by Kaye Umansky
She bent down and covered the festering carpet with kisses. It thrashed around in her arms, revealing itself to have legs, a head, and a tail. It then clawed its way up her arm and slumped over her shoulder, purring rather wheezily.
So this was Neville. He was massive, with matted black fur and malevolent yellow eyes. His face was flat, as though he’d been fired from a cannon into a brick wall. Half of his left ear was missing, and he smelled as though he’d been swimming in a swamp.
Clover put out a hand to stroke him. Instantly, the purr turned into a warning growl, and his lips curled back, exposing a row of yellow fangs.
“Wary of strangers,” explained Mrs. Eckles. “He’ll be all right when he knows you. Did you get his milk?”
“I did.”
“Hear that, Neville? Come on, then, let’s go and find yer bowl.”
They began walking up the path.
“The rest of the stuff’s being delivered,” said Clover. “Oh, and I met a man who said to tell you the cart’s ready. He’s bringing it round the day after tomorrow. And it’s gone up to three pence.”
“Oh my!” Mrs. Eckles gave a startled little gasp. “Is it that time already?”
“What time?”
“The May Fayre at Palsworthy. Fergot to check the calendar. Three pence, you say? Daylight robbery. It were two last year.”
“You’re going to the Fayre?”
“Oh, yes. I goes every year. Does well there. Sells me remedies, does readin’s. Puts out a proper sign. They got respect fer Witches up there.”
“Can I come?” asked Clover, hopefully. A trip to the Fayre would be an adventure. She had never been but knew it was held in a big meadow outside the busy market town of Palsworthy, a day’s ride away.
“No room in the cart, not with all me stuff. No, you’ll stay ‘ere. Keep an eye on the cottage. I’m only gone three days. Leave Friday, back Sunday. You’ll be all right, won’t you? You’re sensible. The protection spells’ll keep you safe, and you’ll ’ave Neville for company. And Wilf’ll pop round.”
“Who?”
“Young Wilf, the delivery boy. He stayed ‘ere last time I went. But it weren’t an ideal arrangement. ’E means well, but ’e’s terrible clumsy.”
“I’ll be fine,” said Clover. “Although I don’t know about Neville.”
“I’d take ’im with me, but he don’t like it in the cart. Last time he wouldn’t eat his food. Peed in me slipper. Attacked a coupla customers an all. Drew blood. High strung, ain’t you, my angel? But it ain’t good for business.”
“I’ll bet,” said Clover, glancing at the angel who was currently giving her dirty looks from behind Mrs. Eckles’s neck.
Once they reached the kitchen door, Mrs. Eckles put Neville down, and he twined lovingly around her ankles.
“He understands everything you say, you know,” said Mrs. Eckles.
“Mm,” said Clover, doubtfully. “Well, I’ll give him his milk and put the kettle on. I expect you’d like a cup of tea?”
“Later,” said Mrs. Eckles with a small sigh. “First I gotta go out pickin’.”
“What, now? In broad daylight? I thought Witches always picked at midnight, under a full moon.”
“Not likely. I’ve ’ad enough o’ the forest at night for the time bein’. Flippin’ chilly out there. No, I’d best go now. Run outa herbs an’ what not. Need to make up fresh remedies, now the Fayre’s comin’ up. Want to get most of it done tonight, so I can rest up tomorrer. Put me feet up. Spend some quality time with Neville.”
“All right,” said Clover. “While you’re gone, I’ll get started on my room.”
“Aye. Listen out fer Wilf. I’ll leave a penny tip on the table. Give ‘im a bit o’ cake.”
“I thought we’d finished the cake.”
“That were the last one. Another one arrived this mornin’, when I was out lookin’ fer Mr. Naughty. I’ve stuck it in the pantry.”
“Get them delivered, do you?”
“Nope. Somebody leaves ’em on the doorstep. Grateful customer, I reckon.”
“That’s nice,” said Clover. “A secret admirer. Shows you’re appreciated.”
