“No, it’s the Bellyflop Book Shoppe that is having the signing. There’s a poster saying the author of Mr. and Mrs. Bunny—Detectives Extraordinaire! and also the author of the latest ten-pound fantasy book, Oldwhatshername, would both be signing books on Saturday. I do pity Oldwhatshername. They shouldn’t have two authors signing at the same time. It will be so embarrassing for her when everyone is lined up at my table and she has no one at hers.”
Madeline looked worried. “But, Mrs. Bunny, why have the bookstore owners not informed you about the signing?”
“I suppose,” said Mrs. Bunny, contemplating, “that they were shy. They put up the poster knowing I was in town. No doubt rumors have been rampant. This is what celebrity is, girls. And they hoped that if I saw the sign I would show up.”
“It seems a lot to plan on the basis of hope,” said Madeline doubtfully.
“Oh, Madeline, dear, you must always have hope,” said Mrs. Bunny, clasping her paws rhapsodically in front of her heart. Her adrenaline was still pumping and it drove her to large gestures. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the shoppe window. It was quite a fetching pose. Perhaps she would use it for her next author picture. “Someday I will write a book with such a winning theme. Such books seem to do well. Well, anyhow, I had better go through my suitcase and pick out a nice dress and shoes. Oh my, should I go right now to the bookstore and introduce myself or just show up the day of the book signing? Yes, I think that would be more dramatic.”
“Hmmm,” said Madeline. “What did Mr. Bunny think about all this?”
“He doesn’t know. I’m afraid he has decided to go on the stage. It reminds me of the time he decided to join the circus. It was the tumbling that was his downfall.”
“He couldn’t tumble?”
“Well, he could tumble, it turned out. But it was never on purpose.”
Then Mrs. Bunny rolled up her sleeves and put on an apron. It was all hands on deck.
Flo passed a tray of candy to Madeline, whose hands were already full, so Mrs. Bunny grabbed it. When Flo saw who he’d given the tray to, he gasped. But when he looked up Mildred was staring at him squint-eyed, so he said, “I don’t see a rabbit. Nope. None. None at all.”
“That’s right,” said Mildred. “We none of us do.”
“I can work with rabbits without believing in them,” said Flo uncertainly.
“That’s right,” said Mildred. “We all can.”
And they did, for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening.
When Mrs. Bunny didn’t return to the castle for dinner, Mrs. Treaclebunny hopped over to the sweet shoppe to find out what was keeping everyone. After they told her, she put on an apron to pitch in. Not because she wanted to be helpful, but to point out everything they were doing wrong.
“I don’t see two rabbits now,” said Flo.
“No,” said Mildred. “You don’t.”
While the rest of his compadres were busy making chocolate beetroot and the like, Mr. Bunny had finally arrived at Stratford. The Royal Bunny Theatre was just letting out.
“Ah, the roar of the greasepaint,” said Mr. Bunny contentedly, heading for the stage door. He was sure the actors would not mind him entering this way once they discovered he was one of them.
He hopped down a long corridor. A security bunny stopped him but Mr. Bunny waved him away with one of his recently acquired “Not now, my good mans.” When done with the proper flick of the fingers, it was quite effective. Mr. Bunny finally found the dressing rooms. He knocked politely and then hopped in, saying, “It is I! The next Gielgud bunny.”
He found the manly bunnies taking off their makeup with tissues and cold cream.
“Never did like Gielgud,” said one.
“Gielbad is more like it,” said another.
And then, to Mr. Bunny’s consternation, they giggled.
Ah, said Mr. Bunny to himself, perhaps I was too quick to censor my own giggles. It seems to be a manly attribute, after all.
“Want to join the stage, do you?” asked one of the actors, swiveling his chair around. “Don’t half get a dozen of you in here a week. American?”
“Canadian,” said Mr. Bunny. When would people learn to tell the difference?
“Right. You’ll have to give your life to it, then. Rehearsals all day and into the night. Then when we open, matinees and evening shows seven days a week. You’ll have no time for family. One poor bloke tried to marry. That lasted two weeks. It’s like becoming a monk, taking vows, giving up your worldly life. It’s a devoted commitment, it is. Still sound good?”
