A fig for the hearth-rug cat’s snooty regard!
With a miew and a miawk and a yowl!
And the last ‘yowl’ of the refrain of each verse was sung with a blood-curdling yell, that struck fear into the very whiskers of their enemies.
‘Fallowhithe animals?’ hissed Grisana. ‘My hand-picked warriors are a match for any common alley cats! Off with you, my brave Broomhurst Brigade, and fight them to the death!’
Without a sound, the swarming animals turned and streamed down the stairs and out into the moonlight, followed at a suitably safe distance by their Queen.
‘Are you hurt, Carbonel?’ cried Rosemary.
‘Not so badly that I cannot greet Calidor and my brave army, and lead them into battle!’ he said, as he limped down the stairs.
‘If only we could help!’ said Rosemary. John shook his head.
‘I know. I’d give anything to do something, but don’t forget what Carbonel said: “This must be my war. Cat against cat, and claw against claw.” We shall just have to watch what happens from the window here. You never know. There may be something we can still do.’
They were just in time to see the two armies join battle. They met with such force that they seemed to merge in one heaving, spitting mass.
‘However can they tell which cats are which?’ said Rosemary.
‘Easy. They smells different,’ explained Dumpsie shortly.
‘And now there’s such a blur of drifting fur that we can’t see anything properly,’ went on John.
When it cleared, the Alley Cats had disengaged, and were racing round and round the ring of Broomhurst animals who in turn encircled Tucket Towers. At a sudden word of command from Calidor, they charged once more. Over and over again they repeated this manoeuvre, with the Broomhurst cats growing more and more bemused as the attacking force raced round them faster and faster, giving no warning of where or when they would make their next assault. Gradually, one by one, the Broomhurst cats dropped out of the fight.
‘Look!’ whispered Rosemary suddenly. ‘Grisana has come inside again. What is she coming upstairs for?’
‘Melissa is following. Shut up and listen.’
‘Mama, where are you going?’ asked Melissa anxiously. ‘Surely you aren’t running away too?’
‘Running away? Never! But our army can’t hold out much longer. We shall be surrounded by our enemies and put to shame. There is only one chance, the Witch-Woman and the creature Gullion. So unfortunate that I have made it clear that I dislike toads, but perhaps they could be persuaded to do something to help by their magic arts ...’
She began to walk wearily towards the spiral staircase.
‘How on earth can we stop her?’ said John desperately, turning to Rosemary. But she was not there. ‘Rosie, where on earth are you?’
As he spoke she burst out of the bedroom behind him, staggering under the weight of the large silver bowl. Just as Grisana reached the bottom of the turret stairs, with all her force Rosemary flung the water over the hurrying cat.
For a moment the sodden animal stood looking up at her, water streaming from every hair and whisker; then with a screech, she turned and raced down the stairs, through the hall and out of the door, followed by Melissa.
John and Rosemary leapt down the stairs after them, two at a time, out into the moonlight, just as the ring of Broomhurst animals finally broke. Seeing their dripping queen streaking for home, with a forlorn wail, they streamed after her, followed by the mocking laughter of the Alley Cats.
‘Shall we go after them?’ asked Calidor.
‘No,’ said Carbonel. ‘Let them go. They fought well, and our quarrel is not with them, but their queen. She will give no more trouble after this.’
st cats.
25. The Last Wish
THEY were standing on the top of the steps leading up to the front door, John, Rosemary and Carbonel, with Calidor and Dumpsie purring softly to one another on the step below. The victorious Alley Cats were licking their wounds and tidying their whiskers on the carriage sweep beneath them.
‘But how did you manage to escape being spotted by Grisana’s sentries?’ asked John.
‘We came through the railway tunnel, and then the cutting. Not till then did we burst out singing,’ said Calidor. ‘We sing almost as well as we fight!’
‘Well done, my faithful Army!’ said Carbonel. He looked down with pride on the sea of cats below. A hundred pairs of glowing eyes looked up at him as a wisp of cloud drifted across the moon. ‘Well, done, my son,’ went on Carbonel. ‘And my undying gratitude to John and Rosemary, without whose help I should never have been saved from Grisana’s wicked schemes. Give them the cheers that they deserve. Salute to John and Rosemary!’ he cried.
The assembled cats let out an ear-splitting ‘Mewrah! Mewrah! Mewrah!’
