Starcross (37 page)

‘Major,’ said Colonel Quivering, his brisk military tones
causing the splendid fellow to spring to attention and salute. ‘There is not a single Moob in Starcross, with the exception of that fellow wrapped around Mrs Mumby, who is a friend of ours and has done great service to the Empire. All other Moobs live many millions of centuries from now, and they are very happy there.’

‘Oh,’ said the major, looking crestfallen. ‘Oh. Well. Better give the place a look-over, just in case … Come along, chaps!’

He set off towards the hotel, with his troops behind him, moving with a speed and discipline which did credit to the British Army.

Mrs Spinnaker had been busy meanwhile enjoying a most touching reunion with Mr Spinnaker, but she extricated herself at last and sat down to ask us all, ‘So what’s been happening? The tide’s out, I see.’

‘I’m afraid the tide’s gone out for good,’ said Mother. ‘Starcross no longer jumps to and fro in time.’

‘That’ll be bad for the hotel business,’ observed Mrs Spinnaker. ‘Pity, for it’s a nice old place. What do you say we make old Sir Launcelot an offer for it, ’Erbert, my angel?’

‘I say that’s a capital idea, Rosie, my petal,’ replied her husband. ‘It’ll make a pleasant sort of weekend-home, for
when we’re not performing.’

‘I’m afraid Sir Launcelot is not here to accept your offer,’ said Mother. ‘He has Mysteriously Vanished, along with Miss Beauregard. It is rather a tragedy, but at least neither of them left any family behind to mourn them. Indeed, I suspect they were both widely disliked, and will not be missed at all.’

She was about to say more, but at that moment a wail from the far side of the table drew Mrs Spinnaker’s attention to Mr Munkulus, who was cradling a baby in each pair of arms.

‘Oh, what perfect angels!’ she cried, clapping her hands together. ‘Ain’t they perfect angels, ’Erbert?’ (And Mr Spinnaker muttered, yes, indeed, they were very charming little monkeys.)

‘There’s some as might call ’em angelic,’ said Mr Grindle wearily, ‘but there’s others as have been kept up nights listening to their bellyaching and complaining, and wonders as whether they won’t turn out just as bad this time around as last.’

‘Oh, what a dreadful thing to sssay!’ Ssil chided him. ‘I’m quite sure that with a proper upbringing, in a loving home …’

‘That’s it exactly,’ said Grindle, beating his hand upon the table for emphasis. ‘A home’s what they need. An old aether-ship like the
Sophronia’
s no place for babies.’

Yarg and Squidley, very tired of having their tentacles tugged by tiny hands, whistled their agreement.

‘They are orphans, you see,’ said Nipper, looking nervously at our guests.

‘Foundlings,’ Mr Munkulus agreed.

‘Oh!’ cried Mrs Spinnaker. ‘Oh, ’Erbert, don’t you think … ? Might we – ? Mayn’t we – ?’

‘What Mrs Spinnaker is trying to express,’ said her husband gruffly, ‘is that if these infants are in need of a home, then we should be very honoured, and indeed chuffed, was they to come and live with us. For despite Rosie’s triumphs upon the stage, it has long been a source of regret to us that we have no children of our own.’

‘That sounds a most sensible idea,’ said Mother, helping to support the infants as Mr Munkulus, looking somewhat relieved, handed them into the care of their new foster parents. ‘I am sure you will make a much better job of bringing them up than their own families did – I mean, would have done.’

‘What are their names?’ asked Mrs S., looking with a
most rapt expression from one tiny, gurgling face to the other.

‘Delphine and Sir L—’ Nipper started to say, but the Tentacle Twins wrapped their arms about his shell and muffled the rest.

‘Their names?’ said Mother thoughtfully. ‘Their names, of course, are Modesty and Decorum.’

And while all this is discussed, and the conversation turns to cribs and perambulators and nannies, and the contrite Threls present the proud new parents with the tiny booties and bonnets which they have been knitting by way of practice as they wait for the
Sophronia
’s captain to be well enough to carry them back to Threlfall, where they may get on with their World Cosy; while all this is happening, Jack Havock is sitting with my sister on the sand below the promenade, at a point where, one hundred million years ago, the sea might have lapped in gentle waves.

