“Bugfat,” said Willet again. “Your mother was just fooling you. None of it is true.” And then he added, suddenly serious, “My mother can’t fool me, though.”
Mott Snave was forgotten at once. Hercules looked at the boy curiously. “But, Willet!” he said. “Why should your mother want to fool you?”
Willet shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. But she does. I guess she has a reason, but I don’t know what it is.” He stopped and looked hard and long at Hercules. “Can you keep a secret?” he asked at last. “A secret I’ve never told to anyone in the whole world?”
“Certainly,” said Hercules.
“Well then,” said Willet, “come on. I’ll show you something.” He got up and ran across the grass to the other side of the lawn, skirted around the formal garden, and paused at the hedge. When Hercules caught up with him, he squeezed himself through a thin place in the scratchy branches and motioned Hercules to follow.
On the other side of the hedge, ringed by a circle of poplars, stood a small square building made of stone. In a slab above the stout wooden door, the carved words Midas Goody announced the building’s purpose beyond mistake.
“That’s my father’s tomb,” said Willet. “You go inside that door and you go down some steps and the coffin’s down there. I made Alfresco tell me all about it.”
“Good grief, Willet!” said Hercules in pained surprise.
“That’s all right,” said Willet with a little smile. “You see, the coffin’s down there, all right, but my father isn’t in it. And the reason he isn’t in it is because he isn’t dead.”
Hercules looked at the boy for a long moment and at last he said, “Not dead?”
“Don’t look so solemn, Hercules,” said Willet. “There’s nothing to be solemn about. The reason I know he isn’t dead is because my mother was never even sad. She told me he fell off his horse and was killed, but she wasn’t sad, she was cross. And she was cross for weeks afterward.”
“She wasn’t sad?” said Hercules.
“No, she wasn’t. The horse never came back, either. And Hercules, there’s one more thing. I was hiding in the hedge when they carried the coffin down the steps into the tomb. They thought I was in the house, but I was really in the hedge. The coffin bumped against the wall and something inside it went clank.”
“Clank?” said Hercules.
“Clank,” said Willet.
They stood side by side staring at the tomb.
“My father wouldn’t have gone clank” observed Willet calmly, “so he isn’t in the coffin. And if he isn’t in the coffin, he isn’t dead.”
“Then,” wondered Hercules, feeling more like the taught than the tutor, “where is he?”
“I don’t know,” said Willet. And then he added, in a voice full of patient confidence, “But he’ll come back someday. Just wait and see.”
“Not dead?” said Hercules.
“No,” said Willet.
A lengthening afternoon shadow fell across the face of the tomb, and the letters Midas Goody disappeared.
Chapter 5
At supper there was no sign of Mrs. Tidings, although they could hear her perfectly well stomping about in the kitchen to the music of clattering pots and dishes. Instead, the meal was served by someone entirely new to Hercules—a rather short, round young woman with chopped-off black hair who was probably, he supposed, Alfreida Rom, the gardener’s daughter, who told all the Mott Snave stories to Willet. She turned on Hercules one sharp, searching glance which seemed to stab right into his soul and immediately he felt nervous and unworthy. He wanted to kneel down and swear to be a better man by morning, but instead he sat and clutched his napkin.
Willet, however, looked at her with obvious pleasure. “Hullo, Alfreida!” he said. “Where were you all day?”
“Never mind, dearie,” she replied, slapping down a bowl of soup in front of him. “Where I go is none of your affair. Who’s the do-nothing with the bare face?” And she pointed at Hercules as if he were a picture on the wall.
“That’s my new tutor,” said Willet. “His name is Hercules Feltwright.”
Alfreida looked at Hercules with an expression very like disgust, and Willet, following her example, looked at him, too. There was a long moment of silence during which Hercules, under their combined gaze, grew even more nervous and dropped a spoon.
“So you’re a tutor, are you, dearie?” Alfreida said at last, after he had fished the spoon out from under his chair and sat up again, red-faced and breathless.
