefacedly agreed.
Rosemary woke early next morning. It had been an uncomfortable night. She jumped out of bed at once and ran into John’s room. He was fast asleep, but stirred when she tripped over the untidy pile of extra blankets straggling over the floor by his bed.
‘John! John!’ she said urgently. ‘How are you?’
; He gave a tremendous yawn.
‘What do you mean, how am I?’ he said sleepily; then suddenly remembering the happenings of the day before, he opened his eyes wide. ‘Shut the door, just in case, and I’ll see.’
Very cautiously he climbed out of bed ... and to Rosemary’s enormous relief stood squarely on the floor. A slow smile spread over his face. He jumped a few inches off the ground, and came down with a heartening thud; then he jumped half a dozen times, higher and higher, just for the pleasure of feeling himself come down again.
Dumpsie uncurled herself for a moment to watch. ‘Clumping as ever!’ she said, then she tucked her nose under her tail and went to sleep again.
‘Thank goodness!’ said Rosemary. ‘Help me take my bed-clothes back. We don’t want Mother Boddles finding them here and asking questions. We’d better get dressed. Clean things, remember.’
‘You’re dressed already,’ said John. ‘Why did you put that dirty old pullover on again?’
‘I haven’t put anything on,’ said Rosemary, who might be forgiven for being a bit snappish. ‘I didn’t take anything off last night, because you’ve got all my bed-clothes. I put my coat on top of me, and the hearth-rug because I was cold; but they kept slipping, and my feet stuck out.’
‘I say,’ said John. ‘What a pig I am! I just never thought of you not having any blankets. It was decent of you. I am grateful. Truly I am and I’ll never call you a silly twit again.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Rosemary. ‘I’m going to put on my best dress,’ she went on. ‘We’re going to Broomhurst with Uncle Zack. Remember? At least, I suppose they’ll think you’re well enough.’
John came down to breakfast looking so spruce and healthy, with his cheeks well scrubbed, and hair actually lying flat, that there was little difficulty in persuading his uncle that he was quite recovered. Mrs Bodkin was not convinced so easily. She took his temperature again, and on examining his chest seemed almost disappointed to find no spots; but at last she agreed that he was well enough for the day’s expedition.
‘You never know with children,’ she said to Uncle Zack. ‘Up one minute and down the next!’ which in John’s case had been only too true.
14. Gone!
THE expedition to Broomhurst was a success. Uncle Zack seemed a bit worried when he left the solicitor’s office, but he soon cheered up. From the lunch at a Chinese restaurant to the moment when the cowboy hero of the film rode off into the sunset, they both enjoyed every minute.
Tea at Mr Sprules’s shop followed, in what seemed a cave of books. By an ancient gas fire there was a clearing among the shelves, with just enough room for a desk and two chairs.
‘I’m afraid you two youngsters will have to sit on the floor. Do you think you could toast some crumpets by the fire? Plenty of butter, mind,’ said Mr Sprules.
In thoughtful, buttery silence, John and Rosemary toasted a pile of crumpets which were eaten up in no time at all. But you do not need to be told why toasted crumpets reminded them of Calidor, and the mysterious disappearance of Carbonel.
After handing down two steaming mugs of tea Mr Sprules rattled a teaspoon against a saucer and called: ‘Splodger! Splodger! Where are you?’ After a pause, he went on: ‘Funny. He generally comes at a gallop for his saucer of milk, when he hears the tea things tinkle.’ From which John and Rosemary guessed that Splodger was a cat. ‘He’s a wonderful mouser. Oh, there you are, you old sinner!’
As he spoke, a large, rangy animal with patches of black and orange on his white coat came trotting out from one of the aisles between the book-cases. He stopped, and looked at the newcomers with an impudent stare, then settled down to the milk Mr Sprules had put down for him, spraying a shower of drops on the floor round the rim of the saucer as he lapped. Mr Sprules laughed.
‘You can see why he’s called “Splodger”!’ he said, and stirred the animal with his foot in a friendly way.
‘Talking of cats,’ said Uncle Zack. ‘What a lot of them there seem to be in Broomhurst. They are all over the place, dashing about and slinking round corners.’
‘Strange creatures, cats,’ said Mr Sprules thoughtfully. ‘I always feel old Splodger here could tell a thing or two, if only he could talk.’
The cat looked up from the saucer and flashed his master a bold, golden glance, then settled down to wash himself. John slipped his hand into his hip pocket, paused for a moment, then pulled an anxious face.
‘What’s the matter?’ whispered Rosemary. A discussion had started between Uncle Zack and Mr Sprules as to whether cats were more intelligent than dogs.
‘The ring, the Golden Gew-Gaw! I left the box in the pocket of my other jeans when I put clean ones on this morning ...’