‘Thank you very much!’ said John. ‘But it’s Dumpsie who was really brave and clever.’
‘She limped all the way from Fallowhithe to Highdown with a wounded paw, to tell Calidor that Carbonel had disappeared.’
‘And she tricked the Scrabbles into chasing her instead of him,’ said John.
Carbonel turned to Dumpsie and bowed his head.
‘You are as wise and brave as you are beautiful!’ he said. ‘I was wrong to forbid your friendship with my son.’
‘Then I can marry Dumpsie with your consent?’ asked Calidor eagerly.
‘Certainly. With my warmest approval,’ said Carbonel.
‘What do you say to that, Dumpsie, my dear?’ said Calidor. ‘Will you marry me?’
‘What do I say?’ replied Dumpsie with shining eyes. ‘Why yes, with all my heart. Dumpsie of the Dump I may be for ordinary, but Wellingtonia for best. There never will be a bester day than this. From now on, always, I shall be Wellingtonia!’
Salute to Prince Calidor and Princess Wellingtonia!’ cried Carbonel. ‘Give them three times three!’
Once more the silence was shattered by the Alley Cats’ deafening ‘Mewrahs!’
‘And now,’ said Carbonel, ‘we must return to Fallowhithe, to tell Queen Blandamour the good news!’
‘But Carbonel, shan’t we see you again?’ said Rosemary, and her eyes filled with tears.
‘Most certainly you will, Rosemary. Queen Blandamour and I are growing old. I have decided, that when the time comes, and it is not far distant, for us to leave the throne of my fathers, and for Calidor and Wellingtonia to take our place, it will be to your hearth-rug we shall retire.’
‘Yes, but I say ...’ began John. But Rosemary burst out: ‘That would be simply gorgeous!’
‘Farewell!’ said Carbonel. ‘But not for very long.’
And so the procession set off for Fallowhithe: the Alley Cats in front, singing their Marching Song, then Carbonel, with head held high, and finally Calidor and Wellingtonia, side by side, their tails entwined at the tip, and their purring adding an undercurrent of sound to the Alley Cats’ singing, as the hum of the drone does to the music of the bag-pipes. John and Rosemary stood and watched them go. They did not move until the sound died away into silence. John gave a great sigh.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘I suppose that’s that! But isn’t it just like Carbonel to say he is coming to live in your house without even asking if you want him?’
‘But I do!’ said Rosemary. ‘Oh, I do!’
‘Will your mother mind?’
‘I’m sure she won’t when she sees him,’ replied Rosemary, and sensing that John was feeling rather left out of this arrangement, she went on: ‘I expect he chose my hearth-rug because it is in Fallowhithe, his own kingdom. So that he can still keep an eye on things.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ said John more cheerfully. ‘And of course, I shall see them both, Carbonel and Blandamour, whenever I come to stay with you. Well, now I suppose we must go and let Mrs Witherspoon out,’ he went on uneasily.
‘Oh, must we?’ said Rosemary.
‘Well, we can’t leave her locked up; besides, we prom
ised!’
‘Couldn’t we get someone else to do it? Someone she isn’t so angry with?’
‘That’s not a bad idea,’ said John. ‘What about Miss Dibdin? She doesn’t move out till tomorrow — or today, I suppose it is. We can go by broom, and if there’s a light in the station we shall know she hasn’t gone to bed yet.’
Before the broom had wafted them halfway across the field, they spotted a primrose-coloured glow in the window of the Ladies’ Waiting Room.
Miss Dibdin heard the familiar clatter of the broom’s landing on the platform, and came out to greet them.
‘My dear children!’ she said. ‘You ought to be in bed. It’s past one o’clock!’
‘I know,’ said John, stifling a yawn. ‘We’ve come to ask if you will help us.’
‘Oh, please, please do!’ said R‘You see, Grisana is defeated, and Carbonel is on his way home to Fallowhithe. But we locked Gullion and Mrs Witherspoon in the tower room instead of Carbonel, and we wondered if ... if ...’
‘If I would go and let her out?’ Miss Dibdin’s eyes twinkled.
‘She’s very angry with us indeed. Would you mind awfully?’
‘Mind?’ said Miss Dibdin drily. ‘On the contrary, I should enjoy it! I will go just as soon as I have finished sweeping this floor. I must leave the station quite tidy before I move on to Mrs Bodkin’s married cousin’s. I’ve put the cones back at the crossroads, and stacked the half-invisible furniture in the old ticket office, and burned my notes. So off with you, before you fall fast asleep on the broom! That would never do.’
