Lucy tended the flower gardens, and after Aggie had told her which flowers were which, Lucy was most helpful, saying, “Sorry, thistle; sorry, dandelion; sorry, goosegrass,” but never — well, hardly ever — saying, “Sorry, dahlia,” or “Sorry, lily,” or “Sorry, delphinium,” so that soon the flower borders looked almost as tidy as in the old days when there had been no less than five gardeners at Farley.
Clarence made himself useful on the farm. All animals like yetis, but simple-minded yetis they really love, and Clarence only had to look at the chickens and they would start laying eggs.
As for Uncle Otto, he shut himself into the library and started putting things to rights. The books at Farley had been allowed to get into an awful muddle: Astrology next to Zoology, Mineralogy muddled up with Entomology and Geology absolutely all over the place. Sorting all that out was going to keep Uncle Otto busy and happy for years.
But it was Ambrose who really saved the fortunes of Farley Towers and he did this by being open to the public. All the yetis had become very famous: people wrote books about them, there was a story about them on the telly and the Queen still sent them hampers of good things from her country homes. But because he had so nearly died, or perhaps because he was the youngest, and wall-eyed into the bargain, Ambrose was, perhaps, the most famous yeti of them all.
And when they realized that it was not having any money that forced Aggie’s trustees to rent her house to the beastly Hunters, they had had the brilliant idea of opening the house to the public once a week and letting Ambrose receive the visitors.
So every Saturday the gates of Farley were thrown open and people came in cars, or on foot, or in charabancs, and paid their money to look round the house where the yetis lived and shake Ambrose by the hand and get his autograph. And when Uncle Otto and Con, who were the best at sums, added up the money at the end of the day, they found that even when they’d paid for food and fuel there was still something left over to make Farley lovelier, like putting new windows in the orangery or buying some peacocks for the terrace.
There was only one person at Farley who did not seem to be completely happy and that was Hubert. Mothers were tame stuff to Hubert now — he had grown out of them. As for fathers, how could he ever hope to find one to compare with El Magnifico? As he dug Hubert Holes all over Farley’s velvet lawns, Hubert sometimes had the look of a yak who wonders what life is for. And then, not long before Con and Ellen were due to fly back to their father in Bukhim, something happened to change all that.
They were having elevenses on the terrace when a red delivery van swept up the drive and drew to a halt on the gravel. Then two men got out and set a big crate down on the ground.
“’esent!” said Clarence excitedly as they all clustered round. “’esent. ’esent!”
And it was a present. Shaken out of its layers of straw it turned out to be — an animal. But an animal unlike anything they’d ever seen.
Its back end was pink and plump and had a corkscrew tail. Its front end was white with black spots, and droopy ears that brushed the ground. In the middle, where the two ends joined, was a curvy, buff-coloured stomach and a forest of tufty hairs.
It was Con who guessed. “It’s the Perrington Porker!” he cried. “Perry’s done it! It’s the Perrington Porker without a doubt.”
And of course it was.
The yetis were enchanted. “It’s a lovely pet for us,” said Ambrose, his blue eye shining.
“Let’s call him Alfred. A nice, sensible name is Alfred,” said Grandma.
But the little pig didn’t seem to care what he was called. He had eyes for only one person. The yak, Hubert.
Leaving skid marks on the gravel in his eagerness, the porker slithered to Hubert’s side. Then, squealing with pleasure, he began to butt the dishevelled yak in his tattered stomach, to nuzzle him with his pink Hoover of a nose, to stand up on his flea-sized trotters and try to climb up Hubert’s tail…
For a moment, Hubert seemed to be completely stunned. Then suddenly it hit him. And as he began to lick the little pig, he seemed to grow taller, his boot face took on a look of dignity and pride, his knock knees straightened.
This was the real thing. Not looking for a father. Being one!
A week later, a Queen’s Messenger arrived at Farley in a black Rolls-Royce to arrange for Con and Ellen’s journey back to Nanvi Dar. It was the tired man in the dark suit who had taken Con’s petition into the palace, and it was from him they learnt that Parliament had passed a law turning yetis into Very Important Creatures or VICs and that harming them was now a crime which carried the worst punishment in the land.
As for the Hunters, they were still in prison. The police had been forced to let them go at first, because at the time of the kidnapping there had been no law against shooting yetis, because no one knew that yetis existed. But when the Hunters had been freed for a few days they came and hammered on the prison gates and asked to be taken back inside. This was because the people of Britain were so angry at what they had done to the yetis that boys threw stones at them, and old ladies bonked them on the head with shopping baskets, and men coming out of pubs threatened to beat them up.
Mr Prink, however, wasn’t in prison. Often he wished he was, because he was somewhere even worse — back with Mrs Prink, who made him gargle with carbolic soap and clean out the budgerigar and eat up the gristle in his mutton fat.
And now the dreaded day came when Con and Ellen were due to leave Farley Towers. They had put it off as long as possible, but though Mr Bellamy had written brave and cheerful letters he had not been able to hide how much he missed them.
Although the helicopter which was to take them to the airport was not expected till midday, the yetis had already put in several hours’ hard crying time by breakfast.
“It’s not good for people to lose their friends,” wailed Ambrose. “It makes them all lumpy in the stomach.”
“We’ll be back, Ambrose,” said Ellen. “You know we will.” But she soaked three whole handkerchiefs herself before the drone of the helicopter was heard above the roofs of Farley.
The helicopter landed neatly on the lawns. The pilot opened the door of the cockpit and jumped out. Then he walked round to open the other door. And the yetis stared in disbelief as a tall, strong, marvellously furry figure stepped majestically down on to the grass.
“Father!” they cried, surging forward. “It’s Father come back to us! It’s our very own Father.”
The joy of having him back was so great that they could hardly speak. Uncle Otto had been marvellous but Father — well, Father was Father and they knew now that they need never be afraid again.
Father’s first words, however, were grave and sad.
“From the fact that I am here,” he said solemnly, “you will know that our beloved Lady Agatha has died. Her end was peaceful and she lies where she wished to lie in the cool earth of our—”
“No, she doesn’t,” squeaked Ambrose, while Father frowned at him reprovingly. “She doesn’t lie, she…”
But Father had stopped taking any notice of Ambrose. He was staring at the steps of the terrace which led down to the lawn.
Aggie had been inside the house when the helicopter arrived, preparing the yetis’ lunch. Now she came down the steps slowly, carrying a tray of drinks. Her long, white cooking apron came to her ankles, her fair hair blew in the breeze, her grey eyes were intent on the brimming mugs.