The Serial Garden: The Complete Armitage Family Stories

by Joan Aiken

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  Prelude

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  Once upon a time two people met, fell in love, and got married. Their names were Mr. and Mrs. Armitage. While they were on their honeymoon, staying at a farm near the Sussex coast, they often spent whole days on the beach, which at that point was reached by a path over a high shingle ridge. The sea was beautifully empty, the weather was beautifully warm, and the beach was beautifully peaceful.

  One hot, sleepy afternoon the Armitages had been bathing and were lying on the shingle afterwards, sunning themselves, when Mrs. Armitage said,

  "Darling, are you awake?"

  Her husband snored, and then said, “Eh? Whatsay, darling?"

  "This business of living happily after,” she said rather thoughtfully, “it sounds all right but—well—what do we actually do with ourselves all the time?"

  "Oh,” Mr. Armitage said yawning. “'Spose I go to the office every day and you look after the house and cook dinner—that sort of thing?"

  "I see. You don't think,” she said doubtfully, “that sounds a little dull?"

  "Dull? Certainly not.” He went back to sleep again. But his wife turned restlessly onto her stomach and scooped with her fingers among the smooth, rattling brown and yellow and white and gray pebbles, which were all warm and smelled of salt.

  Presently she exclaimed, “Oh!"

  "Whassamarrer?” Mr. Armitage mumbled.

  "I've found a stone with a hole.” She held up her finger with the stone fitting neatly over it—a round white chalk-stone with a hole in the middle.

  "'Markable,” said her husband without opening his eyes.

  "When I was little,” Mrs. Armitage said, “I used to call those wishing-stones."

  "Mmm."

  She rolled onto her back again and admired the white stone fitting so snugly on her finger.

  "I wish we'll live in a beautiful house in a beautiful village with a big garden and a field and at least one ghost,” she said sleepily.

  "That's Uncle Cuthbert's house,” her husband said. “He's just left it to me. Meant to tell you."

  "And I wish we'll have two children called Mark and Harriet with cheerful energetic natures who will never mope or sulk or get bored. And I hope lots of interesting and unusual things will happen to them. It would be nice if they had a fairy godmother, for instance,” she went on dreamily.

  "Here, hold on!” muttered her husband.

  "And a few magic wishes. And a phoenix or something out of the ordinary for a pet."

  "Whoa, wait a minute! Be a bit distracting, wouldn't it, all those things going on? Never know what to expect next! And what would the neighbors think?"

  "Bother the neighbors! Well,” she allowed, “we could have a special day for interesting and unusual things to happen—say, Mondays. But not always Mondays, and not only Mondays, or that would get a bit dull too."

  "You don't really believe in that stone, do you?” Mr. Armitage said anxiously.

  "Only half."

  "Well how about taking it off, now, and throwing it in the sea, before you wish for anything else?"

  But the stone would not come off her finger.

  When they had pushed and pulled and tugged until her finger was beginning to be a bit sore, Mrs. Armitage said, “We'd better go back to the farm. Mrs. Tulliver will get it off with soap, or butter. And you're getting as red as a lobster."

  When they reached the top of the shingle ridge, Mrs. Armitage turned round and looked at the wide expanse of peaceful, silky, gray-blue sea.

  "It's beautiful,” she sighed, “very beautiful. But it would be nice to see something come out of it, once in a way. Like the sea-serpent."

  No sooner had she spoken those words than a huge, green, gnarled, shining, horny head came poking out of the sea. It was all covered with weeds and bumps and barnacles, like the bottom of some old, old ship. And it was followed by miles and miles and miles of body, and it stared at them with two pale, oysterish eyes and opened a mouth as large as Wookey Hole.

  With great presence of mind Mrs. Armitage said, “Not today, thank you. Sorry you've been troubled. Down, sir! Heel. Go home now, good serpent, I've got nothing for you."

  With a sad, wailing hoot, like a ship's siren, the monster submerged again.

  "For heaven's sake!” said Mr. Armitage. “The sooner we get that stone off your finger, the better it will be."

