by Edith Nesbit
“You are really. Look in the glass.”
“I’m not; I can’t be.”
“Look in the glass,” Gerald repeated, quite unmoved.
“Let go, then,” she said.
Gerald did, and the moment he had done so he found it impossible to believe that he really had been holding invisible hands.
“You’re just pretending not to see me,” said the Princess anxiously, “aren’t you? Do say you are. You’ve had your joke with me. Don’t keep it up. I don’t like it.”
“On our sacred word of honour,” said Gerald, “you’re still invisible.”
There was a silence. Then, “Come,” said the Princess. “I’ll let you out, and you can go. I’m tired of playing with you.”
They followed her voice to the door, and through it, and along the little passage into the hall. No one said anything. Every one felt very uncomfortable.
“Let’s get out of this,” whispered Jimmy as they got to the end of the hall.
But the voice of the Princess said: “Come out this way; it’s quicker. I think you’re perfectly hateful. I’m sorry I ever played with you. Mother always told me not to play with strange children.”
A door abruptly opened, though no hand was seen to touch it. “Come through, can’t you!” said the voice of the Princess.
It was a little ante-room, with long, narrow mirrors between its long, narrow windows.
“Goodbye,” said Gerald. “Thanks for giving us such a jolly time. Let’s part friends,” he added, holding out his hand.
An unseen hand was slowly put in his, which closed on it, vice-like.
“Now,” he said, “you’ve jolly well got to look in the glass and own that we’re not liars.”
He led the invisible Princess to one of the mirrors, and held her in front of it by the shoulders.
“Now,” he said, “you just look for yourself.”
There was a silence, and then a cry of despair rang through the room.
“Oh — oh — oh! I am invisible. Whatever shall I do?”
“Take the ring off,” said Kathleen, suddenly practical.
Another silence.
“I can’t!” cried the Princess. “It won’t come off. But it can’t be the ring; rings don’t make you invisible.”
“You said this one did,” said Kathleen, “and it has.”
“But it can’t,” said the Princess. “I was only playing at magic. I just hid in the secret cupboard — it was only a game. Oh, whatever shall I do?”
“A game?” said Gerald slowly; “but you can do magic — the invisible jewels, and you made them come visible.”
“Oh, it’s only a secret spring and the panelling slides up. Oh, what am I to do?”
Kathleen moved towards the voice and gropingly got her arms round a pink-silk waist that she couldn’t see. Invisible arms clasped her, a hot invisible cheek was laid against hers, and warm invisible tears lay wet between the two faces.
“Don’t cry, dear,” said Kathleen; “let me go and tell the King and Queen.”
“The —— ?”
“Your royal father and mother.”
“Oh, don’t mock me!” said the poor Princess. “You know that was only a game, too, like — —”
“Like the bread and cheese,” said Jimmy triumphantly. “I knew that was!”
“But your dress and being asleep in the maze, and — —”
“Oh, I dressed up for fun, because every one’s away at the fair, and I put the clue just to make it all more real. I was playing at Fair Rosamond first, and then I heard you talking in the maze, and I thought what fun; and now I’m invisible, and I shall never come right again, never — I know I shan’t! It serves me right for lying, but I didn’t really think you’d believe it — not more than half, that is,” she added hastily, trying to be truthful.
“But if you’re not the Princess, who are you?” asked Kathleen, still embracing the unseen.
“I’m — my aunt lives here,” said the invisible Princess. “She may be home any time. Oh, what shall I do?”
“Perhaps she knows some charm — —”
“Oh, nonsense!” said the voice sharply; “she doesn’t believe in charms. She would be so vexed. Oh, I daren’t let her see me like this!” she added wildly. “And all of you here, too. She’d be so dreadfully cross.”
The beautiful magic castle that the children had believed in now felt as though it were tumbling about their ears. All that was left was the invisibleness of the Princess. But that, you will own, was a good deal.
“I just said it,” moaned the voice, “and it came true. I wish I’d never played at magic — I wish I’d never played at anything at all.”
