Mary Norton - Bed-Knob and Broomstick

Miss Price opened her eyes, but she did not change her expression. "Some more tea, Mr. Jones?" she asked sweetly.

Emelius looked up. "Nay, I am well enough," and, as he thought they seemed puzzled, he added quickly, "but 'tis an excellent infusion. None better. And good they say against the Falling Sickness." "Really?" said Miss Price again, and hesitated. "Some toast and marmalade?" "Marmalade?" "It's a preserve made from oranges." "Ah, yes, indeed," exclaimed Emelius, "I am very partial to it." He took the cut-glass dish, and, using the jam spoon, quite unhurriedly he scraped it clean. Paul was fascinated; his eyes seemed to bulge and his mouth fell open.

"Now, get down, Paul," Miss Price said quickly when he seemed about to speak; and she turned again politely to Emelius who, more relaxed, was leaning back in his chair thoughtfully licking the jam spoon. "The children tell me you are interested in magic?" He laid down the spoon at once, all courteous attention. "Yes, that is so. It is, as one might say, my calling." "You practice for money?" Emelius smiled, shrugging slightly. "For what else?" Miss Price, quite suddenly, looked pleasantly flustered. "I don't know. . . . You see-" Her face became quite pink. "A real professional! I've never actually met one. . . ." "No?"' "No." Miss Price hesitated, her hands clasped together in her lap. "You see-I mean-" She took a long breath. "This is quite an occasion." Emelius stared. "But you, madam-do you not practice for money?" "I? Oh dear me, no." She began to pour a second cup of tea. "I'm only an amateur-the merest beginner." "The merest beginner . . ." repeated Emelius, amazed. He stared even harder. "Then-if I understand rightly-it was not you, madam, who caused the bed to fly?" "The bed-knob? Yes, that was me. But"-she laughed a little deprecatingly, sipping her tea-"it was quite easy really-I just went by the book." "You just went by the book," repeated Emelius in a stunned voice. He drew out an ivory toothpick and, in a worried way, began to pick his teeth.

"Yes," (Carey felt happier now: Miss Price was almost prattling) "I have to measure everything. I can't do a thing out of my head. I'd very much like to invent a spell. That would be so worth while, don't you think? But somehow . . ." She shrugged. "You, I dare say," she went on, dropping her voice respectfully, "have invented many?" For one panic-stricken moment, Emelius caught Carey's eye. He quickly looked away again. "No, no-" he declaimed. Then, seeing Miss Price's expression, he added modestly, "None to speak of." He gazed in a hunted way about the room and saw the cottage piano. "That's a strange instrument," he remarked, as though to change the subject.

Miss Price got up and went toward it. "Not really," she explained, "it's a Bluethner." As Emelius came beside her, she raised the lid of the keyboard. "Do you play?" "A little." He sat down on the music stool and struck a few notes, half closing his eyes as though listening to the tone. Then, head nodding and fingers skipping, he swept into a little piece by William Byrd. He played with great feeling and masterly restraint, using the piano as though it were a harpsichord. Miss Price seemed quite impressed.

"That was very nice," she admitted guardedly. And, glancing quickly at her watch, she moved away and began to clear the table.

"It was lovely," cried Carey warmly, as she jumped up to help. "Do play some more!" Emelius, turning to look at her, smiled a trifle wanly. "Saepe labat equus dtfessus? he explained, glancing at Miss Price.

Miss Price looked back at him, her face expressionless. "Yes, quite," she agreed uncertainly.

"Or perhaps," Emelius went on, "one might more truly say lmira rivma oculos inebriant''?" "Well," said Miss Price and gave a little laugh, "it's as you like, really," and she clashed the plates together rather noisily as though to make a distraction.

"I think," said Charles uncertainly, aside to Miss Price, "that perhaps he means he's tired . . ." Miss Price blushed warmly, immediately all concern. "Oh dear, oh dear ... of course; how stupid of me! Charles, dear, put a chair under the mulberry tree for Mr. Jones; he can rest there quietly. . . ." She glanced about the room. "And we must find him something to read. Where's the Daily Telegraph?" They could not find the Telegraph but found instead a book called Little Arthur's History of England. "Couldn't he have this?" Charles urged. "It would be even better. I mean, it would be all news to Mr. Jones from chapter seven onward." They went out through the back way for Emelius to see the kitchen. Surprised and delighted, he admired all the right things in the right way-the electric cooker, the plastic plate rack, and the stainless steel sink. He clothed his wonder in odd, poetical phrases. Miss Price seemed very pleased. "I can't afford a refrigerator-at least, not yet," she told him as he ran a loving hand across the gleaming surface of the sink. "But this is rather jolly, don't you think? Forty-three pounds, seven shillings and tenpence, excluding the plumbing. But worth it in the end, wouldn't you say?" But it was in the garden that Emelius came into his own. His knowledge of plants astounded even Miss Price, and he told her countless uses for what had seemed the commonest of herbs. Mr. Bisselthwaite's boy, who was delivering the milk, broke off his whistling to stare at Emelius. Emelius, his long velvet robe sweeping the lawn, returned the milkboy's stare with somber dignity. The whistling was resumed, and the milkboy clanged down the two pints with his usual roughness.

Later, leaving Emelius with a history book in the shade of the mulberry tree, reading with much interest of what was to come to pass in his future, Charles and Carey sought out Miss Price in her bedroom.

"Miss Price," whispered Carey, as if Emelius might hear, "do you like him?" Miss Price, who was making up the bed, paused, sheet in hand. "He has distinction," she admitted guardedly.

"Think, Miss Price," went on Carey, "of the things you'd have to talk about. You haven't even begun-" Miss Price wrinkled her forehead. "Ye-s," she said uncertainly.

"Couldn't he stay a bit longer? Couldn't he stay a week?" Miss Price turned. She sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed. "I had better be perfectly frank," she announced firmly. "He could only stay on one condition." "What condition?" they asked excitedly.

The tip of Miss Price's nose became rather pink.

"He must be persuaded to have a good hot bath," she said. "And he must have a haircut." "Oh, I'm sure he'd do it. Willingly," said Carey.

"And his clothes must go to the cleaners." "But what will he wear meantime?" Miss Price looked thoughtful. "There's that old Norfolk suit of my father's, and . . . yes, I've some things in a trunk . . ." Carey and Miss Price were not present when Charles tackled Emelius under the mulberry tree, but in the still summer air the sound of their voices floated in through the open window. Charles's voice was a burbling monotone, but Emelius's was raised. Charles's suggestions were meeting with opposition. The conversation went on and on. There were a few deep silences. Carey shut her eyes and crossed her thumbs; the going, she realized, was not easy. At last, through the mist of leaves, she saw Emelius stand up. As the two figures began to approach the house, Carey drew back into the room, but not before she heard Emelius's parting shot, delivered in a voice that broke. "So be it," he said, "if it is the custom, but I had an uncle died of the ague through this same cause." Preparing Emelius's bath was something of a ceremony. Miss Price dug out her fluffiest and softest bath towel and a clean cotton kimono with an embroidered spray of flowers across the back. Carey ran the water to a pleasant, even temperature and threw in a handful of Miss Price's carefully hoarded bath salts. She spread out the bath mat and closed the window. Emelius was ushered in, the plumbing was explained to him by Charles, and he was asked to put his clothes outside the door.