As it fell, something red and glittering spun across the floor, till it came to rest against the table leg.
‘The Golden Gew-Gaw!’ said Rosemary, and picked up the ring. Carbonel watched her eagerly. ‘What a pity it’s too big to wear. I believe we could both put our little fingers through it at the same time. Here, hold your hand up, John.’
‘You silly twit!’ said John, but he grinned, and did as she asked. Sure enough, the ring slipped easily over both his little finger and Rosemary’s when they held them up-raised, side by side. They both laughed, but stopped abruptly when Carbonel said loudly and distinctly: ‘You always were slow on the uptake, the pair of you!’
Both the children’s heads whipped round.
‘Carbonel!’ they said with one voice.
‘Making me caper round like a silly kitten!’ said the black cat. ‘Not that you don’t do your best, but I’ve been trying to make you understand for hours.’
‘Understand what?’ said John.
‘That I wanted you to put the ring on again, so that you can hear me talk. As soon as I saw it fall from the purple cracker, and young Rosemary here beginning to spout poetry, and acting so daft, when she’d got it on her finger, I guessed it was magic. And I knew it was, when I called for help and she heard me. But you wouldn’t believe her,’ he added, flashing a golden reproachful look at John.
‘Do you mean at the bus stop?’ said John. ‘Then it was you lurking in the alleyway?’
‘I happened to be there,’ said Carbonel coldly. ‘I never lurk. You forget, I am a royal cat.’
‘Sorry,’ said John. ‘But the ring. Is it really magic?’
‘It must be,’ said Carbonel. ‘But what sort I don’t know. For there are many kinds of magic.’
Rosemary hurriedly slipped her finger from the golden band, then, realizing that without it she could not hear Carbonel, as hurriedly poked it back again.
‘Both Rosie and I seem to remember getting mixed up in some sort of magic business last summer,’ went on John. ‘But it’s all smudged and misty, as though someone has tried to rub it out. All we can remember is that you were there too.’
‘Maybe I was,’ said Carbonel. ‘But I remember no more than you. There’s magic in that too. If it wants to be forgot, best let it lie. The trouble is that once magic is in your blood it attracts more magic, as sure as a magnet attracts a packet of pins. You’re likely to have another go of it.’
‘Like malaria,’ said John. ‘That’s a sort of fever. Uncle Zack had it in India when he was quite young, ages ago, and it still comes back sometimes.’
‘Oh, bother Uncle Zack’s malaria!’ said Rosemary. ‘Carbonel said he wanted us to help him. Dear Carbonel, what’s the matter?’
‘Sit down on the floor, and I will tell you,’ he said. ‘I’m getting a crick in my neck with all this squinneying up at you. Grown like a couple of runner-beans you have, since I saw you last.’
John and Rosemary sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor with Carbonel facing them, sitting very upright in the middle of the folds of Rosemary’s coat, his tail curled neatly round his paws. She noticed that his muzzle was flecked with grey.
‘What’s the trouble?’ asked John.
‘Calidor, my son, heir to the Throne of Fallowhithe Cats, he is the trouble,’ said Carbonel.
‘What’s the matter with him?’ asked Rosemary.
‘Matter?’ went on Carbonel. ‘Wickedness is the matter. Wickedness and folly! Here have I been training him, day in, day out, for the high office that will one day be his, and what does he do? First he gets into bad company and refuses to make the marriage that was planned for him since he was a kitten ...’ He paused and swallowed, as though steeling himself to go on. ‘And then one day, after saying he didn’t care a herring bone who is King of Fallowhithe when I am gone, he runs away. Disappears without a trace.’
He looked so unhappy that Rosemary leaned forward, and stroked the top of his drooping head with one shy finger.
‘Poor Carbonel!’ she said softly. ‘But what did you do?’
‘Do? What could I do? If any ordinary cat had disappeared, I could have alerted every animal in the kingdom: but not for Calidor, Prince of the royal blood. How could I tell the world that he is no longer worthy to be their King? Before the news becomes public property I hope to find him, and perhaps persuade him to a change of heart. So far only Blandamour, his poor mother, and my faithful Councillor Marbeck know what has happened.’
‘Did you never find any trace of him?’ asked John.
Carbonel raised his head wearily.
