Paddington Complete Novels

by Michael Bond

  First he opened his eyes, then he closed them and a shiver passed through his body, starting at his toes and travelling up to his head, almost as if he had been shot. Then he opened his eyes again and stared distastefully at his hand. It was warm under the lights and some kind of sticky substance seemed to have transferred itself from Paddington’s paw.

  “It’s all right, Sir Guy,” explained Paddington, wiping his paw hastily on one of the folds in his tights. “It’s only marmalade. I forgot to wash it off when I came out of the tuck shop.”

  If Mr Oblomov knew what marmalade was or, for that matter, if he’d ever heard of a tuck shop, he gave no sign. A shiver again seemed to pass through his body and as the music reached a crescendo he closed his eyes and with a supreme effort prepared himself once more for the pas de deux.

  Feeling very pleased that things seemed to have turned out all right in the end, Paddington took hold of Sergei Oblomov’s outstretched hand and bent down to pick up his suitcase.

  The next moment it felt as if he was in the centre of an earthquake, a tornado and a barrage of thunderbolts all rolled into one.

  First it seemed as if his arm had been torn out of its socket, then he felt himself spinning round and round like a top; finally he landed, still spinning, in a heap on the floor of the stage some distance away from Mr Oblomov.

  For a moment he lay where he was, gasping for breath and then he struggled to his feet just in time to see a vague figure in tights heading towards him through the glare of the footlights. As he focused on the scene Paddington noticed a nasty-looking gleam in Sergei Oblomov’s eyes which he didn’t like the look of at all and so he hurriedly sat down again.

  Mr Oblomov came to a halt and stared down at the figure on the floor. “I cannot go on,” he exclaimed gloomily. “For one zing you hov too much shortness – and for zee second thing – your entrechats – zey are not clean.”

  “My entrechats are not clean!” exclaimed Paddington hotly. “But I had a bath last night.”

  “I do not mean zey are dirty,” hissed Mr Oblomov. “I mean zey should be clean – snappy – like so!”

  Without further ado he threw himself into the air, beat his legs together, crossed them in time to the music, and then uncrossed them again as he landed gracefully on one foot facing the audience.

  Paddington looked rather doubtful as the applause rang through the hall. “It’s a bit difficult when you’ve only got paws, Sir Guy,” he exclaimed. “But I’ll have a try.

  Closing his eyes as he’d seen Mr Oblomov do, Paddington jumped into the air, made a halfhearted attempt to cross his legs and then, as his tights began to slip, landed rather heavily on the stage. As he did so, to everyone’s surprise he suddenly shot up into the air again, his legs crossing and uncrossing, almost as if he’d been fired from a cannon.

  “Good gracious!” exclaimed someone near the Browns. “That young bear’s done a triple!”

  “A sixer,” contradicted another elderly gentleman knowledgeably, as Paddington landed and then shot up in the air again with a loud cry. “Bravo!” he called, trying to make himself heard above the applause.

  Even Sergei Oblomov began to look impressed as Paddington executed several more entrechats each one higher and more complicated than the one before. Then, to show he wasn’t beaten, he himself gave a tremendous leap into the air, changed his legs over, beat them together, changed them back again, beat them together once more, and then, to a roar from the audience crossed them once again before landing.

  Paddington, who had been spending the last few seconds sitting on the stage peering at one of his paws, jumped up with a loud cry which echoed round the rafters as Sergei Oblomov landed heavily on his other paw.

  If the applause for Sergei Oblomov’s entrechat had been loud it was nothing compared to that which greeted Paddington as he shot up into the air once more, waving his paws wildly to and fro, crossing and uncrossing them and bringing them together before he landed and then catapulted up again almost out of sight.

  This time Sergei Oblomov himself had to acknowledge he’d met his match and with a graceful bow which brought murmurs of approval from the audience he stood back and joined in the applause as the music finally came to an end, and with Paddington’s leaps growing higher and wilder with every passing second the curtain came down.

