‘She does look rather different from last summer,’ said Rosemary.
‘Sort of ... beaky about the face, although she’s still quite fat,’ said John. He stopped, not sure if he had been rude, but Mrs Cantrip didn’t seem offended.
‘A very good way of describing her,’ she said, and lifted a warning finger as her friend returned with the biscuit tin.
‘I was just wondering,’ said Miss Dibdin, ‘whether you would be able to put off going away until Tuesday, so that you could both come to my little party? Such nice girls, and all of them prefects!’
Rosemary was just opening her mouth to say they’d love to, when she caught sight of John’s horrified face, so she cleared her throat instead and went on: ‘Of course we should like to, but we’re going to stay with John’s uncle at Highdown.’
Miss Dibdin gave a little screech.
‘Well, what a coincidence! That’s just where I’m going the day after the party, to do some house-hunting! Fairfax Market has changed so, and not for the better. So we thought we’d move to a little cottage in the country — if I can find something suitable.’
‘Of course, I shall be sorry to leave the Market in many ways, after so long,’ said Mrs Cantrip. ‘But what with all this building, and the noise ...’ As she spoke, above the hum of the traffic outside, they heard an eerie, wailing cry. ‘There’s that cat again!’ she went on, as the sound was repeated, rising higher and higher, till at last it sank to a low bubbling murmur.
At the first wild note, Crumpet had leapt to his feet, ears back, coat bristling, and his green eyes wide. He stood with lifted head as the cry died away, then he dashed for cover beneath the frill of Mrs Cantrip’s armchair, where they heard him swearing quietly to himself behind the flowery frill.
‘Whenever he hears that cat, Crumpet runs and hides under my chair!’ said Mrs Cantrip. ‘Milk and sugar, Rosemary?’
Miss Dibdin, who was on her knees trying to persuade Crumpet to come out, and assuring him that the ‘nasty rough animal’ shouldn’t do him any harm, suddenly sat back on her heels.
‘Was that someone at the door? Do go and see, John.’
He looked out into the Market.
‘There’s nobody there,’ he said.
‘Oh bother your old parcel!’ said Mrs Cantrip cheerfully. ‘I suppose it’s to do with this mysterious hobby you’ve taken up. Surely you can tell us that much?’
Miss Dibdin frowned for a moment. At last she nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘It is to do with my ... er ... hobby. Well, now I’ve retired I must have something to do. I can’t sit and twiddle my thumbs all day. I’ll tell you what I can about the parcel. Not what’s inside, because I don’t know.’
‘All this fuss, and you don’t even know what’s inside it!’ said Mrs Cantrip.
Miss Dibdin went on as though she had not heard.
‘I’ve been doing a correspondence course. You know, lessons by post. I shan’t tell you what in, because I know you’d disapprove, Katie. Well, I learned all I could about ... about my hobby, from books and so on, and was just ready to start on some practical work, when the correspondence course people wrote and said they were closing down. Not enough customers. So disappointing!’
‘Does that mean you can’t go on with it? Your hobby, I mean?’ asked Rosemary.
‘Certainly not,’ said Miss Dibdin, stirring her tea with vigour. ‘They went on to say they would tell a local shop to send me a Do-It-Yourself Kit instead, with instructions how to use it, if I would send the money and the postage. So of course I wrote off at once. But nothing has come.’
‘Why didn’t you go to the shop and make inquiries?’ said Mrs Cantrip.
‘I did,’ said Miss Dibdin shortly, ‘when a week had gone by. It was the other side of the town, in a queer little back street. “NOSTRADAMUS LTD. Fancy Goods” it said over the window, which was full of all kinds of rubbish. False noses and paper hats, and tricks to play on people, and the sort of thing that conjurers use: wands and top hats and so on. They were having a sale.’
‘I say, I like that kind of shop,’ said John. ‘Couldn’t Rosie and I go and fetch your parcel for you?’
Miss Dibdin didn’t answer at first. She was staring into her tea-cup as though it was something other than the dregs of tea she saw there.
‘It was dark and poky inside the shop,’ she went on at last, as though she hadn’t heard. ‘When I rapped on the counter, a queer little old man with a long beard came out from the back and said, yes, he had had the order, but he was short of staff, and had done nothing about it, and wouldn’t I take the parcel back with me instead, as I was there?’
‘Well, why didn’t you?’ asked Mrs Cantrip.
‘Because I’d got too much to carry already. All those groceries, and a box of crackers for the party. They were on the counter, marked down to half-price. I know there’s nothing inside them as a rule except rubbishy gew-gaws. But they do help to make a party go. Besides,’ went on Miss Dibdin in an aggrieved voice, ‘I’d paid for the postage. Quite cross with him I had to be. When at last I told him to stop arguing and pack up the box of crackers, and see that the other parcel was sent to Fairfax Market at once, he began to laugh. More of a cackle it was really. Then he took the cracker box to the back of the shop. Quite a long time he was over it.’
‘But didn’t you ask him when you could expect your precious parcel to arrive?’ asked Mrs Cantrip.
‘Of course I did,’ said Miss Dibdin, ‘and all he said was: “It’ll be there the minute you’re home yourself, ma’am.” His very words. And then he went off into such a fit of cackling I thought he’d do himself a mischief. So I came away and left him to it. But there was no sign of the parcel when I got home. So disappointing.’
‘How funny,’ said Rosemary. ‘Did you go back again and tell him?’
‘That’s the queer part,’ said Miss Dibdin slowly. ‘When I went the second time the shop wasn’t there. It was number thirteen. I distinctly remember seeing it written up over the door that first time. But there wasn’t a number thirteen any more. The neighbours said there never had been. But I’m still hoping that the parcel will come.’
‘Well, if you will only stop being mysterious, and tell me where you’re staying at Highdown, I’ll send it after you if it comes,’ said Mrs Cantrip. ‘Besides, you might arrange for John and Rosemary to come and see you there.’
‘I can’t tell you what I don’t know!’ snapped Miss Dibdin. ‘I am going to Highdown Station where I shall be met by ... by a friend. Besides, I shall be far too busy for callers. How you do badger a body, Katie! And another thing, I mean to take Crumpet with me.’
The cat, now quite recovered from his fright, was weaving round Miss Dibdin’s ankles. ‘He shall help me choose a house for us to live in. Shan’t he, my pussididdlums!’
‘Help you choose a house? Really, Dorothy, I never heard such nonsense!’ said Mrs Cantrip sharply. But clearly feeling it was time to change the subject, she turned to John and Rosemary. ‘How kind of your mother to let me have her favourite recipe! John, dear, do have another piece of cake.’
The rest of the tea-party passed quite pleasantly, though Miss Dibdin rose several times to answer imaginary knocks on the door.
3. The Purple Cracker
WHEN at last John and Rosemary got up to go, Mrs Cantrip said: ‘I tell you what, Dorothy! As these two can’t come to the party on Monday, don’t you think it would be a good idea if they chose a pretty cracker to take home instead?’
‘Splendid!’ said Miss Dibdin. ‘Why didn’t I think of it? Rosemary, you know which is my room? Run upstairs, dear, and take whichever one you fancy. They are in a brown paper parcel on my dressing-table.’