‘Well, it’ll still be there when we get home,’ said Rosemary comfortably. ‘But I wish we’d got it now so that we could talk to Splodger. Look how he is staring at us with his great yellow eyes!’
‘But you remember what Carbonel said about that business of not letting it “out of sight or feel”?’ said John.
‘Well, it can’t be helped,’ began Rosemary, when she was interrupted by Mr Sprules. ‘I wonder if you two would do something for me. Could you deliver a letter to Tucket Towers?’
There was nothing else to do but say: ‘Of course.’
‘I came across a page that had dropped out of a battered old book Mrs Witherspoon bought the other day, and I thought she would be glad to have it.’
‘What an extraordinary building Tucket Towers is,’ said Uncle Zack. ‘I suppose Colonel Witherspoon wanted to make it as much like a castle as possible, but without the discomforts.’
‘Why is it called Tucket Towers when there is only one?’ asked John.
‘It sounds grander, I suppose,’ said Mr Sprules. ‘I bet the Colonel would have added a moat, and a draw-bridge too, if it would not have been awkward for callers, and people like the postman.’ The two men laughed.
‘By the way,’ said Mr Sprules, turning to John and Rosemary. ‘You’ll find some children’s books on the shelves on the right of the street door. Go and choose one each: that is, if you would like to. They are all in pretty good condition.’
‘Whatever made you look so queer just now?’ said Rosemary as they studied the backs of the books.
‘Don’t you see?’ said John. ‘Taking Mr Sprules’s letter to Tucket Towers gives us an excuse to ring the bell. So all we’ve got to do is to think of another excuse to go inside when someone answers the door.’
‘Well, I think ...’ began Rosemary. There was a sudden ‘Squark’ from Splodger. ‘Oh, puss, I’m so sorry. Did I tread on your tail? I didn’t see you down there.’
She bent down, but Splodger shrugged off her stroking hand, ran to the door leading to the street, where he looked up at her expectantly, impatiently clawing at the mat. As soon as she opened the door he went streaking down the pavement, weaving his way through the legs of passers-by with surprising speed.
‘You don’t think he heard what we were saying?’ said Rosemary.
‘I don’t suppose it would have meant anything to him if he did,’ said John. ‘I’m going to choose Treasure Island.’
‘The Jungle Book for me,’ said Rosemary. ‘Then we can exchange afterwards.’
They all three sat in thoughtful silence on the journey home. Uncle Zack wore his worried face again.
‘Time for a quick wash and brush-up,’ he said as the car turned in to the drive. ‘It’s just about supper time, and Mrs Bodkin gets cross if I keep it waiting.’
‘Does she get cross with you?’ said Rosemary in surprise. Uncle Zack pulled a wry face.
‘It isn’t so much what she says. She goes about in a sort of cloud of crossness. You can’t see it, of course, but you can feel it.’
‘I know,’ said John. ‘There’s a master at school who does that, and you have to mind your p’s and q’s.’
‘Well, you’d better mind them now!’ said Uncle Zack, looking at his watch.
But no smell
of cooking supper greeted them as they went indoors, and no supper was laid on the Cromwellian table. Even more important to John and Rosemary, there were no grubby jeans hanging on the back of John’s bedroom chair, where he had left them that morning. Without a word, they clattered down the stairs to the kitchen.
Dumpsie ran forward to greet them with a welcoming ‘Prrrt!’ Rosemary bent down and stroked her. Mrs Bodkin was pricking sausages with a fork.
‘I know!’ she said, lifting a frowning face. ‘You want your supper, and I’m all behind and it’s not ready, but I’ve only got one pair of hands.’
‘Oh, never mind about supper,’ said John, rather to her surprise. ‘Have you seen my dirty old jeans?’
‘What do you think?’ said Mrs Bodkin. ‘I gave them a wash.’
‘Thanks awfully. But did you find a tin box in the pocket?’ Mrs Bodkin gave a sniff.
‘A medal for bravery I ought to get. I never know what my fingers are going to sink into when I go through young John’s pockets. A dead mouse it was once when you was last here. Of course I found your precious box. It’s on the dresser there. My hands was soapy, and I dropped it, and the things fell all over the place, but I put ’em all back again.’
John hurried to the dresser and fetched the box. The Golden Gew-Gaw was not there.
‘There was a ring in it too,’ said John.
‘With a big red stone,’ added Rosemary.
‘Oh yes, I forgot about that,’ said Mrs Bodkin. ‘I found it on the floor when I’d put the box on the shelf for safety. Nearly trod on it. I slipped it on my finger while I finished the wash, just to keep it safe ... and then it happened. I must have come over queer. I shall have to see a doctor.’
She put a hand to her forehead and John and Rosemary gave one another an anxious glance.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Rosemary. ‘Do sit down and tell us about it!’
Mrs Bodkin sank gratefully into the chair that John brought forward.
Carbonel and Calidor Page 9
