Everyone seemed of the same opinion. The High Street was bustling. Before she had reached the greengrocer’s, she had exchanged greetings with several villagers, waved to Freddie, who was across the street, standing in front of the bookshop watching Jennifer Lane assemble a new window display, and observed Plantagenet Sutton going into the wine merchant’s.
Wheeling her basket out of the dark fragrant cavern of the greengrocer’s, she nearly ran down Macho, who was too busy trying to control a struggling, protesting Roscoe to watch where he was going.
“There you are!” He greeted her as though she had just returned from the missing. “We’ve got to have a Council of War. I can’t believe Rhylla wouldn’t have warned us. It was the least she could do. She must be out of her mind.”
“Mrreow-aaaoeh-rraarr ...” Roscoe also decided she was the right person to register a complaint with. He struggled briefly again to escape Macho’s tight clasp.
“Irresponsible!” Macho brooded.
“Mrrrr-rrrrm-mmrrr ...” Neither of them were happy.
“What is it?” Lorinda looked from one angry face to the other. “What’s happened?”
“I didn’t think you knew,” Macho said. “And you ought to. It’s your problem, too. You’re going to have to lock up Had-I and But-Known. I’m taking Roscoe home now to shut him in – and he isn’t going to like it.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Rhylla’s monstrous grandchild. Have you seen her pet?”
“No.” It was a rhetorical question, but Lorinda answered it anyway, ghastly visions forming in her imagination. “What is it – a pit bull?”
“The police could deal with that.” Macho dismissed such a puerile worry. “It’s worse, much worse.”
“For heaven’s sake, tell me!” Sometimes she could shake him.
“Rrrreeeoowww ...” Obviously, Roscoe felt the same way.
“That revolting child has for a pet ...” Macho paused for dramatic effect. “A white rat! And she walks around with it perched on her shoulder.”
“Oh, no!”
“Oh, yes! Fortunately, I was doing some shopping when I saw Roscoe ... acting suspiciously ... trailing the child down the High Street. Then I saw why.”
Roscoe hunkered down in his master’s arms and closed his eyes, absenting himself from the situation. He continued to emit a low rumbling sound that was not quite a growl, but definitely was not a purr.
“I caught him in mid-air as he sprang.” Macho shuddered. “If he had landed with all claws extended on that rat ... on that child’s shoulder ...”
“Oh, dear!” The picture was clear and irresistible.
“I’m glad you think it’s so funny,” Macho said coldly. “Have a real laugh: your two are staking out Coffers Court right now, waiting for the child to return. If they catch her, it could be the start of our first village feud.”
That wiped the smile off Lorinda’s face. “I’d better get over there,” she said.
“Yes, you really had.” Macho, having spread alarm and despondency, now seemed in a better mood. The same could not be said for Roscoe, who was still bemoaning lost opportunity. “Ring me when you’ve got them safely locked up. Someone is going to have to have a serious talk with Rhylla.”
Had-I and But-Known were perched in the window box outside Gemma Duquette’s living room, whiling away the time by tormenting the maddened pug dogs inside.
“And just what do you think you’re doing?” she asked sternly.
Had-I gave her an innocent look and flicked an insouciant tail, sending the pugs into fresh paroxysms of yapping. But-Known tugged a petal off one of the chrysanthemums and offered it to her placatingly.
“Well, you can stop that right now and come home.” But it was easier said than done. She could not carry two cats and pull the wheeled basket at the same time. It was no use putting them into the basket, they knew how to flip the lid back and escape. Jumping in and out of the basket was one of their favourite games on a wet afternoon and, if they were home when she returned from shopping trips, they always rushed to claw open the lid and inspect her purchases.
They eyed the basket now, with some interest, but not enough to deflect them from their original plans. They remained firmly rooted in the window box, Had-I squashing a few small asters beneath her rump.
“Home,” Lorinda repeated with more firmness than she felt. They knew she was in no position to enforce her command.
