Carbonel: The King of Cats

by Barbara Sleigh

  They ran off together through the baize door, down the linoleum-covered stairs, and out into the garden.

  ‘Race you to the end of the terrace!’ said John.

  They raced, but it was Rosemary who got there first. There was a semi-circular stone seat at the end with a canopy of pale golden roses growing over it, so they sat down to get their breath back again.

  ‘You know,’ said John, ‘I thought that any girl that Aunt Amabel produced would be all frills and white shoes, not sandals and a cotton frock like my sister. She’s got measles. My sister, I mean. That’s why I’m here. She had to go and get it the very day before I came home from school.’

  ‘How sickening for her!’

  ‘Sickening for her?’ said John indignantly. ‘She’s got all the fun of having spots, and cut-out things in bed, and I’ve only got Aunt Amabel and this ghastly place!’

  Rosemary’s eyes grew round.

  ‘But this is a lovely house!’

  ‘It would be all right, I suppose, if I was left alone, but it’s “Lance, dear, don’t do that!” and “Lance, dear, do do the other,” and “Keep your feet off the paint,” and “Don’t touch!” The only decent place is the kitchen garden, and that is pretty good. Let’s go and find some goosegogs.’

  9

  John

  They spent a happy half-hour among the gooseberry bushes, where the fruit hung like golden lanterns among the dark leaves. They ate until the prospect of bursting even one more on her tongue made Rosemary look at them with distaste. Then they played Cowboys and Indians, and then they tried trawling along the widest gravel path with one of the nets off the gooseberry bushes. But they caught nothing except a couple of man-eating sharks (they were really sticks), so they thought they had better put the nets back before any more holes got torn. Then, feeling rather hot, they came out of the kitchen garden and lay flat on the dusty grass under the cedar tree on the lawn. It was really a very hot day. They could see the main drive from here before it curved round to the front door. Presently a sleek, black car slipped down the drive on the way to the main road.

  ‘How lovely to have a car like that,’ said Rosemary, sitting up and pouring a handful of dust from one cupped palm to the other.

  ‘Pooh! That’s nothing,’ said John carelessly. ‘Aunt Amabel has got three, counting the little grey one.’

  ‘Good gracious!’ said Rosemary, deeply impressed. ‘Have you got three?’

  ‘As a matter of fact we’ve got four, and a pony, and… and an aeroplane. What have you got?’

  Rosemary was surprised. Somehow John did not look like the kind of boy to have a pony or an aeroplane. There was a darn in the seat of his grey flannel shorts, and the rubber was beginning to peel from the toes of his sandals. She did not boast herself as a rule, but it seemed hard not to be able to produce anything at such a challenge, so without bothering about the consequences she said, ‘I’ve got a witch’s broom and a cat that talks.’

  ‘That’s silly,’ said John. ‘You couldn’t have.’

  Rosemary sat up cross-legged and very straight. Her face had gone quite red.

  ‘I have, so there!’

  John rolled over and looked at her.

  ‘All right, you needn’t get so waxy!’

  ‘But you don’t believe me, and it’s true!’

  ‘Bet you can’t prove it!’

  ‘Right,’ said Rosemary hotly, ‘I will! I know a magic spell that will make the cat come to me, whether he wants to or not.’

  ‘All right!’ said John, grinning hatefully. ‘Say it!’

  Rosemary stood up. Could she remember the Summoning Words? She screwed up her eyes and said a little uncertainly:

  By squeak of bat

  And brown owl’s hoot,

  By hellebore,

  And mandrake root,

  Come swift and silent

  As the tomb,

  Dark minion

  Of the twiggy broom.

  She opened her eyes again and looked anxiously round. There was no Carbonel.

  ‘I say, you do do it well!’ said John with a note of real admiration in his voice, which at any other time would have given her great satisfaction. But the way in which he did not even trouble to show that he did not believe her, made her bite her lip with vexation. She looked round desperately for Carbonel once more, and seeing nothing but the sun-baked lawn, to her own surprise burst into tears. John sat up.

