by Peggy Bacon
Alice gave a sob. Harold took her arm. “Come, we must go!” They went through the door, followed by Sophy.
None of the Montague children said good-bye to her. None of them were scolded for not doing so; and none of them ever saw their cousin again.
Eighth Life
[1932]
PETTIJOHN AND CRACKERJACK
NEXT NIGHT when Opalina materialized she was smiling to herself.
“What are you grinning about, Opalina?” Phil inquired.
“I was thinking of the funny people who came to live here after the Montagues.”
“What happened to all the Montagues?” Ellen asked anxiously.
“Lots of things.”
The seven Montagues grew up and married and the whole tribe expanded. Jasper stayed on the farm and the others moved to different parts of the country. Austin and Emily lived to an advanced age. They had seventeen great-grandchildren, but when they died nobody in the family found it convenient to live here in the old Cumberland house. After standing empty for a few years, it was sold to a middle-aged spinster.
Miss Clara Pankey was a decent sort. I liked her because she was so fond of cats. She had two kittens named Pettijohn and Crackerjack, who happened to be remote descendants of mine through my beautiful daughter Daffy. You remember my last litter of kittens, Daffy, Downy and Dilly? How lovely they were! Though neither of Miss Pankey’s kittens compared with that peerless trio, they were my flesh and blood and I had a distinctly protective feeling about them.
Miss Clara Pankey had managed to scrape together the money to buy this house, but she had none left. Her plan was to open a boarding house and to make her living by taking paying guests. The house was well adapted to this project. There were lots of bedrooms, large rooms downstairs, a huge kitchen, pantries, sculleries, storerooms, and ample servants’ quarters in the rear. So she hired a chef, a second cook, a dishwasher, four chambermaids and three waitresses, and she hung out a sign which read:
The Pankey Inn
Room & Board
Open all Year
The only other inn in Heatherfield was that ancient hostelry the Broody Hen, which was known to be dirty and run-down, no longer the comfortable place it was back in the middle of the eighteenth century. The Pankey Inn was what the village needed. Miss Pankey ran it well. The rooms were clean, the atmosphere was pleasant, the food was good. Right from the start, the boarders came in droves.
Folk had ceased to think of the house as haunted, for I had not been seen for years and years, not since Emily Cumberland grew up. Andrew’s rabbit Hominy had seen me, but he didn’t count, for rabbits can’t spread rumors. None of the people at the Pankey Inn knew I was here and I was glad of that. Human beings seldom care for ghosts; I had no wish to frighten anybody or to give the inn a bad reputation. Far from it! I wished the Pankey Inn to prosper so that Miss Clara Pankey could provide a comfortable home for those two kittens.
This paneled room, as you know, is somewhat removed from the main part of the house. Miss Pankey had chosen it for herself and the kittens, who had a basket close beside her bed. Here she fed them and here they passed their days, playing prettily, chasing a rubber ball or tossing a catnip mouse. It was one hundred and eighty-two years since I had had any kittens of my own. As I watched Pettijohn and Crackerjack, my maternal feelings revived.
The kittens had been weaned a bit too early. They were inclined to be homesick. Occasionally, one or the other would pause in its carefree romping and utter a doleful whimper which wrung my heart. As twilight came, I saw that they missed their mother. They would creep into the basket and huddle together like poor little babes-in-the-wood.
One night soon after their arrival, the kittens happened to stay awake longer than usual, until the time that I commence to glow — for I simply cannot keep from shining brightly as soon as it gets dark. The minute the little things caught sight of me, their eyes lit up with wonder and delight. I must have seemed to them to be their mother. To my surprise, they tumbled out of the basket and managed with their tiny fish-hook claws to scramble up into this old red chair.
They tried to cuddle up to my spectral form, while I enveloped them in a tender mist and whispered motherly nothings in their ears. I suspect they weren’t entirely satisfied, yet they derived some comfort from my presence, for they purred loudly and soon dropped off to sleep.