  “Well,” said Mr Brown as the applause finally subsided. “It may not have been the best ballet I’ve ever seen but it was certainly the most exciting.”

  “Haven’t seen anything like it since the Cossacks,” agreed the elderly gentleman nearby. “Five Grand Royales in a row!”

  Thoroughly surprised by the events of the afternoon the Browns tried to make their way backstage, but what with the speeches and the crowds of girls who came up to Judy in order to congratulate her on Paddington’s performance, it was some while before they were able to force their way through the door at the side of the stage. When they did finally break through they were even more surprised to find that Paddington had been removed to the school sanatorium for what was called ‘urgent First Aid’.

  “Oh dear, I hope he hasn’t broken anything,” said Mrs Brown anxiously as they hurried across the quadrangle. “Some of those jumps he did were very high.”

  “More likely to have slipped on a marmalade chunk,” said Mrs Bird darkly as they hurried into the ward. But even Mrs Bird looked worried when she caught sight of Paddington lying on a bed with his two back paws sticking up in the air swathed in bandages.

  “I can’t understand it,” said Miss Grimshaw, as she came forward to greet them. “Both his back paws are full of holes. I really must find matron and see what she’s got to say.”

  “Holes?” echoed the Browns.

  “Holes,” said Miss Grimshaw. “Quite small ones. Almost as if he’s got woodworm. Not that he could have of course,” she added hastily as a groan came from the direction of the bed. “Such a shame after the magnificent performance he gave. I doubt if we shall ever see the like again.”

  As Miss Grimshaw hurried off in search of the matron Mrs Bird gave a snort. Something about Paddington’s leaps on the stage had aroused her suspicions and now her eagle eyes had spotted a number of small shiny objects under the bed that so far no one else had seen.

  “Bears who try to pin their tights up with drawing pins,” she said sternly, “mustn’t be surprised when they fall out. And,” she added, “they mustn’t be disappointed if they step on them into the bargain and have to stay in hospital and miss the special marmalade pudding that’s waiting for them at home.”

  Paddington sat up in bed. “I think perhaps they’re getting better now,” he said hastily.

  Being an invalid with everyone fussing around was rather nice. On the other hand, marmalade pudding, particularly Mrs Bird’s marmalade pudding, was even nicer.

  “But it’s no good if you want to carry on dancing,” warned Mrs Bird, as he clambered out of bed and tested his paws on the floor. “It’s much too rich and heavy. In fact, I’m not sure that you oughtn’t to go on a diet.”

  But Mrs Bird’s words fell on empty air as Paddington disappeared through the door in the direction of the car with remarkable haste for one who’d only just risen from a sick bed.

  “Perhaps it’s as well,” said Mr Brown gravely, as the others followed. “I can’t really picture Paddington embarking on a career as a ballet dancer.”

  “All those exercises,” agreed Mrs Brown with a shudder.

  “And those tights,” said Judy.

  “And all that leaping about,” added Mrs Bird.”If you ask me it’s much better to be simply a bear who likes his marmalade.”

  “Especially,” said Jonathan, amid general agreement, “if you happen to be a bear called Paddington.”

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7


  MRS BROWN STARED at Paddington in amazement. “Harold Price wants you to be an usher at his wedding?” she repeated. “Are you sure?”

  Paddington nodded. “I’ve just met him in the market, Mrs Brown,” he explained. “He said he was going to give you a ring as well.”

  Mrs Brown exchanged glances with the rest of the family as they gathered round to hear Paddington’s news.

  Harold Price was a young man who served on the preserves counter at a large grocery store in the Portobello Road, and the events leading up to his forthcoming marriage to Miss Deirdre Flint, who worked on the adjacent bacon and eggs counter, had been watched with interest by the Browns, particularly as it was largely through Paddington that they had become engaged in the first place.

  It had all come about some months previously when Paddington had lent a paw at a local drama festival in which Miss Flint had played the lead in one of Mr Price’s plays.

