‘Goodness!’ she said aloud. ‘Talking of black cats, there he is again!’
‘I wasn’t talking about black cats,’ said John.
‘That’s the second time today,’ said Rosemary excitedly. ‘Look on the garden wall!’
John looked. Then he said in a matter-of-fact voice,‘I expect it’s Carbonel.’
‘John!’ said Rosemary, and she turned to look at him, beaming from ear to ear. ‘Then it did happen! You remember the magic, and the flying and everything?’
‘Of course it happened!’ said John in astonishment. ‘Good old Carbonel! Come on, Rosie, let’s see if we can catch him!’
They ran to the garden wall and looked along it both ways, but there was no sign of the cat. John stood on the rusty old garden roller and tried to look along the top, but the roller moved when he stood on tiptoe, and he fell off on to a rubbish heap. When he sat up with leaves in his hair, Rosemary began to giggle, and presently John joined her. The invisible wall of shyness between them melted as though it had never been.
‘Come on, come and see my Green Cave!’ said Rosemary, as she pulled John to his feet.
They crawled in on hands and knees.
‘What a glorious place!’ said John, as he tucked his feet under him. There was not much room for two.
‘Let’s make this our headquarters!’
It was going to be all right after all, thought Rosemary, and she ferreted happily under a pile of leaves and brought out the broken brandy snaps in a biscuit tin. They sat and munched happily together.
‘I’m not really going to have a ponytail,’ said Rosemary suddenly.
‘You are an owl, Rosie!’ said John, and tweaked one of her plaits in a friendly way. ‘Come on, let’s go and play something!’
2
Carbonel Again
Mrs Brown was a widow. She added to her small pension by dressmaking. The house in Cranshaw Road belonged to Mr Featherstone, who ran a travelling Repertory Company called the Netherley Players. Instead of paying rent for the flat, Rosemary’s mother looked after the costumes of the Company. These were kept in the old stables of the house.
After breakfast next morning, Mrs Brown said,‘Rosie, dear, I’ve got to get on with those Roman togas in the costume room this morning – simply miles of machining, so will you and John do some shopping for me?’
They fetched a basket. With the shopping list on the outside of an old envelope and a pound note inside, they ran downstairs.
‘Good heavens!’ said John, as they closed the front door behind them. ‘There he is again!’
Sure enough, on top of one of the stone balls that stood on each gatepost, sat Carbonel. As soon as John and Rosemary reached the gate, he dropped silently down beside them.
‘Good morning!’ said Rosemary politely. ‘We’re going shopping, but we shan’t be long.’
‘It’s a funny thing,’ said John, ‘but he makes me feel I ought to bow to him. Hallo! He’s following.’
Carbonel was trotting quietly at their heels. He went with them to the baker’s, and the fishmonger’s, and the grocer’s and the little shop that sold newspapers and sweets and ices.
Once, they tried to see if they could shake him off by running quickly around a corner and diving down a little alley. But when they came out of the alleyway, after waiting for several minutes, there the black cat was sitting at the entrance, quietly washing his paws, which made them feel rather silly. The only difference was that from that moment on he walked beside instead of behind them, as though he intended that they should not escape.
On the way home, they sat down on a seat by the side of a quiet road to eat the ice creams they had bought at the little shop. They licked in silence, and Carbonel sat at their feet and stared and stared at them.
‘He’s beginning to make me feel uncomfortable,’ said John.
‘Do you think he’s hungry?’ suggested Rosemary.
‘Doesn’t… look… like it. Fat… as butter,’ replied John in the jerky way of someone whose tongue is occupied with capturing escaping ice cream.
‘Now you’ve offended him!’ said Rosemary reproachfully. Carbonel had turned his back on John and was gazing up at Rosemary. ‘Are you hungry, Carbonel?’
She held out the packet of fish. It was one of those very fishy parcels. Carbonel’s nose quivered slightly at the enticing smell, but he closed his eyes resolutely and opened his mouth in a disdainful yawn.
‘Well, it’s clearly not that,’ said John. ‘Listen, Carbonel –’ he went on. But the animal continued to sit with his back turned, as though John did not exist.
‘I expect you’d better apologize, John,’ said Rosemary.
John muttered something under his breath and then thought better of it.
‘I’m sorry, Carbonel, honestly I am. I forgot how touchy you are. But I do wish to goodness we knew what was the matter!’
‘Do you want to tell us something?’ said Rosemary.
Carbonel turned and, putting his front paws on Rosemary’s knee, licked the back of her hand with a warm, rasping tongue.
‘But how can you tell us?’ asked John.
Greatly daring, Rosemary stooped down and gathered the black cat into her arms, because she felt he needed comforting. He was so heavy that it was quite an effort. She put him on her knee. He no longer fitted into the hollow of her lap, and she had to hold him with both arms or he would have overflowed on to the wooden seat.
‘We’d do anything we could to help you, Carbonel. Wouldn’t we, John?’
John nodded.‘But how can we tell what is the matter if you can’t talk to us? What can we do?’
‘Why don’t we consult Mrs Cantrip?’ suggested John. ‘I know she is supposed to have retired from being a witch, but perhaps we could persuade her to tell us if there is anything we could do. Hi! Carbonel!’ he protested.
At the mention of Mrs Cantrip, Carbonel stood up on Rosemary’s knee and, with a deep, bass purr, thrust the top of his sleek head against her chin again and again. Then he jumped on to John’s lap, upsetting the shopping basket so that fish, biscuits, bacon and sugar went rolling on to the ground. They stuffed them back into the basket and set off home, Carbonel with tail erect, trotting before them.
‘The last time I saw Mrs Cantrip she was washing dishes at the Copper Kettle tea room,’ said Rosemary. ‘I don’t know if she is still there.’
‘Let’s go and see,’ said John.
They set out for the Copper Kettle early after lunch. Carbonel was waiting for them on the gatepost. They explained where they were going, but, instead of coming with them, the black cat showed complete indifference. He sat down in the middle of the pavement and began to wash his tail. John and Rosemary walked past, but Carbonel caught up with them and calmly placed himself in front of them again. This time he transferred his attention to his left hind leg.
‘Well,’ said John, ‘you’d better hurry if you want us to go and find Mrs Cantrip, Carbonel, because I’m not going without you and that’s final.’
Carbonel gave him a withering glance, then trotted ahead, keeping pointedly to Rosemary’s side of the pavement. Having decided to go with them, he set off at such a speed that they could barely keep up, and when they finally reached the Copper Kettle, which was some distance away, they were hot and footsore.
Miss Maggie and her sister Florrie, who owned the teashop, were old friends. They welcomed the two children with cries of pleasure. Carbonel waited outside.
‘Why, if it isn’t John! And how you’ve grown!’ said Miss Maggie with upraised hands. As everyone of a still-growing age knows, there is no answer to this, so John merely grinned sheepishly.
‘Now, come into the kitchen, dears. We’re just putting away the lunch things. Choose whatever you’d like to eat. How about some nice fruit salad?’