Carbonel: The King Of Cats

25

The End

The broom skimmed off obediently at Rosemary’s request.

‘Oh, no you don’t, my Popsey Dinkum!’ said John, as the ginger cat renewed his struggles. ‘And that is not at all the sort of language that Aunt Amabel likes to hear!’

At the mention of Mrs Pendlebury Parker the animal mewed pitifully.

‘Well, thank goodness he is able to struggle so hard,’ said Rosemary. ‘It shows that he can’t be very badly hurt. I say, John, we’re flying awfully low.’

John had been so busy with his bundle of cat and dressing gown that he had had no time for anything else. They were flying over the new building estate at the edge of the town now, barely skimming the chimney pots. Once Rosemary banged her leg on a lightning conductor.

‘I’ve noticed that when the moon is shining clearly, it seems to gain height.’

‘I should think that the poor thing is completely worn out. It has been tremendously plucky all evening, and now it has got this hefty great weight to carry’

Rosemary patted the broom gently. It was warm and damp beneath her fingers like an over-ridden horse.

‘Please do your best, dear Broom! You have been so splendid, but I know the last bus has gone, and we couldn’t walk all these miles, not with bare feet we couldn’t.’

The broom seemed to shake itself; then it rose a little higher. Luckily the moon came out again, and it seemed to take fresh heart. They made steady progress for some distance, but by the time they had reached the Lodge of Tussocks the broom had barely strength enough to clear the gate. The trees on either side of the drive were thick and tall and very little moonlight found its way beneath them. It struggled bravely on, but beneath her anxious fingers Rosemary could feel its pulse beat uncertainly, and several times John, who was fully occupied with his bundle, felt his bare feet drag painfully on the gravelled drive. When they came to a bend in the drive the broom seemed uncertain of its direction and went blindly on towards the rhododendrons. If it had not been for Rosemary’s guiding hand it would have blundered into the shrubbery.

‘Shall we get off and walk?’ asked Rosemary. ‘We’re nearly there.’

Indeed, Tussocks was in sight, huge and dark except for one single light. But the gallant broom shook itself once more. They could feel it gather itself together for one last effort. Steadily it sped on over the final hundred yards, head up and its few remaining twigs only occasionally dragging on the ground, to fall with a clatter on the top step of the broad flight that led to the front door.

‘Good old Broom!’ said John, and stooped to pat it as it lay panting on the ground.

‘I say, Rosie,’ said John suddenly. ‘What on earth are we going to say to Aunt Amabel?’

But Rosemary was already hanging on to the great wrought-iron door-bell and ringing with all her might. Not until she heard it clanging in the distance did she realize that arriving in the middle of the night in their night things with the missing cat rolled up in a dressing gown, would need a great deal of explaining.

‘You owl!’ said John.

‘Owl yourself!’ said Rosemary. But there was no time for a ‘you’re another’ kind of argument, for the light above the door was switched on, and after the bolts had been shot back the door was cautiously opened, and there stood Chambers, the butler, in a purple dressing gown.

‘Farewell! Farewell, my faithfulfriends!’

‘H… hallo, Chambers!’ said John, as airily as he could. ‘It’s me and Rosemary Brown. Do let us in. It’s a bit cold out here in nothing but pyjamas.’

‘Master Lancelot, you naughty boy! Whatever are you doing out at this time of night, and in your night things, too?’

‘Well,’ said John slowly. ‘It’s like this…’ But a voice from the stairs interrupted. It was Mrs Pendlebury Parker.

‘What is it Chambers?’ she asked, and then she saw John. ‘Lancelot, come here at once! Out at one o’clock in the morning and not even properly dressed! And Rosemary in her nightdress! What is the meaning of this?’

‘I am very sorry we are out so late,’ said Rosemary, ‘but we have brought back your Popsey Dinkums. We rescued him from a fight. He is wrapped up in my dressing gown.’

John was already undoing the cord, and unceremoniously unrolling the cat.

‘My Popsey Dinkums!’ shrieked Mrs Pendlebury Parker, as the battle-scarred animal emerged. ‘What have the nasty rough cats been doing to you?’ And she fell on her knees and hugged the dishevelled animal to her pink satin dressing gown. Then she looked up at the children. ‘My dear Lancelot, I don’t know what you have been up to, but if you have brought me back my darling Popsey Dinkums I cannot be cross. But what about Mrs Brown? Rosemary, I cannot believe that your mother knows anything about this!’

‘No, I’m afraid she doesn’t. I’m afraid I didn’t think. I just…’ She broke off. Suddenly she felt that the only thing that mattered was that she should be able to lie down and go to sleep.

‘Well, we can’t disturb her at one o’clock in the morning. It would frighten her out of her wits. We must ring her up first thing before she has time to discover you are not there. What time does she usually get up?’

‘About seven, as a rule,’ said Rosemary faintly.

‘Good gracious me! The child is falling asleep on her feet. Chambers, you had better put her in the pink room, and we will discuss it in the morning. And my darling Dinkums shall have his very own blue cushion to sleep on, and some chicken, he shall! Chopped up very fine, Chambers, don’t forget.’

