Carbonel: The King of Cats by Barbara Sleigh

Author:Barbara Sleigh
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780141929095
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 1961-12-04T08:00:00+00:00

16

The Cauldron

There was a gloomy silence while they tried to think what would be the best thing to do. Rosemary was the first to speak.

‘Well, I think…’ she began. But she never said what she thought, because it was then it happened.

Shopping ladies with parcels were beginning to come in for an early tea, and the chintz-overalled waitress was hurrying past their table with a tray laden with tea things when she caught her foot against the broom, tottered for one horrifying moment and fell with a crash. The shopping ladies stopped talking and turned round. John and Rosemary jumped up and helped her to her feet. Rosie began to pick up the broken china, and tried to rescue the cakes and buttered toast that were lying forlornly in a lake of tea.

‘I’m so awfully sorry!’ said Rosemary in distress. ‘I do hope you did not hurt yourself? Do sit down for a minute.’

‘We will clear it all up,’ said John. ‘I’m afraid it was our fault.’

‘I should think it was!’ said the waitress crossly. ‘And I don’t know what Maggie will say to all this broken china! Why couldn’t you put your walking stick in the umbrella stand by the door?’ She rubbed her bruised shin as she spoke.

‘Look!’ whispered Rosemary to John. ‘Look over there!’

John turned and stared in the same direction as Rosemary. Peering anxiously round the door that led to the kitchen was a plump, elderly woman with hair plaited in two buns, one over each ear. She was wearing an apron, but under it was an obviously hand-woven jacket.

‘Are you all right, Florrie?’ she said anxiously, and then she saw the mess on the floor and gave a moan. ‘The china, Florrie. How could you!’

By this time the broken tea things had been collected on the tray.

‘Please sit down, ladies,’ she went on. ‘I will bring you more tea in a minute. Florrie, you had better get a cloth.’

‘Let me get it, because it was our fault,’ said Rosemary. ‘Don’t do that!’ she said to John, who had dug her rather hard in the ribs. But all that John said was, ‘Look at Carbonel!’

The black cat was standing near the door that led to the street, his tail straight up in the air and his back arched, kneading the matting with his front paws and making strange crooning noises in his throat.

‘What is the matter with him?’ asked Rosemary anxiously. But John was staring as fixedly as Carbonel.

‘Over there in the corner! The umbrella stand!’

In the corner by the door, holding two umbrellas and a walking stick, was a fat black pot with three legs, and a handle over the top.

‘It’s the witch’s cauldron, isn’t it?’ breathed Rosemary.

The cat was quiet now. He turned and stalked towards them with his head held high.

‘Of course it is,’ said John. ‘I’d know it anywhere, even got up like that!’

Its well-rounded sides gleamed with black lead, and the copper band round it had been polished till it glowed.

‘Besides,’ he went on, ‘there is the patch in the bottom where it began to leak.

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