Canapés for the Kitties

by Marian Babson

  “What is it? What was that?” The door across the magnificent marble entrance hall opened and Plantagenet Sutton stood in the doorway of his flat, blinking. “What’s going on here?”

  “They’ve just taken Gemma away in the ambulance,” Lorinda said. The siren must have roused him, although it was strange that he could have slept through its arrival and the noisy invasion of the paramedics.

  “Gemma? Gemma?” He might never have heard of her. He blinked again, reinforcing the appearance of someone who had just woken up.

  Conqueror emitted another howl; Lionheart decided to join in.

  “For God’s sake!” Plantagenet winced and raised one hand to his head. “Can’t you shut those mutts up?”

  “Maybe you’d like to try,” Professor Borley challenged.

  Plantagenet lifted his head and directed a venomous glance at the academic, who smiled blandly back. Plantagenet scowled, obviously realizing that he could not exact vengeance on someone whose work never came to him for review. He shifted his threatening gaze to Lorinda.

  It told her she was doomed. Guilt by association. In the unlikely event of her next book winning the Nobel Prize, Plantagenet Sutton would still revile it as the most meretricious, unworthy, inept, misbegotten piece of arrogance that the world had ever had foisted on it. He would be merciless and utterly damning – and all because she had had the misfortune to witness him bested by Professor Borley.

  “You do well to raise the subject.” Borley was not through yet. “What is going to happen to the dogs while their mistress is in hospital? Someone is going to have to take care of them.”

  “Don’t look at me!” Plantagenet retreated into his flat, slamming the door behind him.

  Lorinda realized that Professor Borley was now looking at her.

  “Oh, no,” she said quickly. “I can’t take them. I have the cats.”

  “That’s what I thought,” he said gloomily, following her into Gemma’s flat. The pugs scampered ahead of them, going straight to Gemma’s chair. Despite the fact that they had just seen her carried out and loaded into the ambulance, they still seemed to expect to find her there.

  “They’re missing her already,” the professor said mournfully. “Poor things.”

  Had-I turned to her sister and made an obviously uncomplimentary remark. But-Known agreed. They eyed the dogs coldly.

  “If you took the dogs home with you,” Borley tried again, “you could keep them outside in the garden. The cats wouldn’t mind that, would they?”

  Had-I and But-known turned to stare at him with incredulous icy contempt.

  “Sorry,” he apologized to them quickly. “It was just a thought.”

  “Think again,” Lorinda said. “What about Gordie? He’ll have duplicate keys to all the flats – and it’s his job to look after everything. Surely, he can feed and walk the dogs for a few days?”

  “I’m afraid Gordie isn’t the pillar of reliability he used to be, now that he’s got that new red-headed girlfriend. You’ll notice there’s been no sign of him, despite all the commotion here.” Professor Borley frowned uneasily. “She’s much too old for him, of course, but they seem to be quite happy. I suppose one shouldn’t be judgmental about such things. It’s their business, after all.”

  “Quite right,” Lorinda agreed abstractedly. Had-I and But-Known were sliding cushionwards again, ready to go back to sleep.

  “No, you don’t,” she warned them. “We’re going home.”

  “Betty Alvin!” Borley said, on a note of inspiration. “She’ll take care of the dogs.”

  “Betty already has her hands full,” Lorinda said. “Dorian is coming to the end of his new book.” There might be more demanding employers than Dorian, but not many. He monopolized Betty at the best of times; now that he was coming to the end of a book, he undoubtedly turned into the proverbial Fiend in Human Form. Perhaps they all did. It was a wonder poor Betty was able to stand it. It was certainly unfair to expect her to take on any more tasks at such a time.

  “In any case, I’m not going to be here next week. I have business to attend to in London and I’m leaving in the morning.” It was a spur of the moment decision but, as soon as she said it, she knew it was the right one. She needed a respite. When she returned, she would be better able to usher those ghastly Sibling Spinster Sleuths to the victorious conclusion of another case and a happy ending for everyone except the trapped villain.

  “Tomorrow?” Professor Borley looked aghast, realization seeping in that he was going to be left holding the pugs.