  They walked on quite fast across the four fields between the beach and the farm. Every now and then Mrs. Armitage opened her mouth to speak, and whenever she did so, Mr. Armitage kindly but firmly clapped his hand over it to stop her.

  Outside the farm they met four-year-old Vicky Tulliver, swinging on the gate and singing one of the songs she was always making up:

  "Two white ducks and

  Two white hens

  Two white turkeys sitting on a fence—"

  "Do you know where your Mummy is?” Mr. Armitage asked.

  Vicky stopped singing long enough to say, “In the kitchen,” so the Armitages went there and Mrs. Tulliver gave them a knob of beautiful fresh butter to loosen the stone. But it still wouldn't come off. So they tried soap and water, olive oil, tractor oil, clotted cream, and neat's foot oil. And still the stone would not come off.

  "Deary me, what can we try next?” said Mrs. Tulliver. “Your poor finger's all red and swole."

  "Oh, goodness, I wish it would come off,” sighed Mrs. Armitage. And then, of course, she felt it loosen its hold at once. And just before she slipped it off, she breathed one last request. “Dear stone, please don't let me ever be bored with living happily ever after."

  "Well!” said Mrs. Tulliver, looking at the stone. “Did you ever, then! Vicky, you've got the littlest fingers, ‘spose you take and drop that stone in the well, afore it sticks on any other body the same way."

  So Vicky took the white stone and hung it on her tiny forefinger, where it dangled loosely, and she went out to the well singing,

  "Two white heifers

  Two white goats

  Two white sheep an'

  Two white shoats

  Two white geese an'

  Two white ponies

  Two white puppies

  Two white coneys

  Two white ducks an'

  Two white hens

  Two white turkeys

  Sitting on the fence—

  Two white kittens

  Sitting in the sun

  I wish I had ‘em

  Every one!"

  And with that she tossed the white stone in the well.

  "Deary me,” said Mrs. Tulliver, looking out the kitchen window into the farmyard. “Snow in July, then?"

  But of course it wasn't snow. It was all the white creatures Vicky had wished for, pecking and fluttering and frisking and flapping and mooing. Mr. Tulliver was quite astonished when he came home from haymaking, and as for Vicky, she thought it was her birthday and Easter and Christmas and August Bank Holiday all rolled into one.

  But Mr. and Mrs. Armitage packed their cases and caught a train and went home to Uncle Cuthbert's house, where they settled down to begin living happily ever after.

  And they were never, never bored....

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  Yes, but Today Is Tuesday

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  Monday was the day on which unusual things were allowed, and even expected to happen at the Armitage house.

  It was on a Monday, for instance, that two knights of the Round Table came and had a combat on the lawn, because they insisted that nowhere else was flat enough. And on another Monday two albatrosses nested on the roof, laid three eggs, knocked off most of the tiles, and then deserted the nest; Agnes, the cook, made the eggs into an omelet but it tasted too strongly of fish to be considered a success. And on another Monday, all the potatoes in a sack in the larder turned into the most beautiful Venetian glass apples, and Mrs. Epis, who came in two days a week to help with the clea
ning, sold them to a rag-and-bone man for a shilling. So the Armitages were quite prepared for surprises on a Monday and, if by any chance the parents had gone out during the day, they were apt to open the front door rather cautiously on their return, in case a dromedary should charge at them, which had happened on a particularly notable Monday before Christmas. Then they would go very quietly and carefully into the sitting room, and sit down, and fortify themselves with sherry before Mark and Harriet came in and told them precisely what had happened since breakfast time.

  You will see, therefore, that this story is all the more remarkable because it happened on a Tuesday.

  It began at breakfast time, when Mark came into the dining room and announced that there was a unicorn in the garden.

  "Nonsense,” said his father. “Today is Tuesday."

  "I can't help it,” said Mark. “Just you go and look. It's standing out among the peonies, and it's a beauty, I can tell you."

  Harriet started to her feet, but Mrs. Armitage was firm. “Finish your shredded wheat first, Harriet. After all, today is Tuesday."