“That’s right!” said Hercules heartily, and felt at once that his voice was too loud and that Alfreida would despise him for it.
“He used to be an actor once,” said Willet, attacking the soup. “He’s got a cat skin and a false beard.”
“Well now! Is that right!” said Alfreida, softening a little. Suddenly she smiled, revealing a gold tooth. “He might be all right then, after all,” she nodded to Willet. “An actor, eh? I was afraid he’d be one of these walking books you see around sometimes. You know—hands behind the back, thin legs; but an actor…that’s not so bad.” She pulled out a chair opposite Hercules and sat down, leaning her elbows on the table. “I’ve got two careers myself,” she said to him. “Helping out at Goody Hall isn’t all I do.”
“No?” said Hercules, greatly relieved that she had decided to accept him. “What else?”
Alfreida lowered her voice. “I’m a medium, dearie. If you ever want to call someone back from the dead, just come to me. Any evening—we have a little house, my father and me, just this side of the village.”
“That’s…uh…very kind of you,” said Hercules, feeling a little nervous again. “A medium, eh? Well, well. I was in a play once that had three witches. How did that go now? Oh, yes, I remember:
“Rumble, rumble, foil and fumble,
Choir adjourn and children mumble.”
Alfreida made a face. “Witches!” she snorted. “That’s for amateurs.” She stood up and replaced the chair with an imperious shove. “What I do is the real thing, not a lot of mumbo-jumbo. Prince Albert himself comes when I call.”
At that moment a sharp voice barked from the kitchen. “Alfreida? Bring out those soup plates and stop all the yammering.” And then the voice, somewhat lower but clearly intending to be heard, added: “Some people don’t know their place and never will.”
Alfreida smiled again and the gold tooth winked. “Any time at all, dearie,” she said to Hercules in a loud whisper. “It doesn’t matter whether they’ve been dead two years or a hundred. They all come flapping when it’s me who wants them.” Then she picked up the soup plates, taking her time about it, and disappeared into the kitchen.
“My goodness!” said Hercules, staring after her.
Willet beamed. “That’s the one good thing when my mother goes away! Alfreida never talks any other time. She must like you, or she’d never have said a word.”
The rest of the dinner went peacefully enough, and afterward things grew very quiet at Goody Hall. Alfreida went home to fix her father’s supper (“Bat wings and toad legs, I suppose,” said Hercules, not without admiration) and Mrs. Tidings retired with her mending to her own room, after speaking severely to Hercules.
“Willet is your responsibility now. See that he gets to bed on time. And he’s not to be upset by too much excitement—a story or some quiet conversation at the most—those are Mrs. Goody’s orders. She dotes on that boy, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll see he’s made happy and comfortable.”
Hercules was indignant. “It wouldn’t occur to me to do anything else!” he protested.
“I just thought I’d tell you,” Mrs. Tidings said in a superior tone. “And remember—I’ll be watching.”
“She will, too,” said Willet sadly after she had gone. “She can see right through the walls.”
“Well, she can’t see up to my room,” said Hercules. “Come on up and I’ll show you that cat skin before bedtime.”
The
room that had been assigned to Hercules was on the second floor of the beautiful house, and it was right next to Willet’s. There was even a door between, which made it all quite cozy and friendly. Willet’s room was much larger, of course, and had an elegant marble fireplace, while Hercules had only brick, but still it was the nicest room he’d ever occupied. In fact, it was so nice that he wondered whether he’d ever be able to go to sleep in it—and then he noticed that outside an enormous lilac bush was in full bloom, and when he opened his window a lush branch that had been pressing against the glass came bobbing in with its shiny heart-shaped leaves, and the heavy purple clusters filled the room with their sweet scent. “Lilacs!” he exclaimed. “My very favorite flower! I’d rather have lilacs than all the perfumes of Arabia.”
“Where’s the cat skin?” asked Willet.
“The darling buds of May!” breathed Hercules, still at the window.
“Hercules!” said Willet impatiently. “Come on and show me the cat skin.”