“Yes, a devoted thespian bunny, I!” said Mr. Bunny, hoping they noticed the nobility of the pose he had struck.
“Right, then,” said one of them. But Mr. Bunny heard him whisper to the actor next to him, “I give him ten days tops.”
“Actually, I was only planning on it for a week. More or less. Got to, uh”—Mr. Bunny cleared his throat and blushed—“get back to the wife. But I will be one hundred percent devoted while here, or, as I always say to Mrs. Bunny, ‘I’ll always be there—or thereabouts.’ ”
“Oh, well then!” said one of the actors. “I guess we’re all in luck. One of our fellows has taken ill and can’t come in the rest of the week. Course, it’s rather a big part for a beginner. Guy has a bunch of troublesome daughters.”
“King Lear?” asked Mr. Bunny, thinking, Be still, my beating heart. “My favorite Shakespeare play!”
“Righty-o. Come to the pub. We’ll have a nice chitchat about it.”
“Yes, it’s beer and burp for all! I’m buying,” said Mr. Bunny. Then he hoped they knew he only meant the first round.
He was very disappointed to find, when it came time to swagger up to the bar, that most of the actors were ordering crème de menthes and other little liqueurs. They drank them with their pinkies extended. It must be the theatrical way, he decided, and did the same. He did not really like the crème de menthe. It tasted like cough medicine but it was better than beer. He choked it down. After all, the next night he would be on the stage! A real Shakespearean actor, at last. And in the company of some spitting, brawling men for a change. Mrs. Bunny would be so proud of him. And then he got sad thinking of Mrs. Bunny. When he was away from her for more than ten minutes he missed her desperately. He wondered if she was sitting in the reclining chair watching Say No to Those Pooey Wedding Dresses. He had planned to show her those chairs. He wasn’t sure she would find them on her own—wait a second—was that tall actor carrying a purse? No, it must be a manly sort of carryall. A special actory manly carryall for theatrical accessories. Very practical. He tried burping to fit in with his man friends, but crème de menthe tended to settle rather than excite the stomach. Oh well, thought Mr. Bunny, perhaps they’d all have a spitting contest soon. He sat patiently and waited.
The day of the school charity fete dawned bright and cheery. Mrs. Bunny was very excited as they set up their vegetable-candy booth. All across the school playing field were booths manned by various shoppes. There were balloons and jugglers and clowns and cotton candy, which here in England they seemed to call candy floss. They had the strangest names for things, thought Mrs. Bunny. Cotton candy looked nothing like dental floss. You certainly couldn’t knit underwear out of it. But never mind; thanks to England, they would soon rake in the money and Madeline could go to college. It would all work out.
It was just too bad Mr. Bunny wasn’t here to enjoy the success. No success ever had meaning to her without Mr. Bunny there to share it. Perhaps she should reconsider the cell phone. She would like to know that Mr. Bunny was okay. He had been gone three days. His theatrical turns usually only lasted a week. Then he got tired of staying up late at night. But this was no guarantee that he would be back in another four days. It might be longer this time! Mrs. Bunny might end up missing him so much she would lose her appetite. She would waste away to nothing. He would find her a pile of fur and bones. Hmmm, if that happened, she might fit into that slinky purple d
esigner gown at Bunnydale’s. But no, a cell phone was not worth it. It was a slippery slope. Before you knew it, you’d have bells and whistles going off in your pocket every second. “Mrs. Bunny must be FREE!” she said dramatically, and struck a pose. She was hoping some paparazzi would be around to capture it. She could just see the headlines—“Mrs. Bunny Strikes a Pose for Freedom.” It would be good publicity for the book signing. Where were the paparazzi when you needed them?
Flo and Mildred stayed at the store stocking the shelves with cucumber clusters and eggplant fondant. They were expecting a huge wave of new customers as soon as people had sampled the vegetable candy at the charity fete. Katherine, Madeline and Mrs. Bunny were left to man the booth. Mrs. Treaclebunny, who had originally planned to help out too, got sidelined by the duchess’s invitation to join her in the day’s hunt.
“They are planning a really huge hunt this week,” Mrs. Treaclebunny had said excitedly that morning to Mrs. Bunny as they put on their fur gloss together.
