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

Paul took Carey's hand. "Are we going to prison?" he whispered.
"I don't know," Carey whispered back. "I think so."
"How many years," asked Paul, "will they keep us in prison?"
"I don't know," said Carey, "not many."
"Come on," said the sergeant. They felt he was holding a door open. They squeezed past his stomach into another passage. They were indoors again. The sergeant switched on a light. "Mrs. Watkins," he called.
Mrs. Watkins was a bustling kind of woman, a cross- Carey thought-between a cloakroom attendant and a nurse. She wore a white apron and a red woolen cardigan over it. She took them into a room in which there was a bed-like a hospital bed, thought Carey-two imitation-leather armchairs, a table, and an aspidistra in a pot. She bustled Paul onto the bed and covered him with a blanket. Then she turned to Charles and Carey. "Cocoa or tea?" she asked them.
Carey hesitated. "Whichever's easiest for you," she said politely.
"The sergeant's having tea."
"Well, tea if you've got it made," said Carey timidly. "Thank you very much," she added.
Mrs. Watkins stared at Carey for a minute. "Lost, are you?" she asked curiously.
Carey, sitting on the edge of the imitation-leather armchair, smiled uneasily. "Not exactly."
"Up to mischief?" asked Mrs. Watkins.
Carey blushed, and tears came into her eyes. "Not exactly," she stammered.
"Well," said Mrs. Watkins kindly, "you sit there quiet and be good children and you'll have a nice cup o' tea."
"Thank you," murmured Carey indistinctly.
As the door closed behind Mrs. Watkins and the key turned in the lock, Carey burst into tears. Charles stared at her miserably, and Paul, sitting up in bed with interest, asked, "What are you crying for, Carey?"
"This is all so awful," wept Carey, trying at the same time to staunch her tears with her handkerchief.
"I don't think it's so awful," said Paul. "I like this prison."
Charles glared at him. "Only because you're going to have a cup of tea, and you know you're not allowed tea at home."
"No," said Paul rather vaguely, "I like prisons like this."
"Well, it isn't even a prison. It's a police station."
"Oh," said Paul. He gazed about the room, but a little less happily.
"Paul," said Carey some time later, when they had drunk their tea and Mrs. Watkins had left them alone again, "I told you this was a stupid kind of wish. I tried to warn you. It would have been better to go back into the Middle Ages or anything than this. This is worse than anything that has ever happened to us. We've lost the bed. The policeman will ring up Mother. Mother will be terribly worried. The law may get her too. Aunt Beatrice will know. They'll make us explain everything. Miss Price will get into trouble. We shall have broken our promise. It will be the end of the magic bed-knob. And nobody will ever trust us again. . . ."
Paul looked grave.
"Do you see, Paul?" Carey's voice sounded as if she were going to cry again. "And it's Charles and me who'll get the blame. They'll say we led you into it, that we're old enough to know better. Do you understand?"
Paul brightened perceptibly. "Yes," he said.
"We're locked in here. And there isn't anything we can do."
She broke off. Suddenly outside in the courtyard there was a screech of brakes. They heard the running engine of a car, and voices shouting.
"They're bringing someone else in!" exclaimed Paul excitedly.
Charles went jap to the window, but he dared not disturb the blind. "They'll see us," he said.
"I know what," cried Carey. "Switch out this light!"
Charles switched off the light by the door. Then, in the
darkness, he tugged a corner of the blind. It flew up with a rattle. A pinkish light, faint but clear, shone inwards on the
room.
"It's dawn," said Charles wonderingly. "Morning. We've been away all night." He stared down into the courtyard.
"I say, Carey-"
"What?"
"They're not bringing anyone in. It's-" He paused excitedly. "Carey, it's the bed!"
Carey leapt out of her chair, and Paul threw off the blanket. They raced to the window. They watched, in that dim early light, two policemen lift the bed from the van. They heard the legs scrape as it was dragged across the cobblestones. They saw the policemen push it up against the wall. Then both men stood, rubbing the strain out of their hands and staring at the bed. They laughed. "I could do with a nap meself," said one as they walked away indoors. Then the courtyard became silent.
"If we could get to it-" breathed Charles.
"If-" said Carey.
The pale light shone softly on their faces as, longingly, they stared out through the bars.
6 MAGIC IN THE COURTYARD
At about nine o'clock next morning, the sergeant and the inspector faced each other across the inspector's desk. The sergeant was standing. His hat was in his hand and his face was very red.
". . . and that's all I know, sir," the sergeant was saying.
"But how did they get away?" asked the inspector. "I'm afraid I don't follow you, Sergeant. How did they get into the yard to start with?"
"Well, Mrs. Watkins took 'em down, sir, to see my garden."
"To see your garden?" repeated the inspector in a surprised voice.
"Them dahlias, sir, in pots, at the end of the yard, sir. Mrs. Watkins calls 'em my garden. I got some sweet peas, sir, too-coming up nicely, the sweet peas are."
"I didn't know you were a horticulturist, Sergeant." The inspector spoke rather coldly. "And then?"