  “Home,” Lorinda said sternly to the cats. Had-I twitched an ear and wriggled deeper into the cushions. Lorinda sighed and started for the door.

  “You can’t leave them here!” Professor Borley sounded close to panic at the thought of yet more animals to look after.

  “I don’t intend to.” Lorinda reclaimed her shopping trolley from the hall and wheeled it back into the living room. She positioned it beside the sofa and flipped back the lid. But-Known opened one wary eye and closed it again.

  “Inside,” Lorinda ordered. Both cats remained motionless. She knew they were aware of her because they had stopped purring.

  “All right, we’ll do it this way.” She lifted Had-I and lowered her into the basket. But-Known gave a faint mewling protest at receiving the same treatment, then they both moulded themselves to the lumpy bags of vegetables and returned to their semi-comatose state. Lorinda lowered the lid and wheeled the basket toward the door.

  “Umm ...” Professor Borley was at the window and appeared to be about to say something, then changed his mind. “I suppose,” he offered instead, “I could walk the dogs before bedtime tonight ... and open a can of dog food.”

  “That would be fine,” Lorinda agreed. “Gemma may be able to come home by tomorrow. It might just be a case of having her stomach pumped and then they’ll release her to recuperate at home. I’ll ring the hospital later and find out how she is.”

  “I hope you’re right,” he said gloomily. “She looked pretty awful to me.”

  Since Lorinda was the one moving, both dogs followed her hopefully to the door. Perhaps she could be persuaded to take them for another walk.

  “Ummm ...” Again, Professor Borley seemed about to say something. He trailed after the dogs, looking undecided.

  “It might be a good idea to open that dog food now,” Lorinda suggested. “Fill their bowls and then you can slip out while they’re eating.”

  “That wasn’t what –” He stepped back nimbly, trying to restrain the pugs as she swung the door open and wheeled the shopping basket into the marble hall.

  And halted abruptly. Clarice was crossing the hall to the lift, her white rat perched on her shoulder, its little red eyes gleaming wickedly as it turned its head to look at Lorinda.

  “Hello.” Clarice changed course, veering over to the group in the doorway.

  “No!” Lorinda gasped. “No, go back!”

  “Don’t you like rats?” Clarice asked innocently, delighted with the effect she was creating. “Boswell won’t hurt you. He’s really quite tame. He won’t bite. Wouldn’t you like to pet him?”

  “No.” Lorinda backed into Professor Borley as she tried to pull the shopping basket back into Gemma’s flat.

  Too late. The lid on the basket began bouncing as strong little legs fought to brace themselves on the vegetables and leap upwards. Two indignant yowls told Clarice what they’d like to do to Boswell. The dogs added their yelps.

  “Back! Get back!” Lorinda pushed at the little muzzles thrusting out of the basket.

  “Steady, boys.” Professor Borley fought to keep the dogs from rushing into the hall. “Steady there.”

  “Oohhh ...” Clarice began backing away. The rat squeaked, recognizing danger, and tried to burrow down the neck of Clarice’s sweater.

  Clarice screamed as it clawed frantically at her neckline. Had-I was head and shoulders out of the basket now, hurling a challenge that reverberated off the marb
le walls. Unusually, But-Known was right behind her. The dogs slipped around Professor Borley and skittered free into the hall.

  “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OUT THERE?” Plantagenet Sutton threw open his door, which was his mistake.

  Clarice screamed again and hurled herself toward the sanctuary of the open door, so much closer than the lift. The dogs pursued her, in full cry.

  Lorinda wrestled the cats back into the basket and jammed the lid shut with her heavy shoulder bag, then raced for the front door.

  Plantagenet staggered backwards as Clarice rushed past him.

  The dogs hesitated momentarily as Lorinda opened the front door, distracted by the sudden choice. Professor Borley swooped on them and gathered them up.

  “I always knew I wasn’t interested in keeping pets,” he said. “Now I know why.” The wriggling bodies under his arms struggled to escape.

  The door across the hall slammed shut. Plantagenet Sutton was behind it – with Clarice and her rat. He wouldn’t appreciate that. He was even less of a pet person than Borley, and Lorinda doubted that he cared much for children, either.