Inside, the yapping grew to a crescendo and the window was opened suddenly. Gemma leaned out to see what was disturbing her pets. She did not look well.
“Shoo! Scat!” She waved her hands at the cats before noticing Lorinda, then stopped guiltily. “Sorry,” she said, “but they’re upsetting the dogs. Come in, why don’t you, and have a cup of coffee?”
“Oh, I don’t think –” But the cats had already accepted the invitation. They leaped through the open window and there were sounds of canine hysteria at this brazen invasion of their territory.
“Oh, God!” Gemma’s head disappeared as she turned to join in the fray. “Conqueror! Lionheart! Stop it! Stop it this minute!”
Lorinda sighed and moved on to the imposing front door. It was locked. She pushed the doorbell for Gemma’s flat, but the noise of skirmish could be heard out here; there was little chance that Gemma would hear the bell or remember that Lorinda was there until things quieted down.
“Allow me.” Plantagenet Sutton came up behind her silently and inserted his key in the lock. There was a clank of bottles from his basket as he swung open the door. “Visiting someone?”
“Gemma,” she replied. “I’m afraid my cats are already in there.” It was useless to pretend otherwise – the noises behind the other door were quite explicit.
“Those damned mutts!” He frowned. “This wouldn’t be such a bad place if only it were quiet.” He lingered as Lorinda knocked loudly on Gemma’s door.
“You’ll never make her hear that way,” he remarked, always a critic. He took out a wine bottle and hammered on Gemma’s door with it.
“All right! All right! I’m coming!” The door opened and Gemma stood there, distraught and harassed. “Oh, it’s you. What do you want?” She glared at Plantagenet Sutton.
“A little peace and quiet,” he replied. Lorinda scuttled around him; the battle inside the flat promised to be more manageable.
“I’m sorry,” Gemma said, “but they’re overexcited and –”
“That’s all, very well, but they’re always overexcited. You ought to have some consideration for your neighbours. If you can’t control your animals, at least you might cut their vocal cords!”
“Well, really!” Gemma gasped in outrage. “If you weren’t in the throes of a perpetual hangover, a little healthy noise wouldn’t bother you!”
It was definitely safer inside; it even sounded quieter now. Lorinda parked her shopping basket in the tiny entrance hall while Gemma and Plantagenet continued to trade insults. The dogs advanced into the hallway to reinforce their mistress. Had-I and But-Known had sprawled in a corner of the sofa, well pleased with their bit of excitement.
“You’re disgraceful,” Lorinda told them. “Absolutely disgraceful.”
The door slammed and Gemma marched back into the living room, quivering with indignation and flanked by Conqueror and Lionheart.
“This was such a nice place before he moved in!” She sank into one of the armchairs, leaned back and closed her eyes. Suddenly she looked drained, her brief spurt of energy exhausted. Her hair was dishevelled and she was still wearing her dressing gown.
“Are you all right?” Lorinda felt vaguely alarmed.
“It was something I ate yesterday, I think.” Gemma spoke without opening her eyes. “I’m better now, but I had a terrible night. I’d only just got to sleep when the dogs woke me.”
“I’m sorry.” Lorinda apologized for her cats.
The dogs settled themselves, one on each side of Gemma’s chair and looked up at her. Conqueror whimp
ered anxiously.
“Are you sure you’re all right? Did you call the doctor? Can I get you anything?” Lorinda’s unease grew. Gemma did not look better, she seemed to be getting paler.
“No, no. Just let me rest for a minute. Plantagenet is so exhausting. Oh –” Gemma’s eyes opened. “Actually, there is something you could do, if you wouldn’t mind – ?”
“Yes? What?”
“Would you take Conqueror and Lionheart walkies? Poor dears, we’ve usually been out hours ago. Just down to the end of the High Street and back will do.”
“Of course.” Lorinda would have agreed to far more than that. “No, don’t get up. Just tell me where you keep their leashes.”
“They’re hanging on the hook underneath my raincoat. Thanks awfully.” Gemma smiled weakly. “I’ll have that coffee I promised you ready when you get back.”
