Carbonel: The King Of Cats

13

The Occupier

While they washed up the dinner things they discussed their plans. What sort of person would have bought the witch’s hat from Fairfax Market? They did not even know his name. All they had to go on was the address on the envelope with the soap powder coupon in it, and that merely said:

To the Occupier, 101 Cranshaw Road, Netherley.

‘Youngish,’ the old man at the second-hand stall had said he was, wearing clothes that were ‘good but wore’.

‘Well, anyway, the first thing is to get Jeffries to take us there,’ said John. ‘I expect he will. He is a friend of mine. He can waggle his ears when he’s off duty. He let me help change a wheel once.’

‘You’d better leave me and Broom behind,’ said Carbonel. ‘Best draw as little attention to us as possible, and cats and witch’s besoms on buses are a bit conspicuous. You and your mother will be coming home from Tussocks by bus this time, I suppose, and it will be the rush hour.’

Jeffries was more amenable than they had dared to hope. He was a large, freckled young man who grinned readily.

‘You’re in luck. I know Cranshaw Road quite well. Pass it when I go to see my young lady,’ he said, flushing slightly.

‘Do take us there on the way home,’ said John. ‘Be a sport!’

‘You could leave us at number hundred and one, and then go and see your young lady, say for half-an-hour. It would be a lovely surprise for her!’ said Rosemary tactfully.

‘What are you young limbs up to?’ said Jeffries, but without malice.

‘Very important business,’ said John gravely. ‘Look here, couldn’t you leave us there for even twenty minutes?’

The prospect of seeing his young lady was more than the chauffeur could resist. He laughed. ‘All right, you win!’ he said, and turned the car in the direction of Netherley.

‘Only half-an-hour, mind!’ called Jeffries, as he left them outside number hundred and one.

It was a large, comfortable Victorian house with a circular drive leading to the front door. Above the bell were three names, which seemed to indicate that the house was divided up into flats.

‘Don’t let’s stop to think, or I shall want not to,’ said Rosemary, clutching the envelope tightly. ‘Try the bottom bell.’

John nodded. He was already feeling ‘want not to’, but nothing would make him admit it; with the result that he rang the bell rather harder than he meant to. It rang sharply in the distance, and a rather cross-looking woman in an overall opened the door.

‘Now go away,’ she said sharply. ‘’E doesn’t want any juveniles! As if I ’adn’t enough to do!’ she added mysteriously, and slammed the door.

Rosemary looked at John with dismay. But curiously enough with the ringing of the door bell his courage had revived.

‘Well, we’ve come all this way, so don’t let’s give up just for that. Let’s explore. Look here, that gate at the side is open and I can hear someone moving about. Let’s go and look.’

Cautiously they pushed one of the double doors and looked in. There was a paved yard flanked on one side by the kitchens of the house, and on the other by a building that must once have been stables, but was obviously used now as a garage. In the middle of the yard was a large, pale blue lorry, which said in newly painted scarlet letters, ‘The Netherley Players’. Sticking out from under the lorry was a pair of legs in dirty grey flannel trousers. John and Rosemary advanced cautiously. They waited for a pause in the exasperated noises that were coming from underneath, and then John said: ‘Excuse me, but are you the Occupier?’

And the voice that had been making exasperated noises said absently, ‘Well, that depends. I don’t occupy much. I’m away rather a lot. But the Briggs on the top floor are generally occupying.’

The voice went on jerkily, as though the owner was making some great effort, ‘But the Pattersons might be said to occupy like mad. They’ve got three children.’

There was a sharp rattle, as of a spanner slipping, and a smothered exclamation, and the body belonging to the grey flannel legs squirmed into view, revealing a bright green open-necked shirt liberally smeared with oil. Rosemary supposed that the stall-holder at the Market, who was old, might consider this a ‘youngish man’. He stopped sucking his bleeding knuckles long enough to say:

‘But on the other hand, I am the old original Occupier. I say, what do you want to know for?’

‘We’ve brought something back for you. You dropped it at Fairfax Market,’ and she held out the crumpled envelope.

‘That’s very kind of you.’

The man took the envelope and looked inside.

‘What on earth is it?’

‘It’s a coupon that you can exchange for a large packet of Lathero for the price of a small one.’

