Beswitched (16 page)

“Don’t!” Flora said.

Pete and Virginia looked at her.

Virginia asked, “Don’t what?”

“Oh—nothing.” Flora wanted to say, “Don’t go back to Vienna.” But it sounded stupid when Virginia wasn’t allowed to know why.

14
Merrythorpe

“I
t’s a case of all hands to the pump,” Miss Bradley said cheerfully. “We can’t spare a teacher, so Virginia’s your official escort—and you’d better behave like saints.”

St. Winifred’s had closed for fumigation, and both the narrow platforms of the little country station were crowded with excited girls. Watkins, the stationmaster, had taken on a couple of extra men to help with the mountains of luggage.

“I don’t think they’ll give me much trouble,” Virginia said, smiling.

Flora felt a little shy with Virginia today. She was not wearing her school uniform but a proper grown-up dress and coat, and even lipstick. Her unflattering glasses had gone,
and she had taken trouble with her hair. She seemed very old and distant—until she suddenly whispered to Flora, “Is the lipstick idiotic? I’m trying to look as if I’m in charge.”

“It looks really nice,” Flora whispered back. She was glad they were traveling down to Merrythorpe (the name of Dulcie’s house) with Virginia instead of a teacher. It made this feel like a real holiday. Spring had come, the air smelled of soil and blossom, the trees and hedgerows were covered with green buds, and the sun shone from a cloudless sky.

The train came, puffing out cushions of steam like a train in a film about the olden days.

Pete was so excited that she dropped her overnight bag, showering the platform with pajamas, books, sponge bag and loose sweets. There was a moment of chaos when she bent down to pick everything up and Dulcie fell over her. Somehow, they all managed to gather Pete’s belongings and climb into the train. The five of them had a compartment to themselves.

“We’re moving!” crowed Pete. “I’m so wild with happiness, I feel I could fly! No more lessons for three whole weeks!”

“Let’s have some fudge,” Dulcie said, pulling a paper bag from her pocket.

“Crikey, we’ve just had breakfast,” said Flora (the word “crikey” came quite easily to her these days). “Oh, go on then—if only it wasn’t so delicious.”

“No, thanks,” Virginia said. “I’m not up to the effort of eating fudge.” Once you looked past the lipstick, she was very pale and there were gray smudges under her eyes.

Pete blurted out, “I say, you are better, aren’t you? Peggy Waterman told me you nearly died.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Virginia said. “But I was laid rather low. Matron was almost cross with me for getting so ill. She kept saying she couldn’t imagine how I’d reached the age of seventeen without being exposed to measles. I suppose it’s because I’ve spent most of my time with grown-ups, and didn’t mix much with other children.”

Flora, as the only child of ancient parents, was interested. “Were you lonely?”

“Not at all. I liked being one of the adults. But my father didn’t like it. He said that before my mother launched me into society, I needed to learn how to be a real girl.”

“But you are a real girl! What did you need to learn?”

“Just about everything—how to take a joke, how to make friends, how to share things. I was furious at first, but now I see that he was right. Before I came to St. Win’s, I was a pampered little madam and I thought I was at the center of the universe.”

“You’re not like that now.” Uneasily, Flora wondered if she had been a “pampered little madam” herself, and had to push away certain embarrassing memories of the way she had treated Mum and Dad.

“I had my corners rubbed off,” Virginia said. “It wasn’t painful.” She leaned back against the seat. “My dear Dulcie, how can you possibly have finished all that fudge?”

“I can’t help it,” Dulcie said, with her mouth full. “I’m so ravenously hungry—it’s as if there’s a nest of baby birds inside me with their beaks open. D’you think it’s too early to
have our sandwiches?” Dulcie had lost most of her plumpness, and seemed to have grown about six inches, until she was all eyes and legs and plaits. She looked wistfully at the big, moist parcel of sandwiches they had been given for their lunch. It was half past ten.

“Let’s open them now.” Pogo was similarly skinny and ravenous. “There isn’t anyone here to stop us—unless Virginia says we can’t.”

“Good gracious, don’t mind me,” Virginia said. “I’m far too feeble to exercise any kind of authority.”

Pogo unwrapped the sandwiches. They were filled with egg and cress, and Pete groaned.

“Do you have to? They smell of Number Twos!”

That was all it took to make them shriek with laughter. Flora wondered how long it was since she had laughed as hard as this. She remembered another spring day, last year, in Ella’s back garden, when Ella’s dog had suddenly snatched a chocolate muffin out of her hand, and they had rolled about on the lawn absolutely screaming. It was odd, she thought—the more she liked Pete, Pogo and Dulcie, the more she found herself missing Ella. There were so many things she wanted to say to her. She had a feeling Ella would have got on well at St. Winifred’s. She liked serious things, like reading and writing and talking about history, and when they were on the awful holiday in Italy, she had loved listening to Granny’s stories about her famous artist lover.

Flora was beginning to revise her opinion of Granny. She didn’t like her any better, but you had to admit she’d had an interesting life. Pogo, Dulcie and Pete (especially Pete)
couldn’t hear enough about the wild parties and the four husbands. Deep down, Flora was rather proud of her, and sorry she herself had spent most of the Italian holiday sulking because there wasn’t a pool.

At Plymouth, they changed to a funny little train with crates of chickens in the guard’s van. It chugged across the countryside, through a beautiful landscape of woods and hills and deep, sheltered valleys. They passed fields where the plows were pulled by horses, and stopped for ages in tiny, silent stations.

Dulcie was getting more and more excited, and Flora envied her. She was going to see her home, and the people she loved. No wonder she was pale and almost trembling with impatience. Flora had one of her intense moments of longing for home. The deeper they went into the 1930s countryside, the further they seemed to be from her real life.

