PUFFIN BOOKS
The Worst Witch All at Sea
Jill Murphy started putting books together (literally with a stapler), when she was six. Her Worst Witch series, the first of which was published in 1974, is hugely successful. She has also written and illustrated several award-winning picture books for younger children.
Books by Jill Murphy
(Titles in reading order)
THE WORST WITCH
THE WORST WITCH STRIKES AGAIN
A BAD SPELL FOR THE WORST WITCH
THE WORST WITCH ALL AT SEA
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published by Viking 1993
Published in Puffin Books 1994
34
Copyright © Jill Murphy, 1993
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author/illustrator has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
British Library Cataloguing in Publication
Data A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-0-14-194148-6
violent snowstorm greeted the pupils of Miss Cackle’s Academy for Witches as they returned to school for the first day of the Summer Term.
There were two terms dividing the school year. The Winter Term, which began in September, continuing until January, and the Summer Term, which began in March, ending in July. With five solid months to each term, you can imagine how bleak it felt during the middle months, when every minute seemed like an hour, with no light flickering at the end of the tunnel.
The girls were used to appalling weather for the first few weeks of the Summer Term because it was so early in the year, but this time it had surpassed itself.
Miss Cackle, the kindly headmistress of the school, watched from her study window as the pupils arrived in ones and twos, battling to stay on their broomsticks, cloaks turned inside out and summer dresses flapping wildly in the screaming wind.
Mildred Hubble, a second year, already renowned as the worst witch in the school, lurched out of the yellow-grey clouds with a crust of snow covering her broomstick, cat, suitcase and summer dress, which was a new design this year.
Miss Hardbroom (Mildred’s horrifically strict form-mistress) had decided that the old design of black and grey
checks was too frivolous for the girls and had persuaded the headmistress to have them replaced with nice, sensible, plain black. Miss Cackle had meekly agreed with Miss Hardbroom’s plan as she usually did (being a person who always avoided any trouble), but she had secretly rather liked the old uniform. The whole business had caused much merriment among the girls, who could scarcely believe that anyone, even Miss Hardbroom, could consider black and grey checks and grey ankle socks to be frivolous.
Mildred wondered if she was actually frozen on to her broomstick as she struggled to steer it over the wall and into the yard. She turned to check that her tabby cat was still with her, as the poor creature was terrified of flying at the best of times and had been yowling his head off for the whole journey. He was, but as they cleared the top of the gates by inches, the little cat attempted to jump off, causing Mildred to crash-land into a deep snowdrift which curved in an elegant arc against one of the broomstick sheds. It
was quite sheltered in the yard and Mildred lay in the snow getting her breath back, watching the other pupils coming in to land, most of them more successfully than herself.
‘You are a pain, T-T-Tabby,’ said Mildred, her teeth chattering with cold. ‘How am I ever going to get anywhere in this place while I’m st-t-tuck with a cat like you?’
Tabby shook himself, and snow sprayed over Mildred’s already snow-covered face. She even had icicles hanging from the brim of her hat, and Tabby’s fur stood out in little frozen peaks. They made a sorry pair.
‘Maud, is that you?’ Mildred called out, as a hunched bundle of broomstick and baggage wobbled over the wall and glided into the snow a few yards away.
‘Millie!’ yelled a voice which was unmistakably that of her best friend.
‘Incredible weather, isn’t it? And they call it Summer Term!’
Mildred scrambled to her feet, brushed off as much snow as she could and waded across to Maud, dragging her suitcase and broomstick behind her. Tabby had now assumed his usual position, draped around Mildred’s shoulders like a fur stole.
‘Do you think they might light a few fires as a special concession?’ asked Mildred.
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Maud. ‘You know what they’re like – healthy fresh air at all times. What about the uniform then? Frivolous! I ask you!’
The yard was rapidly filling up with pupils all stamping their feet to warm themselves and hoping that they might be allowed inside instead of assembling in the yard as usual. They made a rather dramatic sight dotted about like crows against the glaring white.
The main door opened and Ethel Hallow, a member of Mildred’s class generally known for her bossiness, especially towards Mildred, appeared with a note which she pinned to the door.
The note read:
‘I told you,’ said Maud grimly. ‘And how did Ethel get inside when we’re all out here? That’s what I’d like to know. Look at her, all dry and comfortable when everyone else is frozen stiff, waiting to be summoned out of the storm.’
‘Watch out, Maud,’ said Mildred. ‘She’s beckoning to us.’
‘Mildred Hubble,’ shouted Ethel from the shelter of the doorway, ‘Miss Cackle wants to see you in her study straight away. Didn’t take you long this time, did it?’ She couldn’t resist sneering. ‘How many minutes have you been here – five, is it?’
She pulled a face and ducked inside, closing the door behind her.
‘Oh, Maud,’ said Mildred. ‘Miss Cackle must have seen me crash-landing. You’d think she’d have let me off a bit, with a force nine gale and a blizzard going on.’
