by Eva Ibbotson
‘Where’s Sam?’ said the parrot, his head on one side.
‘I want you to buy this bird,’ said the woman in a bossy voice.
‘I’m afraid I don’t buy birds from private people. One can never be sure that they are not diseased.’
‘This parrot is not diseased,’ said the woman huffily, and once again the parrot said: ‘Where’s Sam?’
‘Where is Sam?’ asked Heckie.
‘Sam was his owner. He’s gone away and because I am a kind and caring person, I offered to find a home for the parrot. I’ll take fifty pounds.’
Heckie was about to say no, but the parrot edged closer on his perch and she saw his eyes. ‘I’ll give you forty,’ she said.
To her surprise, the woman took it and left.
‘I’ll see you later,’ said Heckie to the parrot, and went back to the meeting.
‘Now,’ she said, when she was back in the sitting-room. ‘Is there anything else—’
She broke off. Daniel and Sumi had both leapt to their feet and run towards the door.
‘Oh, what has happened?’ cried Daniel.
The dragworm had managed to get back upstairs but there was something terribly wrong with him. His breath came in rasping gasps, his wings were limp and the hair on his topknot had turned quite white! Worst of all was his wormy end. It had been smooth and pale with gentle pink splodges. Now all the splodges were horribly inflamed, raised up from the skin like boils, and the centre of every one was full of pus.
Up to now, Heckie’s familiar had never made a sound, but as they carried him back to his basket, his head fell back and from his poor, sick throat there came a tragic and despairing: ‘Quack!’
Nobody laughed. Even the witches and wizards who had jeered knew that when people are in trouble they often go back to their childhood, crying or calling for their mothers. The dragworm had gone back to his early life – the life when he was a duck.
Heckie was beside herself, running backwards and forwards with medicines and blankets, and it was the garden witch who said: ‘Wait! I’ve seen this before. Seen it with Mad Millicent’s familiar.’ She scratched her head, but Heckie was far too worried to clip off the green shoot that burst out between her eyebrows. ‘The fiercest witch in the east, she was, and her familiar with her.’
The cheese wizard nodded. ‘That’s right. He was a lizard and he’d come on just like that when there was some evil in the place. And Wall-eyed William’s familiar too. An eagle, he was – a real brute and he used to come out in great red boils under his feathers. A proper help it was to William.’
‘You mean . . .’ Heckie looked up and she was blushing. ‘Are you saying . . .? Oh, surely not. I’m only an ordinary witch. Surely I couldn’t have made one of . . . you know . . . them?’
The wizards and witches nodded and looked at Heckie with a new respect.
‘Made what?’ Joe wanted to know.
‘A detector! A wickedness detector! A familiar who comes over queer when he meets anyone wicked!’ cried Heckie, clapping her hands, and Daniel felt quite cross. How could she look so pleased when the dragworm was suffering? Though actually he was beginning to look a little better: some of the black was returning to his hair and the spots were fading. ‘A wickedness detector. Oh my, oh my! So we’ll always know for certain whether somebody’s evil or not! Well, there’s nothing to stop us now!’
‘Yes, but who made him come out in spots like that?’ asked Joe.
Everybody looked at everybody else. In the silence, they could hear the parrot still asking: ‘Where’s Sam? Where’s Sam?’
‘Of course!’ cried Heckie. ‘The woman in the shop. The woman with the white Rolls-Royce. After her, children! Find out everything you can about her. Everything!’
Chapter Seven
It didn’t take the children long to trace the owner of the white Rolls-Royce. Her name was Mrs Winneypeg and she was one of the richest women in Wellbridge. She didn’t just have a white Rolls-Royce, she had a white BMW and a white Jaguar. She lived alone in a house with seven bedrooms and a private swimming pool and owned seven fur coats, three of them mink.
And she made her money looking after old people.
‘But that’s a good thing to do, surely?’ said Daniel when they had reported back to Heckie. ‘So why was the dragworm so ill when he saw her?’
Could the dragworm be wrong? Nobody thought so, but it was odd all the same.