  ‘I say,’ he said awkwardly, ‘whatever is the matter? I didn’t really think you would believe any of that stuff about me having a pony, and an aeroplane. Of course we haven’t. We’ve only an old rattle-trap of a car. It was only a game. You had better have my hankie. I’ve got one today,’ he said with modest pride. Rosemary was feeling for hers in her knicker leg without success.

  ‘But it is true,’ she sniffed obstinately. ‘I have got a broom-stick that flies, and a witch’s cat…’ And out came the whole story.

  John listened with open mouth. She described how she lived with her mother, and how she had gone to Fairfax Market, and all the strange things that had happened since.

  ‘Gosh!’ said John, when she had finished. ‘I say, you are lucky! Oh, not the broom business. That’s all pretend, though you tell it awfully well. I mean you are lucky getting your own dinner, and cooking it yourself on a gas-ring. It must be wizard!’

  Rosemary was just going to say once more that it was not pretend, but she stopped herself. After all, she could hardly blame him for not believing her. A week ago she would not have believed it herself, and there was some consolation in John’s genuine envy for the gas-ring dinners. A discreet booming noise came from the house.

  ‘That’s the first gong for lunch,’ said John. ‘We’d better go and wash. Aunt Amabel is fussy.’

  As they walked towards the house, he told her that although his mother was Mrs Pendlebury Parker’s sister, they were always hard-up, that he had a sister of twelve (the one with measles), and a small brother of four, and they lived in the country. It all sounded very jolly.

  10

  The Spell Works

  Lunch promised to be rather an alarming meal at first. Rosemary knew that her mother had hers on a tray in the sewing room, but she herself was to join Mrs Pendlebury Parker and John in the great dining room, a huge room with a floor polished like a mirror, and French windows opening on to the terrace. There was an alarming number of knives and forks by her plate, but by watching carefully she managed to use the right ones. Mrs Pendlebury Parker clearly meant to be kind, even if she was not very understanding, and by the time they had started on their pudding, which was a wonderful concoction of fruit and cream, Rosemary had lost her shyness.

  ‘What an awful lot of washing up there must be here,’ she said as she helped herself to the dish that was handed round to her.

  Mrs Pendlebury Parker smiled, and then she gave a little scream.

  ‘It is my darling cat!’

  ‘Good gracious! What’s that by your chair?’

  Rosemary looked down, and there beside her, covered with dust, sitting sedately with his tail curled round his paws, was Carbonel!

  ‘It is my darling cat!’ said Rosemary, falling on her knees beside him, her pudding forgotten.

  John stood up to see and spilled his glass of water.

  ‘Really, Lance dear, how careless of you! Ring for Walters and ask her to bring a cloth. But what a clever pussy, and what a lucky girl you are to have such a faithful friend.’

  Mrs Pendlebury Parker bent down and stroked Carbonel, who had struggled from his young mistress.

  ‘He must have walked miles and miles to find you! The dear, faithful Pussicuddlums! Oh, Walters, bring a cloth, please, and mop up this mess. Oh, and I think you had better bring some food for the cat. NOT in darling Popsey Dinkums’ dish, I couldn’t bear that. Popsey Dinkums was my beautiful prize pussy, Rosemary. The purest gold and such wonderful eyes. You can’t think how I miss him since he disappeared four months ago. But this is a most r
emarkable cat of yours, quite extraordinary!’

  Rosemary agreed. ‘Just how extraordinary, you have no idea!’ she thought to herself. Had Carbonel really come in answer to the Summoning Words? She could think of no other reason. It was pleasant to see John’s face with eyes still like saucers. He clearly thought it was due to the spell. Her triumph would have been complete if the cat had been in the least pleased to see her. As it was, he ignored her completely, and was giving Mrs Pendlebury Parker all his attention while she rubbed him behind the ears, talking to him in a kind of baby language that Rosemary privately thought rather silly.

  John was automatically eating his pudding, while his round eyes never left Carbonel.

  ‘I was just wondering what we had better do with him until you go home, dear,’ said Mrs Pendlebury Parker. ‘I don’t think he should be allowed to wander off again.’

  ‘Perhaps he could stay with Mummy,’ said Rosemary.

