The Tale of Cuckoo Brow Wood (10 page)

The vicar knew a golden opportunity when he saw one. “The last thing?” he asked hopefully. “I shall do my utmost, then, to enable you to see the Luck before you leave.”

Mr. Thexton leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “You can make that possible? When?”

“When were you thinking of leaving?” the vicar inquired.

“How soon can I see the Luck?” countered Mr. Thexton.

Now, the vicar was happily aware that an invitation to tea at Raven Hall—to celebrate the return of Christopher Kittredge and introduce his new wife to the villagers—lay in the top drawer of his desk, unanswered. He had not replied to it because it would have been rude to go without the Thextons and he found it most unpleasant to think of going with them.

But the case had altered. He was now eager to introduce Mr. Thexton to the mystery of the Raven Hall Luck and see the back of his cousin and his cousin’s wife. He said: “Well, then, if you are intending to go so soon as Monday, I believe it might be possible to arrange it for this weekend. If, however, you should wish to delay—”

“This weekend!” chortled Mr. Thexton, rubbing his hands. “This very weekend! Oh, my, yes! Yes, indeed, Cousin Samuel. Yes!”

And then the vicar did something he had not done since he was a small boy, and something he hoped he would not live to regret. He lied.

“I should not like to hasten your departure,” he said, childishly crossing his fingers behind his back. “Monday, is it, then?”

Mr. Thexton sighed. “Yes, Monday,” he said, with the air of a man who knows he has made a hard decision but intends to stand by it.

The vicar rose with alacrity. “I will inform Mrs. Thompson that you and Mrs. Thexton will be leaving on Monday morning, and ask Mr. Cantrell to be here by nine to drive you to the ferry. And I will immediately send up to Mrs. Kittredge at Raven Hall to see if it is convenient for us to call on Saturday. She and Major Kittredge were recently married, you know. I believe they are receiving guests.”

Seeming not to hear, Mr. Thexton closed his eyes. “The Luck of Raven Hall,” he murmured blissfully, savoring the words as though they were sweet to the taste. “I shall see it on Saturday! And perhaps I shall even hold it in my hands!”

“Yes,” said the vicar in a prayerful tone, as he went out and shut the door. “You shall see it on Saturday. And on Monday, please God, you shall be on your way.”

9

Caroline and Jeremy Make a Bargain

On Thursday morning, Jeremy went early to school, so Caroline didn’t get to talk to him about Saturday’s plan or ask him to help Deirdre catch a frog. And when she tried to speak to him at recess and lunchtime, there were always others around. She decided to wait, since she wasn’t exactly eager to be overheard discussing a fairy-hunting expedition, or finding a frog to trick Harold Beechman. She and Jeremy both took the same path home. She’d talk to him then.

So when class was dismissed, Caroline walked up the road with Deirdre until they reached the stile over the stone fence. Then she said goodbye, climbed over, and dawdled along the path, which slanted across the meadow to Wilfin Beck and then set off upstream, to Tidmarsh Manor and Holly How Cottage beyond. The stream, in full spring spate, flung itself playfully down the rocky fell, rolling and tumbling and laughing and chuckling as it skirted the shadows of Cuckoo Brow Wood and hurried toward the open meadow. There it slowed its breakneck pace and for a time became thoughtful and quiet, as if it were pausing to wonder where in this great, wide, wonderful world its journey might be taking it. Caroline loved to walk beside the stream, for it reminded her of New Zealand, which now seemed far away and lost to her forever. The sharp edges of last autumn’s homesickness had dulled and the longing was not so bitterly keen, but there was still something in her that wept for home, and the little laughing stream never failed to comfort her.

She hadn’t gone very far along the footpath when she heard Jeremy calling her name. She turned and waited for him.

“I saw you walking with the new girl,” Jeremy said. “I thought p’rhaps the two of you were having a private talk, so I didn’t try to catch you up until she’d gone on.”

“It wasn’t exactly private,” Caroline said, as he fell in step beside her. “We were talking about Harold Beechman. Did you notice that he’s been giving her a wide berth all day? He’s afraid she’s going to turn him into a frog.”

