The Ghost of Christmas Paws Page 8

  ‘Singe!’ whispered Tilly.

  Saffron put her head on one side as if in deep thought. ‘Well, she don’t see anyone before she’s ’ad ’er lunch, but I could send Hevva to ask ’er if she’s at ’ome to visitors.’

  ‘Thank you, that would be very helpful,’ Hettie said, beginning to find the housekeeper’s attitude a little annoying. ‘She did send for us, after all, and we have come a very long way.’

  ‘Well, Cornwall is a long way – thaa’s why most cats come ’ere in the first place. Upcountry’s a long way for us to go, but we don’t bother much ’cause we’re ’appy where we are.’

  Hettie’s patience was wearing thin and the fact that she had had no breakfast didn’t help. ‘If you could arrange for us to see Her Ladyship, we can get on with our work.’

  ‘I’ll go an’ find Hevva dreckly, but I doubt she’ll see you till she’s ’ad ’er lunch.’

  Saffron Bunn disappeared down the corridor she’d emerged from, leaving Hettie and Tilly to kick their heels. Ten minutes passed before more footsteps were heard and this time they belonged to Hevva, no longer dressed in his butler’s outfit but sporting tweed breeches and a shooting jacket, and looking every bit the estate manager. ‘’Er Ladyship will see you at ’arf past two. She’s not comin’ out of ’er rooms today, but will receive you there. I suggest you take yourselves off for a walk as you’ve got three ’ours to wait.’ He turned on his heel and was gone before Hettie could argue.

  ‘They don’t seem very friendly, do they?’ observed Tilly, buttoning up her cardigan.

  ‘No, they don’t. Come on – let’s go and find some food. I wonder how far the village is? It was hard to tell in the storm last night.’

  Hettie slid the bolts back on the old front door and tugged it open. It felt strange to be out in the air after the brooding imprisonment of Crabstock Manor, as if the world had somehow regained its perspective. The sun was surprisingly warm on their faces and the gentle sound of the sea was more reassuring than frightening. They set off at a good pace down the long driveway, not caring to look back, and soon reached the main road. In the distance, they could see the first clutch of cottages that marked the boundary to the village.

  The road ran alongside the sea, and Tilly marvelled at the sandy beach peppered with giant standing stones that appeared and disappeared as the waves came and went. The tide was coming in and the ever-present gulls waited near the shore for rich pickings as the current brought the fish closer to the land. There were several small fishing boats out in the bay, their sailors busy with their nets, and a cavalcade of gulls waited hopefully for any catch that might be discarded. Everywhere sparkled, and the wide open sky set against the line of the sea gave a feeling of real possibility to the day.

  They passed the first few cottages, where a cat was leaning on a broom and holding court to a clutch of unsuspecting hikers, all done up in their walking boots and trying desperately to get away from the tirade of village nonsense. Hettie and Tilly gave them a wide berth and continued down the coastal road towards a clock tower which looked out to sea. They rounded the corner, and there before them was Porthladle harbour and the centre of the village.

  The harbourside was peppered with an assortment of shops and cafes, and Hettie was relieved to see that there would be no shortage of possibilities for breakfast. Tilly stared in delight at the array of brightly painted boats, bobbing up and down as the incoming tide lifted them from their bed of mud. ‘Look,’ she said, dragging Hettie over to the harbour wall. ‘There’s Sooty Perkins. He’s unloading his boat.’

  The giant black-and-white cat waved in their direction and beckoned them over to the slipway where he’d been piling up crates of fish. He looked every bit the genuine fishercat, swathed in a bright yellow mac and sou’wester and sporting a wonderful pair of waders. ‘Good morning, my dears,’ he said, reaching deep into one of his pockets for his pipe. ‘I see you’ve survived your first night up at Crabstock.’ Hettie laughed off his comment but Sooty continued. ‘Not an ’appy place these days. It seems them Bunns run the manor since ’Er Ladyship took to ’er rooms. I used to look after ’er gardens – she loved ’er flowers – and she was always seen about the village, ’ad a nice word with every cat she met. She’d come down to turn the Christmas lights on for us, but not this year. She’s not been seen for weeks now – not since the light procession, really, an’ that was the back end of September.’ Sooty paused to light his pipe, sending a billow of sweet tobacco smoke out to sea before returning to his subject. ‘This Christmas Paws thing ’as really got to ’er. She just ’ides away in that damp old place, waitin’ for something bad to ’appen. It’s no way for a lady like ’er to live, an’ them Bunns don’t do much to cheer ’er up. They’re out for themselves, an’ letting the manor and them gardens go to wrack an’ ruin.’

