The Steps up the Chimney

by William Corlett

  ‘If only we could find some sort of a path,’ Jack muttered.

  As he spoke, William saw something red flashing amongst the trees, higher up the bank, and a moment later the fox broke cover, staring down at them, its breath smoking on the frosty air.

  ‘The fox,’ William cried, excitedly.

  ‘Where?’ Jack asked, but before he could catch a glimpse of it, it had turned and disappeared once more in amongst the trees.

  William frowned. He felt certain that in some way the fox was communicating with him. But what was it that he was saying?

  ‘What is it that you want?’ a voice that he half recognized whispered inside his head.

  ‘A path,’ William whispered back and, as the thought occurred to him, so he realized that the fox was showing him the way.

  ‘Come on, Uncle Jack,’ he said, excitedly. ‘There’ll be a path higher up.’ And as he spoke he started to scramble up the steep bank in the direction that the fox had gone.

  It wasn’t much of a path, just a narrow indentation that wound its way through the tall fir trees along the side of the hill, but it certainly made the going easier for Jack and William. They found they were able to get up quite a speed and were almost running across the uneven ground. The light inside the wood was no more than a faint glimmer and the sound of the storm was cut off by the vast trees that towered above them. For the second time William felt he was in a strange limbo world, between two points and not belonging to either of them. He searched in the gloom for any sign of the fox but it seemed to have disappeared. He was sorry. He knew now that the fox was his friend. After all, the Magician had said it was a friend of his and the Magician wanted them to help him. So any friend of the Magician’s was no doubt also a friend of theirs. This sudden memory of the Magician made him stop in his tracks. Supposing, just supposing, he thought, that this terrible time they were having – with Phoebe about to deliver her baby and the storm raging and the rat ruining the tyres of the brake . . . just supposing that all these events were part of the Magician’s test. For that was what he’d said:

  ‘You must be tested . . . to see if you’re worthy of the name Constant . . .’ or words something like that.

  ‘It must be a pretty big job he needs us for,’ William concluded.

  But then all further thought was abruptly curtailed for, ahead of him along the track, he saw Jack pitch forward and fall awkwardly to the ground. A moment later William also narrowly avoided tripping on the thick root of a tree that straddled the path and had caused the accident.

  ‘Uncle Jack,’ he called, dodging the root and running to where Jack was lying, breathing heavily, face down on the ground. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, kneeling beside him and trying to lift his shoulders.

  ‘Not very,’ Jack groaned. ‘Well, let’s say I’ve been better.’ Then he let out a cry of pain.

  ‘Where does it hurt?’ William asked.

  ‘The leg,’ Jack replied grimly. As he spoke he managed to haul himself into a sitting position. He felt with his hands down below the knee. ‘Bother,’ he said. ‘I think I’ve broken it. Of all the stupid . . . I can’t move, William. But I must . . . see if you can find me a stick . . .’ Then he let out another bellow of agony.

  ‘You can’t, Uncle Jack. You’re in too much pain.’

  ‘Well, I can’t stop here, can I?’

  ‘Let me go on alone,’ William said. ‘If I can get to the phone box, I’ll let the police know what’s happened and then I’ll come back for you.’

  ‘You’ll never make it on your own,’ Jack groaned.

  ‘Yes, I will,’ William told him in a determined voice. ‘If I must, I will.’

  He scrambled to his feet and started to run along the path, leaving Jack lying back, propped against the trunk of a tree.

  William heard the heavy breathing first; a panting sound. He glanced to his right and thought he saw the red shape of the fox, running beside him, in amongst the trees. But then, a moment later, he realized that the panting was coming from his open mouth and that his tongue was hanging out. Looking down he saw a red paw hitting the earth beneath him and then another one came into view. He looked back over his shoulder and saw the full length of his sleek red body, with the bushy tail streaming in the breeze caused by the speed of his chase. He put his nose down to the ground, sniffing the earth. He could smell rabbit and badger and then the strong odour of deer. He looked up, pricking his ears, his nose twitching in the keen air.

  He swung left, off the path and chased down the nearly sheer side of the hill, weaving in and out of the tall trunks of the trees. The smell of the snow was stronger now and so was the sound of the blizzard.