‘After searching high and low I tracked him down at last to Fairfax Market. He seems to have taken up with two old women I’ve crossed claws with before, though how I don’t remember. I felt a tingling in my paws the minute I set eyes on them.’
‘Do they live in a funny little house squashed in between two new blocks of offices?’ asked John suddenly. At the same time he looked at Rosemary with lifted eyebrows. She nodded in return.
‘They do,’ said Carbonel. ‘For some reason my son Calidor has joined them, but for no good purpose I am afraid. Once, I got my head round the door and heard them talking for a little, before it was slammed on my whiskers; but I could smell it, the smell of wickedness! Ever since, I have forgotten my pride, and called to him from time to time, pleading. I, Carbonel, pleading! But he gave no answer. I was in despair ... and then I thought I recognized you at the bus stop.’
‘Your son, Calidor,’ asked John. ‘Is he a black cat with white paws?’
‘He is,’ said Carbonel.
‘Then I shouldn’t think there’s much doubt,’ went on John, turning to Rosemary. ‘Calidor must be Crumpet!’
‘Cr-r-r-umpet!’ spat Carbonel, with ears flattened once more, and bristling back. ‘They dare to call a cat of the royal blood by such a name! Cr-r-r-umpet indeed!’
‘I don’t suppose they know he’s royal,’ said Rosemary. ‘And he does toast himself in front of the fire. We saw him.’
‘You saw him?’ exclaimed Carbonel.
Rosemary nodded. ‘This afternoon. We were having tea there, with Mrs Cantrip and Miss Dibdin. I think we heard you calling,’ she went on. She remembered how Crumpet had dived for cover under the armchair when he heard the strange, bubbling cat cry.
‘You mean you can come and go in the little house that smells of wickedness?’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Rosemary doubtfully. ‘There was rather a funny smell. I thought it was just the flower water needed changing.’
‘Then you and John are the only ones who can help,’ said Carbonel. ‘But there,’ he went on reproachfully. ‘Now you are going away and leaving me in the lurch. I heard you talking about it on the way from the bus.’
‘We aren’t leaving anyone in the lurch!’ said John indignantly. ‘Rosie and I are going to stay with my uncle at Highdown. It was arranged ages ago. Miss Dibdin, that’s the short fat one, is going there as well, and she’s taking Crump ... I mean Calidor with her.’
‘She is? And you will be there too?’ said Carbonel, leaping to his feet. ‘Then everything’s settled!’ His splendid white whiskers, which had been drooping unhappily, suddenly rose, as the spokes rise when you put up your umbrella.
‘Wait a minute!’ said John. ‘What’s settled?’
Carbonel went on as though he had not heard.
‘You realize that I have important affairs of state to attend to, and that I can’t go on gallivanting off for days on end. I’ve already been away too long. Besides, I’m getting old and stiff in the joints. But now that you are taking over ...’
‘Taking over?’ said Rosemary. ‘I don’t think ...’
But Carbonel swept on. ‘I shall allow you twenty-four hours to make contact with Calidor and persuade him to return. Then I shall visit you at Highdown, so that you can report progress.’ He held up a restraining paw as John tried to interrupt again. ‘Keep the Golden Gew-Gaw, as you call it, within sight or feel. In the
wrong hands, someone who does not know its powers, it might be a deadly danger, and besides ...’
‘Oh do listen!’ said John in an exasperated voice. ‘What on earth do you expect us to do? And this magic ring, is it ...?’
He broke off as the kitchen door opened behind them. Both John and Rosemary turned round. It was Mrs Featherstone.
‘Hallo, dears!’ she said. ‘I didn’t hear you come back. Oh, Rosie, your coat just thrown on the floor! How many times have I told you to hang up your things when you come in. And one of the saucers from the best tea-set on the floor too. What on earth are you both doing waving your hands in the air?’ She laughed, and John and Rosemary hurriedly disengaged their fingers. It was John who slipped the ring in his pocket this time.
‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ said Rosemary. ‘About the coat and the saucer, but you see ...’ She turned. Carbonel was nowhere to be seen. She picked up her coat from the floor. There were only a few black hairs clinging to its surface to show where he had been sitting, and the gentle swinging of the casement window to show how he had gone.