‘Jack,’ asks Myrtle, carefully, for fear the faintest hint of boldness might make his wounds begin to hurt again, ‘you never did tell me, when we were on Mars and aboard the
Liberty
, why you did not answer my letters?’

Jack looks awkwardly away across the dried-out sea, towards the knoll which was an island once (where some of the Threls are helping Professor Ferny to dig up two trees, and carry them back towards the waiting train, with the intellectual shrub hurrying beside them, calling out, ‘Take care! Mind their roots! I am quite certain that I can effect a cure, if only we can get them safely to my laboratory at Kew!’). And then he says, ‘Thing is, Myrtle, we’re not meant for each other, are we, me and you?’

‘It is “you and I”, Jack, dear. But I cannot see what makes you say so. Surely you know that I … that I …’

‘What I can see,’ says Jack, ‘is that you’re a young lady. A pretty, clever, elegant young lady. And a rough old aethership, cruising on Her Majesty’s service out in the nether end
of nowhere, ain’t the place for you.’

‘There is Another, isn’t there?’ declares Myrtle, commencing to sniffle piteously. ‘Some other young woman has claimed your heart, someone ever so much more brave and dashing than I. Oh, I cannot hate you for it, Jack, dearest. I wish you joy. Though I do hope she has only the conventional number of heads and arms and so forth …’

‘Hush, hush, hush,’ Jack has been saying with no effect at all throughout the main part of this speech. Now he reaches out and sets a finger to Myrtle’s lips, which makes her stop talking so abruptly that she gets hiccups. ‘It just ain’t the life for you, that’s all,’ he says. ‘You’re not suited to being chased by monsters and eaten by clams and shot up by secret agents, and if you were, why, you wouldn’t be my Myrtle any more.’

For a moment, misery and anger struggle for control of Myrtle’s phiz, and then, as usual, anger wins. She springs to her feet, throwing up a storm of pale sand which falls but slowly in the gentle atmosphere down here upon the beach.

‘I declare, Jack Havock,’ she declares, stamping her foot, ‘I’ll show you! Mama has been asking me what I should like to study. Very well; I shall study Alchemy. The Moob said I had a talent for it, didn’t he? I shall become the best lady
alchemist there is, and when I know all about it I shall come and find you out in the nether end of nowhere, and
then
we shall see who is suited for whom …’

At which point I cannot help but let out a stifled snort of laughter, and Myrtle realises that I have overheard all this, concealed under the wheels of a nearby bathing machine.

Things might have gone badly for your hero, for she really was in a most terrible bate when she realised I had listened to all her tender talk with Jack. But the Luck of the Mumby’s was on my side, and just as she was dragging me out from under the machine by my stockings, and threatening me with all sorts of torments,
³³
another whistle sounded, and we looked up to see a second train pulling in to Starcross Halt. It was a small passenger train, which must have been shunted into a siding further up the line to let that armoured affair come tearing through, and had now resumed its journey. We all ran back on to the promenade and watched as a number of gentlefolk emerged, who had doubtless expected a seaside holiday at Mr Titfer’s hotel, and looked most put out to find plenty of side but no sea whatsoever.

And among them, looking his usual amiable and bewildered self, with a shrimping net over one shoulder and a wide straw hat upon his head …

‘Father!’ I cried.

‘Father!’ cried Myrtle.

‘Edward!’ cried Mother.

And we ran to him, and he to us, the Mumbys reunited.

‘Are you all quite safe?’ he asked, as soon as he was able. ‘In Modesty they said that dangerous hats may be on the
loose at Starcross. Did they mean “bats”, perhaps? Or “gnats”? And wherever is the sea?’

‘I’m afraid the asteroid belt will never now be numbered among the truly first-class resorts for sea bathing,’ said Mother. ‘I think that we should take the next train back and spend the rest of our holiday on Ganymede. I imagine the great sea lilies are just coming into flower there, and we might take a day excursion into the cloud-tops of Jupiter, so that I may introduce you to my old friend Thunderhead.’

She took his arm, and together they turned towards the cafe, with me and Myrtle following.

‘But first,’ she said, ‘I think we should all benefit very much from a nice cup of tea.’

FINIS