  Then a moment later he broke the cover of the trees and stood, brilliant red and panting, in the swirling grey and white world of the storm.

  He was standing on the steep side of the hill. Far below, across several fields, he could see the red roof of the telephone box.

  He lifted his head, stretching his neck so that he could feel the muscles pulling on the shoulders of his front legs, then, filling his lungs with the icy wind, he barked at the wind.

  What a surprising noise, William thought. So sharp and loud.

  Then he plunged down the hill, his feet scarcely touching the surface of the snow. Ahead a grey stone wall barred the way. William gathered his strength and sprang, using the muscles of his back legs, and cleared the wall without hesitation. Three times he jumped the walls. It was as near to flying as he’d ever experienced.

  Then, as suddenly, William was standing outside the telephone box, in the raging storm, and the fox was panting and stretching at a distance from him, in the shelter of a mound of bushes.

  Without pausing to consider the strange and magical event that had just taken place, William forced open the kiosk door and reached for the telephone.

  Taking off his gloves he rubbed his hands to restore the circulation, then he inserted his finger in the old-fashioned dial and spun out three nines.

  ‘Emergency?’ a voice spoke in his ear. ‘Which service do you require?’

  20

  Spot

  MARY STOOD WATCHING William and Jack disappear into the gloomy distance. She felt suddenly depressed. William always got all the adventures.

  Alice was kneeling at her feet, making a fuss of the dog.

  ‘Oh, Mary, he’s gorgeous,’ she cried, looking up. ‘Do stroke him if you want to.’

  She was behaving, Mary thought, as if she owned the animal already. And, to be fair, the dog seemed to have decided that Alice was going to be his friend for life. He sat in front of her, his tail wagging on the stones of the porch, gazing at her with obvious adoration.

  ‘What shall we call him?’ Alice said, holding his head in both her hands and letting him give her face a good wash with his tongue.

  ‘I don’t know how you can let him do that,’ Mary said with a shudder. ‘Dogs eat all sorts of muck and horrible things.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Alice replied huffily. ‘I shall call you “Spot”, until I think of a better name, because of the white bit on your face,’ she told her new friend.

  ‘Oh, Alice!’ Mary exclaimed. ‘That’s not very original! “Spot”? There must be hundreds of dogs called “Spot”! Besides, he’s probably already got a name – and an owner.’

  Alice looked crestfallen.

  ‘D’you think so?’ she asked sadly. ‘Well, whoever it is shouldn’t let him wander about in the cold. Can we take him inside?’

  ‘Please yourself,’ Mary said, turning away from her and going back into the hall. ‘He’s got nothing to do with me. He isn’t my dog.’

  She felt cross with herself for being so grumpy, but she couldn’t help it. Sometimes these moods came over her and there was nothing she could do about them. When they did, she hated everybody including herself and really all she wanted to do was to crawl into a corner where no one could see her and cry.

  The fire was burning low in the hearth.

&nbs
p; Mary crossed to the pile of logs that were stacked at one side of the chimney and picked one up. It was terribly heavy, and she had to use both hands to move it. She crossed to the burning mound and dropped it into the embers. At once little flames licked round the edges of it. She put a few more logs on, forming them into a sort of wigwam round the glowing centre, then she knelt on the hearth rug watching the flames growing in strength and the fire leaping once more into life.

  The front door was still open and out on the porch Alice was talking quietly to Spot.

  ‘Stay there,’ she was telling him. ‘I’ll come back in a minute. Stay!’

  She rose and backed towards the door. The dog remained stationary, watching her, his tail wagging.

  ‘Oh, Mary, look,’ Alice murmured. ‘He’s ever so well behaved.’ Then she turned and ran through the hall to the kitchen.

  Phoebe was bending over the range oven when Alice entered.

  ‘Phoebe,’ she called excitedly, ‘can the dog come in? Please. He’s very well behaved and he’s called Spot and it’s horribly cold out there and he won’t be any trouble . . .’

  During this gabble of words Phoebe carried a large oval dish to the table and uncovered it. Steam rose all around her face and the most delicious smell wafted in Alice’s direction.

