And the voice that had been making exasperated noises said absently, ‘Well, that depends. I don’t occupy much. I’m away rather a lot. But the Briggs on the top floor are generally occupying.’
The voice went on jerkily, as though the owner was making some great effort, ‘But the Pattersons might be said to occupy like mad. They’ve got three children.’
There was a sharp rattle, as of a spanner slipping, and a smothered exclamation, and the body belonging to the grey flannel legs squirmed into view, revealing a bright green open-necked shirt liberally smeared with oil. Rosemary supposed that the stall-holder at the Market, who was old, might consider this a ‘youngish man’. He stopped sucking his bleeding knuckles long enough to say:
‘But on the other hand, I am the old original Occupier. I say, what do you want to know for?’
‘We’ve brought something back for you. You dropped it at Fairfax Market,’ and she held out the crumpled envelope.
‘That’s very kind of you.’
The man took the envelope and looked inside.
‘What on earth is it?’
‘It’s a coupon that you can exchange for a large packet of Lathero for the price of a small one.’
‘But what on earth should I do with a packet of Lathero when I’d bought it?’
‘You could wash your shirt with it,’ said Rosemary gravely. ‘But you had better let me tie up your hand. It’s bleeding. I’ve got a clean hankie here.’
‘Washed, I suppose, with Lathero? You are an advertising stunt, aren’t you?’
‘Goodness no!’ said John, as Rosemary tied up the grazed hand. ‘You see, the old man said that you bought the hat.’
‘Aha! The incomparable witch’s hat! But look here, I don’t understand. How do you know anything about it?’
‘Well, you see,’ said Rosemary, ‘I’ve got the cat that belonged to the same witch, and the broom-stick.’
‘On which you doubtless swept up to the front door,’ said the man with a twinkle.
‘Oh no, we came in Aunt Amabel’s car because we didn’t want to use up the broom’s magic. And Jeffries – he’s the chauffeur – he’s coming back to fetch us in half-an-hour, because he’s gone to see his young lady,’ said John.
‘I see,’ said the youngish man. ‘If you ask me, a broom is a much more civilized vehicle than a car. It doesn’t have to be screwed up with spanners that turn round and hit you.’ He looked ruefully at his bandaged hand. ‘But look here, suppose you tell me what you have really come for?’ And he grinned so encouragingly that Rosemary said:
‘We want the witch’s hat, please.’
The grin faded. There was an awkward pause, and the man called, ‘Molly, can you come here a minute?’
A girl’s voice answered, ‘All right, but I shall never finish these tunics if you keep interrupting,’ and the awkwardness was broken by the arrival of a girl in tight-fitting slacks and a yellow sweater. She was pretty and looked kind, Rosemary decided thankfully.
‘What is it?’ she inquired.
‘Ask me another,’ said the young man, lighting a cigarette. ‘These youngsters want the hat I bought at Fairfax Market.’
‘But what for? Look here, come upstairs, then we can sit down and discuss it comfortably.’
They walked in procession into a garage and up some wooden stairs into what had probably once been a hay loft. It had a stack of wicker baskets at one end, one of which was open, showing a jumble of coloured materials inside. There was a table near the window with a sewing machine on it, and a pile of sewing, and on a shelf were rows of headdresses on stands, top hats, helmets, medieval headdresses with horns and veils, three-cornered hats, and at the far end… a black, high-pointed hat of furry, beaver felt! ‘Now sit down and tell us all about it,’ said Molly.
Cheered by her kindness and the nearness of the hat, Rosemary sat down on a dress basket and told them the whole story.
‘So you see,’ she ended up, ‘we simply must have the witch’s hat or we can’t do anything.’
‘But look here,’ said the young man when she had done, ‘of course you tell it awfully well, but you can’t come here with a fairy tale like that and expect me to hand over the hat on a plate! It’s a very rare thing, I don’t mind telling you. It must be very old. I’ve half a mind to take it to Fairfax Museum and see what they think of it.’
Rosemary was aghast. ‘Oh, don’t do that. They might put it in a glass case, and we should never get it then.’
‘You certainly wouldn’t,’ said the young man shortly.