‘We’ll just go on sniffing round,’ said Heckie. ‘For one thing, I’d like to know why she sold that parrot.’
For the parrot still said nothing except: ‘Where’s Sam?’ and had to be coaxed to eat.
The way Mrs Winneypeg looked after old people was to run a number of rest homes where they could go when they were too old or ill to look after themselves. They were called the Sundown Homes and it so happened that one of them was at the bottom of Daniel’s street. It was made up of three old houses knocked together and from the front it looked nice enough. The brass plate was brightly polished, the paintwork looked new.
But now Daniel slipped in to the alleyway behind the houses, where no one ever went, and here it was very different. The windows were dirty, the dustbins were overflowing, and one could see the wispy grey heads of the old people herded together in a dingy room.
The children began to ask questions in the neighbouring shops and to hang round the home to see if they could find out more, but it seemed that nobody wanted to talk about Mrs Winneypeg and her Sundown Homes. And then, on the third day, when Daniel just ‘happened’ to be loitering there after school, the door burst open and a nurse in a blue uniform came stumbling down the steps and bumped right into Daniel. She was Irish and very young, and she was crying.
‘That place – that awful place!’ she sobbed. ‘I can’t stand it any more. I’m leaving.’
And because Daniel had a listening sort of face and she had to talk to someone, she told him what it was like in the building she’d just left. She told him about the bullying and the disgusting food and the way the old people were sent up to bed at six o’clock to save the heating. She told him about Miss Merrick who so loved flowers and had been told she could have a window-box, and then when she spilled a little bit of earth because her hands were shaky, Mrs Winneypeg had screamed at her and taken the window-box away. She told him about Major Holden who’d fought in two world wars and asked for some boot polish because he liked to keep himself neat even if he couldn’t see too well, and who’d been locked in his room for making a fuss.
‘She’s a fiend, that Mrs Winneypeg – she ought to burn in hell,’ said the nurse, mopping her eyes. ‘All her homes are like that and the poor old things never get out once she’s got hold of them. She takes their pension books and their savings and burns the letters they write, so no one ever knows.’
‘Can’t the council do anything?’ Daniel asked.
The nurse shrugged. ‘People have complained, but she’s buttered up the councillors for years. I meant to stick it out, but that old chap and his parrot was the last straw. Such a nice bloke – been in the navy all his life and no bother to anyone. He only came because she said he could keep his parrot, and now she’s told him it’s dead. You should see him – he won’t last a month the way he’s going. And the parrot isn’t dead! I saw the chauffeur put it in the boot of her car. She’ll have flogged it or torn its feathers out for a hat.’
‘Is his name Sam?’ asked Daniel. ‘The gentleman with the parrot?’
The nurse blew her nose and looked at Daniel. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is.’
So now they knew why the dragworm had come out in those dreadful boils. Mrs Winneypeg was what is called a Granny Farmer, and there is probably nothing more unpleasant in the world.
But Mrs Winneypeg was about to get a big surprise.
A week later, a new resident arrived at the Wellbridge Sundown Home. Miss Smith was ancient and tottery and deaf – and she was very rich. Mrs Winneypeg was waiting to greet her and her greedy eyes lit up
when she saw the poor old thing helped out of the taxi by her great-nephew. She wasn’t going to give any trouble, that was certain! And the nephew and his family were off to Australia, she’d said on the phone, so there’d be no relatives to poke and pry.
‘It’s very kind of you to let me stay in your lovely home,’ quavered Miss Smith – and winked at Daniel. Madame Rosalia might be a show-off, but there was nothing she couldn’t do with make-up. Heckie’s wrinkles would have fooled anyone; her hair was white; brown blotches covered her skin.
‘Not at all. I’m sure you’ll be very happy with us,’ said Mrs Winneypeg in a plummy voice. ‘You’ve brought some money with you? Cash, I like – it makes less work.’
Miss Smith fumbled in her handbag.
‘That’ll be fine,’ said Mrs Winneypeg, grabbing some notes. ‘Now if your dear nephew will just say goodbye, we’ll soon make you comfortable.’