“Don’t bother, it’s all right. Why don’t you go back to bed? You look as though you could do with some more rest.” Lorinda found the leads and attached them to the dogs’ collars while Had-I and But-Known looked on with interest and a certain air of superiority. They didn’t need to be tethered to a human before being allowed out of the house.
“Coming?” Lorinda asked them.
Had-I yawned and stretched out on the cushions. It was nap time. But-Known wavered, but yawns were catching; she gave one of her own and slumped down atop her sister.
“They’re all right.” Gemma also yawned. “Let them stay.”
“They’re just going to sleep now,” Lorinda agreed. “I’ll collect them when I bring the dogs back.” The dogs were already prancing and pawing at the carpet, eager to be off. “Come on, you lot.”
Three lampposts along the High Street, Lorinda saw Freddie walking slowly toward them with a strange look on her face.
“You’re not going by the old graveyard, are you?” she greeted Lorinda.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” It was a popular dog-walk with some villagers, but Lorinda felt it lacked respect. “Why? Is Clarice in there?”
“Clarice? What’s she got to do with anything?” Freddie looked puzzled, then her face cleared. “Oh, is she one of those ghastly children who like to play tricks?” She seemed quite happy with the thought.
“Not that I know of. She has other alarming traits. Apparently, she has a white rat for a pet and likes to carry it around on her shoulder.” Lorinda reined in the pugs who were sniffing enthusiastically at Freddie’s shoes.
“That’s going to add some spice to life around here,” Freddie said. ‘ ‘What are you going to do about the cats?’ ’
“It won’t be easy.” Lorinda sighed. “I just hope Clarice’s parents settle down quickly in the States and send for her in very short order.”
“I wouldn’t trust those dogs with a rat, either.” Freddie looked at them critically. “They may not be terriers, but they still have the hunting instinct. What are you doing with them, anyway?”
“Walking them for Gemma. She isn’t well. Something she ate; she thinks.”
“People aren’t careful enough about refrigeration in this country.” Freddie still seemed preoccupied by problems of her own, “I’m always seeing packets of frozen food abandoned on supermarket shelves by dimwits who’ve changed their minds. Then some even dimmer employee comes along and puts them back into the freezer without knowing how long they’ve been sitting there and whether they’ve defrosted or not. I’m only surprised there aren’t mass outbreaks of food poisoning. They haven’t a clue here.”
“I see what you mean.”
“They haven’t a clue!” Freddie laughed mirthlessly. “I should talk. Neither have I. I’m stuck in Chapter Six and I don’t know what that damned Wraith O’Reilly is going to do next – and neither does she. It’s beginning to haunt me.” Freddie glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the old graveyard. “Sometimes I think she’s beginning to haunt me.”
Lionheart tugged at his leash, Conqueror whined his impatience. They were ready for the next lamppost, making their wishes clear by pacing about restlessly.
“You’ll feel better as soon as you get into the next scene,” Lorinda comforted. “I always do.”
“If I ever get into the next scene.” Freddie’s despondency was not to be dismissed so lightly. She seemed to be leading up to something.
Ordinarily, Lorinda would have waited and encouraged the impending confidence, but Conqueror chose that moment to dart behind her, looping his leash around her ankles and pulling it tight. She caught at Freddie’s arm to steady herself as Lionheart began to circle in the opposite direction.
“I’d better get along and let you finish with those brutes and take them back where they belong,” Freddie said.
“I would like to get rid of them,” Lorinda agreed, trying to untangle herself. “This dog-walking is trickier than it looks.”
“You’re spoiled because cats take care of themselves. And I'd advise you to stick to cats.” Freddie watched critically as she struggled to extricate herself. “You’re better off.”
“I’ll be all right so long as we don’t run into Clarice and her white rat. I’m not sure I could control them then.”
“I’m not sure you can control them now.” But Freddie did not offer any help. In fact, she began backing away. “Well ... good luck.”