“Oh, don’t say that,” Gerald said kindly. “Let’s go out into the garden, near the lake, where it’s cool, and we’ll hold a solemn council. You’ll like that, won’t you?”
“Oh!” cried Kathleen suddenly, “the buckle; that makes magic come undone!”
“It doesn’t really,” murmured the voice that seemed to speak without lips. “I only just said that.”
“You only ‘just said’ about the ring,” said Gerald. “Anyhow, let’s try.”
“Not you — me,” said the voice. “You go down to the Temple of Flora, by the lake. I’ll go back to the jewel-room by myself. Aunt might see you.”
“She won’t see you,” said Jimmy.
“Don’t rub it in,” said Gerald. “Where is the Temple of Flora?”
“That’s the way,” the voice said; “down those steps and along the winding path through the shrubbery. You can’t miss it. It’s white marble, with a statue goddess inside.”
The three children went down to the white marble Temple of Flora that stood close against the side of the little hill, and sat down in its shadowy inside. It had arches all round except against the hill behind the statue, and it was cool and restful.
They had not been there five minutes before the feet of a runner sounded loud on the gravel. A shadow, very black and distinct, fell on the white marble floor.
“Your shadow’s not invisible anyhow,” said Jimmy.
“Oh, bother my shadow!” the voice of the Princess replied. “We left the key inside the door, and it’s shut itself with the wind, and it’s a spring lock!”
There was a heartfelt pause.
Then Gerald said, in his most business-like manner:
“Sit down, Princess, and we’ll have a thorough good palaver about it.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Jimmy, “if we was to wake up and find it was dreams.”
“No such luck,” said the voice.
“Well,” said Gerald, “first of all, what’s your name, and if you’re not a Princess, who are you?”
“I’m — I’m,” said a voice broken with sobs, “I’m the — housekeeper’s — niece — at — the — castle — and my name’s Mabel Prowse.”
“That’s exactly what I thought,” said Jimmy, without a shadow of truth, because how could he? The others were silent. It was a moment full of agitation and confused ideas.
“Well, anyhow,” said Gerald, “you belong here.”
“YOUR SHADOW’S NOT INVISIBLE, ANYHOW,” SAID JIMMY.
“Yes,” said the voice, and it came from the floor, as though its owner had flung herself down in the madness of despair. “Oh yes, I belong here right enough, but what’s the use of belonging anywhere if you’re invisible?”
CHAPTER III
Those of my readers who have gone about much with an invisible companion will not need to be told how awkward the whole business is. For one thing, however much you may have been convinced that your companion is invisible, you will, I feel sure, have found yourself every now and then saying, “This must be a dream!” or “I know I shall wake up in half a sec!” And this was the case with Gerald, Kathleen, and Jimmy as they sat in the white marble Temple of Flora, looking out through its arches at the sunshiny park and listening to the voice of the enchanted Princess, who really was not a Princess at all, but j
ust the housekeeper’s niece, Mabel Prowse; though, as Jimmy said, “she was enchanted, right enough.”
“It’s no use talking,” she said again and again, and the voice came from an empty-looking space between two pillars; “I never believed anything would happen, and now it has.”
“Well,” said Gerald kindly, “can we do anything for you? Because, if not, I think we ought to be going.”
“Yes,” said Jimmy; “I do want my tea!”
“Tea!” said the unseen Mabel scornfully. “Do you mean to say you’d go off to your teas and leave me after getting me into this mess?”
“Well, of all the unfair Princesses I ever met!” Gerald began. But Kathleen interrupted.
“Oh, don’t rag her,” she said. “Think how horrid it must be to be invisible!”
“I don’t think,” said the hidden Mabel, “that my aunt likes me very much as it is. She wouldn’t let me go to the fair because I’d forgotten to put back some old trumpery shoe that Queen Elizabeth wore — I got it out from the glass case to try it on.”
“Did it fit?” asked Kathleen, with interest.
“Not it — much too small,” said Mabel. “I don’t believe it ever fitted any one.”
