The 101 Dalmatians (9 page)

“But we dust them sometimes,” he said. “That's a very long walk for me.”

The great window was lit by the flicker of firelight. “It's in there we sit, mostly,” the Spaniel told them. “We should be warmer in one of the smaller rooms, but Sir Charles likes to be in the Great Hall.” A silvery bell tinkled. “There! He's ringing for me. Tea's ready. Now, do just as I tell you.”

He led them indoors and then into a large high room, at the far end of which was an enormous fire. In front of it sat an old gentleman, but they could not yet see him very well because there was a screen round the back of his chair.

“Please lie down at the back of the screen,” whispered the Spaniel. “Later Sir Charles will fall asleep and you can come closer to the fire.”

As Pongo and Missis tiptoed to the back of the screen, they noticed that there was a large table beside Sir Charles on which was his luncheon tray—finished with now, and neatly covered by a table-napkin-and everything necessary for tea. Water was already boiling in a silver kettle over a spirit lamp. Sir Charles filled the teapot and put the tea-cosy on. Then he lifted a silver cover from a plate on which there were a number of slices of bread. By now the Spaniel had joined him and was thumping his tail.

“Hungry, are you?” said Sir Charles. “Well, we've a good fire for our toast.”

Then he put a slice of bread on a toasting fork. It was no ordinary toasting fork, for it was made of iron and nearly four feet long. It was really meant for pushing logs into position. But it was just what Sir Charles needed, and he handled it with great skill, avoiding the Haming logs and toasting the bread where the wood glowed red hot. A slice of toast was ready in no time. Sir Charles buttered it thickly and offered a piece to the Spaniel, who ate it while Sir Charles watched.

Missis was a little surprised that the courteous Spaniel had not offered her the first piece. She was even more surprised when he received a second piece and ate that too, while Sir Charles watched. She began to feel very hungry—and very anxious. Surely the kind Spaniel had not invited them to tea just to watch him eat? Then a third piece of toast was offered—and this time Sir Charles happened to turn away. Instantly the Spaniel dropped the toast behind the screen. Piece after piece travelled this way to Pongo and Missis, with the Spaniel only eating one now and then—when Sir Charles happened to be looking. Missis felt ashamed of her hungry suspicions.

“Never known you with such a good appetite, my boy,” said the old gentleman delightedly. And he made slice after slice of toast until all the bread was gone. Then cakes were handed on in the same way. And then Sir Charles offered the Spaniel a silver bowl of tea. This was put down so close to the edge of the screen that Pongo and Missis were able to drink some while Sir Charles was looking the other way. When he saw the bowl empty, he filled it again and again so everyone had enough. Pongo and Missis had always had splendid food, but they had never before had hot buttered toast and sweet milky tea. It was a meal they always remembered.

At last Sir Charles rose stiffly, put another log on the fire, and then settled back in his chair and closed his eyes. Soon he was asleep, and the Spaniel beckoned Pongo and Missis to the fire. They sat on the warm hearth and looked up at the old gentleman. His face was deeply lined and all the lines drooped, and somehow he had a look of the Spaniel—or the Spaniel had a look of Sir Charles. Both of them were lit by the firelight, and beyond them was the great window, now blue with evening.

We ought to be on our way,“ whispered Pongo to Missis. But it was so warm, so quiet, and they were both so full of buttered toast that they drifted into a light and delightful sleep.

Pongo awoke with a start. Surely someone had spoken his name?

The fire was no longer blazing brightly, but there was still enough light to see that the old gentleman was awake and leaning forward.

“Well, if that isn't Pongo and his missis,” he murmured smilingly. “Well, Well! What a pleasure! What a pleasure!”

Missis had opened her eyes now.

The Spaniel whispered, “Don't move, either of you.”