An hour later, Heckie was in a small bedroom in which four beds had been shoved so close together that you could hardly move between them. Three wispy-haired ladies in nightdresses sat one on each bed, shivering with cold.
‘You shouldn’t have come,’ said one of them hopelessly. ‘It’s a dreadful place this.’
‘Oh, I expect we can soon get things cheered up,’ said Heckie. But she was so angry she could hardly speak. She’d decided not to do anything till she was sure that the home was as bad as the young nurse said. Now she knew that it was worse. She’d seen Major Holden tied to his chair because he liked to wander about and the staff said he got in the way. She’d seen old Sam force-fed with revolting stew because he wouldn’t eat since he lost his parrot and Mrs Winneypeg didn’t want him to die and bring the doctor to ask awkward questions. She’d seen a woman as thin as a skeleton slip on the bathroom floor and be scolded for carelessness . . .
At eight, a nurse came to turn out the light.
‘I’d like a hot-water bottle,’ said Heckie. ‘I’m cold.’
‘A hot-water bottle!’ said the nurse. ‘You must be out of your mind!’
All the kind nurses had left; only the cruel ones could stand working for Mrs Winneypeg and most of them weren’t real nurses at all.
At midnight, Heckie got up and stood by the window. Everything was ready; all her helpers knew what to do. Daniel and Sumi were taking it in turns to mind the shop and sit with the dragworm; Joe had ‘borrowed’ his father’s keys to the West Gate of the zoo and would come with Boris in his van to drive whatever it was to safety.
Only what was it going to be? Heckie wasn’t sure. Nothing cuddly, of course. ‘I’ll just have to see how I feel when the time comes,’ she said, and went back to bed.
Breakfast was lumpy porridge and dry bread.
‘I want some butter,’ said Heckie. ‘I’ve paid good money to be here and I want some butter on my bread.’
After breakfast she said she’d like to go out for a little walk and at eleven she wanted a nice cup of coffee.
By lunchtime it was clear that something would have to be done about Miss Smith and the matron went to ring Mrs Winneypeg.
‘She’s a troublemaker, Mrs Winneypeg. I don’t know what to do with her.’
‘Do with her? Do what we always do,’ snapped Mrs Winneypeg. ‘Undress her, take her teeth out and shut her in her room.’
‘Well, I tried . . .’ Matron broke off, not really able to explain why it wasn’t easy to undress Miss Smith. ‘Her teeth don’t take out,’ she complained.
‘All right; I’m coming anyway at three o’clock to do the accounts. I’ll soon sort her out.’
And Heckie, who had been listening at the door, held up three fingers to Boris, waiting in the street in his parked van, and settled down to wait.
The residents were sitting in a circle in the lounge when the white Rolls-Royce drew up in front of the door. Heckie could see the way they cowered at the sight of it and her chin went up.
‘Listen,’ she said quickly. ‘How many of you can stand up without help? How many of you can walk?’
The circle of faces stared at her blankly.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Some of you can, I know. I’ve seen you.’
Still the poor browbeaten creatures just stared at her. Then slowly, Major Holden’s hand went up; then Sam’s . . . then those of the ladies who shared Heckie’s room – until almost everybody’s hand was raised.
‘Good,’ said Heckie. ‘Because I’m going to have a few words with Mrs Winneypeg and I want you to stand quite close in a circle. I need her to come right up to me – I don’t want her running away. And I don’t want . . . anything else running away either. Can you do that?’
The old people nodded. A little colour had come into their faces and Major Holden put up his hand in a salute.
The door opened and Mrs Winneypeg came into the room. She saw all the residents dozing as usual, and she marched straight up to Miss Smith.
‘Now then, I hear you’ve been making trouble,’ she said. ‘Just exactly what is the matter?’
Heckie rose from her chair. ‘Everything is the matter! Just exactly everything. This place is a disgrace. The food is revolting, the staff are unkind and you are a vicious woman!’
Mrs Winneypeg’s mouth opened; her chins quivered. ‘How dare you! How dare you speak to me like that!’ She marched towards Heckie which was exactly what Heckie wanted. And the old people had heard and understood. They were doing what Heckie had asked. One by one, with their walking frames and their sticks, they stood in a circle round Heckie and Mrs Winneypeg. They were frail and tottery, but there were a lot of them.