  ‘Oooh,’ Alice said, stopping in full flood, ‘what is it?’

  ‘Just a lot of old vegetables and things,’ Phoebe said with a smile. Then she straightened her back, gripping the side of the table, and her face clouded with pain.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Alice asked. Then, when Phoebe didn’t answer her, she backed into the hall, calling:

  ‘Mare, can you come?’

  ‘Mary was deep in gloom on the hearth rug and hardly seemed to hear her.

  ‘Mary!’ Alice called, louder. ‘I think Phoebe can’t hold on.’

  ‘What?’ Mary said, cross that she was being disturbed. ‘What are you talking about, Alice?’

  ‘Something’s wrong with Phoebe,’ she gasped, still standing in the doorway, staring into the kitchen.

  Mary rose quickly and hurried towards her.

  ‘Are you all right, Phoebe?’ she asked.

  Phoebe half turned towards her, lifting a hand from the table almost as though she was waving, then in slow motion she began to topple backwards.

  ‘Phoebe!’ Mary cried, dashing towards her. ‘Alice, quick, she’s going to fall.’

  The two girls lunged at Phoebe and grabbed her arms, holding her upright.

  ‘Where should we take you?’ Mary asked.

  ‘The hall,’ Phoebe whispered. ‘Just help me to the fire, please.’

  With great care they helped her out of the kitchen and across the hall to the rug in front of the fire. There they lowered her gently and, with Spot nuzzling up to her, and licking her hand, she settled herself on the ground.

  ‘Shouldn’t you go to bed?’ Mary asked her, uncertainly.

  Spot, who was sitting beside her, looked over his shoulder at the long flight of stairs.

  ‘No,’ Phoebe told her, ‘Spot’s right. It’s a long way. I’ll be better here, in front of the fire. The bedroom is cold and . . . should anything happen, it’ll be easier here.’

  ‘What might happen?’ Mary said, dreading the answer.

  ‘Well with any luck, I might have a baby!’ Phoebe answered, with a gentle laugh. ‘Will you help me, Mary?’

  Mary swallowed and felt her cheeks burning.

  ‘I wouldn’t know what to do,’ she said, brushing her hair away from her eyes with a nervous gesture.

  ‘I think we’ll work it out between us,’ Phoebe told her, then she looked at the front door, which was still ajar, letting in volumes of ice-cold air. ‘I suppose Jack and William will be far gone by now?’ she said.

  Alice got up and crossed over to the front door, looking out.

  ‘I can’t see them,’ she said. ‘And it’s starting to snow.’

  ‘D’you want us to get them?’ Mary asked, eagerly. Somehow she thought she’d much rather go out into the storm than have to help deliver a baby.

  ‘No,’ Phoebe replied, tension in her voice. ‘I think I’ll need you here.’

  ‘Oh, help!’ Alice whispered. ‘Does this mean you’re not going to be able to hold on, Phoebe?’

  ‘I’ll try,’ Phoebe said with a half-hearted smile. ‘Close the door, Alice. It’s cold with it open.’

  ‘Shall we get you some bedding?’ Mary was suddenly inspired. ‘Blankets and pillows?’

  ‘Yes, that would be a good idea,’ Phoebe said, gratefully.

  ‘I don’t think we could manage a mattress.’

  ‘No, just some pillows. And some blankets and the eiderdown.’

  ‘What about hot-water bottles?’ Alice suggested.

  ‘Please. But get the bedding first. And Mary,’ she called, as the two girls were hurring away up the stairs. ‘Bring my nightgown. You’ll have to help me undress.’

  ‘All right,’ Mary said and she and Alice clattered up the stairs to the gallery.

  As they turned towards Phoebe’s bedroom door, the grey shape of the rat slipped away from its vantage place by the banister.

  ‘Did you see?’ Alice whispered, as they went into the bedroom.

  Mary nodded.

  ‘It’s all right, Ally,’ she said. ‘If the rat is really the Magician in disguise, then he’s probably here to help us.’

  But Alice looked doubtful. She couldn’t quite bring herself to believe in a helpful rat.