Jeremy chuckled. “I s’pose it’s that bright red hair and that great lot of freckles. And those green eyes, of course. She does have a witchy way about her, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”

Caroline did not remind Jeremy that his own hair had a reddish tint, although his eyes were gray, not green, and fearless and direct. “I don’t have to pardon you,” she replied. “Deirdre’s the one to do that. But I don’t think she’d mind if she heard—not coming from you. She says you’re nice. And clever.” The minute she said it, she found herself wishing she hadn’t, although she couldn’t quite think why.

Jeremy reddened and ducked his head. “The eye of the be-holder,” he muttered. “How’s she getting on with the Suttons?”

“I shouldn’t like to have to work the way she does,” Caroline said, sticking her hands in her pockets. “Laundry and dishes and babies’ baths, and only a pallet in the attic to sleep on.”

“You’ll never have to work that way,” Jeremy replied matter-of-factly. “You’ll be a lady when you grow up, and ladies have servants to do all the work.”

Caroline colored. She didn’t like to think of it in those terms. In New Zealand, people were more alike than they were in England. It was true that her mother had hired people to help with the house and garden, but she had rolled up her sleeves and worked right alongside them, never too proud to do her own part. It was something Grandmama would never dream of doing, not in a million years. Why, she’d be completely helpless if she didn’t have Emily and Mr. and Mrs. Beever to do for her.

“What if I don’t want to be a lady?” Caroline asked, lifting her chin.

“It’s not something you can choose,” Jeremy said flatly. “Hasn’t your grandmother told you that?” His grin was crooked. “Maybe Deirdre could turn all those little Suttons into frogs. Then she wouldn’t have so much washing-up to do.”

“Oh, yes, frogs,” Caroline said, and told him about finding a frog for Deirdre to show to Harold.

“I can lend her Thucydides,” he said, “if she’ll promise not to lose him. He’s a toad, but Harold won’t know the difference.”

“Thucydides?” Caroline frowned. She knew she was supposed to know who he was, but she’d forgotten. “Didn’t he write something?”

“A history of the Peloponnesian War. He’s the first historian who tried to figure out what really happened, rather than just retelling old war stories.”

Caroline rolled her eyes, thinking that Jeremy was the only boy she knew who would name a toad for a Greek historian who had been dead for centuries. In fact, Jeremy was the only boy she knew who read the same sorts of books that adults read. Really, it was a great pity about his not being able to go to grammar school.

“Thucydides is all over warts,” Jeremy said with a grin, as they reached the beck and went along beside it. “Even for a toad, he’s ugly. Ugly enough to scare Harold Beechman out of his wits, if he’s convinced himself that Deirdre’s a red-headed witch.”

“Poor Harold.” Caroline ducked under a willow, laughing, then stopped herself. “We’re joking about it, but Deirdre doesn’t think it’s funny. Nor would Mrs. Kittredge, I suppose, if she heard what the villagers are calling her.”

Jeremy shrugged. “You’re right—but that’s not going to stop the Harolds of this world. Anyway, have you seen her? Mrs. Kittredge, I mean. I caught a glimpse of her with the major at the Sawrey Hotel, going in to dinner the other evening. A great lot of flaming red hair, a swirly black cape, and a big black hat with feathers. She must want people to see her as—”

“Unusual,” Caroline interrupted firmly, finishing his sentence for him. “Lots of people don’t dress the way they’re expected to. And anyway, it’s nobody’s business what she looks like—except Major Kittredge, of course. But he mustn’t care, because he married her.” She paused, considering. “Speaking of witches, Jeremy, how do you feel about fairies?”

Jeremy raised one eyebrow. “Fairies? Well, there’s Puck.” When Caroline looked at him blankly, he added, “He’s in
Puck of Pook’s Hill,
by Rudyard Kipling. I read it just last year. Which of the fairies did you have in mind?” He threw out an arm. “There’s quite a lot of them, you know. Giants, trolls, kelpies, brownies, goblins, imps; tree spirits and mound spirits; heath-people and hill-watchers; leprechauns, pixies, nixies, folk, and gnomes—and lots more I can’t remember.” He took a deep breath. “And then there’s
Midsummer Night’s Dream,
with Titania and Oberon and the rest. And
Peter Pan,
too, of course, but you must know about him, because didn’t Miss Potter give you the book? Why are you asking?”

It was just like Jeremy, Caroline thought, to be able to recite a list of all the sorts of fairies anybody had ever described. “Because Deirdre says she can see fairies, that’s why,” she replied. “She got the gift from her mother and grandmother, although she says she hasn’t seen any fairies since her mother died. She wants to go looking for them. She really believes in fairies,” she added, trying to explain. “I thought I would like to . . . well, you know. Help her keep on believing.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, to see if he was going to laugh.

