Paddington Complete Novels

by Michael Bond

  For there, only a short distance away at the bottom of the hill and looking exactly like one of the pictures in Mr Brown’s pamphlets, was a cluster of houses, and beyond the houses he could see a beach and a small harbour full of boats.

  Running up from the harbour there was a narrow street which led into a square where there were a number of gaily coloured stalls laden with fruit and vegetables.

  Paddington waved his paws wildly in the Browns’ direction and called out several times but they were much too far away for him to make them hear, and so he took out his opera-glasses and sat down for a moment to consider the matter.

  As he peered through his glasses at the village a thoughtful expression gradually came over his face, and when he stood up again a few minutes later there was an excited gleam in his eyes as well. Apart from the fact that it was all very strange and definitely needed investigating, Paddington had an idea starting in the back of his mind and the more he thought about it the more anxious he became to test it out.

  As he hurried down the hill into the village and made his way towards the square which he’d seen from the top of the hill, Paddington looked around with interest. He liked new places and this one seemed particularly nice.

  On his right there was a large building with a veranda and a sign outside which said Hôtel du Centre, and on the other side of the square there was a Post Office and a butcher’s shop as well as several cafes and a grocery store.

  Best of all, next door to the hotel he spied a baker’s shop. Paddington liked bakers’ shops and this one was most interesting, for it had loaves of every shape and size in its window – long ones, short ones, fat ones, round ones – in fact, he grew quite dizzy trying to count them all.

  After consulting Mr Gruber’s phrase-book, Paddington made his way across the square in the direction of the shop. In the past he had often found bakers were most understanding as far as bears’ problems were concerned – Mr Gruber always said it was something to do with their sharing an interest in buns – but whatever the reason, Paddington decided he couldn’t do better than pay the owner a visit and seek his advice about the surprise he had in mind for the Browns.

  “Paddington’s being very mysterious all of a sudden,” said Mr Brown, some while later.

  “If you ask me,” said Mrs Bird, “that bear’s got something up his paw. He was gone a very long time when he went for the firewood and he’s had a funny look on his face ever since.”

  The Browns were in the middle of their meal and there was a slight hold-up while Paddington prepared his contribution.

  Jonathan and Judy had already made some soup in Mr Brown’s billy-can, and Mrs Bird had followed that with a special salad which everyone had enjoyed enormously.

  There had been rather a long pause when it came to Paddington’s turn and the Browns were beginning to get impatient. Paddington had explained that it was a very secret dish and so they’d had to turn their backs on the camp-fire and promise not to look while he cooked it.

  There seemed to be a lot of stirring and clanking going on behind them, not to mention some very heavy breathing, but the smell which waited on the breeze was certainly making their mouths water and they were all looking forward to discovering what was his secret dish.

  Mrs Brown cheated and stole an anxious glance over her shoulder to where Paddington was bending over his saucepan. He had a large recipe book in one paw and he appeared to be poking something cautiously with a stick while he sniffed it.

  “I hope he doesn’t set light to his whiskers,” she said. “He’s awfully near the flames.”

  “It doesn’t smell like burning whiskers,” said Mr Brown. “In fact I must say it smells rather good. I wonder what it is?”

  “Perhaps it’s something he found in his suitcase,” replied Mrs Bird.

  Mr Brown looked slightly less enthusiastic at Mrs Bird’s remark. “Something he found in his suitcase,” he repeated.

  “Well, I can’t think what else it can be,” said Mrs Bird. “I haven’t given him anything to cook and we haven’t stopped near a shop.”

  “I bet it’s got marmalade in it,” said Jonathan. “Paddington’s things always have marmalade.”

  Fortunately for everyone’s peace of mind, before they had time to think too much about it Paddington stood up and announced that everything was ready and they could all turn round.

  Mrs Brown looked suspiciously at Paddington as they gathered round the saucepan. There were one or two gravy splashes sticking to his whiskers and something which looked remarkably like flour, but otherwise everything seemed quite normal.

  Paddington looked most important as the Browns queued up with their plates. “It’s a special French recipe,” he explained as he served them all with generous helpings. “I found it in Mr Gruber’s cookery book.”

  He listened with pleasure to the gasps of delight from the others as they tasted his dish. Although he’d had several goes on Mrs Bird’s stove at one time and another it was the first time he had ever cooked anything over a camp-fire – especially anything quite so complicated as a French recipe – and although he had followed the instructions most carefully he was anxious in case he’d done something wrong. But first one and then another of the Browns congratulated him, and even Mrs Bird was full of praise.

  “I don’t know what it is,” she said, “but I couldn’t have done better myself!” Which, from Mrs Bird, was high praise indeed.

  “Delicious,” said Mr Brown. “Very meaty and done to a turn.”

  “In fact,” he continued, as he held out his plate for a second helping, “I don’t know when I’ve tasted anything quite so nice before.

  “Most unusual,” he went on, as he wiped his plate clean with a piece of bread and looked hopefully at the saucepan once again. “What was it called, Paddington?”

  “They’re called esca… esca… something, Mr Brown,” said Paddington, consulting his cookery book. “Escargots.”