  So Harriet very unwillingly finished her shredded wheat and gulped down her coffee, and then she rushed into the garden. There, sure enough, knee-deep in the great clump of peonies at the end of the lawn stood a unicorn, looking about rather inquiringly. It was a most lovely creature—snow-white all over, with shining green eyes and a twisted mother-of-pearl horn in the middle of its forehead. Harriet noticed with interest that this horn and the creature's hoofs had a sort of greenish gleam to them, as if they were slightly transparent and lit up from within. The unicorn seemed quite pleased to see Harriet, and she rubbed its velvety nose for a minute or two. Then it turned away and took a large mouthful of peony blossoms. But almost at once it spat them out again and looked at her reproachfully with its lustrous green eyes.

  Harriet reflected. Then she saw Mark coming out, and went towards him. “I think it's hungry,” she remarked. “What do you suppose unicorns like to eat?"

  "Do you think perhaps honeycomb?” Mark suggested. So they went secretly to the larder by the back door and took a large honeycomb out on a platter. Mark held it to the unicorn, first rolling up his sleeves so that the creature should not dribble honey onto him. It sniffed the honey in a cautious manner, and finally crunched it up in two mouthfuls and looked pleased.

  "Now, do you suppose,” said Harriet, “that it would like a drink of milk?” And she fetched it some milk in a blue bowl. The unicorn lapped it up gratefully.

  "I think it must have been traveling all night, don't you?” said Mark. “Look, it's got burrs all tangled up in its tail. I'll comb them out."

  At this moment their father came out into the garden for his after-breakfast stroll. At the sight of the unicorn he paused, stared at it, and finally remarked:

  "Nonsense. Today is Tuesday. It must have got left over from last night. It was very careless of you not to have noticed it, Harriet.” The unicorn looked at him amiably and began to wash itself like a cat. Mark went off to hunt for a large comb.

  "Do you think we could ride it?” Harriet asked her father.

  "Not at the moment,” he answered, as the unicorn achieved a particularly graceful twist, and began licking the middle of its back. “If you ask me, I should think it would be like riding the sea-serpent. But, of course, you're welcome to try, when it has finished washing."

  Mrs. Epis came out into the garden.

  "There's a policeman at the door,” she said, “and Mrs. Armitage says will you come and deal with him, sir, please."

  "A policeman,” Harriet observed to herself. “They don't usually come on a Tuesday.” She followed her father to the front door.

  This policeman was different from the usual one. Harriet could not remember ever seeing him before. He looked at the piece of paper in his hand and said,

  "I have an inquiry to make about a unicorn. Is it true that you are keeping one without a license?"

  "I don't know about keeping it,” said Mr. Armitage. “There's certainly one in the garden, but it's only just arrived. We hadn't really decided to keep it yet. I must say, you're very prompt about looking us up."

  "Please let's pay the license and keep it,” whispered Harriet very urgently.

  "Well, how much is this precious license, before we go any further?” asked Mr. Armitage.

  The policeman consulted his piece of paper again. “Ten thousand gold pieces,” he read out.

  "But that's absurd. Today is Tuesday!” exclaimed Mr. Armitage. “Besides, we haven't got that in the house. As a matter of fact I doubt if we've got so much as one gold piece in the house."

  Harriet did not wait to hear what happened after that. She went out to the unicorn with two large tears in her eyes.

  "Why do you have to have such an enormous license?” she asked it. “You might have known we couldn't keep you."

  A large green drop of water the size of a plum dropped down on her hand. It was the unicorn's tear.

  Mark came across the lawn with a comb. Harriet felt too sad to tell him that they couldn't afford the unicorn. She watched him begin slowly and carefully combing the long tail. The unicorn looked round to see what was happening, and then gave an approving grunt and stood very upright and still.

  "Good heavens!” said Mark. “Look what's fallen out of its tail! A gold piece! And here's another!” At every sweep of the comb, gold pieces tumbled out onto the grass, and soon there was a considerable pile of them.

  "They'll do for the license!” exclaimed Harriet. “Quick, Mark, go on combing. We want ten thousand of them. Here are Father and the policeman coming to inspect it.” She began feverishly counting the coins and sorting them into heaps of ten.

  "It's going to take a terrible time,” she remarked. “We might as well ask the policeman to check them."