He didn’t. Instead, he said, with complete seriousness, “Well, the old books say that fairies prefer to live among oak trees. The Druids thought the oak was sacred, and made magic wands from it. So we ought to look for someplace where there are lots of oaks.”

“I thought of Cuckoo Brow Wood, of course,” Caroline said in a rush. “Deirdre says that May Eve is the very best time to see fairies, but we were wondering whether it might be a good idea to scout out the best places ahead of time. Saturday afternoon, p’rhaps.”

“Sounds like a good scheme to me,” said Jeremy. He gave her a searching look. “Do you believe?”

“I’m . . . not sure,” Caroline said. She paused uncertainly. “Do you?”

“I think it’s like Father Christmas. You only really stop believing when you grow up and have to start acting the part yourself.” His chuckle was edged with bitterness. “And I don’t have to grow up for . . . oh, another few weeks, at least.”

Caroline supposed he was talking about having to leave school, but she didn’t like to mention it, for fear of making him sad. “Personally, I should like to put off growing up as long as possible,” she said. She kicked at a stone. “When you grow up, you have to do what people expect you to do, whether you like it or not.”

And if you didn’t do what was expected of you, you made other people unhappy, as well as yourself. Her father, for instance, had refused to become an English gentleman and do the things Grandmama wanted him to do, so he had run away to New Zealand to be a sheep farmer, which hadn’t made him very happy, either. Caroline had given this a great deal of thought lately, for she was beginning to realize that Grandmama expected certain things of her, as well, all in the name of growing up and becoming a lady. She had the feeling she wasn’t going to like doing those things any more than her father had, but she didn’t think she’d have the courage to run away, as he did. And where would she go? The sheep station had been sold and there was nobody left in New Zealand.

Jeremy chuckled. “That makes two of us, then,” he said, “having to grow up and do things we don’t want to do. So we shall just have to put off growing up as long as we can. Maybe we can do that by believing in fairies.” Now very serious, he leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “And when we see a fairy, we can make a wish and he’s bound to grant it.”

“Is he?” Caroline asked dubiously. “I hadn’t heard that.” Jeremy straightened and gave her a crooked grin. “That’s because I just made it up.”

“But it sounds as if it must be true,” Caroline said, to comfort him. “I’m sure it’s true, Jeremy. I’ll think of a wish for me, and you think of a wish for you, and we’ll find a fairy to grant both of them.” Which was silliness, of course. But she wasn’t going to say that out loud and spoil things.

“It’s a bargain,” Jeremy said. “But I don’t have to think very hard.”

“Neither do I,” said Caroline. She had meant to wish that she would not have to be a lady—at least, not the kind her grandmother intended—but she had changed her mind.

She would wish that Jeremy could have his wish. That Jeremy could go to school.

10

Jeremy Discusses the Situation with Rascal

Jeremy and Caroline came to the place where they always said goodbye, and Jeremy watched as Caroline crossed the beck at the gravel ford and walked up the path to Tidmarsh Manor, which reminded Jeremy of a stone fortress. The sight of it always made him feel sorry for Caroline, for the forbidding old place was built of chilly gray stone, with a gray slate roof and narrow windows—not a bright and happy place for a young girl. And behind the manor, climbing the steep slopes of Claife Heights, rose the mysterious wilderness of Cuckoo Brow Wood.

Jeremy regarded the woods thoughtfully. He’d heard it said that the Fairy Folk had lived there once. They made their homes in Cuckoo Brow Wood, well beyond the open woodlands of larch and ash, up near the top of Claife Heights, hidden in secret places among the ancient oaks, where the dim forest floor was hummocked with mosses, thick and plush as green velvet. There was a path, although he’d never taken it very far. They—he and Caroline and Deirdre—could start at the gate on Saturday afternoon.

A flurry of barks startled Jeremy out of his imaginings, and he turned. “Hullo, Rascal!” he exclaimed, as a small brown dog came hurtling toward him. He knelt down and opened his arms. “What have you been up to this afternoon?”

“I’ve spent an absolutely ripping day at Oatmeal Crag, digging out rabbits and chasing squirrels!”
Rascal enthused, putting his paws on the boy’s shoulders and licking him enthusiastically on the chin.