  “Escargots?” repeated Mr Brown, dabbing at his moustache. “Very nice too. We must get some of those when we’re back in England, Mary…” His voice trailed away as he looked at his wife. Mrs Brown’s face seemed to have gone a rather odd shade of green.

  “Is anything the matter?” he asked, looking most concerned. “You look quite ill.”

  “Henry!” exclaimed Mrs Brown. “Don’t you know what escargots are?”

  “Er… no,” said Mr Brown. “Sounds familiar but I can’t say that I do. Why?”

  “They’re snails,” said Mrs Brown.

  “What!” exclaimed Mr Brown. “Snails? Did you say snails?”

  “Crikey!” groaned Jonathan. “Snails.”

  “But where on earth did you get them, Paddington?” asked Mr Brown, voicing all their thoughts.

  “Oh, they didn’t cost very much, Mr Brown,” said Paddington hurriedly, misunderstanding the look of alarm on everyone’s face. “The man in the shop let me have them cheap because the shells were cracked. I think they were a very good bargain.”

  Much to Paddington’s surprise his remark was greeted by renewed groans from the Browns, and he looked most upset at the sight of them all rolling on the grass holding their stomachs.

  “To think I had a second helping,” said Mr Brown. “I’m sure I’ve been poisoned. There’s a funny thumping noise in my head.”

  “Did you say the man in the shop?” asked Mrs Bird suddenly.

  “That’s a point,” said Mr Brown as he sat up. “What shop?”

  Paddington thought for a moment. He had been hoping to save his news of the village until after the meal as a special surprise for the Browns and he was most disappointed at the thought of having to tell them straight away, but before he had time to answer, Mrs Bird suddenly began waving her sunshade in the air and pointing in the direction of the hill.

  “Gracious me!” she exclaimed. “What on earth’s going on over there?”

  “Good heavens! No wonder I had a thumping noise in my head,” said Mr Brown, as he follow
ed the direction of Mrs Bird’s sunshade to where an enormous tractor was coming over the brow of the hill, followed by a long line of people. “It looks like a procession of some kind.”

  The Browns watched in fascination as the crowd drew nearer and nearer and finally came to a halt in front of them. The leader, a fat, jolly-looking man in white overalls and a tall chef’s hat, bowed low in Paddington’s direction.

  “Ah, Monsieur le Bear,” he exclaimed, beaming all over his face as he held out his hand. “We meet again!”

  “Hallo, Mr Dupont,” cried Paddington, hurriedly wiping the gravy stains off his paw before offering it.

  “Would someone mind pinching me?” said Mr Brown, as he looked at the others. “I think I must be dreaming.”

  “Welcome to St Castille,” said Monsieur Dupont, as he advanced on Mr Brown. “Please, we have come to see the stage-coach which has lost its wheel. Monsieur le Bear has already explained to us all about the matter and we are most anxious to help.”

  “The stage-coach?” repeated Mr Brown, looking more and more mystified. “What stage-coach?”

  Paddington took a deep breath. “I think perhaps I must have got my phrases mixed up by mistake, Mr Brown,” he said. “There wasn’t a chapter on motor cars having a puncture so I used the one on stage-coaches instead.”

  It was all a bit difficult to explain, and Paddington wasn’t quite sure where to start first.

  “I think,” said Mr Brown, turning to Monsieur Dupont, the baker, “we had better sit down. I have a feeling this may take rather a long time.”

  “You know,” said Mr Brown much later that evening as they sat outside the hotel in Paddington’s village taking a nightcap before going to bed, “I’ll say this for Paddington, things may get complicated now and then but they have a habit of turning out right in the end.”

  “Bears always fall on their feet,” said Mrs Bird darkly. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.”

  “I vote we stay here,” said Mr Brown. “It wasn’t on the itinerary, but I don’t think we could find anything nicer.”

  “Hear, hear!” said Mrs Bird.

  After all the excitement of the afternoon everything seemed particularly quiet and peaceful. The stars were shining in a cloudless sky, the sound of jolly music from a nearby cafe filled the air, and at the end of the street leading down to the harbour they could see the lights from the fishing boats as they bobbed up and down in the water.

  In fact, apart from the music, the only sound to disturb the night air was the steady scratching of the old nib on Paddington’s pen and the occasional sigh as he dipped a paw into his marmalade jar.

  When the Browns had discovered where Paddington bought his snails they had suddenly felt much better. It was a most respectable-looking shop and Monsieur Dupont assured them it was noted for its snails, so by popular vote Paddington had been given the prize for the best dish of the day.

  After a great deal of thought and peering in shop windows he had used the money in order to buy some stamps and two picture postcards, one for his aunt Lucy in Peru and one for Mr Gruber.

  They were big postcards – two of the biggest he had ever seen. Apart from having a space on which to write, they each had eleven different pictures on the front which showed scenes of the village and the surrounding countryside. One of the pictures showed Monsieur Dupont’s bakery and by looking at it very hard Paddington could see some buns in the window which he thought Mr Gruber would find very interesting.

  There was even a picture of the hotel, and he carefully drew a large cross against one of the windows and wrote the words MY ROOM at the side.

