by Joan Aiken
Miss Hooting had gone perfectly pale with rage.
"The impertinence!” she exclaimed. “The barefaced, unparalleled effrontery of coming here and saying that to me! I suppose you did it as a deliberate insult."
"No, indeed,” said Mrs. Armitage, much bewildered. “I certainly had no such intention."
"Fiddlestick! I suppose you'll say next you didn't know I was a retired enchantress (fairy lady, indeed). I am not in the least distressed, I'll have you know. I have my pension, my salary from Mr. Grogan, besides what I make from my owls and handicrafts. I am hard-working and self-respecting, and there are plenty more like me who won't say thank you for your charity. The door is behind you. Good morning."
Unfortunately, at that moment Mr. Grogan came downstairs, having heard Miss Hooting's voice raised in rage. He rather liked Mrs. Armitage and Harriet, so he said good morning to them and asked Miss Hooting what they had come for.
"Impertinence!” she screeched.
"Yes, I dare say, but what sort of furniture?"
"Not furniture. They are collecting for a most offensive cause."
"Chest of drawers? Yes, I can do a chest of drawers, but what period?"
"Not a chest of drawers, an appeal."
"Made of deal? Never touch the stuff."
Harriet and Mrs. Armitage felt that if they did not leave, Miss Hooting might do something drastic—she was casting meaningful looks at a tall black stick leaning against the mantelpiece. If it was a wand, they thought it would be prudent not to chance the possibility of its not yet being worn out, so, nodding and smiling at Mr. Grogan, they escaped.
When the contents of the various collecting boxes were added together, the total sum was found to be quite a handsome one, though several of the collectors had had unfortunate experiences, like that of the Armitages, with innocent-seeming old ladies.
Mr. Armitage shook his head when he heard about it.
"I should leave the whole affair alone if I were you,” he said. “Buy a grand piano for the Ladies’ Social Club, or a machine gun for the Boy Scouts, or something harmless. It's always better to collect for a charity that's a long way off, in Africa or somewhere like that, if you must. These old fairy ladies are devilish touchy and independent, and there's sure to be trouble."
He was an obliging man, however, and he consented to say a few words to open the bazaar which was due to follow in three weeks, because he said he might not make such a hash of it as the vicar.
Everyone was working early and late making things for the stalls—cakes, embroidered milk-bottle covers, tea-cosy cases, jam-pot containers, bags to put dusters in and bags to put those bags in, dolls with crinolines to put over the coal-scuttle, and crocheted chocolate-bar containers. There was also to be a jumble stall, and all the village flocked to the bazaar in the hope of picking up cheaply the clothes of the children next door which they had been despising and condemning as unsuitable for the past year.
Mr. Armitage stood on the platform to say his opening words, supported by his wife and the members of the committee.
"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” he began, spurred on to rashness by several cups of very strong tea that he had just drunk. “We are all assembled here to enjoy ourselves (I hope) and to raise money for all the poor old distressed fairy ladies living round about. Well now, let's give the poor old things a big hand and buy everything in sight, however nasty or useless it appears to be—"
Here he paused with his mouth open, for several old ladies near the front of the hall were standing up and looking at him in a very unfriendly way. Old Mrs. Lomax was pointing her stick at him.
"Hush, man, hush,” she croaked:
"By the magic of this wand,
Be a tadpole in a pond."
Nothing happened.
"You're no use,” said old Mrs. Lockspith acidly. “You're one of the ones they need to help, evidently.” She pointed a long Malacca cane at the speechless Mr. Armitage, and exclaimed:
"Powers of witchcraft in this cane,
Turn him into a drop of rain."
Nothing happened.
"Here, this is ludicrous,” said Miss Hooting furiously. “It's my turn. You ladies are a disgrace to the profession.” She grabbed her own black staff, leveled it at the platform and recited:
"Enough of useless spells and wasted words,
Turn Armitage and wife to ladybirds."
There was a hush as the people in the audience craned over one another's shoulders to see if the spell had worked this time, and then a spontaneous burst of applause. Miss Hooting bowed haughtily and left the hall.