  A great many things had gone wrong that evening, but Mr Price always maintained afterwards that far from Paddington causing a parting of the ways, he and Miss Flint had been brought even closer together. At any event, shortly afterwards they had announced their engagement.

  It was largely because of Paddington’s part in the affair, and the numerous large orders for marmalade he’d placed with Mr Price over the years, that all the Browns had been invited to the wedding that day; but never in their wildest dreams had it occurred to any of them that Paddington might be one of the officials.

  During the silence which followed while everyone considered the matter, he held up a small, bright metal object. “Mr Price has given me the key to his flat,” he announced importantly. “He wants me to pick up the list of guests on the way to the church.”

  “Well, I must say it’s rather a nice idea,” said Mrs Brown, trying to sound more enthusiastic than she actually felt. “It’s really a case history repeating itself.”

  “Remembering what happened last time,” murmured Mr Brown, “I only hope it doesn’t repeat itself too faithfully.”

  “Everything turned out all right in the end,” Mrs Brown broke in hastily, as Paddington gave one of his hard stares. “Harold’s play did win first prize and he was very glad of Paddington’s help when the sound effects man let him down.”

  “I think he’s been let down again, Mrs Brown,” said Paddington earnestly. “He’s got no one to keep quiet during the ceremony.”

  “No one to keep quiet?” echoed Jonathan. Paddington’s thought processes were sometimes rather difficult to follow, and his present one was no exception.

  “I’ve no doubt that bear will do as well as anyone if he sets his mind to it,” said Mrs Bird, the Browns’ housekeeper, as Paddington, having startled everybody by announcing that he was going to have a special bath in honour of the occasion, disappeared upstairs in order to carry out his threat. “No doubt at all. After all, it’s only a matter of lending a paw and showing people to their right places in the church.”

  “Knowing the usual state of Paddington’s paws,” replied Mr Brown, “I think I’d sooner find my own way.”

  “He is having a bath, Daddy,” reminded Judy. “He’s just said so.”

  “He may be having a bath,” retorted Mr Brown grimly. “But he’s still got to get to the church. All sorts of things can happen before then.”

  “’Ush!” cried Jonathan suddenly. “I bet he thinks being an usher means he has to keep ’ush during the service.”

  “Oh dear,” said Mrs Brown, as Jonathan’s words sank in. “I do hope he doesn’t tell Deirdre to be quiet when she’s making her responses. You know what a quick temper she’s got and I expect she’ll be all on edge as it is.”

  Mrs Brown began to look somewhat less happy about the whole affair as she turned the matter over in her mind, but at that moment the shrill sound of the telephone bell broke into her thoughts.

  “It’s Harold Price,” she hissed, putting her hand over the receiver. “He wants to know if it’s all right. What shall I say?”

  Mr Brown looked up at the ceiling as the sound of running water came from somewhere overhead. “Whatever we say it had better not be ‘no’,” he replied. “Not at this stage. We shall never hear the last of it if Paddington’s had a bath for nothing. Especially one he’s volunteered for.

  “All the same,” he continued, giving his suit a passing flick with the clothes-brush, “I can’t help feeling it isn’t the best of ways to start married life. I don’t think I should have been very keen on having a bear as an usher at my wedding – even if I had been let down.”

  Mr Brown wasn’t over enthusiastic about weddings at the best of times, and the thought of attending one at which Paddington was lending a paw filled him with foreboding.

  Nevertheless, even Mr Brown’s fears were gradually set at rest as the day wore on, for Paddington’s behaviour seemed beyond reproach.

  When they arrived at the church he was busily engaged with a long and important-looking list of names which enabled him to check the invitations and sort out the friends of the bride from those of the groom, and as he led them down the aisle towards their allotted places they couldn’t help noticing how spick and span he looked. His fur had a newly brushed, glistening appearance, and his whiskers were so shiny they made the large white carnation which he wore tied round his neck look almost dowdy by comparison.

