The Ghost of Christmas Paws

by Mandy Morton

  Hettie crossed to the window and stared out to sea. The storm had lifted its game and was battering the foundations of the house; there was a constant, deafening howl of wind now, and with the daylight fading and the prospect of a cold and miserable night ahead, she realised that something had to be done. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We’re not prisoners in some medieval time capsule. If we have to stay here another night, we may as well be comfortable. Let’s ruffle some feathers in the servants’ quarters.’

  The two cats left the blue room, locking the door behind them, and made their way down the grand staircase in hopes of choosing the right corridor to the Bunns’ kitchen. Having stumbled into a broom cupboard, a still room, and a neglected dairy, they finally located the kitchen at the end of a long, dark hallway, but what greeted them was far from the austere atmosphere of their last visit. They heard the music first, and stood in the open doorway to take in the scene before them. The kitchen fire was blazing up the chimney; a stew pot of sorts swung on a hook over the flames; and Saffron Bunn was rolling out pastry at the kitchen table, singing along to a festive selection of tunes which boomed out from a transistor radio. Hevva sat in a tin bath in front of the fire, with steam rising from the soapy water as he stretched out in the suds, looking like a cat without a care in the world.

  Hettie’s anger rose and her hackles stood on end. The contrast between their room and the joyful comfort of the Bunns’ kitchen was too much for her, and she strode into the room to make her presence felt with Tilly close behind her. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed,’ she began, ‘we are guests of Her Ladyship and would like to be treated as such. Our room is freezing, we’ve been offered nothing in the way of food and drink, and thanks to the weather, we are forced to stay here another night. What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Nothing!’ came the reply from the tin bath. ‘’Er Ladyship ’as made it clear that she don’t need you pokin’ around in ’er business, an’ we gets paid by ’er, not you. If you wants waitin’ on, you can get your own servants. You’re lucky to ’ave a room on a night such as this, and if the weather clears I’ll be takin’ you to your train in the mornin’.’

  Saffron continued to roll out her pastry as if there were no conversation taking place, but Hettie decided to stand her ground. ‘We are still officially working for Lady Crabstock-Hinge.’

  ‘Singe,’ whispered Tilly, giving Hettie a nudge in the back.

  ‘Whilst we are staying here,’ Hettie continued, ‘we are engaged on an hourly rate whether we are detecting or not, and under those circumstances I insist that we see Lady Crabstock-Hin … er … Twinge immediately so that I may put in a formal complaint about your behaviour.’

  Hevva Bunn threw back his head and laughed, sending water and soap suds splashing across the flagstone floor. ‘You cats from upcountry think you’re so special, demanding comforts for no work, and if you think ’Er Ladyship will be interested in anythin’ you’ve got to say, then you’re more stupid than most of your kind. You’ve ’ad your chat with ’er, she’s told you you’re not needed – that’s an end to it, so get yourselves back to your room and if you’re very lucky Mrs Bunn might bring you some supper. An’ don’t forget to lock your door – we wouldn’t want anything to ’appen to you in the night, would we, Mrs Bunn?’

  It was Saffron’s turn to give a loud, raucous laugh, wiping tears of merriment away with her flour-covered paws. Hettie’s eyes were stinging with tears of anger as she turned abruptly and left the kitchen without another word. Tilly followed close behind and the Bunns’ laughter rang out down the corridor after them.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Back in their room Hettie slumped down on the bed while Tilly lit the scraps of greaseproof paper in the grate, adding a few bits of broken festive biscuit which she’d found in the bottom of her shopper. Surprisingly, the biscuits gave a good amount of heat but it was all very short-lived and the concoction in the fireplace was reduced to black ash within minutes.

  ‘At least we have a lovely supper,’ Tilly said, trying to brighten Hettie’s mood. ‘Looks like another bed picnic – and there are cream horns for pudding.’

  ‘That’s a very small light at the end of a bloody dark tunnel,’ said Hettie ungraciously. ‘I don’t see why the Bunns should get away with it, and there’s something not quite right about this set-up. I keep thinking about Sooty Perkins’ warning – he obviously doesn’t trust the Bunns, and why has Her Ladyship taken to her rooms and become so reclusive if she isn’t afraid of Christmas Paws any more? Why isn’t she down in the village more often if she’s so friendly with the natives?’