On the platform, the remaining committee members gazed at one another blankly across a gap. Then the vicar, peering longsightedly at the floor, remarked: “Ah! What a fortunate thing that I have my collecting box with me."
He took it from his pocket, tipped out a hummingbird hawk moth, and placed in the box the two ladybirds, who were dazedly crawling about the floor.
"Perhaps I ought to take charge of those,” suggested Harriet, coming up. “They'll want to go home, I expect.” Secretly, she was a little afraid that the vicar, who was notoriously absentminded, might forget that there was anything special about the ladybirds and add them to his collection.
She and Mark left the bazaar (which went on swimmingly after such an eventful start and netted two hundred pounds) and took their parents home. They put the ladybirds in a shoebox with some biscuit crumbs and drops of hot sweet tea (for shock) and sat down to discuss the situation.
"Perhaps it's the sort of spell that will wear off in due course,” said Harriet.
"Not if I know Miss Hooting, and I somehow feel it wouldn't be much use going to her and begging her to take it off,” said her brother.
Harriet grinned. “I've got an idea,” she said. “But let's wait till tomorrow. After all, it's rather nice and peaceful like this."
Agnes and Mrs. Epis happened to be on holiday that week, so, with nobody at all to bother them, Mark and Harriet had a beautiful evening: they played mah-jongg till ten and listened to records till midnight.
After next day's breakfast (at which they felt it necessary to eat twice as much as usual and open a pot of strawberry jam to fortify them in their orphaned state), they went and looked into the shoebox.
Much to their surprise they were greeted with a stream of shrill and indignant expostulation. Apparently Mr. and Mrs. Armitage had recovered the use of their voices. The children were scolded for the uncomfortable bedding they had provided and for not bringing breakfast sooner.
"Now, Mark,” said Mr. Armitage. “I have a most important conference at my office today—there's a meeting of the World Organization of Agricultural Producers being held there, and I'm the chairman. So you'll have to take me. Go and put on some presentable clothes, find a nice airy matchbox with some cotton wool in it, and you can catch the nine-eighteen. And bring the file of papers on my dressing table."
Mark went off rather gloomily to obey. He had had the best intentions of trying to recover his parents from ladybirdhood, but he had agreed with Harriet that a few days’ freedom from grown-ups would be a pleasant change. Now it seemed that they were going to be more parent-ridden than ever.
"Harriet,” Mrs. Armitage was saying. “You'll have to carry me on my National Savings round, and this afternoon I'm going to tea with Mrs. Mildew, so you'll have to take me there. Just give my back a spot of polish, will you?"
Harriet complied, thinking regretfully of the day she had planned, riding the unicorn and spring-cleaning her doll's house.
The nine-eighteen was crowded that morning, but when Mark's fellow passengers observed that a tiny voice was speaking to Mark from his breast pocket, they moved well away from him, and at the next stop they all got out.
When Mark and his father reached the office, Miss Choop, the secretary, was sitting on her desk polishing her nails.
"Hello, sonny,” she said condescendingly. “You're in town early. Your pa's not in yet. Was he at a party last n
ight?"
"Choop!” barked Mr. Armitage, so threateningly that she jumped, and the bottle of nail polish rolled across the floor. “Get off that desk and lay out the agendas for the W.O.A.P. meeting."
"Where is he?” she said fearfully. “I thought I heard his voice, but it was sort of shrill and far away. He's—he's not haunting me, is he? I swear I never meant to upset the card index."
"It's all right—he's in here,” said Mark comfortingly. “He's been turned into a ladybird. You hurry up and get those things laid out in the Board Room—I can hear people coming."
Members of the World Organization of Agricultural Producers were coming up the stairs, talking in a lot of different languages.
"And where is our esteemed chairman?” Mr. Svendsen, a tall Swedish farmer, asked Miss Choop.
"He's there,” she replied tremulously, indicating the matchbox. Mr. Svendsen raised his eyebrows. They all filed into the Board Room, and Mark took his father's place holding the matchbox. Miss Choop supplied him with an amplifier.