  “You were at the window,” Lorinda accused Borley coldly. “You must have seen Clarice coming into the building. Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “I thought of it, but you had the cats in the basket and I thought it would be all right. They couldn’t see the rat.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of a sense of smell?” Lorinda bumped the trolley over the threshold and out into the High Street. “And the fact that animals have a much keener one than we do?”

  “Well, yes, but I didn’t think –”

  “Precisely, Professor Borley!” Lorinda turned and walked away briskly, feeling that, for once, she had had the last word.

  7

  Chapter Twenty

  “I suppose you are wondering why I have brought us all together like this,” Miss Petunia said slowly. Her heart was heavy as she surveyed her siblings: Lily, so strong and self-assured; Marigold, so dainty and delicate, with her bright blue eyes and red-gold hair. It was unbearable, unthinkable, that they should be threatened in any way.

  “In your own private study,” Marigold breathed with awe. “Oh, Petunia, this is such an honour!” Her bright blue eyes danced around the room, taking in every aspect of the rarely visited sanctum sanctorum. “Oh, there’s Daddy’s precious amethyst-quartz lamp! I always wondered what had happened to it.”

  “You’ll tell us when you’re ready,” Lily said with supreme confidence. “Mind if I borrow this copy of the Oxford English Dictionary? Had one of my own once; don’t know whatever became of it.”

  “Now settle down, girls.” Miss Petunia’s fond smile turned a trifle wintry. “This is important. I want your full attention. In fact” – she paused portentously – “this may be the most important problem we have ever faced in our whole lives.”

  “Oh, goody!” Marigold clapped her hands girlishly. “We’ve got a new case!”

  “’Bout time we had another,” Lily said. “Been getting a bit boring lately. Important, eh? Lots of money involved?”

  “Far more important than mere money,” Miss Petunia said solemnly.

  “Ooooh!” Marigold’s eyes grew round.

  “What could that be?” Lily was sceptical.

  “It is, literally,” Miss Petunia told them, “a matter of life and death. Ours.”

  “Somebody threatening us again?” Lily clenched her fists. “We’ve dealt with that before. Soon see him off.”

  “Ah, yes.” Miss Petunia removed her pince-nez and tapped them against her chin thoughtfully. “I fear it may come to that.”

  “Oh, tell us about it,” Marigold said eagerly. “I’m dying to hear all about it. Only ...” Her delicate brow furrowed. “I just must make a telephone call first to ...” She blushed delicately. “To my new friend.”

  Lily growled deep in her throat. “He’s not good enough for you.”

  “I fear it will not be possible to ring anyone.” Miss Petunia called them to order. “I have turned the telephones off. It is vital that I have your complete and undivided attention.”

  “Petunia!” Marigold gasped. “You’ve never turned the telephones off before!”

  “We have never faced such a crisis before.”

  “That’s a bit thick!” Lily growled. “Are you sure?”

  Miss Petunia gave her the sort of look she rarely had occasion to turn upon one of her sisters, her cohorts. Like any miscreant, Lily quailed before it, but only momentarily.

  “Sorry,” she apologized. “Lost my head.”

  “I trust not,” Miss Petunia said, “Such a calamity is what we must now unite to prevent.”

  “Oh, Petunia!” Marigold gave a dramatic little shiver. “You sound so solemn.”

  “It is a solemn moment.” Miss Petunia bowed her head. “And one I never expected to see. However, it has arrived and we must deal with it as best we can.”

  “But, Petunia, what is it?”

  “Come on, woman.” Lily, as ever, was impatient. “Out with it!”

  “I have considered this deeply for some time.” Miss Petunia replaced her pince-nez and looked from one sibling to the other. “I fear the conclusion I have reached is inescapable. But first, I must ask you some questions. Sit down.”

  Lily thumped down instantly into the comfortable armchair. Marigold flitted about for another moment, poising herself to perch on the edge of the desk, but deterred by Miss Petunia’s severe look, she settled on the footstool at Lily’s feet instead.

  “Yes, Petunia?” she breathed.

  “Are both of you quite comfortable?” Miss Petunia asked.