  ‘She didn’t seem very nice to me,’ said Tilly, wrapping the eiderdown around her shoulders and sitting next to Hettie on the bed.

  They sat for some time as the room gradually dimmed and the light disappeared from the window. The storm continued to rage, and Hettie shivered as she got up to close the curtains, lighting a small oil lamp which she placed by their bed. ‘Give me the waiting room at Bodkin Station any day,’ she said, digging deep to recover her sense of humour. ‘Compared to this it’s positively five star.’

  Tilly obliged with a small giggle and was suddenly transported in her mind back to their jolly evening at Jam Makers Inn. ‘What I don’t understand is how someone as horrid as Hevva Bunn could possibly be brother to a cat as lovely as Lamorna Tweek.’

  ‘I can certainly understand why she wanted to get away from here. She’s got more hospitality in a single claw than the Bunns will ever aspire to, and speaking of hospitality, we could make a run for it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tilly sat up straight and looked at Hettie.

  ‘I mean we could get packed up and fight our way through the storm to the village. Sooty Perkins will put us up, even if we have to sleep in his bar.’

  Tilly clapped her paws together with delight at the prospect of escaping from Crabstock Manor and the Bunns. ‘Ooh, yes. Let’s get our coats.’

  They sprang from the bed, throwing any stray clothes into the suitcase before Hettie snapped the catches shut. Tilly loaded her tartan shopper with the pasties, cream horns and the carton of milk. They climbed into their wellingtons and both suddenly came to a standstill in the middle of the room. Tilly was the first to speak. ‘They’ve got our coats! Saffron took them away this morning. We can’t go out in this weather without them, and if we do leave we’ll never get them back.’

  Deflated, Hettie sat down on the suitcase. ‘Maybe we should just sit it out until they’ve gone to bed, then we can find our coats and get out of here. With a bit of luck, the storm will have blown itself out by then. Let’s have the pasties to cheer ourselves up. Looking on the bright side, we might even be home by Christmas.’

  Tilly dived into the shopper to retrieve the pasties as Saffron Bunn burst into the room and banged a tray down on the chest by the window. As before, a filthy tea towel covered the offering and this time the housekeeper left them to it without a word, slamming the door behind her.

  Hettie rose from the suitcase and turned the key in the door to make sure that there would be no more impromptu visits from their hosts, while Tilly stood waiting to reveal the delights of Saffron Bunn’s culinary artistry. With much ceremony, she whisked the tea towel away from the tray to reveal two wooden bowls of congealed stew. The fat glistened on the surface, daring the most adventurous explorer to delve beneath, and to accompany the putrid concoction, the ‘cook’ had chosen two thick-cut slices of dry bread, each sporting a healthy dose of blue mould.

  ‘Well, she’s certainly surpassed herself this time,’ said Hettie, ‘but those wooden bowls are just what we need.’

  Tilly watched with interest as Hettie turned the bowls upside down on the tray, allowing the stew to run out over the mouldy bread. She carried the bowls to the fireplace, and – with the help of some of the congealed fat – set light to one of them in the grate. Within minutes, the bowl sizzled and spat, sending cheery flames up the chimney and a modicum of heat into the room.
Tilly grabbed the pasties and the milk from the shopper as Hettie dragged the eiderdown off the bed, and they sat in a cocoon by the small fire munching their way through the pasties as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

  The first wooden bowl lasted for some time. Encouraged by her success, Hettie was brave enough to introduce the stew to the flames, which gave out a remarkable intensity of heat, and the final wooden bowl was timed to coincide with the demolition of the cream horns. They were a particular favourite of Tilly’s and she had her own unique way of eating one: first the cream was sucked out of the horn along with any jam she encountered along the way; then the horn itself was systematically nibbled down until only the pointy end – as she liked to call it – was left. Hettie watched with admiration as Tilly posted the final piece into her mouth and proceeded to devote the next half an hour to cleaning her face and whiskers. Hettie had eaten her own cream horn with very little ceremony, and relaxed in the dwindling light of the final wooden bowl as it turned to ash in the grate.