“I do want my tea!” said Jimmy.
“I do really think perhaps we ought to go,” said Gerald. “You see, it isn’t as if we could do anything for you.”
“You’ll have to tell your aunt,” said Kathleen kindly.
“No, no, no!” moaned Mabel invisibly; “take me with you. I’ll leave her a note to say I’ve run away to sea.”
“Girls don’t run away to sea.”
“They might,” said the stone floor between the pillars, “as stowaways, if nobody wanted a cabin boy — cabin girl, I mean.”
“I’m sure you oughtn’t,” said Kathleen firmly.
“Well, what am I to do?”
“Really,” said Gerald, “I don’t know what the girl can do. Let her come home with us and have — —”
“Tea — oh, yes,” said Jimmy, jumping up.
“And have a good council.”
“After tea,” said Jimmy.
“But her aunt’ll find she’s gone.”
“So she would if I stayed.”
“Oh, come on,” said Jimmy.
“But the aunt’ll think something’s happened to her.”
“So it has.”
“And she’ll tell the police, and they’ll look everywhere for me.”
“They’ll never find you,” said Gerald. “Talk of impenetrable disguises!”
“I’m sure,” said Mabel, “aunt would much rather never see me again than see me like this. She’d never get over it; it might kill her — she has spasms as it is. I’ll write to her, and we’ll put it in the big letter-box at the gate as we go out. Has any one got a bit of pencil and a scrap of paper?”
Gerald had a note-book, with leaves of the shiny kind which you have to write on, not with a blacklead pencil, but with an ivory thing with a point of real lead. And it won’t write on any other paper except the kind that is in the book, and this is often very annoying when you are in a hurry. Then was seen the strange spectacle of a little ivory stick, with a leaden point, standing up at an odd, impossible-looking slant, and moving along all by itself as ordinary pencils do when you are writing with them.
“May we look over?” asked Kathleen.
There was no answer. The pencil went on writing.
“Mayn’t we look over?” Kathleen said again.
“Of course you may!” said the voice near the paper. “I nodded, didn’t I? Oh, I forgot, my nodding’s invisible too.”
The pencil was forming round, clear letters on the page torn out of the note-book. This is what it wrote: —
“Dear Aunt, —
“I am afraid you will not see me again for some time. A lady in a motor-car has adopted me, and we are going straight to the coast and then in a ship. It is useless to try to follow me. Farewell, and may you be happy. I hope you enjoyed the fair.
“Mabel.”
“But that’s all lies,” said Jimmy bluntly.
“No, it isn’t; it’s fancy,” said Mabel. “If I said I’ve become invisible, she’d think that was a lie, anyhow.”
“Oh, come along,” said Jimmy; “you can quarrel just as well walking.”
Gerald folded up the note as a lady in India had taught him to do years before, and Mabel led them by another and very much nearer way out of the park. And the walk home was a great deal shorter, too, than the walk out had been.
The sky had clouded over while they were in the Temple of Flora, and the first spots of rain fell as they got back to the house, very late indeed for tea.
Mademoiselle was looking out of the window, and came herself to open the door.
“But it is that you are in lateness, in lateness!” she cried. “You have had a misfortune — no? All goes well?”
“We are very sorry indeed,” said Gerald. “It took us longer to get home than we expected. I do hope you haven’t been anxious. I have been thinking about you most of the way home.”
“Go, then,” said the French lady, smiling; “you shall have them in the same time — the tea and the supper.”
Which they did.
“How could you say you were thinking about her all the time?” said a voice just by Gerald’s ear, when Mademoiselle had left them alone with the bread and butter and milk and baked apples. “It was just as much a lie as me being adopted by a motor lady.”
“No, it wasn’t,” said Gerald, through bread and butter. “I was thinking about whether she’d be in a wax or not. So there!”
IT WAS RATHER HORRID TO SEE THE BREAD AND BUTTER WAVING ABOUT IN THE AIR.
