The Serial Garden: The Complete Armitage Family Stories (41 page)

Harriet arrived just as the service was about to begin. An enormous Hunter's Moon had recently risen and was floating above the churchyard wall, competing with the setting sun. Harriet had been in her bedroom, consulting with the pictured Sisters.

And this time she had obtained a reply.

The vicar, ending his short sad talk by the small grave, said:

"And I'm sure that none of us would wish or expect our good neighbours the goblins to move away from our village now, since they must leave this sad token behind them. We were all fond of little Dwiney—she was like our own child—we would never dream of asking them to leave—"

"Yes, we would!” shouted Mrs. Owlet from the top of her pillar. “If they don't agree to get away from here by the end of this week, I'm going to jump from my pillar! And that will make a heap of trouble for them!"

"So jump, you old bag!” shouted one of the goblins—not Albrick, who was standing wrapped in silence by the grave.

Mrs. Owlet jumped.

Her landing was not at all spectacular, for Mark and some of his friends had piled all the empty egg-boxes under the column in a massive, rustling heap which also contained the fragments of Mrs. Armitage's blue platter and Harriet's spinning wheel. And smelt of five-year-old eggs. So the landing was soft, if untidy.

But meanwhile, at the graveside, Harriet had come forward, and was saying, “I have a message for the goblin people from their Lady Holdargh. She has talked to the two Sisters who live on my bedroom wall, and she wishes to tell you that she has found a good place underground for you all to live, in a cave in southern Tasmania. Plenty of room for all, and there will be no problem about the music. She will be expecting you there tomorrow by E-Travel."

"Tasmania!” whispered some of the crowd. “That be a long way sure-lye!"

"Don't worry about little Dwiney's grave, Mr. Albrick,” whispered Harriet to the man beside her. “Mark and I will look after it very carefully, I promise!"

Next day the goblins were gone and there was no trace of them left. The huge tent was clean and tidy as if it had just been put up. Only, on the Armitages’ doorstep were two parcels, containing a very beautiful iron lacework necklace and an elegant green-and-white bowl.

Mark said sadly, “I never did get a chance to play on their organ.” And Harriet sighed as they looked at the last book saved from their Cornish trip—
Elizabeth and Her Secret German Garden
—somehow at the moment she had no wish to read it.

Every year on Dwiney's grave they found a very uncommon flower, a beautiful white star, not like any product of English fields or gardens. “
Actinotus helianthi
,” the vicar said. It could only have come from Tasmania.

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Harriet and her parents were having tea when a robin flew in through the open window and started circling madly around the kitchen at a speed far greater than was safe or sensible.

"Drat that bird!” exclaimed Mrs. Armitage. “It is so intrusive! If I leave the back door open for three minutes he's in, and drinking out of the cat's water bowl. And he has no excuse. I fill the bird bath every day."

"She may be a hen,” said her husband. “Female robins look just like the males."

"Robins are very pugnacious,” Harriet read, looking them up in the bird book. “'In winter females have separate estates.’ I wonder why?"

"Never mind its estate,” said Mrs. Armitage. “Show it the door!"

Harriet opened both door and window as wide as they would go, and showed them to the robin, who took not the slightest notice, but did another circuit of the kitchen, then whizzed through the inner door, and made its way to the sitting-room.

"Oh, don't let it go in there, stop it,
stop it
!” wailed Mrs. Armitage. “All my patience cards are laid out on the sewing-table and the patience was beginning to look as if it would come out—there was a blocking queen, but if I could manage to shift her—"

Too late! A loud fluttering, scattering sound from the next room suggested that the robin had found the cards, and disorganized them. Harriet, who had snatched up the tea-cosy and followed the robin, called through the open door:

"Ma, I'm afraid your cards are all over the floor."

"Oh! That wretched bird! I've never got the Chinese Dragon patience out yet, and I really was beginning to think that I might manage it this time.... It's supposed to be wonderful good luck if you get it to come out...."