“It do, don’t it? I’ve ‘ad four so far. Ginger, cherry, fruit, an’ this one’s chocolate. Course, I always run a routine safety spell over ’em, just to make sure they ain’t been tampered with. Can’t be too careful.” Mrs. Eckles reached for an old wicker basket behind the kitchen door. “OK, I’m off. When Wilf comes in, remind him to duck under the low beam.”
“All right.”
“Don’t let nobody else in, mind.”
“All right.”
“I’m very particular who comes in me cottage. There’s some funny types around. Types who might try an’ trick their way in. Pretend to be what they ain’t. Offer you stuff free.”
“Like cake?”
“No, no, I’ve already said cake’s all right. Any more o’ those arrive, bring ’em in. But nothin’ else unless I gives you the say so. Especially tomatoes, or any other form of fruit.”
“I’m not about to accept any poisoned apples from old peddler women, if that’s what you mean. I’m not dumb.”
“No,” said Mrs. Eckles. “I know you ain’t. Just remember to watch out, is all. I’ll be back before sundown.”
“Right. I’ll make us some dumplings for supper.”
“Dumplins, eh?” Mrs. Eckles sounded pleased. “Bin awhile since I ’ad them. Keep an eye out fer that missin’ key. I’ll be needin’ to get in that cupboard now.”
Clover stood next to the trap door looking around at her very own bedroom. It was under the eaves at the very top of the house. You reached it by climbing a short ladder outside Mrs. Eckles’ bedroom, which was firmly locked. Clover had no idea what it was like in there. Judging by the state of the kitchen, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
The loft was a tiny space, and you had to keep your head down to avoid bumping it on the beams. There was nothing in there except cobwebs, a low rickety table, an empty chest of drawers, and a narrow bed with a straw mattress. It was dark, too. The tiny window was black with grime and hardly let in any light. But Clover would soon fix that.
For the next hour, Clover raced up and down, arms full of thin sheets, old blankets, and pails of soapy water. She chased away spiders and bats. She made up the bed, neatly placing her nightgown under the pillow. After a fight, she managed to get the window open. It looked out over the back garden. The cherry tree was directly opposite. The tip of one of its branches extended almost to the ivy clad windowsill. If she leaned out, she could almost touch it.
Under the kitchen sink, she found a chipped china jug and washbowl, which she carried up and placed on the table together with her washing things. She found a candle and a box of matches, which also went on the table. She got out her sewing box and made a simple curtain for the window using a length of string and a square piece of old cloth, which she took the trouble to hem. She found a hammer and a box of nails, two of which she hammered into a beam so that she could hang up her cloak and blue dress. The rest of her worldly possessions—the ribbons, the stockings, and the drawers—she placed neatly in the chest.
Later that afternoon, she was out gathering honeysuckle in the back garden when she heard muffled voices, followed by the sound of the gate clanging shut. A boy came staggering around the side of the cottage, carrying a large box piled high with a lot of slippery little packages wrapped in oiled paper.
The boy had a freckled face topped with a shock of flaming red hair. He had big ears, too. The sun shone through them. What with that and the hair, it looked like someone had set fire to his head.
“I’ve got to put this down,” said the boy, rather desperately.
“Hello,” said Clover. “You must be Wilf.”
“Yep,” said Wilf. “That’s me.”
He hoisted the box to get a better grip. A paper bag full of coffee beans slithered sideways and fell to the grass, bursting open and scattering bea
ns everywhere. Flo and Doris, the chickens, came strutting up, hoping for extra breakfast.
“Oops,” said Wilf. “Sorry. Look, I’ve really got to put this down. Mrs. Eckles in?” He was trying to balance the box and scrape up the beans with his foot. Flo pecked him on the ankle. “Ow. Get off, Flo.”
“No. She left a tip, though. Said to give you some cake.”
“There’s cake?”
“Yes.”
“With sugar icing? And a cherry in the middle?”
“No. Why?”
“I dunno. No reason.” Wilf looked a bit puzzled, then shook his head. “I really don’t know why I said that. Ow, get off, you two!” Doris was now joining in the attack on his ankle.
“Well, this one’s chocolate. Look, just leave the beans, I’ll pick them up later. Wipe your feet, please, I’ve done the floor.”