From then on Pettijohn and Crackerjack were more contented, coming to me each night to be swaddled in my soft affectionate fog. Electric lights were never installed in this wing, so when Miss Pankey came upstairs to bed, she carried a lighted kerosene lamp, which made me quite invisible, of course. By the time she turned out the lamp and got into bed, I would be lying beneath the bed itself. I was careful never to let her see me. She must have wondered why the kittens forsook the warm interior of their cozy basket and took to sleeping in the old red chair.
All went well. The Pankey Inn was popular. The main part of the building was clogged with boarders and it seemed as though Miss Pankey would grow rich. Then one day a very old lady arrived, Mrs. Wicket by name. Mrs. Wicket had become too feeble to live alone and so she sold her house, intending to spend the rest of her life at the Pankey Inn. When Miss Clara told her that all the rooms were taken, Mrs. Wicket was so upset and dismayed that kind-hearted Miss Pankey took pity on her. There was a rough old room up in the attic which was unfit to rent; and Miss Pankey decided that rather than turn the poor old woman away, she would take the attic room herself and rent the paneled room to old Mrs. Wicket. Thus it was arranged: Miss Pankey and the kittens moved up to the attic and the old lady settled down in here.
I was greatly annoyed by this arrangement for it cut me off from my young protégés. I could no longer comfort them at night. Many hallways, corridors and staircases lay between us; and if I were seen by any of the boarders or the servants, floating along on my way to the attic, it would be bad for business. Moreover, I considered their quarters in the attic most unsuitable for my descendants. There was little sunlight, poor ventilation; there were no rugs, no comfortable chairs. Altogether, it was a dreary place.
And I was troubled for another reason. Old Mrs. Wicket suffered from insomnia. She lay awake half the night and was very restless. She would get out of bed and move about, look out the window, fetch a glass of water and take a sleeping pill, all in the dark. While this went on, I couldn’t stay under the bed. A light from under the bed would have alarmed her. It kept me on the jump, dodging here and there so she wouldn’t see me; and as I am used to a lot of sleep myself, I was soon completely tired out.
Old Mrs. Wicket had not been here a week when I collapsed from weariness one night and fell asleep at my post. So deep was my slumber that I failed to hear her get out of bed and commence her midnight prowl. Of course she soon observed the steady glow coming from under the flounce surrounding her bed; and of course she must investigate the cause. She bent down and lifted the valance to take a peek, and I was aroused from my trance by a shrill squeal.
Her face was only a few inches from mine. As I focused the beams from my gorgeous eyes on hers, the squeal was followed by a loud shriek. She started back, darted across the room, flung open the door, and sent a volley of screams echoing along the corridor.
Various ladies in wrappers and curl papers, carrying flashlights, shortly appeared on the scene. They heard with amazement Mrs. Wicket’s story; but though they flashed their torches under the bed and into every corner of the room, they saw no flaming cat. Trying to soothe and quiet Mrs. Wicket, they all assured her that she had been dreaming.
“It was only a nightmare.”
“I wasn’t asleep!”
“One can be half-asleep and have strange visions.”
“The chicken a la king we had for dinner was very rich. It may have disagreed with you.”
“I didn’t eat it! I was awake, I tell you!” Mrs. Wicket insisted irritably.
They couldn’t convince her that what she had seen was a dream, but they did s
ucceed in coaxing her back to bed. Then with knowing winks and sidelong smiles at each other, the women retired to their rooms.
It was fortunate for the Pankey Inn that everyone laughed at the tale of the flaming cat. People hinted that poor old Mrs. Wicket was in her dotage; her mind had become confused. And the incident seemed to be turning out well for me. Shaken by her experience, Mrs. Wicket packed her belongings and left for an old ladies’ home. Miss Pankey, Pettijohn and Crackerjack moved from the attic back to the paneled room. The kittens and I were united once again.
But in a country inn nothing is ever settled, nothing stays put. People arrive, depart, or change their room. Sometimes a boarder, not content with his room, will covet that of a neighbor, and occasionally a very determined person will make a great fuss in order to get what he wants. Such a one was Dr. Nathaniel Topplegate.