  The two men seemed rather astonished to see what was going on. Harriet had a feeling that the policeman was not altogether pleased. However, he knelt down and began helping to count out the coins. Just as Agnes came out to tell the children that their eleven o'clock bread-and-dripping was on the kitchen table, they finished the counting. The policeman gave Mr. Armitage a receipt and took himself off with the money in a bag over his shoulder. And Mr. Armitage looked at his watch and exclaimed that it was high time he did some work, and went indoors.

  Mark and Harriet sat on the lawn, munching their bread-and-dripping and looking at the unicorn, which was smelling a rose with evident satisfaction.

  "I wonder if it ought to be shod?” murmured Mark, looking at its greenish hoofs. “If we're going to ride it, I mean.” They went over and examined the hoofs at close quarters. They looked rather worn and sore.

  "I don't suppose it's used to stones and hard road like ours,” said Harriet. “You can see it's a foreign animal by the surprised look it has on its face all the time."

  Mark agreed. “Would you like to be shod?” he asked the creature. It nodded intelligently. “Well, if that isn't good enough, I don't know what is.” They made a halter out of a green dressing-gown cord of Harriet's, and led the unicorn down to the forge, where Mr. Ellis, the blacksmith, was leaning against a wall in the sun, reading the paper.

  "Please, will you shoe our unicorn for us?” asked Harriet.

  "What, you two again!” exclaimed Mr. Ellis. “I thought today was Tuesday. First it's dromedaries, then unicorns. Thank ‘eavens they've got ‘oofs of a normal shape. Well, you lead ‘im in, Master Mark. I'm not pining to have that there spike of his sticking into me breakfast."

  The unicorn was beautifully shod, with light, small silvery shoes, and seemed very pleased with them.

  "How much will that be?” Harriet asked.

  "I'll have to look up in my list, if you'll excuse me,” said Mr. Ellis. “I can't remember what it is offhand, for a unicorn. Cor', you won't ‘alf have a time at the Toll Bridge at Potter's End, if you ever takes ‘im that way.” He went into the back of the forge, where the great bellows were, and found a grubby list. �
��Quaaga, reindeer—no—farther on we want,” and he ran his finger down to the end and started up. “Zebra, yak, wildebeest, waterbuck, unicorn. Twelve pieces of gold, please, Miss Harriet.” Fortunately Mark had put the comb in his pocket, so there was no difficulty about combing twelve pieces out of the unicorn's tail. Then they started back home, fairly slowly, giving him time to get accustomed to the feel of his new shoes. He lifted his feet gingerly at first, as if they felt heavy, but soon he seemed to be used to them.

  Back on the lawn he became quite lively, and pranced about, kicking up his heels.

  "We haven't thought of a name for him,” said Harriet. “What about Candleberry?"

  "Why not?” said Mark. “...and now I am going to ride him."

  The unicorn took very kindly to having riders on his back, except for an absentminded habit of tossing his head, which on one occasion nearly impaled Harriet on his horn. They noticed that when he galloped he could remain off the ground for quite long stretches at a time.

  "He can very nearly fly,” said Harriet.

  "Perhaps the air where he comes from is thicker,” suggested Mark ingeniously. “Like the difference between salt and fresh water, you know."

  And then, just as they were deciding to rig up a jump and see how high he would go, they saw a little old man in a red cloak standing on the lawn, watching them. Candleberry stood stock still and shivered all over, as if his skin had suddenly gone goosey.

  "Good morning,” Harriet said politely. “Do you want to speak to Mr. Armitage?"

  But the little man had his eyes fixed on Candleberry. “How dare you steal one of my unicorns?” he said fiercely.

  "I like that!” exclaimed Mark. “It came of its own accord. We never stole it."

  "You will return it at once, or it will be the worse for you."

  "After we've paid for its license too,” chimed in Harriet. “I never heard such cheek. We shouldn't dream of returning it. Obviously it ran away from you because it was unhappy. You can't have treated it properly."

  "What!” the old man almost shrieked. “You accuse me of not knowing how to treat a unicorn!” He seemed nearly bursting with rage. “If you won't give it back, I'll make you. I'll cast a spell over it."