‘But do you mean you are going to wear that cone thing on your head, like a witch’s hat?’ said John.
Miss Dibdin clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘I’ve said too much!’
‘Then your hobby really is magic?’ said Rosemary.
Miss Dibdin nodded slowly. ‘If you’ve guessed so much it’s no use pretending. But don’t forget, you promised not to tell!’ she added quickly.
‘Is there a witch’s hat in this — this parcel you’re expecting?’ asked John.
Again Miss Dibdin nodded, and he exchanged a quick glance with Rosemary. Miss Dibdin’s eyes glittered strangely in the firelight, as she stared into the dancing flames. Her voice dropped to a whisper, almost as though she was talking to herself.
‘And that’s not all,’ she muttered. ‘There is something else in the parcel besides the hat. Something more precious than the Bank of England. Something that would give me power; such power that ...’
‘But Miss Dibdin,’ began Rosemary. ‘Do listen! When I went up to your room in Fairfax Market ... Ow!’ she went on, looking reproachfully at John who had dug his elbow sharply into her ribs. ‘That hurt!’
‘Shut up!’ he whispered.
Miss Dibdin didn’t seem to have noticed. She sat gazing into the fire, wrapped in her own thoughts, and mumbling to herself. But Crumpet was watching, with eyes that never wavered. John cleared his throat loudly, and Miss Dibdin roused herself.
‘But what do you want six witches’ hats for?’ he asked.
She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then she said sulkily: ‘I only meant to take one at first. Then when I found it didn’t fit very well, I thought it might blow off when I was flying high. So I took the others as spares.’
‘You mean when you fly on your broomstick?’ said Rosemary. ‘Can you fly very high?’
‘I can’t fly at all yet. Didn’t I tell you I had to come to Highdown by bus?’ said Miss Dibdin crossly. ‘But I shall! Make no mistake! When my parcel comes ... What is it, John?’ she broke off irritably. He had made several attempts to say something.
‘But Miss Dibdin, that hole in the road where you pinched the cones. Aren’t you afraid someone will fall into it if there is nothing there to warn them?’
Miss Dibdin flushed with anger. ‘Pinched them, did you say? Pinched them? I should not dream of doing anything so vulgar! Borrowed, you mean. I told you, I shall put them back when my parcel comes. Besides,’ she went on sulkily, ‘I don’t believe in mollycoddling. People should look where they’re going!’
‘But isn’t stealing the cones breaking the law?’ persisted John.
‘Talking of breaking the law,’ said Miss Dibdin, drawing herself up, ‘what about you, pray?’
‘Me?’ said John in surprise. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘Well, what are you, a boy, doing in a Ladies’ Waiting Room? Go along with you, shoo! Shoo!’
She advanced on John, flapping her black mackintosh at him, and shushed him out of the door. Rosemary was only too glad to sidle out after him. A shrill voice followed them as they scuttled down the platform. They paused for a moment to listen, before crawling through the hole in the hedge.
‘Don’t forget!’ called Miss Dibdin. ‘You promised not to tell! Not a human soul!’
7. The Scrabbles
‘WHEW!’ said John when they had scrambled out on to the road side of the hedge. ‘So Miss Dibdin really does want to be a witch!’
‘All the same,’ said Rosemary, as she picked bits of twig out of her hair, ‘we ought to have told her about the purple cracker. Why did you make me shut up?’
‘Oh grow up, Rosie!’ said John. ‘Do you really think that if that queer old thing got hold of the Golden Gew-Gaw it would be in “the right hands”? I’m sure it was the ring she meant when she talked about something that would give her all that power.’
‘ “More precious than the Bank of England”?’ went on Rosemary. ‘I suppose you’re right. What’s the matter?’
John had suddenly clapped his hand to his forehead. ‘We’ve left the satchel with the leaflets behind — on the bench where we began to have lunch. And the rest of the sandwiches. We’d only eaten half of them. We shall have to go back and get them.’
‘Must we?’ said Rosemary, remembering how very strange Miss Dibdin had been.
‘We must,’ said John. ‘I’ll go by myself if you’re scared.’
‘If you’re going, of course I’m coming too,’ said Rosemary.
John was peering cautiously over the hedge. ‘Hold on a minute ... I think it’s all right! Yes, look over there!’
Rosemary looked.
It had stopped raining, and a shaft of pale, watery sunshine had broken through the clouds. Pinpricks of light sparkled on the raindrops still hanging from the bare hawthorn hedge. Two fields distant, on the other side of the railway, a figure in a flapping black mackintosh was bobbing its way through the wet grass.
‘Miss Dibdin,’ said Rosemary. ‘She must be going back to Tucket Towers by that short cut she told us about.’
‘You can see the tower sticking up behind that clump of trees,’ said John.
The path sloped downhill, and they watched Miss Dibdin’s dumpy figure grow smaller and smaller, until she seemed to merge into the mist, which still lay on the low ground. Finally, she disappeared among the dark shadows of the trees.
‘Come on!’ said John. ‘We don’t want to be caught in the station if she decides to come back again.’
They wriggled their way once more through the hole in the hedge, and hurried up the ramp which led to the platform. Then they stopped. Sitting on the bench on which they had eaten the sandwiches, licking his paws, was Crumpet.
‘Quick!’ whispered Rosemary. ‘The Golden Gew-Gaw! Let’s see if he will talk to us. You promised!’
John nodded, and felt in his pocket for the tin of Special Things. Then, each with a finger looped through the golden band, they advanced on tip-toe.
‘Hallo, Calidor!’ said John suddenly.
The cat started, turning quickly, and looked furtively to left and right, muttering to himself: ‘No tact, humans haven’t. How in the world do they know what my real name is? Crumpet I’m called hereabouts.’
He looked suspiciously up at the children, with flattened ears.
‘We know quite a lot about you,’ said Rosemary. ‘About Carbonel, and you not caring a herring bone who becomes King of the Cats after him. But we’ll call you Crumpet if you’d rather.’
The cat rose slowly, his legs with their white paws splayed, so that he could balance on the slats of the station seat. He stared up at them with wide green eyes.
‘Who are you?’ he asked at last. ‘And how is it you can hear me talk? Even She can’t do that.’ He nodded towards the Ladies’ Waiting Room.
Once again John nudged Rosemary as she was about to speak.
‘Oh, we just — happen to be able to hear — a lot of things,’ he said airily.
Crumpet was squinting up at them now through half-closed eyes.
‘Fairfax Market!’ he said suddenly. ‘That’s where I’ve seen you before.’
Rosemary nodded. ‘We met Carbonel on the way home afterwards,’ she said. ‘We told him we were going to Highdown, and that Miss Dibdin was bringing you here too.’
‘You told him that?’ said Crumpet angrily. ‘Just when I thought I’d escaped! It’s “Calidor, do this”, and “Calidor, do that”, “Royal cats do this”, and “Royal cats don’t do the other”, morning, noon and night. Sick of it, I am! It’s not as though I am a kitten any longer. Why, I’m not even allowed to choose my own friends!’