Honesty Wart
Page 6
So he was surprised to see Gran dressed and sitting at the table. She had brushed her wild grey hair and even changed into her best black dress.
‘Happy Christmas!’ she greeted him.
Honesty’s shoulders drooped. ‘It’s not happy – it’s not even Christmas,’ he moped. ‘I might as well stay in bed.’
Gran glanced at the snow falling steadily outside the window. ‘Cheer up,’ she said. ‘You never know what Christmas will bring.’
One by one, the rest of the family got up and sat down to a breakfast of watery porridge. As they were eating, there was a knock at the door. Honesty looked at his parents, wondering who it could be.
‘Better open it then,’ said Gran.
Outside was a man bundled in a coat and hat, with snowflakes dusting his clothes.
He nodded at Gran over Honesty’s shoulder. ‘Important message. From London. I was sent to tell you.’
‘What message?’ asked Honesty. They didn’t even know anyone in London.
‘Christmas. There’s been a mistake.’
Mum and Dad had come to the door to listen.
‘That law,’ said the messenger. ‘It shouldn’t have said Christmas was forbidden. They wrote it down wrong. It should have said Christmas was for giving.’
‘For giving? What does that mean?’ asked Mum.
‘For giving peace and goodwill to all men – that kind of thing.’
‘You’ve ridden all the way from London to tell us that?’ said Mum.
‘All the way. That’s the message. Merry Christmas!’ The man doffed his hat and looked at Gran. Honesty saw her slip him a sixpence and he went off cheerfully, heading towards the tavern.
‘Well!’ said Mum, closing the door. ‘I can’t believe it!’
‘Fancy Parliament making a mistake like that!’ marvelled Dad.
‘So it’s all right?’ said Honesty. ‘We can have Christmas?’
They all looked at Mum, holding their breath.
She sighed wearily. ‘Well, if it’s the law, I suppose we’ll have to.’
Honesty and his sisters let out a deafening cheer and danced around the room until they remembered that dancing was strictly forbidden.
Dad interrupted, ‘Before you get too carried away, nothing’s prepared. We haven’t even bought a goose for dinner.’
‘Or potatoes or plum pudding,’ said Mum. ‘All we’ve left in the pantry are a few mouldy turnips.’
Honesty’s hopes were dashed as quickly as they’d risen. What sort of Christmas was it going to be without a proper Christmas dinner? Only Gran seemed unflustered.
‘Oh, I shouldn’t worry about that,’ she said. ‘It’s Christmas – something will turn up.’
The snow fell steadily all morning, blanketing the streets with white. At eleven o’clock, there was a second knock at the door. This time Honesty rushed to open it. Outside stood Ratty Annie and her father.
‘Are we too early?’ she asked.
‘Early for what?’ asked Honesty.
‘For Christmas dinner. We brought some mince pies and a nice big rat.’ She held it up by its tail.
‘Oh! Um … thanks. You’d better come in,’ said Honesty. Ratty Annie stayed on the doorstep, winding a lock of dirty hair round her finger and looking rather awkward.
‘I just wanted to say, you know, sorry – for calling your Gran a witch and all. Sorry.’
‘It’s Christmas. Come in and close the door before we all freeze to death.’ To Honesty’s surprise it was Gran who had spoken.
After that visitors began to arrive thick and fast. Tom Turner and his wife were next to come, bringing a huge plum pudding and a jar of honey. The Brothertons and their six small children crowded into the house, bearing gifts of pies and cakes and dandelion wine. Best of all were the Swelters, who brought a plump pink goose bigger than a football, which they had towed to the house on a wooden sledge.
By five o’clock they were all squashed around the small table, sitting down to a Christmas feast. Grace was said and many toasts were raised to the cook. After dinner, Mercy and Patience took it in turns to stand on a chair and sing a carol.
‘Well,’ said Gran, catching Honesty’s eye, ‘I promised you a Christmas. Was it worth the wait?’
Honesty’s eyes shone in the firelight. ‘It’s been the best Christmas day ever,’ he said. ‘Thanks, Gran.’
‘Oh no, thanks to you,’ said Gran. ‘Look around – see what you did.’
Honesty looked at the happy faces around the table. Dad was pouring a glass of dandelion wine for Mum, who was actually laughing. His sisters were tunnelling into the plum pudding with their spoons to see if they could find a sixpence. Across the table, Ratty Annie was whispering shyly in Jem Swelter’s ear while Tom Turner was beaming at his wife. (The potions had taken a week to wear off but they both seemed back to their old selves, although Swelter often hummed to himself and couldn’t see flowers without sniffing them.)
‘But I still don’t understand, Gran. How did you do it?’ asked Honesty.
‘Do what?’
‘Save Christmas. Change the law.’
‘Ahh.’ Gran gave him a wink. ‘That’s my secret.’
Honesty stared at her, remembering the messenger at the door and Gran pressing a silver sixpence into his hand.
‘You made it all up!’ he burst out. ‘The message from London – all of it. You made it up!’
Gran put a finger to her lips. ‘Don’t talk such nonsense! You think I go round telling lies? Now then, what about that present?’
‘You’ve got me one?’
‘I said I would, didn’t I? Go and look under your bed.’
Honesty hurried off to look. He found a lumpy shape wrapped in a dirty cloth and tied with red ribbon. When he unwrapped it, he found a broomstick inside.
‘Oh! Um … thanks,’ he said, puzzled. ‘But it’s just a broom, isn’t it? I mean, it doesn’t . . ?’
‘What – fly?’ said Gran, widening her eyes. ‘Really, child! Wherever do you get these ideas?’
Other titles in the History of Warts series
Ditherus Wart – Accidental Gladiator
Custardly Wart – Pirate Third Class
Sir Bigwart – Knight of the Wonky Table
Bloomsbury Publishing, London, New Delhi, New York and Sydney
First published in Great Britain in September 2008 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
This electronic edition published in December 2012 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
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Text copyright © Alan MacDonald 2008
Illustrations copyright © Mark Beech 2008
The moral rights of the author and illustrator have been asserted
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eISBN: 978-1-4088-1901-2
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