At the end of the High Street, the dogs were still restless and unwilling to turn back. She knew that Gemma often set them free to run in the woods, but she didn’t dare; they might not return when she called – and how could she go back to Gemma and confess that she had lost the dogs?
“Come on!” She tugged at the leashes, half dragging the pugs as they stiffened their legs and tried to make a dash for the woods. “Come on ...”
“Having trouble?” She hadn’t seen Professor Borley approaching. “Allow me.” He took a leash in each hand, gave them a sharp jerk and announced, “Heel!”
The pugs looked up at him in surprise and decided to obey.
“Right,” he said. “Where are we heading?”
“Back to Coffers Court.” Lorinda fell into step beside him. “I want to get them home before Gemma starts worrying.”
But Gemma was asleep when they entered the flat. She did not appear to have moved since Lorinda had left.
The cats were also where she had last seen them – fast asleep on the sofa – although, typically, Had-I had struggled out from under and was now on top of But-Known.
“Those cats have the loudest purrs I’ve ever heard.” Professor Borley had released the pugs and they scampered into the room ahead of him, charging straight for Gemma.
“That’s not the cats,” Lorinda said. “It’s Gemma snoring.”
“Snoring?” Professor Borley crossed to the chair where Gemma slumped.
Conqueror pushed a wet nose against the limp hand dangling off the arm of the chair and seemed upset when there was no answering caress. He began to whimper on a sharply rising note of panic.
But-Known sat up abruptly, tumbling Had-I to one side. Both cats became wide-eyed and still, watching.
Lionheart jumped into Gemma’s lap and began to lick her face frantically.
Gemma did not stir; the heavy stertorous breathing continued.
“It was something she ate.” The tension began to infect Lorinda. “She said she’d been sick all night, but that she was better now. Surely, it can’t still be affecting her?”
“That depends on what she ate.” Professor Borley’s face was grim as he laid the back of his hand lightly against Gemma’s grey, clammy face.
“Who’s her doctor?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Then who’s yours?”
“I don’t have one here. Yet. Perhaps she hasn’t one, either. We haven’t lived here all that long, you know. We’re still in the process of getting ourselves organized.”
Professor Borley’s look told her she wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Lorinda felt herself growing defensive.
�
��What makes you think Gemma needs a doctor? She told me she’d had a terrible night; she needs all the sleep she can get to catch up.”
“Sleep, yes. A coma, no.” Professor Borley frowned at her. “What number do you ring for an ambulance?”
“An ambulance?” Lorinda shrank from the thought. “Surely, that’s a bit excessive? Gemma ...?” She moved over to look down at the woman. “Gemma ...? Gemma ... can you hear me? Do you want an ambulance?”
“Do you want the responsibility of denying her medical aid?” Professor Borley asked sternly. “You can’t do anything to help her. Can you?”
The ambulance arrived quickly, the paramedics were swift and efficient. Gemma looked a little better even as they lifted the stretcher and carried her outside, but her eyes were still closed.
“Any idea what she might have taken?” The steely glance accompanying the question left no doubt of the medic’s meaning.
“Taken?” Lorinda looked at him blankly. “She said it was something she ate. She thought it was food poisoning.”
“Hmmm.” His eyes were openly suspicious. “We’ll see.”
“She might have taken something by mistake,” Lorinda said. “When she got up in the night. If she didn’t put the light on ... an accident ...”
“Another accident? Pretty careless people around here.”
He could be right. A cold chill swept over Lorinda as she looked at the situation from his point of view. This was the second time an ambulance had sped to Brimful Coffers to carry away one of its newer residents.
“The rest of you better start being more careful,” he said. “Things come in threes, you know.”
“That’s the sort of superstitious remark I wouldn’t expect from a medical man,” Professor Borley said, but the medic had gone. They heard the ambulance door slam, the engine start, then the whine and whoop of the siren as it drove away.
Conqueror gave a mournful howl and Lionheart crouched with a pitiful whimper.
Canapés for the Kitties Page 11