Mrs. Bunny did not wear fur gloss every day, but she felt she must look her best for the charity fete even though she would not be seen underneath the booth. It was her job to hand Katherine the boxes and bows to pack the vegetable candy as the orders came in. They hoped they could manage with only one bunny’s help. Mrs. Bunny worried about what would happen when word of the candy’s vegetable goodness spread and people started pushing and shoving to get at it.
“A huge hunt?” Mrs. Bunny replied to Mrs. Treaclebunny. “That should be exciting, if damp. All those wet hedges. I would like to join you, but I am sure we will be so busy at the store they will not be able to spare me.”
“It doesn’t matter. You couldn’t come anyway,” said Mrs. Treaclebunny heartlessly. “Your title hasn’t arrived yet. You can’t do hunty-type things without a title. Mr. Bunny’s has come in. He is to be Admiral Bunny as soon as he signs on the dotted line. And look, it comes with a hat.”
Mrs. Bunny grabbed the white hat and Mrs. Treaclebunny looked at her suspiciously.
“I don’t recall having seen admiral on the list of available titles,” Mrs. Treaclebunny said.
“Well, I didn’t see it either. But I wrote it down just in case. I said it was my first choice but if it wasn’t available then I picked pharaoh.”
“Well, they have written back to say that as a matter of fact, admiral is available but at highly inflated prices. In fact, twice the price. Oh, that’s probably why your title hasn’t arrived, Mrs. Bunny. It is probably because your check only covered admiral. You shall have to send another check, and you shall have to send it soon if you wish to work your way up to queen before we sail home.”
“Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Bunny. “I will hop to it and write another check immediately. ADMIRAL. How well that sounds. And it comes with accessories! Oh, Mr. Bunny would be gone to join the stage just when his admiral hat comes in! I am sure once he tries it on, he will want the full uniform!”
Mrs. Bunny told the girls this story as they all waited for their first customer. Families were now walking from booth to booth to buy things. All the booths were decorated with streamers, their paper fronts covered in pictures the schoolchildren had drawn. Now and then a balloon floated up to the summer sky. A dog ran by. There were strollers and women in hats and toddlers in face paint. For a second Madeline wished she and Katherine could join in the fun.
“What is happening?” asked Mrs. Bunny over and over. “It’s very sweaty down here and I can’t see anything except feet going by occasionally. Why is no one stopping at our booth?”
“I don’t know …,” Madeline began when Mrs. Bunny heard Starlight Heavens’s twangy Midwest tones.
“Vegetable candy? Sold any?”
“No,” said Madeline and Katherine flatly.
“Whose idea was this? Mildred’s, I suppose. Oh, darlings! There you are. Come meet some children of old friends. Ermintrude and Alfred, this is Madeline and Katherine.”
There was a great deal of uncomfortable shifting of feet and Mrs. Bunny almost found herself stepped on.
“Ermintrude and Alfred can come up with arcane facts at the drop of a hat,” Starlight Heavens said, breaking the awkward silence. “Give me a fact, Ermintrude.”
“The nine-banded armadillo is a known carrier of leprosy,” said Ermintrude.
“And Alfred?” prompted Starlight Heavens.
“Here is a Canadian fact for you. Perhaps you would care to proffer a guess as to the answer,” said Alfred, who spoke through his nose and looked down it. “What is the highest mountain in Canada?”
“I don’t know,” said Madeline.
“I don’t care,” said Katherine.
“You poor children,” said Starlight Heavens. “Because of your inferior schools, you aren’t even taught your own history.”
“That was geography, Mother,” said Alfred.
“So it was. Bonus points to you!” said Starlight Heavens.
“The answer is Mount Logan,” said Alfred. “It would be as well to know that, as perhaps you will hike there someday.”
“Oh, Flo and Mildred don’t hike,” laughed Starlight Heavens.
“Yes, they do!” said Madeline. “They’ve taken me hiking a number of times.”
“I don’t think so,” said Starlight pityingly.
“Mother, maybe what they call a hike is what we would call a long walk,” said Alfred.
“Perhaps your parents are afraid of wild animals,” said Ermintrude.
“My parents aren’t afraid of anything,” said Madeline.
“Your mother was terribly afraid to give birth to you,” said Starlight Heavens. “She talked on and on about how frightened she was to go into labor. Poor woman. It’s just another one of her neuroses.”