Dr. Topplegate was an elderly widower, retired from the practice of medicine, and a thorn in Miss Pankey’s side. He was selfish and gruff with the other boarders, and he treated the servants as if they were his slaves. Nothing was good enough for Dr. Topplegate.
He was dissatisfied with everything. He grumbled about the food, the noise in the halls and, most of all, he grumbled about his room.
For weeks he had been pestering Miss Pankey to give him a larger room; but, as she told him, all the rooms were occupied. When the doctor learned that Miss Pankey had bestowed her own large room in the wing on old Mrs. Wicket, he was very angry. “Why should a mere latecomer be so privileged?” he demanded bitterly. Instead of giving her room to Mrs. Wicket, why not give it to him?
“Because I hadn’t the heart to turn her away,” Miss Pankey replied. “She’s nearly ninety, you know — quite a lot older than you are, I imagine.”
“Quite a lot older, indeed! I should think she is!” Dr. Topplegate sputtered, angrier than ever. The doctor concealed his age, which was sixty-two, and fancied he looked no more than forty-five. “Really, Miss Pankey, age has nothing to do with it! I was here first! I have priority, and I won’t be shoved aside for some old crone!”
“You may leave whenever you like, Dr. Topplegate,” Miss Pankey answered serenely, charmed at the thought of getting rid of him. But Dr. Topplegate had no intention of leaving the Pankey Inn. He snorted, turned on his heel and stalked off.
Now that Mrs. Wicket had gone, the doctor decided to take a look at this room, which he had never actually seen. When he saw it he wanted it more than ever. It was commodious, airy, with perfect privacy, and lined with elegant antique paneling. And it was quiet; none of the clatter and noise from kitchen or dining room could be heard up here. Dr. Topplegate at once proceeded to make himself so disagreeable that Miss Pankey gave in, picked up the kittens and moved back to the attic.
Though Dr. Topplegate was a tiresome fellow, he gave me no trouble of the sort I had with poor old Mrs. Wicket. He slept all night and he snored so regularly that, had he stopped, I would have awakened from shock. I never had to worry for fear he’d see me, and I might have slept contentedly enough beneath the bed, if I hadn’t felt so fretful about my young descendants in the attic.
Kittens grow fast. At the time that Dr. Topplegate took possession of the paneled room, Pettijohn and Crackerjack were big enough to lower themselves downstairs with moderate ease. This they did, descending from the attic and venturing into the upstairs halls, and for several nights returning to the attic. Then with the homing instinct born in cats, they found their way back here, to my great joy.
The door of the room was open. In they came, and gladly joined me underneath the bed. The doctor was downstairs complaining to Miss Pankey about the lack of electric lights up here. When he came to bed, he carried a lamp; when he had undressed, he got into bed, turned out the light and soon began to snore. That first evening the kittens escaped detection. Not so, the following morning.
While dressing, Dr. Topplegate saw the kittens emerge from under the valance. They stretched and yawned, in their unaffected way. He shooed them out of the room, which didn’t bother them. It was breakfast time in the attic as well as in the dining room, and they knew that Miss Pankey would be serving them a basin of warm milk at any moment.
Dr. Topplegate did not care for animals and he objected strongly to cats and kittens. Therefore, during the ensuing days he was in a state of exasperation because of Pettijohn and Crackerjack, who refused to be evicted from this room.
Having found the way to their old home, they were determined to stay; and Dr. Topplegate was equally determined to be quit of them. He locked himself in his room and shut the door behind him when he left. But that didn’t keep those clever kittens out. While he was having breakfast in the dining room, the chambermaid came in to make his bed. Pettijohn and Crackerjack came with her. When the doctor came upstairs again, there they would be, romping all over the place.
How I admired the way they sped about, darting like dragonflies in all directions! They were delightfully nimble and athletic, which the doctor certainly was not. He was heavy and anything but quick. He would thump and stumble around like a bumping bug, vainly attempting to catch the merry pair. Finally, out of breath, and purple with rage, he would go roaring off to fetch Miss Pankey.
“Come get your blasted cats out of my room!” the doctor would bellow, and Miss Pankey would drop whatever she was doing and hasten to humor him — for the sake of the kittens, lest they should come to harm.