There were only three plates, but Jimmy let Mabel have his, and shared with Kathleen. It was rather horrid to see the bread and butter waving about in the air, and bite after bite disappearing from it apparently by no human agency; and the spoon rising with apple in it and returning to the plate empty. Even the tip of the spoon disappeared as long as it was in Mabel’s unseen mouth; so that at times it looked as though its bowl had been broken off.
Every one was very hungry, and more bread and butter had to be fetched. Cook grumbled when the plate was filled for the third time.
“I tell you what,” said Jimmy; “I did want my tea.”
“I tell you what,” said Gerald; “it’ll be jolly difficult to give Mabel any breakfast. Mademoiselle will be here then. She’d have a fit if she saw bits of forks with bacon on them vanishing, and then the forks coming back out of vanishment, and the bacon lost for ever.”
“We shall have to buy things to eat and feed our poor captive in secret,” said Kathleen.
“Our money won’t last long,” said Jimmy, in gloom. “Have you got any money?”
He turned to where a mug of milk was suspended in the air without visible means of support.
“I’ve not got much money,” was the reply from near the milk, “but I’ve got heaps of ideas.”
“We must talk about everything in the morning,” said Kathleen. “We must just say good-night to Mademoiselle, and then you shall sleep in my bed, Mabel. I’ll lend you one of my nightgowns.”
“I’ll get my own to-morrow,” said Mabel cheerfully.
“You’ll go back to get things?”
“Why not? Nobody can see me. I think I begin to see all sorts of amusing things coming along. It’s not half bad being invisible.”
It was extremely odd, Kathleen thought, to see the Princess’s clothes coming out of nothing. First the gauzy veil appeared hanging in the air. Then the sparkling coronet suddenly showed on the top of the chest of drawers. Then a sleeve of the pinky gown showed, then another, and then the whole gown lay on the floor in a glistening ring as the unseen legs of Mabel stepped out of it. For each article of clothing became visible as Mabel took it off. The nightgown, lifted from the bed, disappeared a bit at a time.
“Get into bed,” said Kathleen, rather nervou
sly.
The bed creaked and a hollow appeared in the pillow. Kathleen put out the gas and got into bed; all this magic had been rather upsetting, and she was just the least bit frightened, but in the dark she found it was not so bad. Mabel’s arms went round her neck the moment she got into bed, and the two little girls kissed in the kind darkness, where the visible and the invisible could meet on equal terms.
“Good-night,” said Mabel. “You’re a darling, Cathy; you’ve been most awfully good to me, and I sha’n’t forget it. I didn’t like to say so before the boys, because I know boys think you’re a muff if you’re grateful. But I am. Good-night.”
Kathleen lay awake for some time. She was just getting sleepy when she remembered that the maid who would call them in the morning would see those wonderful Princess clothes.
“I’ll have to get up and hide them,” she said. “What a bother!”
And as she lay thinking what a bother it was she happened to fall asleep, and when she woke again it was bright morning, and Eliza was standing in front of the chair where Mabel’s clothes lay, gazing at the pink Princess-frock that lay on the top of her heap and saying, “Law!”
“Oh, don’t touch, please!” Kathleen leaped out of bed as Eliza was reaching out her hand.
“Where on earth did you get hold of that?”
“We’re going to use it for acting,” said Kathleen, on the desperate inspiration of the moment. “It’s lent me for that.”
“You might show me, miss,” suggested Eliza.
“Oh, please not!” said Kathleen, standing in front of the chair in her nightgown. “You shall see us act when we are dressed up. There! And you won’t tell any one, will you?”
“Not if you’re a good little girl,” said Eliza. “But you be sure to let me see when you do dress up. But where — —”
Here a bell rang and Eliza had to go, for it was the postman, and she particularly wanted to see him.
“And now,” said Kathleen, pulling on her first stocking, “we shall have to do the acting. Everything seems very difficult.”
“Acting isn’t,” said Mabel; and an unsupported stocking waved in the air and quickly vanished. “I shall love it.”
“You forget,” said Kathleen gently, “invisible actresses can’t take part in plays unless they’re magic ones.”