‘Never mind, Mil,’ comforted Maud. ‘I wish she wanted to see me. There’ll be a fire roaring in her study and at least you’ll be able to warm up. Anyway, I’ll bet it’s not even about your crash-landing – probably something perfectly pleasant.’
‘Perfectly pleasant!’ giggled Mildred. ‘Well, I’d better go and find out what I’ve done. Why don’t you see if you can find Enid while I’m in there? She must have arrived by now.’
Enid was their other friend.
‘Good idea,’ said Maud. ‘Best of luck then.’
Mildred gathered up her suitcase and broom and made her way up the snow-clad stone steps and in through the heavy front door.
t wasn’t much warmer inside the
school than out in the snow-swept yard. There was no glass in the castle-style windows, and there were little drifts of snow in regular heaps beneath the window-ledges all the way along the corridor. Miss Cackle’s door loomed ahead and Mildred slowed to a snail’s pace to put off the moment when she would have to enter and see what she had done now, ten minutes after the start of term.
She knocked very softly, hoping that she might not be heard.
‘Come in!’ called Miss Cackle’s cheery voice from inside. Mildred pushed open the door and there was Miss Cackle sitting at her desk with a glorious log fire blazing in the grate.
‘Ah, Mildred, my dear,’ continued Miss Cackle. ‘Come and sit here by the fire, you look absolutely frozen. I want to have a little chat with you. Ghastly weather, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Miss Cackle,’ agreed Mildred politely, feeling less anxious as she noted the good-humoured tone of Miss Cackle’s voice. Perhaps it was something ‘perfectly pleasant’ after all, as Maud had said.
Mildred sat down gratefully in a chair next to the hearth and Tabby jumped down from her shoulders and curled up so near the grate that his fur almost caught fire.
‘Tabby!’ called Mildred, clicking her fingers. ‘Come back here at once.’
But the little cat was too intent on thawing out to obey his mistress’s orders. Also thawing out were the icicles on Mildred’s hat and three of them descended simultaneously to the floor with a gentle clinking sound.
‘Now then, Mildred,’ said Miss Cackle, pressing her fingertips together and surveying Mildred over the top of them. ‘I wanted to speak to you about that little cat of yours. Sweet, isn’t he?’
‘Oh yes, Miss Cackle,’ said Mildred. ‘He’s very sweet. Not very good. I mean I can’t get him to do anything right and he’s still petrified of flying, but he’s very good-natured and –’
‘Yes, dear,’ said Miss Cackle. ‘I can see that he’s a charming little cat, but I was watching your arrival just now and I couldn’t help noticing that you were pulled off balance by the cat as you came over the gates. He really is a
rather useless creature, despite his nice nature and he looks terrible too when we’re all on display – hanging on by his claws, spread out flat, when all the other cats are sitting up nice and straight by now – except for the first year’s kittens, of course. Yours has never really got past the kitten phase, has he, my dear? And of course he has completely the wrong markings for the school and looks very untidy next to the black ones.’
Mildred stared at Miss Cackle, a wave of alarm spreading through her. Another icicle broke from her hat and fell into her lap.
‘Anyway, dear,’ Miss Cackle continued. ‘I was wondering if a more normal, regulation black cat might possibly help you with your studies. One of the third-year girls, Fenella Feverfew, transferred to Miss Pentangle’s Academy last term and left behind her extremely well-trained cat – they have owls at Miss Pentangle’s, so she had no use for a cat. You could have it if you like.’
Mildred was appalled. She scooped Tabby from the hearth and clutched him to her damp, unfrivolous summer dress, the remaining icicles tinkling on to the floor as she did so.
‘But what about Tabby, Miss Cackle!’ she exclaimed. ‘I mean, it’s very kind of you to consider me like this, but I’ve had him now for nearly two years and he depends on me – especially as he isn’t very clever, and I’m very fond of him.’
Miss Cackle smiled indulgently at Mildred, who looked rather appealing standing in a puddle of melted snow, her clothes and plaits dripping wet, with the pathetic little cat clasped to her heart.
‘Now then, dear,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. Miss Tapioca, the school cook, was only telling me this morning that the kitchen is having a mouse problem and that she needs a good mouser. I would say that little Tabby here is just right for the job, wouldn’t you? And it won’t matter about his stripes, tucked away out of sight down in the kitchen.’
‘But, Miss Cackle,’ said Mildred, ‘Tabby’s frightened of mice. He doesn’t —’
‘Nonsense, Mildred,’ laughed Miss Cackle. ‘No cat is afraid of mice! What an idea. No, I think your work will improve no end if you accept my offer of Fenella’s cat. And Tabby will have the time of his life down in the kitchen chasing mice all day and curling up by the range when he’s tired. Off you go now. Miss Tapioca is expecting you – I rang her a moment ago. Run along, dear, or you’ll be late for assembly. Miss Tapioca has Tabby’s replacement in a basket downstairs.’