‘All right, never mind. But do try to remember, dear,’ said her mother. ‘You might lay the table for supper, will you? Fish fingers and jam tart to follow. I’ll be back in a minute.’ She closed the door behind her.
Rosemary looked at John. His face was red, and he began slapping knives and forks on the table in a cross sort‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘Matter?’ exploded John. ‘I’m blowed if I’m going to be bossed about by a mere cat!’
‘He isn’t “mere”,’ said Rosemary indignantly. ‘He’s Carbonel.’
‘I don’t care who he is!’ said John. ‘If he thinks we’re going to spend all our time at Highdown looking for his wretched Calidor, he’s got another think coming!’
‘But if he wants us to help him it would be beastly not to try!’ said Rosemary hotly.
‘My good girl,’ snapped John. ‘What on earth can we possibly do, even if we find his wretched Calidor? Nothing, except tell him to be a good pussy and go home to mummy and daddy. Not me!’
‘If only Carbonel had explained a bit more before we were interrupted,’ went on Rosemary unhappily. ‘And what about the Golden Gew-Gaw? He said if it got into the wrong hands it might be a “deadly danger”, and we’ve no idea how it works.’
John took the ring from his pocket, and held it gingerly in the hollow of his palm, where the red stone glowed like a living coal.
‘By the barmy way you went on when you put it on at the bus stop, I can believe him!’ he said. ‘And how do you know that we aren’t “the wrong hands”? We haven’t the faintest idea what it does.’
‘Except it lets us hear Carbonel when he talks,’ said Rosemary obstinately. She frowned, and then said urgently, ‘John, I’ve just thought of something! Miss Dibdin’s parcel — do you think that was it?’
‘Which was what?’ asked John impatiently.
‘The purple cracker! Do you think that could possibly have been the mysterious parcel? I told you it was lying loose on top of the pink crackers as though it didn’t belong. Well, whoever put it there must have thought that she would open the box and find it!’
‘You mean the queer old man? Good grief! I wonder if you’re right?’
‘Don’t you remember, Miss Dibdin said what a long time he was at the back of the shop doing up the parcel?’ went on Rosemary.
‘And that was why he cackled fit to “do himself a mischief”,’ went on John. ‘When he said it would reach Fairfax Market at the very same time that Miss Dibdin did. She was carrying it home herself after all, and she didn’t know!’ He exploded with laughter, but Rosemary was frowning.
‘But how could it be a Do-It-Yourself Kit?’ she said. ‘Do what yourself?’
‘Why, magic of course! That must be what her hobby was! A witch’s hat and a magic ring would be ...’ He broke off when he found he was talking to empty air. Rosemary had rushed out into the passage where she had obediently hung up her coat. Her muffled voice came from outside.
‘I’m sure it’s here somewhere. I shoved it in my coat pocket when the bus came.’
She returned with a handful of crumpled paper, which was all that was left of the purple cracker. Very carefully she smoothed it out among the supper knives and forks. The paper hat was there. She gave a sigh of relief. It had been screwed into a ball, but was still recognizable.
‘And we’ve got the ring,’ said John. ‘I suppose we’d better take them both to Fairfax Market tomorrow, and explain to Miss Dibdin what happened. But wait a minute ...’ He stopped, and then went on with a frown: ‘Didn’t Miss Dibdin say something about the instructions how to use the things being in the parcel too?’
Rosemary went hurriedly through every inch of the crumpled paper again. ‘Well, I can’t see anything that looks like instructions here,’ she said.
‘Crikey! What do we do now?’ said John. ‘I suppose the whole lot is useless, the ring and the hat, without knowing how to use them. I don’t much like the idea of telling Miss Dibdin what’s happened, even if it wasn’t our fault.’
‘Anyway, we can’t go to Fairfax Market tomorrow,’ said Rosemary. ‘Don’t you remember? Dad is taking us to the airport to watch the aeroplanes.’
‘Ooh, yes, we don’t want to miss that,’ said John. ‘I tell you what. Supposing we keep everything absolutely safe until we get to Highdown. It’s such a little place, we are sure to bump into Miss Dibdin some time or other. She may not want callers, but I bet she’ll be glad to see us if we’ve got the Golden Gew-Gaw, even if we have gone and lost the directions. I’ll put the ring, and the witch’s hat, rolled up small, as it was inside the purple cracker, in my box for Special Things.’