Dulcie’s local station was called Cranton Halt, and it was not much more than a small platform and a stationmaster’s hut. The girls stepped out of the train into the sharp spring afternoon.

“Granny!” cried Dulcie. She ran along the platform on her new spidery legs, and fell into the arms of her grandmother.

Flora remembered Lady Badger from half-term, and she looked so much like an elderly Dulcie that Flora could have picked her out of a crowd. Her yellow hair had turned white, and her round cheeks had sagged, but her blue eyes had the same expression of innocence. And when she held out her hand to the girls, she gave them a very Dulcie-ish smile.

“My dears, I’m so very glad to see you all—you must be dreadfully tired, but we’re only ten minutes away from Merrythorpe, and I hope you’re all hungry—Dorsey’s been cooking herself into a frenzy.” She looked at Virginia. “Poor child, you’re ready to drop. Come and sit in the front of the car, and the little girls can go in the back. And don’t fret about the luggage,” she added. “Mr. Rudge says he’ll bring it as soon as the express has gone through.”

A large, black, boxy car waited on the patch of gravel outside the miniature station. Flora, Pete, Dulcie and Pogo crammed onto the slippery leather seat in the back. There were no seat belts—1930s people didn’t seem to worry about danger as much as people in the twenty-first century.

Lady Badger drove very slowly and very carefully, goggling earnestly at the road like Dulcie on the hockey field. She inched the car down twisting, narrow lanes, through woods with patches of daffodils, and past banks of primroses.

“This is the prettiest place I’ve ever seen,” Pete said. “Wake up, Pogo—you’ll miss the first sight of the sea!”

Pogo was very tired, but she forced her eyes open. None of them could bear to miss a thing.

At last, between clumps of trees, they glimpsed the sea, shining like a sheet of steel in the last of the clear spring light. They all cheered.

Dulcie bounced with happiness and greeted familiar landmarks as if she had been away for a hundred years. “There’s the mill—and the church—oh, it all looks ripping! What’s the news, Granny? You haven’t told me a thing!”

“Well, dear,” Lady Badger said, “it’s been one excitement
after another. Tara had a nice little bull calf, and Mr. Knight says you’re welcome to visit. And Dr. Thompson’s horse threw him into a ditch—he was perfectly all right, only bruised. And there was a fire at the post office. Mrs. Cooper’s son put it out, but not before the entire stock of knitting wool was ruined. The rain has been frightful, but the barometer says ‘set fair’ and I think it’s going to be lovely—though Dorsey doesn’t agree—you know how she never agrees with the barometer.”

“We’re here!” squeaked Dulcie.

The car turned a corner, and slowed beside a pair of stone gateposts. “Carefully does it,” said Lady Badger, violently changing gear. “I can’t count the times I’ve bumped into these posts! Welcome to Merrythorpe, my dears.”

“Oh, how WIZARD!” gasped Pete.

And it really was gorgeous. Flora had been worried that someone called Lady would live in a stately home. This was a long, low, friendly-looking house of soft gray stone, with gardens that swept down to the top of the cliff. The girls got out of the car. Flora smelled the sea air, and heard the waves, and the seagulls, and knew this holiday was going to be wonderful.

Dulcie ran to hug the rigid, dark figure waiting on the front steps. “Dorsey!”

Dorsey was old and stern. Her dark gray hair was scraped back into a hard knot and looked as if it had been painted on. She did not bend when Dulcie kissed her, but stared at her with intense disapproval.

“Look at you, you’re skin and bone! You haven’t come
home a minute too soon—you’ll sit right down and have some decent food.”

The hall of Merrythorpe smelled of wood fires, lavender soap, furniture polish, sponge cake, and a hundred other nice things that Flora couldn’t identify. Two large yellow dogs ran in, and Dulcie dropped to her knees to cover their furry faces with kisses.

“Their names are Paul and Silas,” Lady Badger said, “after the apostles who were in prison, because they were born at the police station. Do get up, darling—it can’t be wise to kiss dogs when you’re getting over measles. Take your friends to wash their hands for tea.”

They took turns in the downstairs cloakroom at the end of a long passage.

“Isn’t this topping?” sighed Pete, rinsing her hands in a tempest of splashes. “Do you think Lady B. will let us run outside after tea? Do you think it’ll be too late to go to the beach? I’m sorry not to be seeing my people this hols—but this is heaps nicer than dull old London.” She was electric with happiness. In this mood Pete was great, and Flora couldn’t remember why she had ever not liked her.

A superb tea waited for them on the big kitchen table. There were plates of cakes, sandwiches and buns, and Dorsey had made them each a cup of hot chocolate and a boiled egg. She sternly made sure they all ate until they were stuffed, and Flora was surprised by her own appetite—how putrid it would be if she suddenly returned home and found she’d got so fat that none of her clothes fitted anymore—but she was very hungry, and the food was fantastic.

Dorsey was especially strict with Virginia. She pushed her into an armchair, threw a blanket over her knees and said, “You’re the biggest disgrace of the lot, young lady—you haven’t touched your egg!”

“I’m sorry, Dorsey,” Virginia said meekly.

“I’ll fetch you a nice basin of broth.”

“Oh—I don’t think I could—”

“Nonsense!”

“You’d better listen to Dorsey, dear,” said Lady Badger. “Everybody in this house listens to Dorsey.”

“That’s because I’m the only one with any sense,” Dorsey said. “Stop feeding that dog, Madam—I can see you!”

Lady Badger had been passing bits of cake under the table to one of the Labradors. She giggled and turned pink, and Flora suddenly realized that this was what Dulcie would look like when she was an old lady in the twenty-first century—a very weird thought.