  ‘What a good idea! Now finish up your pudding and then you shall take him along. Lancelot dear, you know where the sewing room is.’

  Rosemary would have liked a second helping, but she slipped off her chair and with both arms round Carbonel she set off, with John leading the way with the dish of food. It looked very much like chicken.

  The sewing room had once been a school-room. It was cool and pleasant, with two comfortable, battered basket chairs, a big table with a sewing machine and a dressmaker’s dummy that looked exactly like Mrs Pendlebury Parker. Mrs Brown was finishing her lunch.

  ‘Mummy!’ burst out Rosemary. ‘Here’s Carbonel! He has come all the way from Tottenham Grove to find me. Isn’t he clever? And can he stay with you this afternoon until we go home?’

  ‘Of course he can, dear!’ Mrs Brown looked anxious. ‘I do hope that Mrs Pendlebury Parker was not annoyed?’

  ‘Oh no, not a bit. She was very kind, and ordered this gorgeous dinner for him. We had a heavenly pudding. It looked like sand pies with frothy stuff on top, only it didn’t taste like that, of course. Oh, I forgot. This is John.’

  John shook hands.

  ‘Are you sure your aunt was not cross about the cat?’

  ‘Aunt Amabel is potty about cats, so it didn’t matter a bit. I say, he is walloping down his dinner!’

  ‘Well, he has certainly earned it. What an extraordinary animal he is. What did you two do this morning?’ asked Mrs Brown.

  ‘Played,’ said John. ‘Do you know, it’s the first morning I haven’t got into trouble since I’ve been here? I say, I like having Rosemary. Do you think you could ask me to your house one day?’

  Mrs Brown smiled ruefully. ‘I’m afraid it isn’t a house, only three rooms. Wouldn’t you find it rather dull?’

  ‘But I shouldn’t!’ said John. ‘We could cook our own dinner. Rosemary says she often does.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ said Rosemary. ‘Do let’s! What would you like for dinner?’

  ‘Baked beans and sausages,’ said John promptly.

  ‘Mummy, please!’

  Mrs Brown laughed. ‘If it rested with me I should say yes, but it depends on what your aunt thinks about it.’

  ‘May we ask her, Mummy, please, for tomorrow?’

  ‘If you like, dear. Now off with you. I must get on with these curtains.’

  Outside on the sun-warmed stone seat with the canopy of yellow roses, they sat and talked.

  ‘You see, if you would let me I could help you find the hat and the cauldron,’ said John. After the first surprise of Carbonel’s appearance he seemed to have accepted the whole story, as unquestioningly as you accept the fact that the world is round, when apparently it is so very flat.

  ‘That is a good idea,’ said Rosemary. ‘We should find them much more quickly with two people’s brains, and it would be so much more fun. Do let’s go and ask your aunt now!’

  ‘No good – she will be having a rest. We had better wait till tea time.’

  So they played games until tea, with periodical visits to Mrs Brown and Carbonel, and after tea, which was raspberries and cream, and the thinnest bread and butter that Rosemary had ever seen, they tried their luck. Mrs Pendlebury Parker frowned. ‘I don’t think Mrs Brown should have suggested such a thing without consulting me first.’

  ‘But she didn’t, Aunt Amabel. It was my idea. Mrs Brown said she did not think you would approve, but that, of course, we could if you said yes. Oh, please!’

  ‘But you two children would be quite alone! I don’t think that would be at all suitable.’

  ‘We shouldn’t really be alone,’ said Rosemary. ‘At least not more alone than if we were playing in a room here. You see, there is Mrs Walker in the basement, and Mr and Mrs Tonks on the first floor, and the Smithers on the second, and Miss Tidmarsh just below. And we would promise to be sensible!’

  ‘There are other people in the house, then? That does make a difference, of course. As a matter of fact I have to have lunch with Lady Bermondsey tomorrow, and I was wondering…’

  ‘And besides,’ said John, ‘Daddy says that you can’t have one-sided hospitality – it isn’t democratic.’

  ‘So like him,’ said Mrs Parker tartly. ‘But all the same, if you don’t think Mummy would mind…?’