‘But we only want to borrow it, you know.’
‘Now look here…’ began the young man crossly, when Molly interrupted.
‘No, Bill, leave it to me. Tomorrow morning we are going off on tour. Bill and I, and some others, of course, act plays. We go round to village halls and schools and things, and we must have the hat to take with us. There isn’t time to get another, let alone make one. You see that, don’t you?’ Rosemary and John nodded.
‘Now suppose you wait until you have got the cauldron, and all this Silent Magic taped, and perhaps we might lend it to you then, just for the final spell. What about that for a solution?’
‘Oh thank you!’ said Rosemary gratefully. ‘You are kind! We shan’t forget, shall we, John? And you will take great care of the hat, won’t you?’
‘Great care. I promise. Perhaps you could come and see us act. Bill, give them a handbill. That will show you where we are going to be.’
‘Then we shall know where to find you when we are ready to borrow the hat,’ said John.
‘So you will, when you are ready,’ said the young man.
‘Thank you very much. But I think we ought to go now; Jeffries will be waiting.’
So they all shook hands, and Molly and the young man saw them to the car, where a slightly anxious Jeffries was waiting for them. They had been a good deal longer than half-an-hour.
14
Making Plans
John and Rosemary reached Tussocks in time for tea. Mrs Pendlebury Parker was out, so they asked if they might have theirs on two trays so that they could take them where they liked in the garden.
‘Let’s have it on the stone seat,’ said Rosemary.
It had been a hot, sunny day, and the seat was warm to sit on. There were fat cushions of moss and little plants growing between the paving stones at their feet, and the yellow roses above dropped slow petals on to their tea-trays.
‘I feel like a princess,’ said Rosemary.
‘You don’t look like one. You’ve lost one of your hair ribbons.’
‘Bother!’ said Rosemary. ‘You know, I think this afternoon was pretty satisfactory. The Occupier man, I mean. And I liked Molly, too. They promised to take care of the hat, and now we know from the handbill exactly where they are going to be, so that all we’ve got to do is to write and ask them for it when we are ready. You can have the rest of my cucumber sandwiches. I like the scrunch when you bite them, but I don’t like the taste much.’
‘I hope it’s all right, about the hat, I mean,’ said John doubtfully. ‘The trouble is you never can tell with grown-ups. You know how they say “Not today, dear, another time!” when you know perfectly well that that’s simply a polite way of saying “No, you jolly well can’t!”’
‘Oh dear, I hadn’t thought of that,’ said Rosemary. ‘All the same, it would be best to do as Molly suggested. I mean get the cauldron and the Silent Magic ready first, and then try again for the hat.’
John nodded. His mouth was too full to speak. Presently he said, ‘I say, we’ve got an awful lot to do. It will be hard enough to find the witch, let alone get her to tell us the spell.’
Remembering the strange old woman, Rosemary wriggled uneasily. ‘I know. You wait till you meet her!’
‘Well, I’ve been thinking. We can’t get on with anything much unless we can get more time on our own. I tell you what I’ll do. Mummy said she was going to ring up Aunt Amabel tonight, and she is
sure to talk to me, too. I’ll tell her about you…’
‘Not about the magic,’ interrupted Rosemary. ‘I don’t think it is wise to talk about that unless we’ve got to. The Occupier went all queer and cautious when he saw we really meant it – about the magic, I mean. And he was so nice before that. Didn’t you notice?’
John nodded. ‘I won’t say anything about magic, only you. We’re allowed to do pretty well what we like at home during the holidays… if there are two of us. I can say we want to explore the old town, go to Fairfax Museum, and the cathedral and things like that, and she will speak to Aunt Amabel about it. Aunt Amabel thinks you are a “quaint, ladylike little thing”. I heard her say so. Of course,’ he went on reassuringly, ‘I know you aren’t anything of the kind, but she meant it as a compliment, so I expect it will be all right.’
The sky had clouded over, and great drops of rain were beginning to fall as well as rose petals. So they picked up their trays and ran indoors.
‘It was nice of John to come and thank me for letting him come to dinner,’ said Mrs Brown on the way home in the bus. ‘It quite cheered up my curtain making.’