As he spoke he pulled a flat tin box from his pocket which had once held his father’s tobacco. Inside were some foreign stamps, a Turkish coin and an owl pellet. He put the ring and the screwed-up paper hat carefully inside, replaced the lid, and returned the box to his pocket.
‘Carbonel said: “Keep the ring always within sight or feel.” Well it’ll be within feel all right.’ He patted the bulge the box made in the pocket of his jeans, so that it gave a hollow rattle. ‘Agreed?’ he said.
Rosemary nodded. ‘And just suppose we do meet Crumpet ...?’
‘Wait till we do,’ said John. ‘And then ... well, we’ll just see what happens.’
As things turned out, quite a lot happened.
of way.
5. Highdown
SEVERAL days later Rosemary wrote:
Dear Mum
I felt a bit funny when I saw the car drive away without me, but it’s all right now. I love Highdown. I like Uncle Zack. He is adopting me as a niece for the holidays. Mother Boddles — that’s what John calls Mrs Bodkin, who is the housekeeper — is a bit grumpy because of the spring-cleaning. I mean, she can’t do it yet because of John and me, but Uncle Zack says she has a layer of niceness inside like a jam sandwich and to take no notice. Please send my old coat because my new one is much too hot. I must stop now because John and I are going round the village giving out leaflets about a sale in the antique shop on Saturday with refreshments.
With love from
ROSIE
PS. I know what a Cromwellian table looks like ... it has bulgy legs.
As Rosemary slid the letter into an envelope, John burst into the room.
‘What an age you’ve been over that old letter! Do buck up. Oh, and send my love to your Mum.’
‘Too late,’ said Rosemary. ‘I’ve just licked it up. I wonder why they don’t make envelope gum taste nice. They might have different flavours, like orange and peppermint.’
‘And chocolate-flavoured stamps,’ said John. ‘But for goodness’ sake put a spurt on. It’s so late I’ve asked Mother Boddles if she will make us some sandwiches, so that we shan’t have to waste time coming home in the middle of the leaflet business. Uncle Zack said I could.’
Rosemary had been writing with the pad on her
knee sitting on the end of her bed, which is not the best way to write a letter; but she loved her tiny bedroom under the eaves.
Roundels, Uncle Zack’s house, stood on the outskirts of the village, a little way back from the road. A notice which said ‘Antiques’, on each of the gateposts of the semi-circular drive, was the only sign that there was a shop behind the bow windows of the two front rooms which opened off the stone-flagged hall. The living part of the house was at the back, overlooking the rambling garden.
‘Oh, buck up!’ said John impatiently, as Rosemary wrote the address. She slid off the patchwork quilt which covered the bed, and they ran down the two flights of stairs that led to the kitchen.
Mrs Bodkin was sitting at the well-scrubbed kitchen table, polishing silver, and singing in a tuneless way something that Rosemary thought she recognized as a hymn. She was an immensely fat person, who for all her size was surprisingly light on her small feet.
‘There’s your sandwiches,’ she said, nodding her head sideways in the direction of the two bulging paper bags at the end of the table, without looking up from her polishing. ‘Giving your orders like a young lord! I don’t know. I’ve put in a couple of rock cakes each, and there’s milk in the medicine bottle. Oh, and a bit of chocolate. And mind you don’t get into mischief.’
‘Thank you,’ said John. ‘I don’t know how long it will take us. The leaflet business I mean. We might not be back in time for tea.’
‘Then you won’t get none,’ replied Mrs Bodkin tartly. ‘Please yourselves.’
She looked up from her work for the first time, and her frowning face creased into a quick smile. ‘Get along with you! Do you think I wasn’t a nipper once myself? A bit of a limb I was too. I thought maybe you’d want to skip your tea, that’s why I put in the rock cakes. They’re the ones you won’t be eating if you’re not back in time.’
Rosemary was looking at Mrs Bodkin doubtfully.
‘Well, what are you staring at? You’ll know me next time!’
‘I was trying to imagine ...’ began Rosemary.
Carbonel and Calidor (New York Review Children's Collection) Page 3