  Hettie was fascinated by Sooty’s view of Crabstock Manor and its occupants, and had to agree that the Bunns were far from ideal housekeepers. ‘If Lady Crabstock-Hinge is so frightened of a servant cat’s ghost, why doesn’t she sell up and buy a house in the village?’

  Sooty Perkins looked thoughtful for a moment, searching for the right words as Tilly clambered up onto his fish boxes to escape the attention of a very large crab which was making a bid for freedom from one of his pots. ‘The thing about ’Er Ladyship is duty,’ he said eventually. ‘She’s big on that sort of thing. She always used to say that as long as you do your duty, your day will ’ave been worthwhile. ’Er family ’as been up at the manor for ’undreds of years, and as she’s the last of ’em, she ’as to see it through. Fact is, she’s given up on ’erself and the manor.’

  ‘So if she’s given up, why do you think she’s asked for our help?’ Hettie asked as the crab made a pincer movement towards her business slacks.

  ‘That I can’t say. But I can invite you up to my ’otel for a spot of something off my griddle. You look ’arf starved. Give me a minute an’ I’ll take you up there.’

  Sooty selected half a dozen plump mackerel from his catch and the three cats made their way around the harbour and up a steep hill to the An Murdress Hotel, which stood proud and welcoming at the top of the village. The door was open and there were suitcases piled high in a small reception area, where a family of cats was waiting to check in for the Christmas holidays. Sooty shed his fishing outfit at the door and bounded over the reception desk to engage with his newly arrived guests, with whom he seemed very familiar. ‘I’ve put you in number one this year, an’ the kittens can share number six as I’ve got the bunks in there.’ The kittens squealed with excitement at the thought of bunk beds, and their parents were equally delighted by the prospect of the room with the finest views down to the harbour and back out to sea.

  Sooty dealt quickly and efficiently with the new arrivals, then settled Hettie and Tilly in the small but cheery hotel bar before heading towards the kitchen, armed with his mackerel. The bar was a miniature version of the Atlantic Inn, with low slung beams, polished tables and a fascinating selection of seafaring art on the walls. There were galleons, schooners, tall ships of every kind, and small sailing boats presented in oils and watercolour, and the display left the hotel’s clientele in no doubt of the proprietor’s enthusiasm for anything that would float. ‘It’s much nicer here,’ said Tilly, admiring the Christmas tree that had been placed in the window. ‘There’s no sign of Christmas up at Crabstock Manor, and they’re all so miserable.’

  ‘I know what you mean.’ Hettie sniffed the air as the first sign of cooked fish reached her nostrils. ‘And we haven’t even met Lady Crabstock-Hinge yet. I bet she’ll turn out to be a bundle of festive laughs.’

  ‘Singe!’ corrected Tilly impatiently. ‘You must get her name right. It seems to me that there’s little enough we can do to save her anyway. If Sooty’s right, she’s given up the ghost.’

  Hettie and Tilly giggled at the unintended reference to Christmas Paws, and Sooty Perkins bustled through from his kitchen with two large plates of siz
zling mackerel. ‘There you are – get your teeth into these little beauties. They don’t come much fresher than that – from sea to griddle, an’ nothing in between. I’ll ’ave to leave you to it, as I promised ’em an ’our up the Atlantic behind the bar, but you can drop in ’ere anytime you like if Crabstock gets too much for you. Dinner’s at six most days, an’ me griddle’s always on if I’m in. Christmas dinner’s up the Atlantic this year, so if you’re stayin’ on you can join the rest of us there.’

  Hettie scrambled some coins together to pay for the fish, but Sooty waved the money away and was gone before she could thank him. The mackerel was cooked to perfection and tasted very good indeed, and the friends chewed and licked their way through the meal until only a pile of glistening white bones was left. Satisfied, they sat back in the small bar, taking time to give their faces and whiskers a good clean ahead of their meeting with Eloise Crabstock-Singe.