‘Very good, madam,’ said Chambers, with disapproval of the whole affair oozing from him.

Rosemary had a dim memory afterwards of having been carried upstairs and put into a huge bed, and the next thing she knew it was broad daylight, and John was shaking her arm.

‘Wake up, Rosie! It’s after eight o’clock. Look here, what did we do with the broom last night?’ Rosemary sat up.

‘Goodness, I forgot all about it. We must have left it on the door-step. How could we have been so ungrateful?’

‘Well, come on, let’s go and look.’

She was just going to jump out of bed when she suddenly remembered something.

‘But John, I’ve no clothes to put on. I can’t go about in my nightie!’

‘It’s all right. I’ve brought you a pair of shorts of mine and a shirt… Buck up and put them on and I’ll tell you what has been going on. You know, Aunt Amabel is a good sort, really. She rang up your mother before she had time to discover that you were not there, and she got her to promise that she would not be angry with you because we brought back her beastly Dinkums.’ Rosemary felt a great wave of relief, because how could she possibly explain it all even to the most understanding of mothers? ‘And that isn’t all,’ went on John. ‘She says that you and I must share the reward she offered!’

‘Gracious!’ said Rosemary. ‘I had forgotten that there was a reward.’ She had put on the shirt and shorts and was watching with interest the three different views of herself brushing her hair that she could see in the great three-sided mirror. The brushes had gleaming silver backs with initials on them.

‘It will be twenty-five pounds each,’ said John. Rosemary dropped the brushes and gasped. ‘I can see you with your mouth open three times over in that looking glass – you do look funny! Buck up, we have just time to look for the broom before breakfast.’

They ran downstairs together and out of the front door, but there was no sign of the broom where they had left it on the door-step. An old man in a green apron was sweeping up some leaves from the drive. John hailed him.

‘I say, Wilson. Did you see an old broom here on the steps this morning?’

‘No, Master Lance, there weren’t no broom. Only an old stick that might have been the handle of one.’

‘What did you do with it?’

‘Bless you, I put it on the bonfire behind the tool shed, not ten minutes ago.’

‘Quick!’ said John. ‘We might be in time to save it!’

They ran faster than they had ever run before, round to the other side of the house, along the terrace, through the rose garden to the tool shed, which was at the far end of the kitchen garden. But they were too late. As they reached the bonfire a shower of sparks of every colour of the rainbow shot up from the glowing heart, but there was no sign of the broom handle, only a handful of glowing wood ash.

‘Good-bye, Broom!’ said Rosemary softly, ‘and thank you.’ And as if in reply a little puff of smoke wreathed its way up and was gone. The children walked in silence back to the house.

‘There is a letter for you, Master Lance,’ said the maid who brought in their breakfast. It was scrambled egg and sausages, which was the nicest breakfast that Rosemary could have chosen. But she sat looking at her plate with unseeing eyes. It was all over. Even if she ever saw Carbonel again, without the broom she could never hear him talking to her. She felt she ought to be feeling pleased at the success of all their plans, but all she could feel was that everything had gone flat and dull. John would be going home and there would be no more Tussocks. Her gloomy thoughts were interrupted by John, who was reading his letter.

‘I say, Rosie. My mother says that when I go home next week we are going to the sea, because of my sister being peaky after measles, and she says would you like to come home with me and go with us? Would your mother let you?’

‘Would you let me, Mummy?’ said Rosemary, when a bewildered Mrs Brown arrived, ‘or would you be too lonely?’

Her mother smiled. ‘I shall be far too busy to be lonely.’

‘More sides to middling?’ asked Rosemary sympathetically.

‘Not this time, darling – moving house!’

‘Moving house? Are we leaving Tottenham Grove?’

Her mother smiled again. ‘You are not the only person to spring surprises! I had a letter this morning from Mr Featherstone, the man that for some reason you and John call the Occupier. He has offered us a flat in his house, unfurnished, so that we can have all our own furniture again.’

‘But Mummy, can we afford it?’

‘I think we can, because instead of paying him rent he wants me to be Wardrobe Mistress of the Netherley Players. That will still leave me plenty of time to do my own work as well. What do you think of that?’

I am sure I need not tell you what Rosemary thought, because if you have read her adventures as far as this I am quite sure you will know.

When she returned from her holiday with John and his family, looking so brown that her mother barely knew her, it was to their new home, with all their own familiar furniture to welcome them like old friends. One of the first visitors they had was a magnificent black cat with three white hairs at the end of his tail. Of course it was Carbonel, and although she could no longer hear him talking he purred so loudly that there was not much doubt what he meant.

Rosemary kept her promise to the broom, and wrote the whole story as a ballad, which she had accepted for the school magazine. As for Mrs Cantrip, without her book of magic she became quite clean and respectable. Rosemary persuaded Miss Maggie to give her a job as washer-up. The last time I had tea at the Copper Kettle, that thriving tea-shop, she was still there, and giving every satisfaction.