Similarly, at dinnertime each night, the chambermaids would go from room to room folding the bedspreads and turning down the sheets. The kittens watched and waited in the corridor till a maid appeared to open the door for them. They would run in and squeeze beneath the bureau, where they could not possibly be seen. Later on, the doctor would search the room and satisfy himself that he was alone. Yet there they were, the first thing in the morning, crawling out from under his own bed, greeting him with their miniature yawns.
Dr. Topplegate became more mystified and more infuriated, day by day. His inability to oust the kittens drove him almost to the point of madness. He hated the sight of those adorable creatures. He would seize the sleepy little darlings by the scruff of the neck and toss them roughly out into the hall, in a manner that made me smolder with resentment. Not that it hurt them; they felt it hardly more than would the rubber ball they played with. But I felt it for them. As my anger grew, so did my vengeful impulse. I had it in for Dr. Topplegate! I longed to punish him but I didn’t dare.
It was autumn. Very late one night, the weather turned cold and Dr. Topplegate got out of bed in order to shut the window. The sound immediately awakened the kittens; and Crackerjack, who was inquisitive, ran out recklessly from under the bed, and collided with the doctor’s bare foot.
Dr. Topplegate cursed and gave the kitten a vicious kick that sent him across the room. Crackerjack let out a cry of pain; and that was too much for me! I flew to the rescue.
Licking him with my flickering flaming tongue, and whispering words of comfort in his ear, I bandaged his bruises with mist. He relaxed on the rug, and when at last he tottered to his feet, I summoned Pettijohn and ushered them both up into the old red velvet chair.
While this went on, I paid no heed to the doctor, sitting on the edge of his bed. Now that the kittens were snoozing and curled up snugly, I turned the light of my gorgeous orbs on the villain. His mouth hung open and he sat quite still, staring at us with eyes like billiard balls. I glared and switched my tail, dilated my pupils and flexed my brilliant claws threateningly to show him who was who! It had an effect, for he remained in the same position all night. I continued to glare and he to stare, till dawn came and I gradually faded from sight. Then the doctor shook himself and rose.
He bathed, dressed, went downstairs to breakfast, seemingly in a daze; and after breakfast he told Miss Pankey that he must have his old room back again.
“You room is rented to somebody else now. I’m sorry to say you will have to stay where you are.”
But the doctor refused to stay there anoth
er night. When Miss Pankey asked him why, he hemmed and hawed. He didn’t choose to tell what he had seen for fear it might be said that Dr. Topplegate was just as crazy as old Mrs. Wicket. So he mumbled something about the inconvenience of having to do without electric lights.
“I warned you of that before you took the room.”
“Well — I find that I don’t like the room and you can’t make me keep it.”
“Then you will have to go, Dr. Topplegate, for there isn’t a vacant room in the whole house.”
And go he did! Dr. Nathaniel Topplegate packed his trunk and left that very day, exactly as poor old Mrs. Wicket had done. The servants and the boarders and Miss Pankey and Pettijohn and Crackerjack and I were all most happy to see the last of him. And yet it proved the downfall of the inn.
It was certainly strange that two of the boarders had departed hurriedly after a short stay in the paneled room. A legend had persisted in the village, among old people with long memories, that a certain room in the Cumberland house was haunted. This story was repeated often now and the milkman told a waitress at the Inn. In no time, everyone there had heard the tale. A timid old couple suddenly gave up their rooms. Two elderly sisters went to live with a niece. The servants were all on edge.
Miss Pankey, who had moved back once again into her room after the doctor left, belittled the rumor as nothing but a foolish superstition. She had spent more nights in the paneled room than anyone else and she had seen no ghost. In spite of what she said, the servants and boarders continued to wonder and mull the matter over. The gossip couldn’t be stopped.
Then one of the chambermaids quit, and a girl named Lily was hired to take her place. She came from the city and she had never heard about the haunted room. The other maids were careful not to mention it, meaning to leave the care of the room to Lily, so they need never set foot in it again.