‘Tomorrow I must go away,’ Carbonel said.
‘Go away!’ said Rosemary in dismay. ‘Where to?’
‘And when we’ve just found out how to talk to you!’ said John.
‘There you go again! Listen, and I will explain. You know that I am a royal cat, and that my people have their own laws and customs. After dark, the wall tops are our highways and the roofs our mountains and our plains. The Town Hall has been the royal seat of my ancestors for two hundred years, and there I hope my descendants will rule after me. Now that is where I need your help. My royal children –’
‘Kittens! Your kittens!’ said Rosemary excitedly. ‘Carbonel, how lovely! How many have you got? And why didn’t you tell us? We should –’
‘I am trying to tell you now!’ said Carbonel severely.
‘But –’
‘Shut up, Rosie!’ said John under his breath.
‘You may not know,’ went on Carbonel, ‘that it is our custom for each cat to select a human family to look after.’
‘Don’t you mean the humans choose a cat?’ said John.
‘Certainly not!’ said Carbonel coldly. ‘The humans, of course, repay a little of their debt to us with a place by the fire, a saucer of milk, little offerings of fish and meat according to their humble means.’
‘But besides catching mice, what –’ began John. It was Rosemary’s turn to give a warning nudge.
‘Our great gift to the human race is our example.’
‘Example?’
‘That is what I said. You fuss and flurry and rush about all day, and for what? In the midst of it all, we sit calm and unruffled, meditating on the mystery of Life and Eternity.’
‘But your kittens,’ said Rosemary. ‘Do tell us about them! How many are there? And are they like you? Oh, I must see them!’
‘There are two of them, a boy and a girl,’ said Carbonel. ‘They are said to be remarkably handsome – but whether they are like me you must judge for yourselves,’ he added modestly.
‘Then we can see them?’
‘Certainly. I have chosen you to look after them while I am away.’
‘Of course we’ll look after them for you! We’d love to, wouldn’t we, John? I shall have to ask Mother, of course, but I’m sure she will say yes.’
‘Guard them faithfully till I come back.’
‘When will that be?’ asked John.
‘Three days? Three weeks? Three months? Who can tell?’
‘But why must you go?’ persisted John.
‘Once every seven years I and my royal brothers are summoned to the presence of the Great Cat.’
‘But who are your royal brothers?’ asked Rosemary.
‘You must not think that I am the only cat king,’ explained Carbonel. ‘Every city in the world where there are cats has a king to rule over them, just as I rule over the cats of Fallowhithe. When the Summons comes, we must all obey. There will be lean, blue-eyed cats from Siam, long-haired cats from Persia, great tawny jungle cats, and thin, big-boned cats from Egypt. Cats of every colour – black as coal, white as milk, grey as woodsmoke. Whatever the colour, whatever the kind, when the Summons comes we all must answer.’
‘But who will look after your kingdom for you while you are away?’ asked John.
‘My beautiful Queen, my lovely Blandamour, will rule with the help of my cousin Merbeck. Blandamour is wise and good, but I cannot answer for all the queens of the neighbouring towns. Queen Grisana of Broomhurst is ambitious, and her husband is old. Do not let my kittens stray.
They are a little –’ There was a pause, as though Carbonel were searching for the right word. ‘High spirited,’ he concluded. ‘Early tomorrow morning, before I go, I shall visit you again and bring my royal children with me.’
It was getting dark in the Green Cave, and the shadow that was Carbonel slipped silently down from the biscuit tin and rubbed against Rosemary, and his purring filled the little space under the currant bushes like an organ. A warm tongue licked her cheek.
‘Dear Carbonel!’ said Rosemary, putting her arms round him for a minute. ‘Of course we’ll do our best to take care of your kittens, but do you think –’
She broke off. The black cat had slipped from her and melted into the other shadows.
6
The Royal Kittens
They did not ask that night if they might have the kittens after all. Rosemary felt that her mother was not in a ‘yes-of-course-darling’ mood. She was still having trouble with a dress she was making, and only looked in to tell them to take the sausages on the cracked plate for supper.
‘Never mind,’ said John. ‘You can ask at breakfast tomorrow. Don’t forget, Carbonel said he was coming early.’
But Carbonel’s idea of early was rather different from theirs.
Rosemary was awakened next morning by a fly which buzzed persistently around her pillow. She brushed it away with a sleepy hand once or twice, and turned over; but the fly continued to buzz. Presently she became aware that it was not just buzzing. It was saying over and over again in a shrill, angry voice, ‘For goodness’ sake, wake up!’
Rosemary opened one eye sleepily, and saw the fly a few inches away on the curve of her pillow. It was jumping up and down angrily on all of its six legs.
‘I am awake,’ said Rosemary sleepily, and gave a cavernous yawn.
The fly made a noise that sounded like an outraged squeak, and braced itself.
‘Don’t do that,’ it said in an agitated voice. ‘I once knew a fly who was swallowed by a yawn!’
‘How horrible!’ said Rosemary, thinking more of the yawner than the fly. She was wide awake now and sitting up.
‘Here am I, simply come to deliver a message to oblige, and my very life is threatened! First you go flapping like a windmill, and then –’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Rosemary humbly.
‘And you should be,’ said the fly a little more calmly. ‘Many people would just have flown off without delivering the message. But not me. I’m not that kind of fly. Luckily for you, I have a weakness for royalty.’
‘Royalty?’ interrupted Rosemary. ‘Is it from Carbonel? The message, I mean.’
The fly nodded importantly.
‘I was just to tell you, “We are here.” Kings talk like that, you know,’ it added condescendingly.
‘But where is “here”?’ asked Rosemary.
‘The greenhouse at the bottom of the garden. Oh! There you go again!’
Without warning, Rosemary had flung back the bedclothes and jumped out of bed. Buzzing angrily, the fly circled round her as she dressed.
‘I am sorry!’ she said again, ‘and of course I’m very grateful to you, but I must go and tell John at once. I think I’ve got some sugar somewhere.’
She felt in the pocket of her school blazer and brought out a rather dusty sugar lump, which she put on the dressing table. Then, in one movement, she pushed her toes into her slippers and her arms into her dressing gown.
John and Rosemary did not waste time dressing. They crept downstairs into the shining, early morning garden. It was so early that the shadows were still long and narrow, and the dew from the grass, which needed cutting, was cold on their bare ankles.
The birds and the small daylight creatures were all awake. The faint hum that Rosemary and John had noticed after drinking the red mixture was all around them, like the hum of a busy market place, but fainter and on a higher note. If they stood still, they could distinguish the little voices of which it was made. Only the birds sang loudly and excitedly of all the things they hoped to do on such a glorious day. Rosemary wanted to stop and listen, but John pulled her on.
The greenhouse was quite small. It had not been used for some time. The lock was broken, and several of the panes were cracked. The coloured tiles patterning the floor had come loose from their moorings and rocked beneath Rosemary’s and John’s feet when they walked on them. The greenhouse no longer held rows of pots, full of delicate flowers. There was only one remaining climbing plant which had run riot over the walls and roof. Mrs Brown called it plumbago. It was flowering now, and great trusses of pale blue blossoms hung among the dark green leaves. John and Rosemary ran down the path and opened the door.