‘A lot of cats come into the garden,’ she said.
‘We colonize, of course,’ said Carbonel loftily. ‘But my poor People!’
‘Why, what has happened?’ said John.
‘When my father died,’ went on the cat,
‘mourned by all his subjects, I am told – Carbonel the Good he was called (may I be worthy of him) – there was no Royal Kit to take his place, since the rightful heir had been stolen.’
‘You?’ asked John.
Carbonel inclined his head.
‘What did they do?’
‘A couple of cousins tried their hand at ruling, but what could they be expected to do? Mere tabbies. Very distant cousins they were. Well, of course, the inevitable happened. They had no proper authority, and things began to get slack, and then, of course, the Alley Cats got restless. Always on the lookout for making mischief, they are.’
‘But who is King now?’ asked Rosemary.
Carbonel drew himself up, and surveyed the roof tops through half-closed eyes.
‘There can be no King until I return. Once a month since time immemorial we have held the Law Giving at the full moon. There my father, and his father, and his father’s father before that, dispensed justice and wisdom. These fellows make a mockery of it. They brawl and fight and challenge anyone to dispute their leadership. Of course, at first there were plenty of good and bad cats to cross claws with them. They fight for it every month till the strongest one wins, the winner calls himself King, and there he sits on the throne of my fathers until the next Law Giving, when another animal will dispute his claim. A sorry, battered collection of animals go limping home, I can tell you!’
‘How did you find out all this?’ asked John.
‘By getting into conversation with all sorts and putting two and two together. Mostly honest, decent house animals they were. There are plenty of them about, I can tell you, who are loyal to “The Cat Among the Stars”, as they call me. But the Alley Gats have got the upper hand. I heard today that for the last three months the same great ginger animal has been in command. He fights like a tiger, and levies I don’t know what taxes of kipper heads and sardine tins.’
‘But now you can go and turn him out, and it will all be right again!’ said Rosemary.
‘I bet you could beat him with one… one paw behind your back!’ said John. Carbonel graciously inclined his head.
‘No doubt. But what use is a King who is at the beck and call of somebody else? I am still a slave.’
‘Do you mean to me?’ said Rosemary. ‘But I wouldn’t beck and call, ever!’
‘So you may think now. But power does queer things, you know. The original Binding Spell is broken. Rosemary did that when she bought me with her three Queen Victoria farthings. But there still remains the second spell, the one SHE made when I tried to escape.’
‘Then we must set about finding the hat and the cauldron straight away!’ said Rosemary. She felt a little uncomfortable that the fun of meeting John had made her forget how important this was to Carbonel.
‘What do you do when you have got them?’ asked John, who was a practical person.
‘That is the worst of it. She made a Silent Magic, just to make it more difficult, so of course I never heard it. She is the only one who can tell you how to undo the spell.’
‘Oh dear!’ said Rosemary uneasily, thinking of the queer old woman.
‘Well, I tell you what,’ said John. ‘When Jeffries comes to fetch us this afternoon, let’s ask him to take us to that address you got at the market. You know, the man who bought the hat.’
‘What a good idea! Come on, let’s wash up quickly, so that we shall be ready when he comes.’
‘Do we have to?’ said John.
‘We do,’ said Rosemary firmly.
13
The Occupier
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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.’