  The warmth of the fire and the comfort of full stomachs lulled the two cats into sleep, until Hettie awoke with a start several hours later. Sitting up, she cautiously looked around to get her bearings. A strange silence hung in the room, and it was moments before she realised that the deafening roar of the storm had ceased. The silence was louder than any wind and she gently shook Tilly awake, needing a companion to share it with. Tilly sneezed and rubbed her eyes, pulling the eiderdown closer to her to fight the cold that had followed the dying of the fire. ‘I think we should make a move now,’ whispered Hettie as she fetched the oil lamp from beside the bed. ‘The storm has died down and if we can find our coats we can get out of here.’ She moved to the window and pulled the curtain aside. It was still dark, and all she could see was the slightest hint of light out at sea where the new day was a small possibility.

  Tilly struggled to her feet and stumbled into her wellingtons. ‘Shall we take the bags down first in case we have to make a run for it? I wouldn’t want to leave my shopper in this horrid place.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Hettie, trying not to make a noise as she unlocked the door. ‘But hurry up – there’s no time to lose.’

  Hettie took the suitcase and Tilly followed on with the shopper, taking care not to allow its squeaky wheels to touch the floor. The grand staircase proved to be a perilous journey in the dark; nothing was familiar, and it was very much a case of the blind leading the blind. There was a terrible moment when both Hettie and Tilly thought they had reached the bottom, only to discover that they were two steps away from firm ground. The baronial banister saved them just in time, but the shopper broke free of Tilly’s paws and clattered to the bottom of the stairs. The two cats froze, waiting to be discovered, but no one came and the only witnesses to their descent were the all-seeing eyes of the long-dead Crabstocks, staring down from the walls. Wondering how they had got away with it, they left their luggage at the bottom of the stairs and made their way down the corridor to the servants’ quarters. The kitchen door was open and the coals from the fire still glowed, giving them a point of light to aim at. They stopped in the doorway and realised they could go no further: Hevva Bunn was snoring in a chair in front of the fire, an empty tankard hanging from one of his paws.

  Hettie and Tilly held their breath and circled the room with their eyes, looking for their coats. Suddenly there came a blood-curdling moan from the corner of the kitchen, followed by a pitiful wail which was repeated over and over again. Bunn woke and sat forward in his chair, staring in the direction of the sound. The groaning and wailing continued, accompanied now by the rhythmic clanking of chains, and the butler rose from his chair and crossed the kitchen to the source of the noises. Hettie and Tilly shrank back into the corridor and watched from a safe distance as a bonneted hag emerged from the corner through a door that they hadn’t noticed before. It was hard to see her face, as the bonnet was pulled down almost to her nose, but she wore a rough, coarse dress with an apron over the top. By now, the wailing had lapsed into heart-rending sobs which came from behind the door that the hag had appeared from.

  Hettie’s heart beat violently in her chest, and she feared that Bunn would hear it and give chase. She signalled to Tilly and the two cats backed away from the kitchen door and hurried down the corridor to rejoin their luggage at the foot of the stairs. The sound of the sobbing had gone by the time they reached the grand staircase, and Hettie was in two minds as to whether they should make a run for it or stay to discover what was really going on. Perhaps Lady Crabstock really did need their help, and running out on a client wasn’t the best publicity for a detective agency; from what they had just witnessed, there was plenty to investigate.

  Hettie grabbed the suitcase and nodded towards the stairs. Tilly took hold of her shopper and they retraced their footsteps back to the blue room, quietly locking the door behind them. ‘What in hell’s name was all that about?’ demanded Hettie, finding her voice. ‘Have we just seen the ghost of Christmas Paws? And who was sobbing and wailing? Was it Saffron Bunn, and if it was, why didn’t Hevva try to help her? There’s some real nasty stuff going on here and we need to get to the bottom of it.’