  “Fine,” Lily said gruffly. “Springs seem to be loosening up a bit though. Probably need reupholstering in a couple more years.”

  “Oh, yes, this is –”

  “Never mind the furniture!” Miss Petunia snapped. “Not now! I mean, are you comfortable within yourselves? Have you been feeling at all strange at times recently? Are you uneasy, perhaps unhappy, without being able to put your finger on any reason for it?”

  Lily and Marigold exchanged long glances.

  “Have you,” Miss Petunia persisted, “been having strange dreams lately?”

  “Fancy your knowing that!” Marigold gasped.

  “Nightmares, more like,” Lily admitted.

  “Ah, yes.” Miss Petunia bowed her head. “Yes. It is, indeed, as I had feared.”

  “Yes, nightmares!” Marigold agreed, going pale. “I keep dreaming that we’re coming to the end of a case and – and then – everything starts going wrong. Terribly wrong.”

  “Awful things start happening.” Lily stirred uneasily. “People we thought were our friends show themselves as enemies. People we thought we were helping aren’t grateful. Every hand turns against us.”

  “And we all die,” Miss Petunia said. “Horribly.”

  “Petunia! You don’t mean you’re having them, too?” Marigold cried.

  “Time to change our diet,” Lily said. “No more cheese at bedtime. Get more exercise. Good healthy fresh air will blow all those demons away.”

  “I think not,” Miss Petunia said. “I fear the problem is far more deep-rooted than that. It strikes at the core of our very existence. Our continuing existence.”

  “Oh, Petunia!” Marigold’s blue eyes brimmed with the remembered tears of terrified awakenings. “What can you mean?”

  “Got to put a stop to it,” Lily said gruffly. “Can’t go on like this.”

  “Can you stop it, Petunia?” Marigold’s trusting eyes turned to her eldest sister, fount of all knowledge and support. “How?”

  “Why?” Lily wanted to know. “Why should this be happening?”

  “There, indeed, is the nub of the matter,” Miss Petunia said slowly. “I fear that our Chronicler – I will not call her our Creator, for, surely, we have always existed in a life of our own – has grown tired of us. At the moment, she is merely playing with the idea ... toying with us .
.. but I fear that we are coming to the parting of the ways.”

  “Oh, Petunia!” A small shriek escaped Marigold. “Whatever shall we do?”

  “We shall survive,” Miss Petunia said grimly. “At whatever cost.”

  “Quite right.” Lily flexed her muscles.

  “Not yet, dear.” Miss Petunia laid a soothing hand on her sister’s arm. “First we must consider our options and come to a democratic decision.”

  “Well said!” Lily straightened her back and glared around challengingly. “So what do we do?”

  “Oh, dear!” Marigold burst into tears. “It’s all so terrible! I can’t bear it!”

  “There, there, old thing.” Lily patted her heaving shoulders awkwardly. “Don’t take on so. It will come out all right in the end.”

  “I don’t see how,” Marigold choked. “If our – our Chronicler – wants to get rid of us –”

  “Someone else will take us up,” Miss Petunia said firmly.

  “Oh, Petunia!” Marigold raised her tear-drenched face hopefully. “Do you really think so?”

  “Our fans will insist on it,” Miss Petunia said confidently. “And our publishers,” she added as an afterthought. “We are far too popular to be allowed to ... to ... She found herself unable to complete the sentence; the enormity of the thought was too much for her. She closed her eyes briefly.

  “Steady on,” Lily said. “It isn’t going to happen. We won’t let it.”'

  “You’re right, of course.” Dear Lily, always so supportive. Miss Petunia opened her eyes again and almost smiled. “There is no question but that a new Chronicler will emerge to continue the relating of our adventures. It’s done all the time. Look at Miss Anastasia Mudd – she’s carrying on stronger than ever.”

  “Yes ...” Marigold looked doubtful. “But will it be that easy for us? Might not Lorinda Lucas fight the idea? And she does hold the copyright. Miss Mudd is a different case. They had to find a new Chronicler for her because her old one died.”

  “Precisely,” Miss Petunia said.

  “Oh, Petunia, what can you mean?” Marigold’s voice quavered.