“Now, Mother, many uneducated women are afraid of childbirth,” said Ermintrude.
“That’s true. We mustn’t blame them. It’s too bad that Denise couldn’t be here today. We just got advance notice that if things continue as they do for little Ermintrude and Alfred, they will both be accepted to Oxford. Early. Before they are twelve!”
“Now, Mother,” said Ermintrude. “You know we have to be at least fifteen.”
“That’s how old you have to be normally. But you are not normal.”
“I’ll say,” whispered Katherine.
“Well, girls, at least there is no competition to get into Canadian schools. Aren’t you lucky!” said Starlight Heavens. “Come, children, let’s buy some chocolate-covered carrots to help these poor people so that someday, perhaps, little Madeline will be able to go to a provincial university.”
“Oh, Mother, nobody could possibly want to go to one of those,” said Ermintrude.
“Hush, dear,” said Starlight Heavens, then whispered just loudly enough so that the girls could hear her, “They have no choice.”
Starlight Heavens bought three chocolate-covered carrots and gave one each to Ermintrude and Alfred. From under the booth, Mrs. Bunny saw the carrots drop at their feet as they walked off.
“OH!” she cried. “They threw them away. How dare they! What wretched people.”
Madeline was so angry she could think of nothing at all to say. Instead she picked up a carrot herself and bit into it with sharp, angry bites. A second later she was spitting it out all over the field. “Oh my goodness,” she said. “That’s terrible. That’s the worst thing I’ve ever eaten. Is all the vegetable candy this bad?”
“Shhh,” said Katherine. “I think there’s a customer coming.”
After that, there was a steady trickle of customers and an even steadier sound of people spitting out chocolate-covered vegetables. By the end of the day the field was so covered with people’s vegetable candy reactions that the grass itself looked chocolate-coated.
Flo and Mildred found themselves slipping and sliding on the debris as they arrived to help pack up.
“It’s the darndest thing,” said Flo. “Nobody came to the store at all. Nobody.”
“But we use
d the time to make a lot more stock,” said Mildred. “It’s in the freezer.”
“Throw it out,” said Madeline. “And take down the sign. It’s over. The store will fail.”
“NO!” shouted Katherine, whose mother’s cheerleading blood ran through her veins. “We must FIGHT. We must find SOME kind of candy people will buy. It’s not over till it’s over. It’s always darkest before the dawn. You can’t keep a good man down! Rah! Rah!”
She entertained them with a barrage of clichés all the way home. It didn’t make Madeline feel any better, but it didn’t make her feel any worse.
Mrs. Bunny was perturbed. The vegetable-candy idea should have worked. Mr. Bunny had not returned from his stint on the stage, and Mrs. Treaclebunny was still out with the huge hedge hunt and was camping in a field overnight. The servants had all gone with the hunters to care for them. So Mrs. Bunny slept alone in the castle. I am not afraid of ghosts, she kept telling herself. I am NOT afraid of ghosts.
Flo was perturbed. Synchronicity seemed to be stalled. Go with the flow, he said to himself all night in his sleep. Go with the flow. In the morning he woke up quite refreshed.
Mildred was perturbed. This whole venture was turning into just another one of Flo’s crackpot ideas. We should have just paved Canada in bottle caps, she thought petulantly. At least we wouldn’t have Starlight Heavens crowing over our failures.
Katherine was perturbed. She found herself in this time of desperation becoming her mother. First it had been the rampant cheerleading. Now she was plagued by the irrepressible need to make a list. The problem was she didn’t know what to put on it. She fell asleep with the pencil in her hand.
Madeline was perturbed too. Katherine was going to help Mildred and Flo in the shoppe while Madeline went to Mrs. Bunny’s book signing with her. She still thought it strange that a store should be having a book signing without telling the author. It didn’t seem right to her. She tossed and turned all night thinking about it.
But despite everyone’s perturbation, the Saturday of the book signing dawned bright and fair. Mrs. Bunny was attired in her best black dress with the lace collar, her string of almost-real pearls and her black peep-toe pumps. She had a purple almost-alligator pocketbook over her forearm, and she had even put on a little fur gloss and taken out her quills for the day.
Lord and Lady Bunny—Almost Royalty! Page 13