Барбара Слэй - Carbonel - The King Of Cats

‘That your cat?’ asked the old man. Rosemary nodded. ‘I don’t know when I see such a big ’un, except it was one I saw yesterday on this very spot. Belonged to an old woman. She was a caution!’ He broke off to laugh wheezily again.

‘You see some queer things in my trade, but I never see’d a queerer than she was. Like an old rag bag, with a little hat on top smart as kiss yer ’and. What’s the matter, ducks, a bit of apple gone down the wrong way?’

Rosemary nodded and wiped her eyes.

‘Was she selling anything?’ she asked as carelessly as she could when she had stopped coughing.

The old man wheezed again, but this time with indignation.

‘She stands next to me, and all she’s got to sell are an old hat – you never saw such a wreck of an old thing, black it was, with a point – and an old coal-scuttle, one of them with three feet and a handle over the top. Fair crocked with soot, it was.’

‘How queer,’ said Rosemary. ‘Did she sell them?’

The old man went off into such a prolonged wheeze that she could have shaken him with impatience. When at last he emerged he said, ‘Ah, she sold ’em right enough. There’d me been ’ere since nine o’clock, and all I’d sold was a book of sermons marked down to tuppence, and a pair of button boots, and ’ere is this old besom setting up for ’alf an hour, and blessed if she don’t sell ’er ’at and ’er coal-scuttle right off! Some people don’t reckernize ’igh class goods when they sees ’em. Ah, and where was ’er licence I should like to know?’ he added darkly, dusting a glass case full of moth-eaten birds as he spoke.

‘But what sort of people bought them?’ asked Rosemary, quite surprised at her own cunning.

‘Well, I didn’t see who bought the coal-scuttle. I’m not a one to go Nosey Parkering. But business being slack, I noticed a youngish fellow bargain with ’er for the ’at. Something artistic I’d say by the look on ’im. You gets to be a student of ’uman nature in my job. First thing I sizes up their clothes. ’Is was good but wore. Fifteen bob I’d ’ave given for ’is coat, and a tanner for ’is ’at, not a penny more, but a gentleman, mind. And would you believe it, when she asked a pound for her old ’at, ’e didn’t beat ’er down more than a couple of bob. Eighteen shillings ’e paid ’er for it, and looked at it all the time as if it was a picture of ’is long-lost ma. “Most interesting,” ’e kept saying, “A genuine seventeenth century beaver wotsit.” And the old woman grinning and cackling like a lunatic’

‘Who ever could it have been?’ said Rosemary.

‘Well, that’s what I says to myself. A chap wot’s silly enough to cough up the best part of a quid for something the cat might ’ave brought in, is too good to lose sight on. So I says wouldn’t ’e like to ’ave a look at some of my ’ats? But, bless you, ’e wouldn’t even look at my Leghorn with the roses. But when ’e’d gone I did find an old envelope. Dropped it, as like as not, when ’e got out ’is note-case.’

‘Did it tell you his name?’ asked Rosemary .

‘Did it tell you his name?’ asked Rosemary, hardly able to hide her eagerness.

‘No! Just my luck. It only said “To the Occupier”, and ’is address underneath. It was one of those powdered soap coupons to buy a monster packet of Lathero for the price of a little ’un. I’ve got it somewhere.’ The old man rummaged about in his many pockets.

‘’Ere it is. The Occupier. You can ’ave it if you like. I daresay it would come in handy for your ma. My old woman don’t hold with these newfangled things.’

‘Oh, thank you!’ said Rosemary, and there was no doubt she meant it. She skipped off, clutching the envelope, and sat down on an upturned bucket behind a battered wardrobe where she was unlikely to be overheard talking to Carbonel. ‘It says “ To the Occupier, 101 Cranshaw Road, Netherley ”.’

‘You really handled that quite creditably,’ said Carbonel.

‘I wish we could go there straight away, but it is four o’clock already, and I promised I would have tea ready for Mummy when she came home. We had better go.’ Rosemary jumped up and started to walk rapidly the way they had skimmed so easily the day before on the broom-stick. But with the letter in her pocket, the feeling that they had achieved something made the way home seem quite short. Carbonel padded silently on in front.

6

Mrs Walker Says ‘No’

Mrs Brown arrived just as Rosemary had finished laying tea. The kettle was boiling, and they sat down to a companionable meal of buttered toast and strawberry jam, with a large saucer of milk for Carbonel.

‘I hope it wasn’t too dull all by yourself, dear,’ said her mother anxiously.

‘Oh, no, Mummy, Carbonel and I went for a walk after we had had our dinner and it was… most interesting.’ Her mother smiled.

‘Well, I’ve got a surprise for you. You know how you have always wanted to see Mrs Pendlebury Parker’s house? Well, tomorrow she wants you to go with me and spend the day.’

‘Goodness!’ said Rosemary. ‘How lovely.’

And then she remembered how she had meant to spend the next day looking for Cranshaw Road.

‘But shouldn’t I be in the way?’ she said uncertainly.

‘Good gracious, not a bit in a house that size! You see, Mrs Pendlebury Parker has a young nephew coming to stay with her, and as she doesn’t know any children she asked if you would come and play with him. He is just about your age.’

Now in any other circumstances Rosemary would have been delighted at the very idea of seeing for herself the glories of Tussocks, which sounded from her mother’s description like a fairytale palace. It never occurred to Mrs Brown that there could be anything that her young daughter would rather do next day, so that she did not notice Rosemary’s lack of enthusiasm.

‘You had better wear your new gingham frock. It is lucky it is clean. Now as soon as we’ve cleared away I’ll go down and ask Mrs Walker if we may keep the cat. He is a handsome animal. I do hope she will say “yes”.’

‘I’ll wash up the tea things, Mummy, if you will go and ask her now,’ said Rosemary.

Mrs Brown went down the six flights of stairs and Rosemary folded up the cloth and got out the enamel bowl for washing up. It took rather a long time to clear away as she was only using one hand. The other was holding the broom so that she could talk to Carbonel.

‘If only I could have gone to Tussocks another day!’ she complained. Carbonel seemed unruffled.

‘As long as you don’t use the broom and go wearing it out for nothing, there is no need to get into such a fantod about it. If you are going to do magic, even elementary stuff, you’ll have to learn that time is merely a figure of speech.’

‘Is it?’ said Rosemary. Half her attention was concentrated on the wobbly pile of cups and saucers she was carrying with one hand, and at the same time she was wondering if she could tell Miss Pettigrue that time was merely a figure of speech next time she was late for school.

‘Besides,’ went on Carbonel, ‘I have important things to see to that would not interest you.’

‘How do you know they would not interest me?’ said Rosemary, a little ruffled. It really was difficult to clear away with one hand. ‘Oh, don’t go to sleep, Carbonel! Mummy will be back at any minute, and then you won’t be able to talk to me any more.’