“Can
you
see them?” said the old gentleman, putting his hand on the Spaniel's head. “If you can, don't be frightened. They won't hurt you. You'd have liked them. Let's see, they must have died fifty years before you were born—more than that. They were the first dogs I ever knew. I used to ask my mother to stop the carriage and let them get inside—I couldn't bear to see them running behind. So in the end, they just became house dogs. How often they sat there in the firelight. Hey, you two! If dogs can come back, why haven't you come back before?”

Then Pongo knew that Sir Charles thought they were ghost dogs. And he remembered that Mr. Dearly had named him “Pongo” because it was a name given to many Dalmatians of those earlier days when they ran behind carriages. Sir Charles had taken him and Missis for Dalmatians he had known in his childhood.

“Probably my fault,” the old gentleman went on. “I've never been what they call ‘psychic' nowadays. This house is supposed to be full of ghosts, but
I've
never seen any. I dare say I'm only seeing you because I'm pretty close to the edge now—and quite time, too. I'm more than ready. Well, what a joy to know that dogs go on too—I've always hoped it. Good news for you too, my boy.” He fondled the Spaniel's ears. “Well, Pongo and his pretty wife, after all these years! Can't see you so well now, but I shall remember!”

The fire was sinking lower and lower. They could no longer see the old gentleman's face, but soon his even breathing told them he was asleep again. The Spaniel rose quietly.

“Come with me now,” he whispered, “for John will be back soon to get supper. You have given my dear old pet a great pleasure. I am deeply grateful.”

They tiptoed out of the vast, dark hall and made their way to the kitchen, where the Spaniel pressed more food on them.

“Just a few substantial biscuits—my tin is always left open for me when John is away.”

Then they had a last drink of water, and the Spaniel gave Pongo directions for reaching Suffolk. They were full of “rights” and “lefts,” and Missis did not take in one word.

The Spaniel noticed her dazed look and said playfully, “Now which is your right paw?”

“One of the front ones,” said Missis brightly. At which Pongo and the Spaniel laughed in a very masculine way.

Then they thanked the Spaniel and said good-bye. Missis said she would always remember that day.

“So shall I,” said the Spaniel, smiling at her. “Ah, Pongo, what a lucky dog you are!”

“I know it,” said Pongo, looking proudly at Missis.

Then they were off.

After they had been running across the fields for some minutes, Missis said anxiously, “How's your leg, Pongo?”

“Much, much better. Oh, Missis, I am ashamed of myself. I made such a fuss this morning. It was partly rage. Pain hurts more when one is angry. You were such a comfort to me—and so brave.”

“And you were a comfort to me the night we left London,” said Missis. “It will be all right as long as we never lose courage both together.”

“I'm glad you did not let me bite that small human.”

“Nothing
should ever make a dog bite a human,” said Missis in a virtuous voice.

Pongo remembered something. “You said only the night before last that you were going to tear Cruella de Vil to pieces. ”

“That is different,” said Missis grimly. “I do not consider Cruella de Vil is human.”

Thinking of Cruella made them anxious for the puppies, and they ran on faster, without talking any more for a long time.

Then Missis said, “Pongo, how far away from the puppies are we now?”

“With good luck we should reach them tomorrow morning,” said Pongo.

Just before midnight they came to the market town of Sudbury. Pongo paused as they crossed the bridge over the River Stour.

“Here we enter Suffolk,” he said triumphantly.

They ran on through the quiet streets of old houses and into the market square. They had hoped they might meet some dog and hear if any news of the puppies had come at the Twilight Barking, but not so much as a cat was stirring. While they were drinking at the fountain, church clocks began to strike midnight.

Missis said gladly, “Oh, Pongo, it's tomorrow! Now we shall be with our puppies today!”

As the night wore on, they travelled through many pretty villages to a countryside wilder than any they had yet seen. There were more woods and heaths, fewer farms. So wild was it that Pongo would risk no short cuts and stuck cautiously to the roads, which were narrow and twisted. The moon was behind clouds, so he could not read what few signposts there were.

“I'm so afraid we may go through our village without knowing it,” he said. “For as we have not been able to send any news by the Twilight Barking, nobody will be on the lookout for us.”