  By the time they left the An Murdress Hotel, the wind had picked up and the serenity of the morning was gradually being eroded by a dark and moody band of cloud coming in from the sea. The waves were significantly more aggressive on the shoreline, and a salty squall had put paid to any hope of sun for the rest of the day. Tilly pulled her cardigan closer to her as they made their way back into the heart of the village, hoping to stock up on some essentials before returning to Crabstock. ‘I think we’d better get something in for our supper,’ said Hettie, making a beeline for the bakery on the harbour front. ‘Just look at the size of those pasties in the window! I doubt that Saffron Bunn could create anything as substantial as those, and if she could, God knows what we’d find inside them. With a cook like her, no wonder Her Ladyship has lost the will to live.’

  Tilly giggled as they pushed open the door to the shop, where they were greeted by a short and very round white-faced cat who could easily have been the Cornish branch of the Butter family. ‘Now my ’ansomes – what can I get you?’

  Hettie pointed her paw in the direction of a tray of freshly baked pasties. ‘Two of those would be lovely, please.’

  ‘Ah, but which of those will it be? You ’as a choice, see.’ The cat proceeded to give a guided tour of her selection. ‘There’s skirt or chuck steak in large or larger; short crust or flaky; with or without turnip, more carrot or less potato – an’ a cheese one for them that knows no better.’

  Hettie knew that a decision had to be made as another cat had come into the bakery and was breathing Doom Bar fumes all over the counter. She turned round, not at all surprised to see the portly red uniform of Marlon Brandish swaying in the doorway. ‘I think we’ll have two of the larger chuck steak, please – and do you have any cream cakes left?’

  ‘We ’as puffs, splits, slices and ’orns.’

  Hettie checked with Tilly who’d retreated to the bread corner to avoid Marlon, and by mutual consent two cream horns were added to their purchase, along with a large carton of milk that Tilly had wrestled from the shop’s fridge.

  With a rusty clunk, the clock tower announced that it was two o’clock, and Hettie and Tilly made their way back to Crabstock Manor and their audience with Lady Eloise Crabstock-Singe, content in the knowledge that whatever Saffron Bunn dished up for supper, they now had a very edible alternative.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The manor had reverted to its dark, brooding status as they made their way up the drive. The earlier sun that had lifted their spirits was nowhere to be seen, and its absence served to emphasise the desolate nature of the house and its occupants. Staring up at the fortress door, Hettie doubted if the crumbling walls had ever felt joy or optimism. She raised her paw to knock but the door was flung open before she’d completed the task. They were greeted – if that was the word – by Hevva Bunn, who pushed past them and headed off down the driveway.

  Hettie and Tilly chose the grand staircase route to their room. There was no sign of Saffron Bunn or her duster, and according to the tall grandfather clock on the first-floor landing, there was still a quarter of an hour to go before their meeting with the lady of the house. Their room was untouched and the bedclothes were just as they had left them, complete with greaseproof wrappers from their midnight feast. Clearly the housekeeper didn’t subscribe to any form of room service, but it was a relief to Hettie that their personal space had not been invaded.

  Tilly scooted round the room, gathering up an assortment of clothes and putting them away in the suitcase, while Hettie stuffed the detritus of their meal into the tartan shopper and made a rather pathetic attempt at tidying the bed. They were almost shipshape when, after a cursory knock, Saffron Bunn barged her way into the room. ‘’Er Ladyship will see you now if you’d like to follow me, and I should tell you she’s not in the best of moods. ’Er rash is back, so she’s ’ad to cover ’erself in ointment to stop the scratchin’.’

  They followed the housekeeper along the landing, past the giant staircase and through a door which opened out into a whole new section of the manor – much grander in a faded sort of way, although the decor was as dull and depressing as the rest of the house. Saffron brought the company to a halt at one of the doors and knocked, this time waiting for a command to enter. A muffled voice came from within, and Saffron led the party into the room.

  Hettie and Tilly could never have prepared themselves for what confronted them. The room was huge and must have stretched the full length of the house from sea view to driveway. The furniture was ornate, fussy and faded; a clutch of comfortable chairs gathered round a small low table in the bay window overlooking the sea, while the other end of the room had a rather grand dining table complete with candelabra and a silver place setting for two. But it was the middle of the room that made the two cats stare in horror.