‘Poor Mummy! Is it being horribly dull, the curtain making and sides to middling? It doesn’t seem fair when I’m having such a gorgeous time!’
Her mother laughed. ‘Then I don’t mind a bit. I’m glad you are enjoying it, darling. I was afraid they were going to be such dull holidays for you. Mrs Pendlebury Parker wants you to play with John every day it can be managed. Will you like that?’
‘I shall love it!’ said Rosemary.
She had no opportunity of talking to Carbonel until she went to bed that night.
‘Well, I suppose you’ve learnt something,’ he said rather grudgingly, when she had told him all about the day’s adventures, ‘even if it’s only when to hold your tongue with human grown-ups. Still, to be fair, the temptation to say the Summoning Words and produce me must have been overpowering,’ he added complacently.
He was washing the difficult part under his chin as he sat beside her on the bed, and broke off to say:
‘On the whole you managed quite creditably.’ He transferred his attention to his right hind leg, and went on between licks:
‘I put in a little social time with Mrs Walker. I must say I like her taste in hearth rugs – very cosy. I collected some more talk about the Alley Cats. Heartrending, it is, the damage they are doing. Even the Humans are noticing. The tabby next door has got a torn ear and the grey at the tobacconist’s has been taken to the Vet. Now, if you and John can get about a bit on your own, Broom and I can go with you, and then we really shall begin to get somewhere.’
Rosemary swallowed her annoyance at his patronizing tone.
‘I suppose it is hateful for you, Carbonel. I mean, being “minion of the twiggy broom”, and me!’
‘Somehow it’s harder to be so near my liberty than it was when I was with HER, and there seemed no hope of release. It might be much worse, I keep telling myself. You are kind, and really quite intelligent for a human, and you stroke very well indeed.’ He was purring now, deep, slow, regular purrs. ‘So you must not mind if I’m a bit sharp now and then.’
In answer, Rosemary lifted him bodily into her lap. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, and he settled into the hollow of her nightdress like water into a bowl. His yellow eyes were the merest slits of gold. For a while she sat in the dusk listening to the diminishing purr, then she said softly:
‘Dear Carbonel! We will get you free as soon as ever we can.’
There was no reply. The purr had faded into silence. Carbonel was asleep.
15
Where is the Cauldron?
It was two days later before they were actually able to set out together on their own. They each had an extra shilling and a packet of sandwiches which the cook at Tussocks had made up for them. Rosemary carried the broom, and Carbonel trotted in front with his tail erect.
‘We’ve got hours and hours!’ said John happily. ‘How glorious! All the same, don’t let’s waste time by walking to the Market. Let’s go by bus.’
Business people had already gone to their offices, and only a few shopping ladies were out so early, so they had the front seat and the top of the bus to themselves. They swayed and rocked through the narrow streets, as John said, like a galleon in a stormy sea. They were so busy sailing the Spanish Main with sailors dying of scurvy like flies round them, that they reached the terminus before they knew where they were. They had agreed that the best thing to do was to go and find the friendly old man who had seen Mrs Cantrip selling her things, and ask him if he remembered who had bought the cauldron. But as they had told Mrs Pendlebury Parker that they would go and see the Museum, it seemed wisest to go there first and ‘get it over’, as John said, rather as if it was a visit to the dentist.
The Museum was a large house which overlooked the Market. It was very old, and full of unexpected corners, and the floors ran up and down in a pleasantly disconcerting way. Although she did not like to say so for fear of sounding priggish, Rosemary rather liked looking at museums. But in spite of himself, John found he was getting really interested. There were suits of armour, and swords and halberds and ancient pistols with beautifully inlaid handles. There was a sedan chair with a window that let up and down like a window in a railway carriage, there was a very large glove that had belonged to Queen Elizabeth I which was embroidered all over with flowers and animals, and some early Victorian dresses that Rosemary would have loved to dress up in, and a case of battered dolls that bore all the marks of having been well and truly played with.
‘I always think that things that were meant to be used look rather sad all shut up in a museum, just to be looked at,’ said Rosemary.
