"Norton, Mary - Bedknob and Broomstick 01-02 - Bedknob and Broomstick" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Mary)

"Wish, Paul, wish," shrieked Carey madly. Then the wave broke over them. Gasping, spluttering, soaked to the skin, they clung to the slippery bed rails.
Paul must have wished. The bed rolled and lurched, then spun into space. The darkness thinned as they whistled through it. A pale light grew around them, deepening to gold, and rose and blue and yellow-flowers, twisted into nosegays and tied with blue ribbon. . . . Carey stared, and then she recognized the pattern. It was the early sunlight shining on Paul's wallpaper. . . .
9 ACCOUNT RENDERED
They were home, but what a mess! All their pajamas were ragged and dirty, their dressing gowns lost, and the bed was soaked. Poor Miss Price was a sorry sight. Her sun helmet was soft and soggy. She had no shoes or stockings, and her coat and skirt dripped puddles on the floor. Of her belongings, all she had left was the broomstick. Haggardly, she peered out of the window.
"It's too light to fly," she muttered. Then an awful thought seemed to strike her. "It must be after nine o'clock." She sat down limply on a chair. As she sat, she squelched. "Goodness me, Carey, here's a nice to-do!"
Charles went to the window. It was open, just as they had left it.
"There's no one about," he said. "Just use the broomstick as far as the ground and then make a run for it."
Miss Price stared at him blankly. "Oh, dear," she exclaimed, "this is terrible."
"Yes, Miss Price, you must," urged Carey, "make a run for it."
Miss Price looked at her naked bony feet. "If I should meet the gardener . . ." she pointed out helplessly.
"You must risk it," said Carey.
"Listen!" whispered Charles, raising his head.
Yes. Unmistakably there were footsteps coming upstairs.
"Quick, Miss Price." Carey pushed the broomstick into Miss Price's unwilling hand. They helped her over the sill.
"Oh, dear," Miss Price muttered to herself as gingerly she clung to the coping. "This is not the way to do things."
"I know," whispered Carey, giving Miss Price a little shove, "but it can't be helped."
They watched Miss Price float slowly down; then they watched her pick up her skirts and the broomstick and make for the shelter of the bushes. They drew a sharp breath of relief as she reached cover, and then they turned-to face the eyes of Elizabeth.
"Breakfast," said Elizabeth, standing in the doorway, "has been on the table this half-hour-" She paused. Then her mouth fell open. She was staring at the floor. Carey, looking downwards, saw a large black puddle spreading slowly from the bed towards Elizabeth's feet. Elizabeth's eyes followed the stream to its source. Her mouth opened wider, and her gaze traveled slowly from the bed to the children. It took in their appearance from top to toe, the smudged faces, the wet hair, the peeling noses, the torn pajamas clinging limply to the sun-scorched limbs.
"Well-" said Elizabeth slowly, "I never!" Then she shut her mouth with a snap. Her eyes glared. Color mounted slowly to her pallid cheeks. "This," said Elizabeth, "is the end."
Deliberately she looked round once more. She picked up a corner of the eiderdown. It was dark red instead of pale pink. It hung heavily between her thumb and forefinger. Regular clocklike drips drummed gently on the polished
floor. She let it fall. She stared at it a moment unbelievingly, and then once more she looked at Paul and Carey. She smiled, a grim, menacing little smile that did not reach her eyes. "All right," she said calmly and, turning, left the room.
The three children stood quiet. In silence and misery they stood while the puddles deepened round their feet and the drips from the eiderdown ticked off the heavy seconds. At last Carey moved. She pushed back her wet hair.
"Come, Paul," she said huskily. "Let's go to the bathroom and wash."
"What I don't understand," said Aunt Beatrice for the fourth time, "is from where you got the water. The bathroom's right down the passage, and there isn't a jug."
The children gazed back at her. They were in the study. Aunt Beatrice sat at her desk turning a little sideways so that she could face them as they stood in a row on the carpet. There was a closed look in their faces, though their eyes were round and candid. "Whatever happens" Carey had warned them, "we mustn't give away Miss Price. Except for that, it doesn't matter what we say because nothing could be worse."
Carey cleared her throat. She did not reply but stood staring unwaveringly at her aunt's face.
"The charitable attitude to adopt, Carey," said Aunt Beatrice in her precise, cutting voice, "is that you are not quite right in your head. This story about a South Sea island, cannibals . . . lagoons. ... If it were necessary to lie, a child of three could do better."
Carey swallowed. -Х"A magic bed. . . ." Aunt Beatrice smiled acidly. "It
might interest you to know, Carey, that I bought that bed myself in 1903, quite new, from Baring & Willow's-a most reputable firm," she added, "and not given to innovations."
Carey changed her weight from her left foot to her right.
"What I still don't understand," reiterated Aunt Beatrice, "is from where you got the water."
"From the sea," said Paul suddenly. "Carey told you." Aunt Beatrice raised her almost hairless eyebrows. She
picked up her pen and turned back to her desk. Her thin
smile was far from reassuring.
"No matter," she said. "I have wired your mother, and
Elizabeth is packing your things-the last service Elizabeth
will perform for me. After all these years she has given me
notice."
"But it's true, Aunt Beatrice," Carey burst out. "It was the sea. You can prove it."
Aunt Beatrice half turned, the pen delicately suspended in her birdlike hand.
"How, may I ask?" she inquired ironically.
"By licking the blanket, Aunt Beatrice," said Carey politely.
Aunt Beatrice's pink-rimmed eyes became like agates.
"You are not my children," she said coldly, "and I am not as young as I was; there is no reason at all why I should put up with this sort of thing! Your mother, job or no job, must make other arrangements for you. I have finished. You may go."
They crept to the door. At the threshold they paused; Aunt Beatrice was speaking again. "As there are no taxis," she was saying, "Mr. Bisselthwaite, the milkman, has very kindly consented to pick you up at eleven forty-five at the end of the lane. Your train leaves at twelve."
Gently, gently they closed the door.
1O FAREWELL
The milkman was late. "Perhaps," said Carey, as they stood in the grass by the side of the lane, "we could just run in and say good-by to Miss Price."
"One of us had better stay," said Charles, "to look after the bags and wait for the milk cart. You and Paul go."
Carey hesitated. "All right," she said, after a moment. "And you can come along in the cart."