  Tilly agreed but immediately saw a flaw in the plan. ‘If we’re being put on a train in the morning, we won’t get a chance to look into it. We have to leave. Lady Crabstock-Singe doesn’t want us here.’

  Hettie thought for a moment. ‘We could pretend to get on the train and come back here instead. We could stay at Sooty Perkins’ hotel and keep our eye on the manor from a safe distance. I also think we should try and have another chat with Her Ladyship if we can.’ She looked out of the window. The daylight was filling the sky and the sea was alive with tiny fishing boats out for an early morning catch, riding the small waves left by the storm. ‘There’s no reason for us not to be up and about. We’re all packed, so let’s take the cases down and have an early morning stroll into the village as if nothing had happened. Hevva was too busy with the ghost to notice us.’

  Looking around the room to check they had left nothing behind, Hettie and Tilly boldly strode down the grand staircase, leaving their luggage by the door. They made their way down the corridor to the kitchen, but there was no sign of the pantomime they had so recently witnessed. The Bunns sat at either end of the kitchen table, spooning in porridge as if their lives depended on it. A large frying pan sizzled on the range, full of bacon and sausages, and there was a mountain of hot buttered toast ready for the eating. ‘I’m so sorry to interrupt your breakfast,’ said Hettie with as much sarcasm as she could muster, ‘but I was wondering if we might trouble you for the coats that you so kindly agreed to dry out for us? We’ve decided to go for a last look round the village before we leave today and it’s a bit chilly at this time of the morning.’

  Hevva Bunn lifted his face from the bowl, spitting the last mouthful back into the dish and picking his teeth with one of his claws before responding. ‘Your train’s at ten, and you’d better make sure you’re on it. Bus to Penzance goes from the ’arbour at quarter past nine, so you may as well get your stuff and clear out now.’ He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a collection of notes and coins, throwing them onto the floor at Hettie’s feet. ‘’Er Ladyship ’as instructed me to pay you off, and that should be plenty for your trouble. You can get your tickets out of it, too.’

  ‘That’s so kind of you,’ said Hettie as Tilly scrambled for the money, making sure she collected every last penny. ‘I would just like to say goodbye to Lady Crabstock before we leave if that’s all right with you?’

  Hevva Bunn rose from the table and brought his paw down with a thump, toppling the mountain of toast and making Saffron spit her tea across the table. ‘She’s not seein’ anyone today, especially not you. She didn’t like your tone an’ she’s not used to being spoken to in such a fashion, so you can get yourselves gone.’ Saffron, responding to a nod from Hevva, pushed past Tilly and Hettie and retrieved their coats from a cupboard in the corri
dor. With a grunt, she pushed the coats at Hettie and made for the range, where she began to pile two plates high with the fried breakfast.

  ‘Oh, how nice of you to offer us such a feast,’ Hettie said, clutching the still-damp coats to her. ‘Sadly we couldn’t manage another thing after your lovely stew last night. It was so delicious that we ate the bowls as well.’ Pleased with their parting shot, the two cats positively chirruped their way back into the hall and out into the early morning sunshine, finally free of the suffocating constraints of Crabstock Manor – at least for now.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The driveway of the house seemed much longer with the added burden of a heavy suitcase and the shopper, which Tilly had to carry as the wheels kept getting stuck in the mud from yesterday’s storm. But at least they were walking away from the manor, and that in itself made them joyful enough to give Marlon Brandish a wave as he passed them on the road in his van. It was hard to tell that he had responded by applying his brakes, as they did take some time to work, but it was eventually clear that he had stopped and was waiting for them to catch up.

  ‘Want a lift into the village?’ he asked, brushing a pile of bottles and sandwich wrappers off his passenger seat.

  Hettie adopted what she liked to think of as her most winning smile. ‘That would be very kind.’

  Marlon threw himself out of the van and took charge of the luggage, tossing it into the back with very little ceremony. ‘Not staying long at the manor then?’ he said, as Hettie and Tilly squeezed themselves in beside him. ‘Not that I blame you – odd things goin’ on, an’ they say that ghost’s back again. No wonder ’Er Ladyship’s actin’ strange.’