They were passing through a long room that had been built on at the back to house the Wilkinson Collection of china, which the attendant told them was one of the finest in the country. ‘Just look at all these teasets! It must be horrid for them never to be poured out of for people to have nice cosy tea-parties.’
‘Pooh! Dull, old grown-up talk!’ said John. ‘I think we have seen most of the museum now, so let’s go to the Market.’
Rosemary would like to have stayed longer, but she followed John out into the sunshine with a feeling of relief that they need no longer talk in whispers. Carbonel was sunning himself on the steps outside with the broom propped up in a corner beside him. Rosie led the way to the friendly old man. When they reached the stall, a fat woman was haggling over some linoleum. When she had gone off with a large roll of it under her arm, the old man noticed Rosemary.
‘Hallo, Susie,’ he said. ‘Them fairy wands still ain’t come in. I’m expecting a couple of gross any day now!’ And he laughed wheezily at his own joke.
Rosemary laughed politely, too. If she could get him to go on treating it as a joke she could go straight to the point.
‘It’s not a fairy wand I want this time. It’s a witch’s cauldron.’
‘A cauldron, eh? Well, you could cook up a tidy spell in that fish-kettle over there!’ And he went off into a fit of wheezing that quite alarmed Rosemary.
‘Oh, but it must be one of those black things with a handle over the top. That’s what witches always use.’
‘There’s not much call for them these days,’ said the old man, dropping into his professional manner once more, ‘not since people ’ave begun to go in for these new-fangled grates, and gas and electricity. The only coal-scuttles they want are the kind you just tip the coals on with so as not to dirty yer ’ands. Now where did I see one of those things lately? Now wasn’t it you I was telling about the old party that set up next to me and sold ’er ’at? Well, believe it or not, she’d got one of them old coal-scuttles, too.’
‘Did she sell it?’ asked Rosemary cautiously.
‘Must ’ave,’ said the old man. ‘I don’t think I saw ’oo to, because I was busy with a customer over ’alf a dozen spoons. Stop a bit, though… I remember, now, seeing a st
out party walking away with it.’
‘I remember you saying you could read people’s clothes like a book, being in the trade, you said.’
The old man’s eye lit up.
‘A regular Sherlock ’Olmes, that’s me! Artistic that one was. I remember I says to myself, “’andwoven, good but baggy, skirt and jacket twenty-five bob.” She’d got grey ’air done in them buns that flap over ’er ears. It’s a funny thing, I’ve got it into my ’ead she said she kept a shop. Must ’ave said something about it, I reckon, but I can’t recall what.’
‘What could she have wanted the cauldron for?’ asked John.
‘You never know with that sort,’ said the old man darkly. ‘Not without it was for coal.’ And he turned his attention to a sad-looking young man who wanted to buy some gramophone records.
The children wandered off and sat down on an old packing case.
‘Now the thing is,’ said John, ‘what kind of shop would an artistic sort of grey-haired lady run?’
‘There are quite a lot of shops near the Cathedral that sell hand-made things and souvenirs,’ said Rosemary. ‘They are mostly kept by people like that.’
‘I believe you are right,’ said Carbonel. ‘The Cathedral is not far.’
‘I vote we eat our sandwiches in the grassy part round it, then we shouldn’t have to lug them about with us,’ said John. ‘Isn’t it funny how food seems to stop being heavy once it’s inside you? I suppose it’s something to do with balance.’
They walked to the Cathedral and sat on a seat outside with the sun casting the shadow of the great golden-grey building across the green grass, and the rooks cawing and circling overhead. The Cathedral clock over the west door struck eleven. It was a fascinating clock, with two fat little angels standing on either side with hammers, with which they beat the hours and the quarters on a bell. By the time the angels had struck the half-hour John and Rosemary had eaten their sausage rolls and scrambled egg sandwiches. Carbonel had one filled with anchovy paste which Rosemary had brought specially for him. By the time the angels had struck twelve the children had finished their pieces of cake and a bag of fat red gooseberries. Carbonel was pacing impatiently up and down, to the annoyance of the sparrows, who watched with eager eyes the crumbs that Rosemary shook from her lap.
Carbonel: The King of Cats Page 7