‘Well, I do dare. Why can’t Major Holden have some boot polish when he’s paid you thousands of pounds? Why did you take away Miss Merrick’s window-box? And where is Mr Sam’s parrot, answer me that?’
‘Why you . . . you disgusting old woman. I’ll have you put away! I’ll have you put in a loony bin. I’ll ring the hospital and tell them to come with a strait-jacket.’
This threat had always worked before, but Miss Smith only laughed. ‘Try it! Just you try it!’
Mrs Winneypeg blinked because Miss Smith seemed taller somehow and her voice had changed. But she moved forward and grabbed Heckie’s arm.
And now Heckie had her. Her own free arm came round Mrs Winneypeg’s fat throat. She kicked off her slipper and her toe curled and throbbed with the power that came from it. Mrs Winneypeg was scared now, she wanted to get away, but she was caught in a ring of old people. If she pushed through, someone would probably keel over and die and that meant doctors and people asking questions. And Heckie’s grip was tightening. Her knuckle glowed like a ring of flame!
‘Sploosh!’ spluttered Mrs Winneypeg. ‘Shluroop . . . Oink!’
And then it was over! At the last minute, Heckie had known exactly what would turn out best. And as they saw what had happened, there appeared on the faces of the old people a look of wonder, and one by one, their wrinkled faces broke into smiles.
But of course no one believed them afterwards. When Mrs Winneypeg had been gone a few days and the police came, and the inspectors from the council, no one believed a bunch of old people when they explained what had happened. Old people have fancies, everyone knows that. But the inspectors were so shocked by what they found in the Sundown Homes that they closed them then and there and moved the residents to council homes where they were properly cared for and had plenty to do. Miss Merrick was given a little bit of garden and Major Holden was put in charge of all the shoe cleaning, not just his own, so that everybody looked smart. And Sam’s parrot stopped saying: ‘Where’s Sam?’ and said some other things instead – things it is better not to mention because he’d been at sea with Sam for many years and had picked up some very fruity oaths.
But still no one believed the old ladies and the old gentlemen. Not even when a brand new warthog turned up in the Wellbridge Zoo – a warthog with a greedy snout and blue eyes and a way of banging its back parts furiously against the sides of the cage. Not even then.
&
nbsp; Chapter Eight
A new statue had appeared in Kidchester Town Park. It was made of marble and very lifelike. You could almost feel the hair on its moustache and the waxy blobs inside its ears.
The council thought that the statue had been put up by the Lord Mayor and the Lord Mayor thought it had been put up by some ladies who called themselves the Friends of Kidchester and wanted to make their town a beautiful place.
But the statue hadn’t been put up by any of these people. It had been dragged there in the middle of the night by the stone witch, Dora Mayberry, who had been Heckie’s friend.
Dora had found a nice garden gnome business in Kidchester which was about thirty miles from Wellbridge. She made dwarves and fairies and mermaids for people to put round their garden ponds, and in her spare time she tried to Do Good because that was what she and Heckie said that they would do. When she turned Henry Hartington to marble and put him in the park, she was certainly making the world a better place. She had heard Henry’s wife scream night after night while he beat her, and seen his children run out of their house with awful bruises, and when she met him rolling home from the pub, she had simply looked at him in a certain way and that was that.
But she was lonely. She missed Heckie all the time. Dora was shy – she was apt to grunt rather than speak and this made it difficult to make new friends. Far from having a bontebok for a familiar, Dora didn’t have a familiar at all. What she did have was a ghost: a miserable, wispy thing which had come with the old wardrobe Dora had bought to hang her clothes in. The ghost was a tree spirit who had stayed in her tree when the woodmen came with their axes, and floated about between the coathangers, begging Dora not to chop down the wardrobe.
‘I wonder if I should write to Heckie,’ said Dora to herself as she lowered a soya sausage into boiling water for her supper. ‘But why doesn’t she write to me?’