‘But whatever for?’
‘To join them in their witchery! To be a partner in their magic power!’
‘Don’t do it! Don’t do it, Rosie!’ begged John.
‘I must,’ she answered. ‘Something draws me to them.’ She passed her hand over her eyes as though to clear them, but she did not slacken her speed.
‘What on earth has come over you?’ said John desperately.
‘I don’t know. But I must go. Gullion and Mrs Witherspoon are calling! Calling!’
Mrs Witherspoon and Gullion? Suddenly it all became clear!
‘Sothat’s what she meant by getting her revenge “in the way I shall mind most and least expect”,’ he said to himself. ‘Through Rosemary. Rosie to be a witch!’ That evil mixture of foolishness and twisted wisdom; of greed for power and riches, no matter what the consequences might be for others. ‘And all because she wants to be revenged onme! What can I do? Whatever can I do to stop her?’ he said to himself in desperation. Rosemary had turned into the drive of Tucket Towers. She seemed unaware of the rough surface, which cut into John’s bare feet. Desperately he ran to keepup with the increasing speed of her rapid onward glide.
Suddenly, even more painful than the stony drive, he felt something sharp as a needle prick into the palm of his clenched hand. He looked down and opened his fingers. It was the stone of the Golden Gew-Gaw, which he was still clutching.‘Of course! The seventh wish!’ he said to himself, as he slipped the ring on to his finger. The crimson stone glowed in the gloom of the drive like a live coal.
Then he began to think as he had never thought before. This must be the perfect wish. It must cover all the dangers threatening Rosemary, without any of the usual mocking twists of magic the ring seemed to delight in. They had reached the end of the drive before he could begin to get the shape of a wishing rhyme.
‘It’s coming, I think it’s coming,’ he said to himself. ‘What rhymes with “magic powers”? Bowers … showers …? That won’t do.’ Now, Rosemary had reached the steps leading to the front door. ‘Of course!’ said John. ‘Tucket Towers!’ Rosemary hurried up the steps, and as she put her hand on the iron bell-pull, John shouted at the top of his voice:
‘I’m not much good at making rhymes
Although I’ve tried to many times.
One last wish I beg you do,
Send Gullion to Timbuktu!
Undo all the spells he’s made
With Mrs Witherspoonses’ aid
End once for all the magic powers
Of all who live at Tucket Towers.’
For a moment Rosemary paused, then her hand slackened on the bell-pull. As it clanged in the distance, she slumped down upon the step. John rushed up and fell on his knees beside her.
‘Rosie! Rosie! Are you all right? Please, please answer me!’
Slowly she raised her head and opened her eyes.‘Where ever am I?’ she said, and looked about her.
‘At Tucket Towers,’ said John. ‘Sort of … sleep-walking!’
‘I had a horrid dream,’ she said, rubbing her eyes. ‘I’m so glad I’ve woken up.’
‘So am I!’ said John, grinning from ear to ear.
‘But whatever made me come to Tucket Towers?’
‘Listen,’ John began. ‘I had to use the Golden Gew-Gaw’s last wish to undo Mrs Witherspoon’s magic …’ He looked at the ring on his finger, expecting to see the smouldering red stone set in the shining band. ‘Hallo!’ he said in surprise. ‘It isn’t the Golden Gew-Gaw any longer.It’s just a dull old cracker ring made of plastic, with a bit of glass for a stone!’
Rosemary turned to pick up the witch’s hat which had fallen on the step beside her. ‘It isn’t hard and furry any more,’ she said sadly. ‘It’s just a crumpled old paper cap. The sort of thing you might get in a cracker at any party.’
‘I suppose, after its last wish …’ began John. He stopped as a key grated in the lock and the door swung open. There stood Mrs Witherspoon. But not the young woman they had left locked up in the tower. This was the old Mrs Witherspoon, with a pale wrinkled face and wild white hair. She was wearing a shabby woollen dressing-gown. Her eyes widened when she saw them.
‘Good gracious, children! Whatever are you doing here? And in your night clothes!’
‘I think I’ve been walking in my sleep,’ said Rosemary.
‘And I followed her,’ said John. ‘But I didn’t catch her up until she’d got here.’
‘It’s a funny thing,’ said Mrs Witherspoon. ‘The grandfather clock suddenly seemed to go mad, a few minutes ago. It clanged and twangled, and made such a din it woke me up. If I hadn’t come down to see what was the matter I should never have heard you, you poor little things! But you mustbe simply frozen with no shoes. Now come along in and get warm, and tell me all about it.’ She seemed so different from the Mrs Witherspoon they had known, that they followed her without further thought. The grand furniture, the silver candlesticks and the twinkling chandelier had gone, together with the pictures in their golden frames. Were they the same spiders as before, wondered John, busily weaving their webs on the antlers over each door? He nearly tripped over the worn carpet as he gazed about him.
Mrs Witherspoon stirred the smouldering embers of the kitchen fire and, warmed by the leaping flames, and mugs of steaming cocoa, but most of all by her kindly smile, John told her who they were, and where they came from.
‘But your poor uncle! Whatever will he think about you being out so late?’
Rosemary wriggled uncomfortably.‘Well, we’d rather he didn’t find out,’ she said, and looked at Mrs Witherspoon appealingly.
‘And even if he does,’ said John. ‘We are out very early, not very late, which doesn’t sound so bad somehow.’ Mrs Witherspoon’s eyes twinkled.
‘I see what you mean,’ she said. ‘But surely he should be told about the sleep-walking?’
‘Oh,please no!’ said John. ‘We’d much rather not. You see, it’s so difficult to explain.’
‘Then there is something else besides the sleep-walking behind all this?’ Mrs Witherspoon asked, her eyebrows raised. John and Rosemary both nodded. Somehow they felt they could trust her. ‘And it’s a secret?’ They nodded again even more vigorously. After a minute’s frowning thought shewent on: ‘Well, whatever it is, I think you must promise me never to do it again, and I won’t tell.’
‘We promise!’ they said. ‘Never again.’
‘Good,’ said Mrs Witherspoon briskly. ‘Now then, if you will wait while I put on some clothes I will take you home. I should not feel easy in my mind if I did not see you safely to the door of Roundels. You can’t possibly walk with bare feet. I’m afraid I have no car, so you will have to make do with standing on the bar at the back of my new tricycle.’
So that was how they went home. Their progress was slow but very stately. The birds, which were twittering sleepily when they started, were in full-throated song when they reached the gate, and said good-bye to Mrs Witherspoon.
‘It’s going to be a beautiful day!’ she said. ‘Come and see me sometime when you come to stay at Highdown.’
‘We should love to!’ said John and Rosemary, and they really meant it.
Miss Dibdin did find just the right house to retire to in Highdown with her friend Mrs Cantrip. They are settled there very happily, and are devoted to their cat, who is called Mattins. (His whiskers straightened in time.) Miss Dibdin has taken a part-time job helping Mr Sprules in his second-hand book shop, and is firm friends with his cat Splodger. Sometimes she wonders how one of his ears got so badly torn, but of course he can’t tell her. Mrs Cantrip is a busy member of the Women’s Institute. They both of them often call on their friend Mrs Witherspoon, the owner of that flourishing private hotel, Tucket Towers.
And Gullion? As no one bothers to listen to his wicked whisperings in Timbuktu, it is to be hoped his power is ended.
Mrs Featherstone sometimes wonders why Rosemary brushes the hearthrug in the sitting-room with such care every day, as she does not seem interested in any other kind of housework. Even more surprising is that John always helps her when he comes to stay.