"Order, gentlemen,” said Mr. Armitage shrilly from his perch. “I call upon the secretary to read the minutes from the last meeting."
Several of the delegates turned pale and asked each other if it was ventriloquism. A Latin-American delegate fainted dead away.
Mr. Armitage was a very efficient chairman and bustled his meeting through several motions without giving the startled delegates any time for argument.
"Item Six,” he said. “Spraying crops of underdeveloped territories from helicopters. Ah, yes, we have received tenders from two different firms manufacturing insecticides, one British, one Russian. Both their prices are about the same, so it remains to see which of their products is the more effective."
Heated discussion broke out. It seemed that this was a matter about which the delegates felt very strongly. They shouted in their different languages, gesticulated, and jumped up and down. As far as Mark could make out, the opposing groups were evenly matched.
"There are representatives of the two firms outside with samples of insect powders which they wish to demonstrate,” said Miss Choop. “Shall I ask them in?"
"I hope that will not be necessary,” said Mr. Armitage hurriedly. “We'll have a vote."
The voting was exactly even.
"As chairman, I have a casting vote,” said Mr. Armitage. “Being British, I naturally give it to the Br—"
"I demand to have a trial of these powders,” cried the Russian delegate. Mr. Armitage was obliged to give in.
Two young men in white coats came in carrying tins of powder, sprays, and little cages of assorted insects.
"This powder produced by my firm,” said the first of them, “is guaranteed to destroy any insect life within five hundred cubic meters."
"Six hundred cubic meters,” cried the second, putting down his little cage on the table near Mr. Armitage's matchbox. A particularly enormous spider gazed yearningly at Mr. Armitage through the bars. His nerve broke.
"I—I've changed my mind,” Mr. Armitage declared. “I think the Osnovskov powder is undoubtedly the better, and it is also a half penny a ton cheaper. I am going to give my casting vote in favor of it."
Both the young men looked greatly disappointed at losing the opportunity to demonstrate their products. The Russian delegate beamed. “Come out to lunch with me,” he said. “I shall carry you most carefully, and you shall have a thimbleful of vodka and one grain of caviar."
"Mark, you wait here till I come back,” his father instructed him.
Mr. Armitage arrived home in good spirits, singing the “Volga Boat Song,” but his children were most dispirited.
"I've had an awful day,” said Harriet to Mark after supper. “National Savings all morning, and that tea with Mrs. Mildew! Somebody had brought a baby, and it kept grabbing Mother and trying to swallow her!"
"We must certainly get them changed back somehow. What was that idea of yours?"
Harriet jumped up. “I thought we'd go and see Mrs. Lomax,” she said. “Come on—we'll shut the parents in their shoebox and put them in the meat safe so they won't come to any harm."
Mark followed her doubtfully. “I don't see that Mrs. Lomax is likely to help,” he argued. “She wanted to change Father into a tadpole."
"Yes, but that was before Miss Hooting called her a disgrace to the profession. Think how touchy they are."
Dusk was falling when they reached Cobweb Corner, Mrs. Lomax's bungalow. While they were still at the bottom of the garden, they could hear angry voices, and when they came nearer, they saw Miss Hooting and Mrs. Lomax at opposite sides of the path.
"And if you think I'm going to pay you twenty guineas for that cloak, you're greatly mistaken,” Mrs. Lomax was saying furiously. “Who do you think you are, Dior? The hem is five inches off the ground, I shall look a sight. And the hat is too small. I shan't give you a penny more than fifteen. Disgrace to the profession, indeed."
Miss Hooting turned, her face as black as thunder, and swept past the children without noticing them.
Mrs. Lomax pointed a walking stick after her and shouted: “Be a woodlouse,” but nothing happened, and she went inside and slammed the door.
Harriet firmly rung the bell, and when the door flew open again, she looked (with some courage) into Mrs. Lomax's furious face.
"Mrs. Lomax,” she said. “I know you're not very fond of my family, but I think we might strike a bargain. We want our parents back again, and I expect you'd like a new wand, wouldn't you? That one doesn't seem to be much good. Unfortunately the committee has decided that it's not safe to hand out new wands, so they're all being sent back to the Sorcerer's Supply Stores and there's going to be a free library instead. But I know where they are now, and I expect I could borrow one—just for half an hour or so—if you'd promise to turn our parents back into human beings for us."