Clover led the way in, with Wilf trudging behind her. She couldn’t help feeling pleased when she heard his gasp of surprise.
“Wow! What’s been happening here?” He was hovering in the doorway, mouth open.
“Straightened up a bit, that’s all,” said Clover, rather smugly. “I’m Clover Twig, by the way. Mrs. Eckles hired me to clean. Put the box on the table, I’ll get the …”
There was a sudden cry, and she turned just in time to see Wilf trip over the mat and crash heavily on his knees. The box of groceries shot from his arms, overturning the rocking chair. A bag of flour burst open in a white explosion and a small round cheese went careering off into a corner.
A cabbage went rolling across the floor, ending up at the cat basket, where Neville was currently sleeping. He opened one eye, registered Wilf’s presence, sighed, and firmly closed it again. Clover had the feeling he had seen it all before.
“Oops. Sorry about that.”
Wilf straightened, cracked his head on the low beam, staggered back into a bucket of soapy water, and fell over again, backwards this time.
Clover felt a bit guilty. She had forgotten to remind him about the beam. Mrs. Eckles was right. He was certainly accident prone.
Chapter Eight
Let’s Have a Look
“Are you all right?” she asked. Wilf was sitting in a puddle of water, looking groggy and not sure which bit of himself to rub first. “Look—just sit down before anything else happens. I mean, stand up, then sit down properly”
“Sorry about that,” groaned Wilf, climbing to his feet. “I’ll clear it all up. Just as soon as the twinkling little stars have gone away.”
He collapsed onto a chair, clutching his head. Clover noticed that his knuckles on his hands were red and skinned. His ragged trousers had holes, and the knees that poked through were covered in scabs and bruises.
Clover took the chocolate cake from the pantry, a knife from the orderly knife drawer, and a clean plate from the clean plate cupboard. She cut a large slice and placed it before him.
“Here,” she said.
As Wilf ate, Neville opened one yellow eye, then the other. He stood up, gave a leisurely stretch, padded across, and thumped heavily onto his lap.
“Hello there, Nev,” said Wilf, tugging his good ear. “You got home all right, then.” Neville drooled and kneaded his claws, his eyes fixed hopefully on the cake.
Clover began to restore order. She pulled the rocking chair upright, set the box the right way up, and recovered the cheese and the cabbage. Behind her, Wilf was greedily chomping into the cake, pausing only to offer Neville little licks of chocolate from his fingers.
“You shouldn’t do that,” scolded Clover. “It’s unhygienic. He’s spoiled enough as it is.”
“I dunno,” said Wilf, easily. “It’s a bad thing if you can’t be spoiled a bit when you’re over a hundred years old. Isn’t that right, Nev?”
“A hundred? I don’t think cats live that long.”
“Witch cats do, Mrs. Eckles says. She reckons he understands everything you say.”
“All cat owners say that,” said Clover. “I don’t believe it, though.”
“He belonged to her grandma, did she tell you? Passed down, along with the cottage. Everything else went to her sister.”
“The one she fought with over the cherry tree?” Clover reached for the mop.
“That’s the one. Bit of a family feud. I hope you’re a good listener, Mrs. Eckles loves a good old moan.”
“Do you know her well, then?”
“Not really. I just pop in now and then. Me and Grampy are her nearest neighbors. Nobody comes here much. I think they find the place a bit off-putting. Especially from the front. The windows stare, did you notice?”
“They don’t bother me. I just stare back.”
“The gate doesn’t help either. One day rude, the next day overly friendly.”
“You’re right there,” agreed Clover. “Far too much to say for itself.”
“You’re not scared, then? Staying here?”
“No. Should I be?”
“Well, you know.”
“What? What do I know?”
“You know. The rumors.”
“What rumors?”
“Ah, nothing.”
“No, go on. What rumors?”
“No, really, I don’t want to …”
“What rumors?”
“Well, they do say it disappears from time to time.”
“Well, yes,” said Clover, skeptically “On a foggy day, I dare say it does. Lift your feet up, I’m trying to mop.”