  The bed that took centre stage was a giant four-poster, painted in gold and silver and swathed in thick lace curtains. It took a few seconds and a sudden movement from within the drapes for them to realise that it was actually occupied, and they would describe the scene later as a giant mosquito net housing a huge harvest spider. ‘Miss ’Ettie Bagshot and assistant, Your Ladyship,’ boomed Saffron as she squatted in a rather ungainly curtsey. A paw waved a dismissal from behind her nets and Saffron beat a hasty retreat, leaving Hettie and Tilly to face the music.

  ‘I must apologise for my current incapacity,’ said a voice from behind the bed curtain. ‘I find myself struck down at present with a reoccurring complaint which means I must keep myself from the daylight.’

  Hettie stared into the mesh of netting, trying to discern Lady Crabstock-Singe’s features, but could only make out a thin, sinewy form wearing a white mask of thick ointment which gave no indication of character. ‘It’s Miss bloody Havisham!’ she said, under her breath but loud enough for Tilly to hear and have to stifle a giggle. ‘How may we be of service to you, Your Ladyship?’ she continued, addressing the bed nets and trying to move things along. ‘I believe you have concerns regarding your own safety?’

  ‘Ah well, I fear I may ’ave engaged you for nothing,’ came the reply. ‘You see, the ghost of Christmas Paws seems to ’ave gone on ’er way. She ’asn’t been seen or noticed in days, an’ I think I might ’ave overreacted on account of my family history. I am so sorry to ’ave put you to any trouble, but my estate manager will pay you for any inconvenience and will arrange your return journey from Penzance now that they’ve cleared the snow from the line.’

  Hettie was seething, and even Tilly – who was famous for her mild manners – stifled a growl of anger in her throat. Neither wanted to be dismissed so easily, and as a helpful wave crashed against Her Ladyship’s bay window, Hettie moved in closer to the bed. ‘Forgive me for having to point this out to Your Ladyship, but my assistant and myself have endured the most difficult of conditions to present ourselves to you at this time of year. We have forfeited our own Christmas, been stranded in the middle of Bodkin Moor, nearly died in a mineshaft, put up with snow, frost and floods, and into the bargain have received very little food or comfort since our arriva
l at Crabstock Manor. If it is your intention to send us home with a few expenses in our pockets, then you are not the Lady that the folk of Porthladle speak so warmly about.’

  Tilly held her breath and waited for the explosion that would surely come from behind the bed curtains, but Lady Eloise Crabstock-Singe’s only response was to ring a small hand bell to summon Saffron Bunn, who had clearly been listening on the other side of the door. ‘Mrs Bunn, kindly see my guests back to their quarters and send Bunn to me on his return from the village.’

  Hettie and Tilly were roughly ushered from the room by the housekeeper, leaving them in no doubt that their audience with Lady Crabstock-Singe was well and truly over. Back in their room, Hettie paced the floor while Tilly searched for anything that would burn in the fireplace and bring some heat to the cold, damp air. A storm was now raging outside their window and the waves thundered against the house from below. It was clear that they would be going nowhere until the weather had died down, and there was nothing to be done but grin and bear it. ‘There’s more than a smell of fish about this case,’ observed Hettie, eyeing up the bakery bag that contained the pasties. ‘Why has Her Ladyship had such a change of heart? The note she sent us sounded desperate, so what’s changed in a matter of days?’

  ‘Perhaps she just feels a bit silly,’ suggested Tilly as she screwed up balls of greaseproof paper to lay a foundation to the fire. ‘Maybe she sent the letter and then thought better of it, but it was too late to stop us.’

  ‘Or maybe she thinks she can treat everyone like servants without any thought for the consequences. These bloody aristocats live in a different world to the rest of us. Look how they treated Christmas Paws – setting a pack of dogs on her and driving her off the cliff. No wonder she came back to haunt them.’

  ‘Well, if she’s stopped upsetting Lady Crabstock perhaps she’d like to magic some sticks and coal for this fire.’ Tilly put another cardigan on over the one she was already wearing. ‘It’s starting to get really cold in here, and it would be nice if she could get us a TV, too. We’re missing all the Christmas films, and the Top Cat Christmas special is on tomorrow.’