  If the Browns had any criticism at all it was that he was taking his job a little too seriously. Jonathan’s earlier theory proved all too correct and as soon as anyone so much as parted their lips he hurried up to them with his paw raised and gave them a hard stare. Some of his stares, which had been handed down to him by his Aunt Lucy in Peru, were very powerful indeed and in no time at all it would have been possible to have heard the proverbial pin drop.

  Even the vicar looked most impressed when he came into the church and saw the attentive state of his congregation.

  “I don’t see how we can explain now,” hissed Mr Brown. “It’s a bit difficult when you’re not allowed to say anything.”

  The others contented themselves with a nod of agreement, for at that moment Paddington, having carefully checked the list of guests for the last time to make certain everyone was present, settled himself down in a nearby pew in order to consult his programme and enjoy the forthcoming ceremony in comfort.

  In any case, they soon had other matters to occupy their minds, for a moment or so later Mr Price and his best man arrived and took up their places near the front.

  They both looked unusually agitated, even for such a nerve-racking occasion as a wedding, and Mr Price in particular kept jumping up and down like a jack-in-the-box. He seemed to want to speak to Paddington, but each time he turned round and opened his mouth Paddington put a paw firmly to his lips.

  “I don’t remember Harold having that nervous twitch before,” whispered Mrs Brown, uneasily.

  “I think it’s got something to do with the ring,” whispered Judy, passing on what little bit of information she’d been able to glean from those in front. “They’re having to make do with a brass one off Mr Price’s bedroom curtains. Apparently the real one’s disappeared.”

  “Disappeared!” echoed Mrs Brown. For a moment she quite forgot Paddington’s presence in the nearby pew, but as it happened she needn’t have worried, for Paddington seemed even more affected than anyone by this latest piece of news. His whiskers sagged, his face took on a sudden woebegone expression, and even the carnation round his neck seemed to wilt in sympathy.

  “Deirdre’s not going to be very pleased when she hears,” murmured Mr Brown. “I shouldn’t like to be the person who’s got it!”

  “Ssh!” hissed Mrs Brown. “Here she comes!”

  The Browns fell silent as there was a rustle of silk behind them and Deirdre, resplendent in a snow-white wedding gown, sailed past on the arm of Mr Flint.

  Only Paddington failed to join in the general gasps of admiration which greeted her entrance. For some reason best known to himself he appeared
to be engaged in a kind of life and death struggle on the floor of the church. Several times he was lost to view completely and each time he rose again he was breathing more and more heavily and his expression looked, if possible, unhappier than before.

  However, unhappy though it was, it seemed almost joyful by comparison with the grim one which came over Miss Flint’s face a moment or so later when she took in the whispered aside from her husband-to-be.

  For one brief moment indeed, it looked as if for two pins Miss Flint would have called the whole thing off, and when it came to the time for her to say “I do”, there was quite a nasty pause before she managed to get the words out.

  When the ceremony finally came to an end both she and Harold hurried towards the vestry in order to sign the register rather as if they had a bus to catch, and not a bit like two people who had just agreed to spend the rest of their lives together.

  “I’m glad I’m not in Harold’s shoes,” said Mr Brown, as the door closed behind them. “Deirdre looked as black as thunder.”

  “Ssh!” began Mrs Brown.”We don’t want Pad…”

  She was about to say that one upset was enough and they didn’t want to add to the confusion by having Paddington take up his ’ushing duties again, but as she looked round the church it was only to discover that Paddington was nowhere in sight.

  “There he is!” cried Judy suddenly, as she looked back over her shoulder.

  Turning round to follow her gaze the rest of the Browns were just in time to catch a glimpse of a familiar figure hurrying up the aisle in the direction of the entrance doors.

  “Perhaps he wants to be in the front of the photograph,” said Mrs Brown hopefully, as Paddington, after casting an anxious glance over his shoulder, picked up his suitcase and hat from behind a nearby pillar and disappeared from view. “He’s always very keen on anything like that for his scrapbook, and he looks as if he’s got something on his mind.”