“I’m just telling you what they say. You don’t have to believe it. Though Grampy tells a funny story. About when he was a small boy. Mrs. Eckles was old even then, he says.”
“How old is your grampy?”
“I don’t know. Ninety?”
“Then how is that possible? That’d make her at least a hundred and forty”
“Don’t ask me. Do you want to hear this or don’t you?”
“All right,” said Clover. “I can’t wait. Go on.”
“Grampy’s about six or seven, and he wakes in the night, and he’s hungry. Nothing in the pantry to eat. So he climbs out the window and comes here to pinch a handful of cherries from her tree. And guess what?”
“The fog comes down, and the cottage disappears?” said Clover, skeptically.
“No fog. It was a clear night. But it disappeared all right. Just a huge hole in the ground where it should have been and the garden all a mess. The log pile had collapsed, he said, and the outhouse was lying on its side. But mostly, that huge hole. Gave him a terrible shock.”
“So what did he do?”
“Ran home and stuck his head under the pillow. Didn’t say anything because he wasn’t supposed to be out stealing cherries from a Witch’s garden in the middle of the night. A day or two later, he plucks up the courage to come by to have a look, and everything’s back to normal.”
“He probably dreamed it,” said Clover. “Sounds like a dream to me.”
“That’s what I said. But he just tells me to shut up, he knows what he saw. And that’s the story. Any more of that cake?”
“Loads. I’ll wrap up a piece. You can take it with you.”
“Trying to get rid of me?”
“Well, I am a bit busy.”
Clover cut another slice and went to the drawer for paper to wrap it in. Wilf’s eye fell on the sugar pot. He reached in, took a lump, and awkwardly tossed it into the air, opening his mouth to catch it.
It hit him hard in the eye, bounced off, and fell on the floor.
“Ah, heck!” he said, rubbing his eye. “How come I can never do that?”
“Why would you want to?”
“I dunno. I just do. I’ve tried for years and never done it once. I even dream about doing it. Most nights, actually”
“Well, it’s a very silly dream. Odd dreams must run in your family. Here’s your cake.”
Clover handed him the neatly wrapped slice and pointedly picked up the bucket.
“All right, I can take a hint,” said Wilf. “Got
another delivery to do anyway.”
He stood up. In doing so, he knocked the cake onto the floor with his elbow. The plate broke in half and the cake landed upside down. It seemed he couldn’t move without destroying something.
“Oops. Sorry about that. I’ll try gluing the plate …”
“No, no,” said Clover, exasperated now. “Just leave it.”
“Then I’ll help scrape up the …”
“No. Really. Just go. Don’t forget your tip.”
She nodded at the penny on the table. Wilf scooped it up and rummaged around in his pockets for a bit, looking for something.
“Ah,” he said, at last. “Here it is. Found it in the grass just outside the gate. I think it belongs to Mrs. Eckles.”
It was a padlock key.
“I reckon so,” said Clover. “She said she was missing a key. Thanks.”
She reached out a hand. Wilf made no move to pass it over. He just stood looking at it in his palm.
“It’s the one to the corner cupboard, right?” he said.
“Right.”
“Thought so. Ever seen what’s in there?”
“No.”
“Nor me. She’s very secretive about it. Shall we have a look?”
“What?”
“While she’s gone. Let’s have a look.”
“Certainly not!” Clover was scandalized. “Whatever are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I’d like a look in that cupboard. I bet there’s all kinds of stuff.”
“Well, I must say I’m shocked. She thinks you’re a trustworthy sort of boy.”
“I am. But I’m still curious. Come on. Just a quick peek. We won’t touch anything.”
“No,” said Clover, firmly. She reached out and took the key from his palm. “I’m in charge while she’s out, and you’re not going anywhere near that cupboard. Shouldn’t you be getting on?”
“I suppose so. You’re sure I can’t help … ?”
“No. Just go.”
“Thanks for the cake.”
“You’re welcome. Goodbye.”
“’Bye then.”
On the way out, Wilf banged his head on the doorway.
“Ow!”
Then he tripped over the step.
“Ouch!”