  ‘Then I may go? Tomorrow? Oh, thank you, Aunt Amabel!’

  ‘I’ll take great care of him,’ said Rosemary. ‘And thank you for a lovely day!’

  Mrs Pendlebury Parker laughed and called to John, who was already half-way out of the door:

  ‘Lancelot, tell Jeffries that he had better take Mrs Brown and Rosemary home at five o’clock in the car. I don’t see how they could manage with the cat, otherwise.’

  11

  Showing Off

  Rosemary and her mother thanked Jeffries, the chauffeur, and got out of the car at number ten, Tottenham Grove. Rosemary rather hoped that one of her friends would see them, but the only person to notice was the boy delivering evening papers, and he only noticed Carbonel in her arms.

  He sang out rudely:

  Does your mother want a rabbit?

  Skin her one for ninepence!

  She felt Carbonel stiffen angrily.

  ‘Well, darling, did you enjoy it?’ said her mother when they reached their room and she was taking off her hat.

  ‘Mummy, it was lovely! I liked John awfully, and the garden, and the scrumptious pudding. And Mrs Pendlebury Parker was very kind! But you only had rice and stewed fruit. I saw when we came to see you.’

  ‘It was very nice rice pudding,’ said Mrs Brown as she ran her fingers through her hair. ‘And as for Carbonel…!’

  There was a knock on the door.

  ‘Oh dear, that sounds like Mrs Walker again. Come in!’ she called.

  ‘Oh, there you are, dear,’ panted the landlady.‘These stairs will be the death of me! I just came up to see if the cat was here. It’s a funny thing, I’d just put down a plate for ’im this morning with some nice bits of liver, and ’im purring for it like a steam engine, when ’e suddenly lifts up ’is head and gives a little mew, angry like, and off he goes up the area steps as if the dogs was after ’im! And I ’aven’t seen him since. I wouldn’t like…’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Walker,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘A most extraordinary thing! He suddenly turned up at Mrs Pendlebury Parker’s house this afternoon. It must be every bit of six miles.’

  ‘Well I never!’ said Mrs Walker.

  Rosemary looked at Carbonel, but he still ignored her, as he had done all afternoon. She was not feeling very comfortable about her own behaviour over the Summoning Words. Was she right to have used them as she did? But as sometimes happens when we are afraid we are in the wrong she took refuge in being cross. She had been looking forward to a good long talk all day, but when she saw him going off with Mrs Walker without so much as a glance in her direction, she said to herself that she didn’t care in the least, and that she would not talk to him if she could, and perhaps that would teach him!

  By bedtime she would have given a good deal to
have seen him curled up on the eiderdown. She could have said the Summoning Words, but she felt a little shy of using them again, and besides, it seemed wasteful to use magic to fetch him from the basement. Rather like hiring a taxi to go to the corner of the road. She knew he would come back in the end, so there was nothing to do but wait patiently.

  When her mother had gone next morning, Rosemary tidied up the flat with special care, and then she hurried off to the shops. She bought a pound of sausages, the thin kind, a large tin of baked beans, two cream buns, two gob-stoppers for dessert, a bunch of cornflowers, and two ounces of sprats as a peace offering for Carbonel. The cornflowers were only twopence because they were just beginning to go white at the edges. She would like to have set it all out on her best doll’s tea service, but she was not sure if John would laugh, so she decided not to. She poked her head into the wardrobe to see if the broom was all right and, thinking it must be rather dull for the poor thing, she took it out and laid it carefully on her bed with the precious twigs on the pillow.

  At 11 o’clock she was watching for John through the window, but it was a large black car that stopped at the door, not the smaller grey one in which they had come last night. John was already on the way upstairs when she ran down. She could see Mrs Walker on the floor below peering suspiciously after him.

  ‘I say, I am glad you’ve come! I was afraid something would happen to stop you.’

  ‘It’s all right, Aunt Amabel has gone on in the car to a committee. Jeffries is coming about three o’clock to take us both back to Tussocks to tea. It’s all arranged. I say, where is the cat and the broom?’