  Looking at the cards, Paddington decided they were very good value indeed and he felt sure his Aunt Lucy would be most surprised to get one all the way from France.

  All the same, there had been so many happenings that day, and some of them were so difficult to explain, he felt it was going to be a job getting them all in – even on a bargain-size postcard.

  The Browns, soon settled down in the village and in no time at all it seemed as if they had always lived there. The news that a young English bear gentleman was staying at the hotel quickly spread, and Paddington was soon a popular figure in the streets, especially before going down to the beach.

  He paid a visit to his new friend, Monsieur Dupont, most days. Monsieur Dupont spoke very good English and they had several chats together on the subject of buns. Monsieur Dupont not only showed Paddington round his ovens but he also promised to bake some special English buns for his elevenses into the bargain.

  “After all,” he explained, “it is not every day we have a bear staying in St Castille.” And he put a notice in his shop window saying that in future special buns made to the recipe of a young English bear of quality would be on sale.

  There were so many new and interesting things to see and do that Paddington had to sit up late in bed several nights running in order to write everything in his scrapbook while it was still fresh in his mind.

  One morning he was wakened early by the sound of shouting and banging outside the hotel, and when he looked out of the window he discovered to his astonishment that a great change had come over the village.

  It was always busy, with people hurrying to and fro about their daily tasks, but on this particular morning it seemed to be twice as busy as usual. Even the people were dressed in quite a different way. Instead of their blue overalls and red jerseys the fishermen all had on their best suits, and the women and girls were wearing dresses covered in stiff white lace with tall lace hats to match.

  Nearly all the fruit and vegetable stalls had gone and their place had been taken by other stalls decorated with coloured flags and striped awnings, and laden with boxes of sweets and row upon row of wax candles.

  It was all most unusual, and after a quick wash Paddington hurried downstairs to investigate the matter.

  Madame Penet, the owner of the hotel, was at her desk in the entrance hall when Paddington entered and she looked at him rather doubtfully when he consulted his phrase-book. Madame Penet’s English was no better than Paddington’s French and things always seemed to go wrong when they tried to talk to each other.

  “It is,” she began, in reply to his question, “’ow do you say?… a pardon.”

  “That’s all right,” said Paddington politely. “I only wondered what was happening. It looks very interesting.”

  Madame Penet nodded. “That is right,” she said. “It is, ’ow do you say?… a pardon.”

  Paddington gave Madame Penet a hard stare as he backed away. Although he was a polite bear he was beginning to get a bit fed up with raising his hat and saying ‘pardon’ in return, and so he hurried outside and across the square in order to consult Monsieur Dupont on the subject.

  To his surprise when he entered the shop he made an even more startling discovery, for in place of the white smock and hat which he usually wore, Monsieur Dupont had on a very smart dark blue uniform covered in gold braid.

  Monsieur Dupont laughed when he saw the expression on Paddington’s face. “It is all to do with the pardon, Monsieur le Bear,” he said.

  And he went on to explain that in France pardon was the name given to a very special festival, and that in Brittany in particular there were pardons for many different reasons. There were pardons for fishermen and farmers, and there was even a pardon for the birds, not to mention horses and cattle.

  “In the morning,” said Monsieur Dupont, “there is always a procession, when everyone goes to church, and afterwards there is much celebration.

  “This year,” he went on, “we have a Fair and a firework display. Why, there is even a parade of the village band!”

  Monsieur Dupont drew himself up to his full height. “That is why I am in uniform, Monsieur le Bear,” he exclaimed proudly. “For I am the leader of the band!”

  Paddington looked most impressed as he listened to Monsieur Dupont, and after thanking him for all his trouble he hurried back to the hotel in ord
er to tell the others.

  Most days the Browns went down to the beach, but when they heard Paddington’s news they quickly changed their plans. After a hurried breakfast they joined the rest of the villagers in going to church, and that afternoon, by popular vote, they made their way towards a field just outside the village where the Fair was taking place.

  Paddington stood in a trance as he gazed at the sight which met his eyes. It was the first time he had been to a Fair and he didn’t remember ever having seen or heard anything quite like it before.

  There were huge wheels soaring up into the sky. There were gaily-painted swings and slides. There were roundabouts carrying dozens of shrieking, laughing people round and round as they clung to wooden horses painted all the colours of the rainbow. There were coconut-shies and side-shows. Everywhere there were coloured lights flashing on and off, and in the centre of it all there was a huge organ playing jolly music as it let out clouds of steam. In fact there were so many things crammed into such a small space it was difficult to decide what to do first.

  In the end, after testing the slides and swings a number of times, Paddington turned his attention to one of the roundabouts, and when he discovered that bears under sixteen were allowed on for half-price on pardon days he had several more goes for good measure.

  It was when he came off the roundabout for the last time and stood watching Mr Brown, Jonathan and Judy while they had a go, that he suddenly spied for the first time a most interesting-looking small striped tent which stood slightly apart from the rest of the Fair. There were several notices pinned to the outside, most of them printed in foreign languages, but there was one written in English which caught his eye at once and he read it carefully. It said:

  MADAME ZAZA

  International Fortune Teller