  They made Phoebe as comfortable as possible in front of the fire. The pains that she kept getting were coming more frequently and Mary suspected that this was a sign that the birth was getting closer. But Phoebe tried to reassure them. She told them to get some soup but said that she didn’t want any herself. She also suggested they should have hot water ready.

  ‘To wash the baby,’ she explained. ‘And we’ll need lots of towels. I expect I’ll sweat quite a bit. Having a baby is strenuous exercise!’

  Alice and Mary sat on the rug beside her, eating steaming soup, and Spot crouched on the other side of her eating a bowl of cereal, soaked in a little warm soup.

  ‘We’ll have to get proper food for him,’ Phoebe said.

  Poor Spot, Alice thought. He’ll have to be a vegetable as well. But she didn’t say anything, because she didn’t want to upset Phoebe.

  Every so often Spot would look up, listening and sniffing the air. Once or twice this was accompanied by a long, low growl.

  ‘What is it?’ Alice would ask him and he’d sit up on his hind legs, looking up at the gallery above.

  ‘He can hear something or sense something,’ Phoebe said in a weak voice on one occasion. Then she also held up her head, listening intently.

  The sound of the rat’s claws as it scraped along the gallery were distinctly audible.

  ‘The rat,’ Phoebe said, with fear in her eyes.

  Spot sat up, barking. Then he padded towards the bottom of the stairs, where he stood looking up, listening intently and growling.

  ‘No. No, it’s all right, Spot,’ Mary said, running over to him. ‘The rat’s a friend,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘He’s the Magician.’

  But Spot continued to growl deeply and although he licked her hand he wouldn’t return to the fire but remained at the foot of the stairs, staring up at the landing. All the hairs on his back were bristling, as his eyes probed the dark and his nose sniffed out possible danger.

  As the afternoon wore on the wind outside grew in volume until it howled and moaned around the house. The light in the hall was dim, but the fire burned brightly and luckily Jack had got in a whole load of logs so the girls were able to replenish it whenever it was needed.

  Phoebe fell into a feverish sleep. She was sweating profusely, but at the same time she felt quite cold. Mary bathed her brow with clean water from time to time and Alice held her hand.

  ‘I don’t think she is a witch,’ she told Mary. ‘Or if she is, then she’s
a good one – like the little round blonde one in The Wizard of Oz. But I still don’t understand why they didn’t get married first. I mean, what will the baby be called? It should have its father’s name. But she isn’t his wife so what name will the baby have? His or hers?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now, Ally,’ Mary told her. ‘Not at the moment. Whatever name it has is only something we give it – like you called Spot, Spot. But that’s just us. Spot was a dog before you ever called him Spot and the baby will be a baby in the same way.’

  ‘I think marriage would be hypocritical for me,’ Phoebe interrupted her, speaking with her eyes closed and sounding almost as if she was speaking to herself. ‘I don’t go to church and I certainly don’t need a piece of legal paper to prove that Jack and I belong together. What would be the point of that? We know we belong together. We love each other. That’s enough, surely?’

  ‘But . . .’ Alice couldn’t stop herself protesting.

  ‘What, Alice? Does it shock you? Is that it?’ Phoebe asked her, opening her eyes and looking directly at her. ‘How very old-fashioned of you! Can’t you see how happy Jack and I are together? What more do you want?’

  ‘But the baby, Phoebe,’ Alice insisted, ‘it won’t have a proper name.’

  ‘I thought you came from a sensible family, Alice. Of course it’ll have a name. My name. Taylor.’

  ‘Taylor?’ Mary said, in a puzzled voice.

  ‘But what if it wants to have Uncle Jack’s name? What then?’ Alice challenged her. ‘Green’s a jolly good name, you know. Mum was a Green once.’

  ‘Then it can take Jack’s name. For goodness’ sake! Don’t make so many problems. It can have Jack’s name, or my name, or both our names with a hyphen. It isn’t important, Alice. What’s important is that the baby comes to know who she or he really is. You’re not just Alice Constant . . .’

  ‘I am. Of course I am.’

  ‘No, you’re much more than that. You are a person in your own right.’