“Oh yes. All right. The cat skin.” Hercules turned away from the lilacs and crossed the room to the big dark-wood wardrobe. He swung its double doors wide. Inside, Mrs. Tidings had hung all his interesting clothes properly on hangers, and sure enough, shoved way over to one side by itself, the cat skin was draped on a hanger of its own. “There it is,” said Hercules, taking it down and handing it to Willet. “It’s not in very good condition, I’m afraid. I’ve had it for seventeen years.”
Willet took the limp skin reverently and rubbed its meager fur against his cheek. “It’s beautiful!” he sighed. “I wish I had one.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” said Hercules. “I’ll give it to you. I should have gotten rid of it long ago. It was a silly idea to begin with.”
“Do you really mean it, Hercules?”
“Of course I mean it. It’s yours,” said his tutor.
“It’s the best thing I ever had in all my life,” said Willet with conviction. He carried the skin happily to his own room and in a moment he was back. “What else have you got that’s interesting?”
“Well, let’s see,” said Hercules. “How about nose putty? Ever see any up close? They use it all the time in plays.”
“I’ve never been to a play,” said Willet, sitting down on the bed and looking at Hercules expectantly.
“What? Never been to a play? I can hardly believe it.” He crossed to the bureau and began pulling drawers open. “Where’s my box? My makeup box? I’m not used to someone else putting away all my…oh, here it is.” He took it out of the bottom drawer, opened it, and fished out a lump of pinkish, clay-like stuff which he squeezed with his fingers for a few moments until it was soft. Then he clapped it over his nose.
Willet burst out laughing. “You look so funny—like a whole other person!”
Hercules went to the long mirror that stood in the corner and peered at himself. “Not bad,” he said. He fussed with the putty, molding it into a somewhat more reasonable shape. “Yes, you can change yourself altogether with a bit of this stuff.” He turned his head from side to side, admiring the large new nose, and then he paused. “All I need now is…”
Shrugging out of his baggy jacket, he went to the wardrobe and began to pull things out and put them on. A dark vest. A black cloak. A flat black hat with an obscuring brim. And a long red scarf which he wound around his neck and up over his mouth until only the nose poked out over it. Then he returned to the mirror. “There!” His voice came muffled through the folds of the scarf. “Now—who am I?” He turned around and faced Willet, slinking a few steps forward and narrowing his eyes under the shadowy hat brim.
“Mott Snave!” cried Willet, utterly delighted.
“Right! I’m Mott Snave, the jewel thief!” the muffled voice growled. “Hand over the diamond necklace!”
“Oh, Hercules!” crowed Willet. “It’s just wonderful. That’s exactly how Alfreida described him.”
Hercules turned back to the mirror. “Yes,” he said in his normal voice, “this was the sort of costume he wore. Black hat, cloak, red scarf. A pretty picture on a dark night. It’s interesting, though,” he added, giving the tip of the putty nose another squeeze. “I wonder how Alf reida knew about him.”
“Oh, Alfreida’s a gypsy,” said Willet. “Gypsies always know everything. And they love to tell stories. Mrs. Tidings said so.”
“That’s nonsense,” said Hercules. “Alfreida isn’t a gypsy. Gypsies don’t settle down in villages and do housework; they stick together and travel around.”
“Well,” said Willet, “she certainly looks like a gypsy. Mrs. Tidings says she does, anyway.”
“Mrs. Tidings says a lot of things,” observed his tutor.
“Hercules!” said Willet, suddenly struck with an idea. “Hercules, listen! Go down and knock on the door and see if you can fool her!”
“Fool Mrs. Tidings? Oh, I’d better not do that,” said Hercules, shaking his head inside the scarf. “Dressing up is only for plays. And anyway, she might be frightened.”
“Nothing frightens her,” said Willet. “Come on, Hercules! Just to see if she can tell who you are. We can pretend it’s a play, can’t we?”
Hercules turned and, looking over the putty nose at Willet’s eager face, was touched by the pleasure he saw there. “Well,” he said, relenting, “I don’t suppose it would really do any harm. All right. If you’re sure it won’t alarm her. You can watch from the top of the stairs.”
