‘And as for you two children! What are you doing sitting on the floor? And where on earth have you been all this time? We finished lunch ages ago.’
‘Now, I beg you, don’t be cross with them,’ said Miss Dibdin. ‘We are old friends from Fallowhithe, we met just ... just outside the village, and they both insisted that I should come with them to ... to ...’
‘To the Sale?’ said Uncle Zack.
‘To the Sale, of course,’ said Miss Dibdin, hurriedly, as she dusted down her skirt. ‘Antiques ... so interesting! I only hope this dreadful weather will not keep your customers away.’ The rain was beating steadily on the window.
‘I’m afraid it is only too likely,’ said Uncle Zack ruefully. ‘There are only a few people here so far. But let me show you round, madam, while these two graceless children go down to the kitchen and get something to eat!’
‘And face the music,’ said Mr Sprules. ‘I don’t think Mrs Bodkin is very pleased with you! Good luck!’
He was right. With the help of her married cousin, she was setting out cups and saucers on a number of trays on the kitchen table. When she saw John and Rosemary, she paused in her work for a moment, and rolled her eyes. She said nothing, but they recognized the cloud of crossness that Uncle Zack had described, in which she seemed to wrap herself. It was her married cousin who did the scolding. As they could not explain why they were so late, all they could do was to say they were very sorry, and put up with the reproaches. It was Mrs Bodkin who came to their rescue in the end.
‘Oh, give over, Daisy, do,’ she said. ‘At least they’re back now and no harm done. There’s some cold meat and salad on a couple of plates in the larder. You’d better go and eat it, somewhere out of the way.’
‘And then we’ll come and help with the teas won’t we, John?’ said Rosemary.
‘Raining cats and dogs, it is. Just your poor uncle’s luck!’ went on Mrs Bodkin. Oh, I nearly forgot. A parcel came for you when you were out, Rosie. I put it on your bed.’
‘I expect it’s my other coat,’ said Rosemary. ‘I asked Mum to send it.’
The most ‘out-of-the-way’ place they could think of was Rosemary’s bedroom, at the top of the house. Dumpsie was already curled up, fast asleep, on the patchwork quilt, with the parcel beside her.
‘It seems a shame to disturb her,’ said Rosemary. ‘I’ll put the smelly old fish where she can see it when she wakes.’ She had been clasping the rusty tin wrapped in her handkerchief ever since they left Fallowhithe.
As she expected, the parcel proved to be her old coat.
‘Isn’t it funny how friendly old clothes feel?’ she said as she slipped it on.
‘Just look at Dumpsie,’ said John.
The smell of the fish was so strong, that even in her sleep her whiskers began to quiver, and her small black nose to twitch. Suddenly she was wide awake.
‘Oh, it’s you!’ she said, lifting her muzzle into the air, and moving it from side to side, with eyes half-closed, while she savoured to the full the richness of the smell. ‘Whatever is this delicious ...?’
‘It’s a present from your mother,’ said John. ‘We’ve just been to Fallowhithe Rubbish Dump, and ... for goodness’ sake eat it pretty quickly!’ he added, holding his hand over his nose.
‘But not on my bed!’ said Rosemary, and she hurriedly tipped the fish head on to a piece of paper in the hearth. ‘We’ll tell you all about everything while we eat our dinner,’ said John. ‘I’m rattling inside I’m so empty.’
They climbed on to the patchwork quilt, and in between mouthfuls of cold meat and salad, they told Dumpsie all their adventures. The little cat actually paused in astonishment several times while polishing off her banquet.
‘And to think as you’ve been to the dear old Dump and talked to my ma!’ she said, when at last she had finished the haddock head and was washing her paws. ‘And did he really say “Give my undying love to my one and only Dumpsie”? Prince Calidor, I mean,’ she went on, purring rapturously. Rosemary nodded. ‘And tonight at moonrise, when you go to Tucket Towers, you’ll let me come too?’ she pleaded. ‘There’s no knowing but even the likes of me might come in useful. My paw hardly hurts at all now.’
John and Rosemary looked at one another and nodded.
‘You’ll have to fly with us on the broom,’ said John. ‘I say, we left it downstairs! I’d better go and fetch it.’
When he returned, Rosemary had tidied herself up and brushed her hair. She was standing in front of the long mirror, waving her arms about in a strange way.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ said John.
‘Trying to see if I could do funny floppy sort of movements; like Mrs Witherspoon, when she was making the Middle Magic.’
‘Like a Meccano model when it hasn’t been screwed up properly,’ said John. ‘You’ll never do it. You’re not scrawny enough.’
Rosemary turned suddenly from the mirror, and stood, hands plunged in the pockets of her coat, staring out of the small latticed window at the rain-soaked view.
‘It must be exciting to be able to make real magic,’ she said in a far-away voice. ‘Not just flying on broomsticks. What did Mrs Witherspoon mean when she said I was twice the witch that Miss Dibdin was?’
‘Search me!’ said John. ‘Have you noticed how different Miss Dibdin is since she packed in the witch business? She’s nice now, and quite sensible.’
Rosemary did not answer. Instead, she turned suddenly from the window and said: ‘If I was a witch I’d wish you good at football. Would you like that?’ John shook his head.
‘It wouldn’t be any use. I should know it was only the magic, not me being good at it.’ Then he laughed. ‘A corny old witch you’d make, Rosie! Why, what’s the matter?’
Rosemary had taken off her coat and was feeling the hem. ‘I’ve just found a hole in one of the pockets, and I think something has slipped through into the lining.’
After a few minutes’ poking, she produced a small screw of paper.
‘Bet it’s only an old shopping list,’ said John, as she smoothed it out; but it wasn’t a shopping list.
‘It’s a sort of poem,’ said Rosemary, and began to read:
‘Choose your wishes carefully:
Seven steps to gramarye.’
She broke off. ‘I think grammar’s boring. Whoever ...’
‘Wait a minute,’ interrupted John. ‘Isn’t “gramarye” an old word for magic? Nothing to do with grammar — verbs and nouns and things. Read it again. All of it.’
‘Choose your wishes carefully:
Seven steps to gramarye.
Build them one upon another,
Each wish built upon another.
Seven stages then you’ll be
On the road to witchery.
Learn your lesson:
Learn it fast:
The seventh wish will be your last.’
Rosemary’s voice faded into silence, and they stood and looked at one another. ‘What double-dyed idiots we’ve been,’ said John at last. ‘It’s the instructions that came in the purple cracker, about how to use the Golden Gew-Gaw.’
‘And we thought it was just a stupid cracker motto. I must have shoved it in my pocket, and it went through the hole, and it’s been there all the time!’ said Rosemary.
‘Only seven wishes,’ went on John. ‘How many have we had already?’ He began to count them on his fingers. ‘There was the first one at the bus stop when you wished you could fly ...’
‘Only the ring fell off, but I suppose that counts,’ said Rosemary. ‘And then I wished the Scrabbles would come alive. That’s two.’
‘And that lighter-than-air business. That makes three.’