‘Yes, Miss Cackle. Thank you, Miss Cackle,’ said Mildred, trying unsuccessfully not to cry. She held Tabby even tighter and went out into the corridor, where the icy wind struck her in the face as she left the warm fireside behind her and closed the door.
he kitchen was in the basement of the school. It was reached by several long, dark corridors and narrow staircases. It took about half an hour to get there from the dining-hall, which explained why the food was always stone cold.
‘Now don’t be scared, Tabby,’ Mildred sobbed into the little cat’s rumpled fur. ‘I’ll work out a plan to get you back with me again. I’ll sneak down and give you extra training sessions so you’ll get better at flying, and perhaps I could make you a little black coat to hide the stripes. I don’t know why they’re being so funny about that now, after all this time. They gave you to me in the first place. It’s not fair.’
There was great activity in the kitchen, which, because of its gigantic range, was mercifully warm. Over the range bubbled huge cauldrons of the atrocious porridge to be served for the girls’ breakfast, after assembly.
Mildred stood unnoticed in the doorway watching the four undercooks charging about. Miss Tapioca, a large person, proportioned very much like a cottage loaf, with white hair bundled into a hairnet, sat at one end of the fifteen-foot-long kitchen table looking up a recipe.
‘Ah, Mildred Hubble!’ she said, glancing up and seeing the bedraggled Mildred lurking in the shadows. ‘Have you brought our new mouser? Come
and show it to us, girl. Don’t just stand there staring.’
Mildred brought Tabby out from beneath her cloak and held him up. The four undercooks had gathered round as well and they all tickled him on top of his head and smoothed his wind-blown fur.
‘Just right for a mouser,’ said Miss Tapioca. ‘And here is Ebony in exchange. Much too intelligent and
well trained to be wasted in the kitchen. Well, put the cat down, Mildred – unless you want to stay with him and catch mice yourself?’
She handed Mildred the basket. Mildred could see a pair of brilliant green eyes gazing at her from the shadow inside. Tabby, nicely warmed up by the hot kitchen, had retreated to his favourite position round Mildred’s neck. There was nothing else to be done, except to take the basket and go.
‘May I come and visit him?’ asked Mildred, her voice quivering as she uncurled Tabby from her neck and placed him in Miss Tapioca’s arms.
‘I don’t think that would be very sensible, Mildred,’ said Miss Tapioca, holding Tabby in a very tight grip as the little cat was grimly trying to get back on to Mildred’s shoulders. ‘He will be much too busy chasing mice to spare any time for visitors. Off you go and take care of Ebony – now that really is a cat to be proud of. You’ll forget this little scruff in five minutes once you’ve been out flying with a cat like Ebony. Listen! There’s the bell for assembly. You’d better hurry.’
Mildred left the kitchen without looking back. She could hear Tabby yowling desperately as he tried to follow her. She dived up the stairs two at a time, ran to her room, dumped her suitcase, broomstick and the cat-basket and sprinted the last few corridors to join Maud and Enid marching into the Great Hall.
‘Hello, Mil,’ said Enid. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘What’s the matter, Mildred?’ asked Maud. ‘You look as if something ghastly’s happened.’
‘It has,’ said Mildred, bursting into tears as quietly as possible, bearing in
mind the fact tha
t they were on their way into assembly. ‘I’ll tell you about it later.’
After assembly, during which Miss Cackle announced that lunch-break would be in the Great Hall instead of the yard because the snow was already several feet thick, the girls trooped off to their form-rooms, to be greeted by their form-mistresses.
Mildred’s form were unfortunate enough to be presided over by Miss Hardbroom, the most terrifying mistress in the school. She was a genius at reducing her pupils to a gibbering heap with one withering glance. No one ever dreamed of passing a note, or giggling, or even speaking, unless asked a question, during Miss Hardbroom’s lessons.
On the way to class, Mildred managed to tell Enid and Maud the sad news about Tabby.
Miss Hardbroom was sitting bolt upright behind her desk, waiting for the girls to settle, as they all filed into the room and took their places, arranging books and writing-equipment in their desks. The room was only fractionally warmer than outside, and the girls discreetly rubbed their feet and blew on their hands in a futile attempt to warm themselves up.
‘Come along now, girls,’ said Miss Hardbroom. ‘Stop all this silly nonsense. It isn’t that cold. Lunch-break isn’t far away, and then you can all run briskly around the Great Hall to get yourselves nice and warm. Anyway, girls, welcome back for the Summer Term — Mildred Hubble, what is the matter now?’
Mildred looked at her feet, embarrassed by the tears which she could not stop from rolling down her cheeks.
‘It’s her cat, Miss Hardbroom,’ said Maud. ‘Miss Cackle sent it to be a kitchen mouser, and Mildred’s got Fenella Feverfew’s, because Fenella left it behind when she left last term.’
‘Well, Mildred,’ said Miss Hard-broom, ‘I don’t know what you are crying for. I would have seen it more as a cause for celebration if I were you. Fenella’s cat is an absolute credit to the school. I hope we shall soon see a marked improvement in your flying, without that nuisance of a tabby. Sit down and pull yourself together at once.’
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