Quite how John and Rosemary managed to keep awake until the broom landed them on the patchwork quilt in Rosemary’s bedroom they never knew. They came down on its many-coloured surface with an unusually big bump and a series of diminishing bounces.
‘No wonder,’ said Rosemary when she picked up the broom. ‘The tape that keeps the twigs on has bust. It must have happened when it scraped along the window-sill as we came in.’ She gave an enormous yawn. ‘Do you think we shall be able to mend it?’ John gave an even bigger yawn. ‘And another funny thing,’ said Rosemary. ‘You remember the witch’s hat made of paper? Well, I stuck it on the shelf in my clothes cupboard, and when I looked at it this morning, it wasn’t paper any longer. It was stiff and furry!’
‘Let’s talk about it ... in the morning,’ said John.
Safe at last in bed, he lay sleepily listening to the faint whispering of the tree outside his window. It reminded him of something. ‘I know,’ he said to himself. ‘The rustle of Mrs Witherspoon’s long red skirt. What did she say? “I will have my revenge on you in the way you will mind most and least expect”?’ He burrowed deeper into the bedclothes. ‘I don’t see what she can do, now Carbonel is safe ...’ And then he was fast asleep.
It was the smallest of sounds that began to wake him from a deep sleep; the turning of the handle of the bedroom door. Through drooping lids, he became aware that it was opening, very slowly, and Rosemary glided into the room. Her feet were bare and she was wearing her nightdress, but on her head she wore the tall black witch’s hat that once had been made of paper. She walked with a curious gliding motion towards the chair on which John had flung his clothes when he undressed.
‘I must be dreaming,’ he thought.
Rosemary picked up his trousers from the untidy heap, and after feeling in both the pockets drew out the tin box of Special Things. The lid made the little ‘pop’ he knew so well when it was opened. She fumbled for something inside and, apparently unable to find it, made an exclamation of annoyance, and tipped the box upside down, so that all the Special Things were scattered on the floor. Then she flung the box away. John was wide awake now, and sitting bolt upright in bed.
‘Rosie!’ he said sharply. ‘Rosie! What on earth are you doing?’ She made no answer, but turned and glided from the room as silently as she had come. It was then that he noticed that she left behind that strange smell of stale flower water.
John jumped out of bed and began picking up his treasures from the floor. Whatever was she up to? What had she been looking for? Suddenly his heart gave an uncomfortable thump. He raced back to his bed and felt under his pillow. The Golden Gew-Gaw was still there.
‘That’s what she must have been looking for! There’s one wish left. I never told her where I had hidden it after the chase with Mrs Witherspoon. She must have thought it was still in the box.’ But whatever did she want it for? And why all this secrecy? It was all so unlike Rosemary.
‘If she’s walking in her sleep, I’d better go after her,’ said John to himself. As he crossed the room, he glanced out of the window. In the dim light of early dawn he was astonished to see her going rapidly down the drive, with the same strange gliding motion. Now thoroughly alarmed, John rushed downstairs. The front door was wide open. There was no sign of Rosemary in the drive. When he reached the gate, he saw her moving swiftly in the direction of the village.
‘Rosie! Rosie!’ he shouted. ‘Come back!’ But she took no notice. John pelted after her, but it was not until he had followed her through the village across the Market Square and halfway down Sheepshank Lane that he caught her up.
‘Rosie!’ he panted. ‘Where are you going?’
This time she did answer, but in a strange sing-song, faraway voice, without turning her head as she hurried on.
‘To Tucket Towers. To Gullion and Mrs Witherspoon.’
‘But whatever for?’
‘To join them in their witchery! To be a partner in their magic power!’
‘Don’t do it! Don’t do it, Rosie!’ begged John.
‘I must,’ she answered. ‘Something draws me to them.’ She passed her hand over her eyes as though to clear them, but she did not slacken her speed.
‘What on earth has come over you?’ said John desperately.
‘I don’t know. But I must go. Gullion and Mrs Witherspoon are calling! Calling!’
Mrs Witherspoon and Gullion? Suddenly it all became clear!