But he was wrong. Suddenly, out of the darkness, came a loud “Miaow.”

They stopped instantly. Just ahead of them, up a tree, was a tabby cat. She said, “Pongo and Missis? I suppose you
are
friendly?”

“Yes, indeed, madam,” said Pongo. “Are you by any chance the cat who helped to find our puppies?”

“That's me,” said the cat.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” cried Missis.

The cat jumped down. “Sorry to seem suspicious of you, but some dogs just can't control themselves when they see a cat—not that
I've
ever had any trouble. Well, here you are.”

“How very kind of you to keep watch for us, madam,” said Pongo.

“No hardship, I'm usually out at night. You can call me Tib. My real name's Pussy Willow, but that's too long for most people—a pity, really, as it's a name I could fancy.”

“It suits you so well,” said Pongo in a courtly tone he had picked up from the Spaniel, “with your slender figure and soft grey paws.” He was taking a chance in saying this, for it was too dark for him to see her figure, let alone her paws.

The cat was delighted. “Well, I have kept my figure—and it was my paws got me the name Pussy Willow. Now you'll be wanting a bite of food and a good long rest.”

“Please tell us if all is still well with our puppies,” said Missis.

“It was, yesterday afternoon—when I last saw them. Lively as crickets and fat as butter, they were.”

“Could
we
see them—just a glimpse—before we eat or sleep?” asked Missis.

“We can't climb trees, as Mrs. Willow can,” said Pongo.

“You won't need to,” said the cat. “The Colonel's made other arrangements. But you can't see the puppies before they are let out for exercise, and that'll be hours yet. Those Badduns are late risers. Well, come along and meet the Colonel.”

“A human Colonel?” asked Missis, puzzled.

“Bless me, no. The Colonel's our Sheepdog. A perfect master of strategy—you ask the sheep. He calls me his lieutenant. ”

The cat was now leading them along the road. Pongo asked how far it was to the farm.

“Oh, we're not going to the farm now. The Colonel's spending the night at the Folly. Crazy place, but it's coming in very useful. ”

The darkness was thinning. Soon the road ran across a stretch of heath on which, still some way ahead of them, a dark mass stood out against the gradually lightening sky. After a few moments Pongo saw that the dark mass was a great stone wall.

“There you are,” said the cat. “Your puppies are behind that.”

“It looks like the wall of a prison,” said Pongo.

“Nasty
place,” said the cat. “The Colonel will tell you its history.”

She led them from the road over the rough grass of the heath. As they drew nearer, Pongo saw that the wall curved—as the wall of a round tower curves. Above it rose the trunks of tall trees, their bare branches black against the sky.

“You'd think there would be a castle, at least, inside that huge wall,” said the cat. “And they do say there was going to be, only something went wrong. All that's there now—Well, you can see for yourself.”

She led the way to the rusty iron gates, and Pongo and Missis peered through the bars. There was now enough light for them to see some distance. Beyond a stretch of grass as wild as the surrounding heath, they saw the glint of water—but, strangely, it seemed to be
black
water. Then they saw the reason why. Reflected in it was a
black
house.

It was the most frightening house Pongo and Missis had ever seen. Many of the windows in its large, flat face had been bricked up and those that were left looked like eyes and a nose, with the front door for a mouth. Only there were too many eyes, and the nose and the mouth were not quite in the right places, so that the whole face looked distorted.

“It's seen us!” gasped Missis—and it really did seem as if the eyes of the house were staring at them from its cracked and peeling black face.

“Well, that's Hell Hall for you,” said the cat.

She moved on and they followed her, round the curving wall. After a few minutes they saw a tower rising high above the tree-tops. It was built of rough grey stone, like the wall, and was rather like a church tower. But there was no church. The tower simply jutted out of the wall. Some of the narrow windows were broken, and their stonework was crumbling. The place was not yet a ruin but looked as if it quite soon might be one.

“Well may they call it a Folly!” said the cat.