Mrs. Lomax looked much more friendly.
"I think that might be arranged,” she said. “One can't be too careful over one's associates, and I find I have been quite mistaken in my estimate of Miss Hooting's character. If I can repair any harm she has done to your dear parents, I shall be delighted."
"You stay here and talk to her and see she doesn't change her mind,” hissed Harriet to Mark. So he chatted politely to Mrs. Lomax and looked at her collection of lizards, while Harriet dashed off to the vicar and begged for the loan of one of the wands which he had stored until they could be dispatched back to London. “Just for half an hour,” she pleaded. “While we get Mother and Father changed back. You can't think how we miss them."
"Very well,” he agreed. “But please take care. Once in the wrong hands—"
Harriet ran triumphantly back with a heavy ebony stick.
"That should do,” said Mrs. Lomax, looking at it professionally, and she recited:
"O Stick, well-seasoned, elegant and sage,
Change ladybird and wife to Armitage.
"That should do the trick for you.” Then she went on, rather hastily:
"All fairy ladies, from tonight,
Turn into owls—and serve them right!"
A confused sound of screeching came from the trees. Several owls brushed past them.
"Oh, dear,” Harriet said doubtfully, “I don't think the vicar would like—"
A blue flash wriggled up the stick to Mrs. Lomax's hand, she shrank, her eyes became enormous, and all of a sudden she flew off into the trees, crying: “Tu-whit! Tu-whoo!"
"She's turned herself into one, too,” said Mark. “She shouldn't have said all. Oh, well, let's take the wand back to the vicar."
When they reached home, they found their parents completely restored, but still in the meat safe, very cramped and indignant.
"What were you doing out so late, anyway?” asked Mr. Armitage.
The number of owls about the village was found to have greatly increased, and as a good many old ladies had mysteriously vanished, the proceeds of the progressive whist drive and the garden fête were used to buy a c
annon to put in the school playground.
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Rocket Full of Pie
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* * * *
In heaven's name, what is that?” said Mr. Armitage, coming in and finding his wife with a length of scarlet muffler apparently intended for an ostrich dangling from her knitting needles.
"Comforts for the Lifeboatmen,” she told him. “My Women's Union members are making mufflers for the Shambles Lifeboat crew."
Mr. Armitage carefully picked his way through the tangle and sat down in front of the fire, moving a large model yacht to make room for his feet, and eliciting a cry of protest from Mark, who was sitting by the wireless.
"Careful, Father! The paint's not nearly dry yet."
"Christmas holidays,” grumbled Mr. Armitage. “How thankful I shall be when they're over. Mark, turn off that awful voice, will you?"
"But it's interesting,” complained Mark, turning it off. “It was an appeal for more weather ships, and I wanted to find out about them."
"You will have to find out some other way. I want peace and quiet,” said his father unsympathetically. “Lifeboats—weather ships—my family seems to have gone marine crazy."
"Mummy's going for a sail on Monday,” Harriet told him.
"A sail? In December? For mercy's sake, why?"
"It's the Women's Union Christmas Outing,” Mrs. Armitage explained patiently. “We're having the presentation of the mufflers to the lifeboat crew, and then the club members are being taken for a trip out to the Shambles lighthouse, where we shall have tea. The lighthouse keepers are providing the tea and we are providing the food. I'm one of the hostesses this month, so I shall have to get busy."
"Make some of your mince-pies,” said Mr. Armitage. “That'll fetch ‘em. But isn't Monday rather an unwise day for your excursion?"
Monday, in the Armitage family, was a day on which unexpected things were likely to happen—a live Cockatrice had once settled in the garden and eaten up all the vegetables, breathing out fire as he did so, and on another Monday, the Fairy Queen had held At Home on the front lawn, completely preventing any tradesmen from calling for twenty-four hours. The Armitage parents were always relieved when Monday was over, and tried not to embark on any risky venture upon that day if they could help it.