‘So that’s what she meant by getting her revenge “in the way I shall mind most and least expect”,’ he said to himself. ‘Through Rosemary. Rosie to be a witch!’ That evil mixture of foolishness and twisted wisdom; of greed for power and riches, no matter what the consequences might be for others. ‘And all because she wants to be revenged on me! What can I do? Whatever can I do to stop her?’ he said to himself in desperation. Rosemary had turned into the drive of Tucket Towers. She seemed unaware of the rough surface, which cut into John’s bare feet. Desperately he ran to keep up with the increasing speed of her rapid onward glide.
Suddenly, even more painful than the stony drive, he felt something sharp as a needle prick into the palm of his clenched hand. He looked down and opened his fingers. It was the stone of the Golden Gew-Gaw, which he was still clutching. ‘Of course! The seventh wish!’ he said to himself, as he slipped the ring on to his finger. The crimson stone glowed in the gloom of the drive like a live coal.
Then he began to think as he had never thought before. This must be the perfect wish. It must cover all the dangers threatening Rosemary, without any of the usual mocking twists of magic the ring seemed to delight in. They had reached the end of the drive before he could begin to get the shape of a wishing rhyme.
‘It’s coming, I think it’s coming,’ he said to himself. ‘What rhymes with “magic powers”? Bowers ... showers ...? That won’t do.’ Now, Rosemary had reached the steps leading to the front door. ‘Of course!’ said John. ‘Tucket Towers!’ Rosemary hurried up the steps, and as she put her hand on the iron bell-pull, John shouted at the top of his voice:
‘I’m not much good at making rhymes
Although I’ve tried to many times.
One last wish I beg you do,
Send Gullion to Timbuktu!
Undo all the spells he’s made
With Mrs Witherspoonses’ aid
End once for all the magic powers
Of all who live at Tucket Towers.’
/> For a moment Rosemary paused, then her hand slackened on the bell-pull. As it clanged in the distance, she slumped down upon the step. John rushed up and fell on his knees beside her.
‘Rosie! Rosie! Are you all right? Please, please answer me!’
Slowly she raised her head and opened her eyes. ‘Where ever am I?’ she said, and looked about her.
‘At Tucket Towers,’ said John. ‘Sort of ... sleep-walking!’
‘I had a horrid dream,’ she said, rubbing her eyes. ‘I’m so glad I’ve woken up.’
‘So am I!’ said John, grinning from ear to ear.
‘But whatever made me come to Tucket Towers?’
‘Listen,’ John began. ‘I had to use the Golden Gew-Gaw’s last wish to undo Mrs Witherspoon’s magic ...’ He looked at the ring on his finger, expecting to see the smouldering red stone set in the shining band. ‘Hallo!’ he said in surprise. ‘It isn’t the Golden Gew-Gaw any longer. It’s just a dull old cracker ring made of plastic, with a bit of glass for a stone!’
Rosemary turned to pick up the witch’s hat which had fallen on the step beside her. ‘It isn’t hard and furry any more,’ she said sadly. ‘It’s just a crumpled old paper cap. The sort of thing you might get in a cracker at any party.’
‘I suppose, after its last wish ...’ began John. He stopped as a key grated in the lock and the door swung open. There stood Mrs Witherspoon. But not the young woman they had left locked up in the tower. This was the old Mrs Witherspoon, with a pale wrinkled face and wild white hair. She was wearing a shabby woollen dressing-gown. Her eyes widened when she saw them.
‘Good gracious, children! Whatever are you doing here? And in your night clothes!’
‘I think I’ve been walking in my sleep,’ said Rosemary.
‘And I followed her,’ said John. ‘But I didn’t catch her up until she’d got here.’
‘It’s a funny thing,’ said Mrs Witherspoon. ‘The grandfather clock suddenly seemed to go mad, a few minutes ago. It clanged and twangled, and made such a din it woke me up. If I hadn’t come down to see what was the matter I should never have heard you, you poor little things! But you must be simply frozen with no shoes. Now come along in and get warm, and tell me all about it.’ She seemed so different from the Mrs Witherspoon they had known, that they followed her without further thought. The grand furniture, the silver candlesticks and the twinkling chandelier had gone, together with the pictures in their golden frames. Were they the same spiders as before, wondered John, busily weaving their webs on the antlers over each door? He nearly tripped over the worn carpet as he gazed about him.
Carbonel and Calidor (New York Review Children's Collection) Page 17