‘But what on earth should I do with a packet of Lathero when I’d bought it?’

‘You could wash your shirt with it,’ said Rosemary gravely. ‘But you had better let me tie up your hand. It’s bleeding. I’ve got a clean hankie here.’

‘Washed, I suppose, with Lathero? You are an advertising stunt, aren’t you?’

‘Goodness no!’ said John, as Rosemary tied up the grazed hand. ‘You see, the old man said that you bought the hat.’

‘Aha! The incomparable witch’s hat! But look here, I don’t understand. How do you know anything about it?’

‘Well, you see,’ said Rosemary, ‘I’ve got the cat that belonged to the same witch, and the broom-stick.’

‘On which you doubtless swept up to the front door,’ said the man with a twinkle.

‘Oh no, we came in Aunt Amabel’s car because we didn’t want to use up the broom’s magic. And Jeffries – he’s the chauffeur – he’s coming back to fetch us in half-an-hour, because he’s gone to see his young lady,’ said John.

‘I see,’ said the youngish man. ‘If you ask me, a broom is a much more civilized vehicle than a car. It doesn’t have to be screwed up with spanners that turn round and hit you.’ He looked ruefully at his bandaged hand. ‘But look here, suppose you tell me what you have really come for?’ And he grinned so encouragingly that Rosemary said:

‘We want the witch’s hat, please.’

The grin faded. There was an awkward pause, and the man called, ‘Molly, can you come here a minute?’

A girl’s voice answered, ‘All right, but I shall never finish these tunics if you keep interrupting,’ and the awkwardness was broken by the arrival of a girl in tight-fitting slacks and a yellow sweater. She was pretty and looked kind, Rosemary decided thankfully.

‘What is it?’ she inquired.

‘Ask me another,’ said the young man, lighting a cigarette. ‘These youngsters want the hat I bought at Fairfax Market.’

‘But what for? Look here, come upstairs, then we can sit down and discuss it comfortably.’

They walked in procession into a garage and up some wooden stairs into what had probably once been a hay loft. It had a stack of wicker baskets at one end, one of which was open, showing a jumble of coloured materials inside. There was a table near the window with a sewing machine on it, and a pile of sewing, and on a shelf were rows of headdresses on stands, top hats, helmets, medieval headdresses with horns and veils, three-cornered hats, and at the far end… a black, high-pointed hat of furry, beaver felt! ‘Now sit down and tell us all about it,’ said Molly.

Cheered by her kindness and the nearness of the hat, Rosemary sat down on a dress basket and told them the whole story.

‘So you see,’ she ended up, ‘we simply must have the witch’s hat or we can’t do anything.’

‘But look here,’ said the young man when she had done, ‘of course you tell it awfully well, but you can’t come here with a fairy tale like that and expect me to hand over the hat on a plate! It’s a very rare thing, I don’t mind telling you. It must be very old. I’ve half a mind to take it to Fairfax Museum and see what they think of it.’

Rosemary was aghast. ‘Oh, don’t do that. They might put it in a glass case, and we should never get it then.’

‘You certainly wouldn’t,’ said the young man shortly.

‘But we only want to borrow it, you know.’

‘Now look here…’ began the young man crossly, when Molly interrupted.

‘No, Bill, leave it to me. Tomorrow morning we are going off on tour. Bill and I, and some others, of course, act plays. We go round to village halls and schools and things, and we must have the hat to take with us. There isn’t time to get another, let alone make one. You see that, don’t you?’ Rosemary and John nodded.

‘Now suppose you wait until you have got the cauldron, and all this Silent Magic taped, and perhaps we might lend it to you then, just for the final spell. What about that for a solution?’

‘Oh thank you!’ said Rosemary gratefully. ‘You are kind! We shan’t forget, shall we, John? And you will take great care of the hat, won’t you?’

‘Great care. I promise. Perhaps you could come and see us act. Bill, give them a handbill. That will show you where we are going to be.’

‘Then we shall know where to find you when we are ready to borrow the hat,’ said John.

‘So you will, when you are ready,’ said the young man.

‘Thank you very much. But I think we ought to go now; Jeffries will be waiting.’

So they all shook hands, and Molly and the young man saw them to the car, where a slightly anxious Jeffries was waiting for them. They had been a good deal longer than half-an-hour.