"Well, anyway, I've caught the robin. Copped it in the cosy.” Harriet returned to the kitchen with her prize, which she carried tenderly and delicately in both hands. The tea-cosy was a large and handsome one. It had been made as a joint enterprise by Mr. Armitage and his daughter from two semicircular bits of blanket left over from a dressing-gown Mrs. Armitage had made for Mark's birthday. The two pieces of blanket had been blanket-stitched together along the curving edge. Mr. Armitage had embroidered three red-and-green tulips in wool on one side, and Harriet had done a rather good scarlet dragon on hers.

(Harriet had been very much into dragons last year, and had done them everywhere, on the fridge door, table napkins, and towels. Now she was into Himalayan bears.)

She walked across the kitchen, stepped outside the back door, opened the edges of the tea-cosy, and invited the robin to leave.

It was not cooperative.

"It likes being in the cosy. Nice and warm. Reminds it of life in the nest. Or in the egg."

"Well, shake it out! Get into its head that it is not welcome inside the house! The garden is the place for robins. Cards all over the sitting-room floor.... I was really certain that I was going to get the Dragon patience out this time—"

"Harriet! Hurry up and eject that bird!” called her father. “The tea is growing cold in the pot."

By vigorously shaking the cosy, Harriet finally managed to persuade the robin to fly off into the garden.

"Shut the door, please, to show the bird it's not welcome."

Harriet did so. The door bell instantly rang.

"That can't be the robin, surely?” Harriet opened the door again. “But I didn't notice anybody outside—"

A tall, handsomely dressed, gray-haired lady swept past Harriet and into the Armitage kitchen.

"
Good
day to you, dear pipple!” she fluted. “I have heard such a
lot
about you! I am so delighted to meet you at last! I am Lady Havergal-Nightwood, my husband is Sir James—you are probably aweer that we have just moved into Nightwood Park Hall and of course I lost no time in seeking you out, the virry first thing I must do, I said to dulling Jimbo, my husband, the virry first thing must be to look up those clivver Armitages, I have heard so
mich
about you from all sides—is that tea you have in the pot? How delightful! Yes, jist a cip, if you will, and limon, not milk—yis, I said to Jimbo, I must get the Armitage family on our list without delay—they must be the virry first!"

"Find a lemon in the fridge, can you?” Mrs. Armitage muttered to Harriet. “And slice it."

"Nightwood Park Hall,” remarked Mr. Armitage politely. “You'll find it a trifle damp, won't you? Been standing empty for fifteen years, isn't that right? Waiting for some inheritance problem between two brothers to get itself solved?"

"Yis, yis, and it has
bin
solved at last!” cried Lady Havergal-Nightwood radiantly. “In favour of my dear husband, Jimbo—his brother is thought to be dead—he went to Midigascar and has not returned for sivinteen years. So you may—if you wish—address me as Queen of the Wood! (The title, of course, goes with the house and has done so since the days of the Conqueror.)"

"Really, Your Majesty, how very interesting."

"Oh, but do call me Piggy!"

"Er—Piggy?"

"Short for Miguerite, dears—my dulling mother was another Mig—all the gairls in the family—back to ten-sixty-six—have been Daisies—"

"Back to the Conqueror, just fancy that,” said Mrs. Armitage, handing the visitor a cup of tea with a large chunk of lemon floating in it.

"Thanks, dulling—oh, in fict, way,
way
before the Conqueror! But now, whit I winted to ask you, dulling Mrs. Armitage—you are the cliver lady who knows just
iverything
about Silitaire—"

"Silitaire?"

"Patience, dulling, patience—card games for one person, that you play by yoursilf—alas, my dulling Jimbo has no head for card games—"

"Oh, patience, yes—I mostly do Klondike or Napoleon or Streets-and-Alleys or Beleaguered Castle—for relaxation, you know, at times when the children have been extra active—But you wish to learn?"

Mrs. Armitage looked up in slight puzzlement at the visitor, who was walking excitedly about the room.

"Chinese Dragon is the win I'm after—you'll hardly believe this, dulling, but a clairvoyant read my hand wince and told me that if I can build an array of Chinese Dragon—is that what they call it?—and get it to come out—then, dullings, she said I shall be virry, virry lucky—have my heart's desire!"

