Everyone knows that the longer washing-up is left, the harder it is to do. Some of the saucepans had clearly been left for a very long time indeed. With a good deal of clattering they cleared the sink.
‘What on earth are you staring at that little enamel thing for?’ asked John.
‘Do you think it’s an egg saucepan?’ asked Rosemary.
‘For goodness’ sake! Have we got to guess what’s been cooked in each one?’ said John.
‘Do stop being cross. There’s some bright purple runny stuff at the bottom,’ went on Rosemary. ‘Don’t you remember Mrs Witherspoon saying that she cooked her Hearing Mixture in the egg saucepan, and it was purple? Quick, get a teaspoon and pour a drop into each of my ears. That’s what she said she did, and then she could hear all cats talking.’
‘But suppose it’s just the remains of some pudding or other? Or ... or even worse, some different kind of magic? It might turn you into something — well, creepy crawly!’
‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ said Rosemary uneasily. ‘But we shall have to risk it. Don’t you see? Without the ring we can’t talk to Carbonel or Calidor, or any of the other cats, and we are stuck unless we do. Hurry! Mrs Witherspoon may be back any minute.’
She rinsed a teaspoon under the tap and pushed it into John’s reluctant hand, put her head on one side and held her hair back. ‘Go on,’ she said, and took a deep breath.
Very gingerly John took the saucepan, scooped up a little of the liquid, and poured a drop into each of her ears. Rosemary raised her head. She was looking rather pale.
‘Rosie ... are you all right?’ asked John anxiously. At first she did not answer; instead she lifted her hand as if to silence him. Then she ran to the kitchen door and opened it carefully, the merest crack, and stood listening. Her face broke into a smile. ‘It has worked! I can hear those two cats next door,’ she whispered. ‘But I can’t make out all they are saying. Something about a clever plan ... I think.’ Then her eyes widened. ‘Help! It’s Grisana and Melissa! I recognize their voices. What on earth are they doing here?’
‘I bet they’re up to no good, whatever it is,’ said John. ‘Quick, there’s just about enough purple stuff to pour down my ears too, if you scrape the saucepan, then let’s go and talk to them.’ When Rosemary had done as he asked he went on: ‘Better make friends with them first, before we let on that we can understand them.’
Together they walked into the kitchen and up to the hearth-rug and held out their hands to the small fire. ‘Beastly cold,’ said John in a loud voice. ‘Isn’t it, pussy?’ he went on, dropping on his knees and stroking the nearest cat on the head. It happened to be Melissa.
‘You’ve got a nice warm place!’ said Rosemary to the other cat, who of course was Grisana. Grisana looked up and gave them a conceited stare.
‘Shall I scratch them, mama?’ said Melissa in a voice with a hiss behind it. ‘If there is anything I hate it is being addressed as “pussy”, as though I am a common or garden cat!’
‘They aren’t worth scratching,’ said Grisana languidly.
‘But suppose they are the two children Splodger told you about? The ones who guessed that the cat Mrs Witherspoon has imprisoned is Carbonel?’ John and Rosemary exchanged glances.
‘It doesn’t matter if they are,’ said Grisana. ‘I have already looked at their hands, and they are neither of them wearing the ring that makes them understand us. Splodger explained about that too, so I can go on telling you about the arrangement I have made with Mrs Witherspoon, and they won’t have any idea what we are talking about.’ John and Rosemary suppressed their smiles, and redoubled their stroking.
‘Do go on, you clever mama!’ said Melissa. ‘I must say this boy strokes rather well. I can’t help purring.’
‘Mrs Witherspoon has been keeping Carbonel prisoner’ because he refuses to be her witch’s cat, and she grows impatient. She has promised me that if he will not do as she wishes by moonrise tonight, and of course he won’t, she will let him go. She will turn him out of the front door of Tucket Towers, and then ...’ Grisana’s purring was loud and deep.
‘And then, mama?’
‘He is mine to do with as I please!’
‘And what will you please?’ said Melissa in her sly voice.
‘When he thinks he is free, and steps out of the hall door of Tucket Towers, he shall be pounced upon by a picked troop of Broomhurst cats, who will take him prisoner in triumph back to Broomhurst, where he will be well and truly ... scrodged!’ There was no trace of a purr about Grisana’s voice now, and she kneaded the hearth-rug with rhythmic claws as she hissed the last word. ‘But you look sulky, daughter? Does this not please you?’
‘I don’t care a sardine tail what happens to Carbonel. It is Calidor I want humbled,’ growled Melissa.
‘Dear child,’ purred Grisana. ‘Calidor shall be humbled. That is the whole point of my plan! As soon as Calidor hears that his father has been captured and taken to Broomhurst — and we shall make quite sure that he hears at once — he will come racing to his rescue, straight into the trap I have prepared for him! We shall be waiting with a picked company, claws raised, to seize him! And then they can both be scrodged together! But come, there is a great deal to do. I must decide where sentries are to be posted tonight. Come, Melissa.’
The two cats hurried from the kitchen into the scullery, jumped up on to the draining board, smashing a dirty cup as they went, and leapt out of the window which swung backwards and forwards because the latch was broken. John and Rosemary watched them go.
‘Phew!’ said John. ‘What a wicked pair! Come on, we’ve got an awful lot to do too!’
‘Yes, but what?’ said Rosemary. ‘How can we stop this beastly plan?’
‘We must get word to Calidor about the moonrise business, somehow. But first we must search Tucket Towers until we find Carbonel. Now’s our chance while Mrs Witherspoon is in the garden. Come on!’
They hurried down the passage and through the baize door, and looked cautiously round the hall. There was no one there. The only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock. Small swirls of dusty motes danced in the early morning sunshine, which slanted through the windows on either side of the front door.
‘Let’s start with the first room on the right, and go through every one in turn,’ said John. ‘Shall we separate? You do downstairs, and I’ll go upstairs?’
‘No fear!’ said Rosemary. ‘I’m coming with you!’ She ducked to avoid a swinging spider as she followed him through the first door.
They tiptoed cautiously from one room to another. Some were quite empty. Only the less faded patches of wallpaper showed where pictures and furniture had once been. In others, what furniture there was was shrouded in dust sheets.
‘How creepy armchairs and sofas look, all muffled up in white!’ whispered Rosemary. ‘As though they’re ... sort of crouching!’
‘Holding out their arms to pounce,’ said John, and they moved a little nearer to one another.
But uneasy though they were, they searched thoroughly, opening every door, and looking inside every cupboard, even examining the back stairs, and wherever they went they found moth-eaten carpets, and faded hangings ... but no Carbonel.
‘We’d better try upstairs,’ said John when they had searched the last room.
Here the rooms all led off the gallery which ran round three sides of the hall ... but they proved as empty and uninhabited as the others. The sun had gone in, and the silence seemed even heavier here than below, broken only by the occasional scutter of a mouse, or the faint buzz of an imprisoned fly as it bumbled against a window-pane.
One room showed signs of having been recently used. The bed was made, and a scatter of large hair-pins lay on the dressing-table. In the wardrobe was a tall, pointed black hat.