Together they crept out of the room and peered over the railing into the shadowy hall below, where the blue twilight made everything look new and mysterious. “There’s the stage down there,” whispered Hercules, “and here’s your seat in the balcony. Sit down and be very quiet. The play is about to begin.”
He started softly down the staircase, the cloak whispering about his ankles. When he reached the bottom, he turned and looked back up to where Willet crouched in the darkness on the top step. Then he pulled the scarf higher under the putty nose and flung back his shoulders. Suddenly, and remarkably, he was no longer a bagg young man named Hercules Feltwright; instead he was cold, shrewd, fearless—he was Mott Snave, master thief. With the greatest care, he opened the tall front door. For a moment the dry song of crickets seemed to roar into the hall and then with a swish of cloak he was through the door and had closed it behind him. Willet waited, breathless, and almost at once came a series of loud, commanding raps. Then Mrs. Tidings was thumping down the hall, holding a lighted candle. She arrived below him, immense in a flowered wrapper, and flung open the door.
“Well, who is it?” she barked. “What do you mean by waking people up in the middle of the night?”
Mott Snave stood there like a shadow. The evening breeze stirred the folds of his cloak and in the twilight the red scarf looked purple. The putty nose gleamed faintly. When he spoke, his voice was deep and slow through the scarf. “I understand there’s a young man here—a certain Hercules Feltwright,” he said. “Is that correct?”
“That’s correct,” said Mrs. Tidings without the least alarm. “What do you want with him?”
“He’s a friend of mine,” answered the voice. “Can you tell me—did he bring Cerberus with him?”
Mrs. Tidings made an annoyed exclamation. “I’m not going to tell you anything,” she said crossly. “If you want to see him, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow. This is no hour of the night for curious visitors. Get along now and don’t come back till morning.” She shut the door firmly and went back down the hall with her candle, muttering to herself. “A fine thing…wrapped up like a mummy on a night like this…some people…never a thought for others.” Then her bedroom door closed and there was silence. At the top of the stairs Willet uncurled himself and stood up gleefully. Hercules had fooled her completely.
The front door opened and shut once more, and Mott Snave hurried up the stairs, turning back into Hercules as he came. In the bedroom, unwinding the scarf, he said, “Well, you were right! She wasn’t frightened at all, thank good
ness. I must say I enjoyed it. Makes me miss the old days.”
“It was just fine,” said Willet. “Is that what a real play is like?”
“Well, more or less,” said Hercules, peeling off the putty nose. “Except, in a real play, of course, Mrs. Tidings would have known it was only me, and she wouldn’t have been playing herself, you know. She’d have been acting the part of—oh, the giant’s wife, perhaps, or maybe grandmother of the wind.” He stood looking at himself critically in the mirror. “That was a very good nose,” he said. “Much more interesting than mine. Big noses have such a lot of strength and character.”
“It looked like my father’s nose,” said Willet, picking up the putty and squeezing it.
“Really? Your father had a big nose?” And then, “I mean—has a big nose?”
“Yes, he does,” said Willet. “I haven’t seen him for a long time, but I remember his face exactly.” He yawned.
“It’s way past your bedtime,” said Hercules, suddenly collecting himself. “Go to bed, Willet. That’s all the dressing up we’re going to do. I’m here to be a tutor, not an actor.”
“But it was fun, wasn’t it?” said Willet happily. “What are you going to tell Mrs. Tidings in the morning? You’d better not tell her it was you at the door—she’ll be awfully cross.”
“For goodness’ sake—I never even thought of that!” said Hercules in dismay. “You’re right, of course. She’ll be angry and she’ll tell your mother and then I won’t be your tutor any more.” He scratched his head thoughtfully. “I should have listened to my own advice. Dressing up is only for plays. Well, it looks as if this play will have to go into a second act. I’ll have to make up something and hope it will satisfy her.”
Goody Hall Page 3