"Oh—isn't that interesting!” said Mrs. Armitage politely. “I must admit, I have never yet managed to make the Chinese Dragon come out—it needs three packs, you know, and you must have a large table—and it takes hours and hours—"

"Niver mind that! I'm sure that whin you have taught me—you with your cliver, cliver know-how—I shall master it in no time!” cried Lady Havergal-Nightwood eagerly.

"Can you show me now?"

"I'm afraid not just now—I'm due for a meeting of the Village Institute,” said Mrs. Armitage hastily. “Another time—very soon—” And she made her escape.

So did the Queen of the Wood, leaving Harriet and her father to wash up the tea things.

"Oh bother!” growled Harriet. “I should have asked the lady if she kept dogs and needed any dog-walking done."

"Are you still saving to buy a Himalayan bear?"

"Only twenty pounds to go now. As long as they don't put the price up."

"So how many dogs are you walking at present?"

"Seven. The two Labradors, Mrs. Smith's Jack Russell, Betty Grove's spaniel, a Russian greyhound that belongs to P.C. Walker, and Phil Turner's two peaks. If Lady Whatsit-Nightwood has a dog, I could pick it up as I cross the corner of Nightwood Park, that's the way I mostly walk the dogs, there's a public right-of-way where I can let them off their leads—that would bring my takings up to 8 pounds A WALK?"

The back door shot open and Lady Havergal-Nightwood popped her head back round it.

"Dulling child, did I hear you say that you exercise dogs?—The virry thing! Can you add my sweet Bobbie-Dob to your string? How virry, virry kind! Tomorrow, then—three o'clock at Nightwood Park Hall!"

"Yes—yes, of course,” said Harriet, a little taken aback. “What kind of dog is, er, Bobbie-Dob?"

"A Pit Bull-Mastiff cross, dulling."

"Oh. Er—is he good tempered?"

"He
can
be a little titchy, I must confiss! But I am sure you and he will git on splindidly! Your fee? Oh, bay the bay, I did not have time to inform your dulling Mum that I am able to grant
wishes
—as a reward—"

"Wishes?"

"Just like in the fairy books, you know. Because I was born under Libra, so I am caring and giving."

"But in that case,” Harriet could not help asking, “if you can grant wishes, why not give one to yourself? Instead of bothering about the Chinese Dragon patience to grant your heart's desire—whatever that is?"

"Ah, dulling, I can only grant wishes to other pipple. Not to my own self, do you see?"

"Yes I see,” said Harriet thoughtfully. “I expect Ma would wish to be able to reverse the car into a parking space—she was saying the other day that the one thing she really wanted—"

"Will, will, anything, anything she fancies! And you, too, dulling. Tomorrow, when you come to the Hall, we can fix a time for her to show me the Dragon—can we not?"

Beaming, Lady Havergal-Nightwood withdrew her head round the edge of the door. As she did so the excitable robin hurtled through the narrow gap, shot across the kitchen, and steered a headlong course for the sitting-room, where it knocked over a vase and spilled water over two packs of patience cards.

"That bird has a death-wish,” snapped Mr. Armitage, snatching up the Queen of Spades. “I almost wish your brother were at home playing his oboe—one thing Mark's noise does seem to do is subdue wildlife—"

"Oh, thank you, Father, that's given me a good idea,” said Harriet. “I am not mad about the sound of dulling Bobbie-Dob. I'll ask Mark to come along with me to Park Hall and bring his oboe."

Nimbly she lassoed the robin in a teacloth, and tenderly escorted it to the very back end of the garden.

Mark was not very keen on the sound of Lady Havergal-Nightwood—"I bet the wishes she grants aren't up to much; probably the sort of feeble thing you find in fortune cookies and Christmas crackers"—but he was curious to have a look at Nightwood Park Hall, which had stood empty for fifteen years.

"There might be a colony of bats. Yes, I'll bring my oboe. Bats enjoy oboe music."