Carbonel and Calidor (23 page)

‘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 promised!'

‘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 Rosemary.

‘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:

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.

Mrs Witherspoon stirred the smouldering embers of the kitchen fire and, warmed by the leaping flames, and mugs of steaming cocoa, but most of all by her kindly smile, John told her who they were, and where they came from.

‘But your poor uncle! Whatever will he think about you being out so late?'

Rosemary wriggled uncomfortably. ‘Well, we'd rather he didn't find out,' she said, and looked at Mrs Witherspoon appealingly.

‘And even if he does,' said John. ‘We are out very early, not very late, which doesn't sound so bad somehow.' Mrs Witherspoon's eyes twinkled.

‘I see what you mean,' she said. ‘But surely he should be told about the sleep-walking?'

‘Oh,
please
no!' said John. ‘We'd much rather not. You see, it's so difficult to explain.'

‘Then there is something else besides the sleep-walking behind all this?' Mrs Witherspoon asked, her eyebrows raised. John and Rosemary both nodded. Somehow they felt they could trust her. ‘And it's a secret?' They nodded again even more vigorously. After a minute's frowning thought she went on: ‘Well, whatever it is, I think you must promise me never to do it again, and I won't tell.'

‘We promise!' they said. ‘Never again.'

‘Good,' said Mrs Witherspoon briskly. ‘Now then, if you will wait while I put on some clothes I will take you home. I should not feel easy in my mind if I did not see you safely to the door of Roundels. You can't possibly walk with bare feet. I'm afraid I have no car, so you will have to make do with standing on the bar at the back of my new tricycle.'