"You see, Mother," Arrietty tried to explain, "this room won't be furnished with bits and bobs—like the room under the floor at Firbank. I mean, now we've got all Miss Menzies's beautiful dollhouse furniture."
"Bits and bobs!" Homily had muttered crossly: she had been fond of their cozy room at Firbank, and especially fond of that beautiful knight from a chess set. She wondered where it was now.
But she would cook them splendid meals in her snow-white kitchen (well supplied with borrowings from the vegetable garden, and Spiller brought them an occasional minnow or fresh-water crayfish from the stream and—every now and again—a haunch of this or that, rich and gamy, but he would never say of what).
Pod hammered and sawed (and whistled under his breath) among the stacked furniture and general chaos under the window seat in the library. Peagreen would occasionally look in to inspect the work and bring them some rare dainty or other from the larder, but he found it hard to tear himself away from his painting (which he was doing in secret so that each picture would be a surprise).
Everybody seemed happy, each with his own particular job, but perhaps the happiest of all were Arrietty and Timmus.
He would never "run like a mouse" with Arrietty (except when danger threatened: they had once had a very nasty encounter with a weasel). And, on their way to the kitchen garden, she would often tell him a story, and this would keep him enthralled. In those first, early days of spring, there was little to borrow except Brussels sprouts, parsley, and winter kale, but as the weather grew warmer, there were crowded rows of seedling lettuces that badly needed thinning: the borrowers thinned them. They also "thinned" the tiny seedling onions and gathered sprigs of thyme. Then came the glorious day when Whitlace dug the first of the new potatoes and left in the soft earth a myriad of tiny tubers—some no larger than a hazelnut—with which he "would not bother." But Homily "bothered," and so did Lupy. What a treat it was to serve up a whole dish of miniature new potatoes, flavored with tender sprigs of early mint! And if Peagreen could pro duce a knob of butter from the larder! What a change from cutting off slices from tired old potatoes, potatoes so large that they had to be rolled along dusty floorboards into Homily's kitchen, as had been the case at Firbank.
Then came the promise of the first broad beans, the scarlet runners, the strawberry beds and raspberry canes breaking into leaf. And those mysterious fruit trees trained along the southern wall. Peaches? Nectarines? Victoria Plums? They would have to wait and see. Oh, the bottlings and the dryings and the storings! Pod was hard put to find enough utensils. And yet the old disused game larder never seemed to fail him. With patient and persistent searchings, he could usually supply most needs.
Spiller would sometimes join them in the vegetable garden: with the aid of his bow and arrow, he kept down the larger pests. Pigeons were the greatest menace: they could strip a planting of early cabbage in less than a couple of hours. But they grew to detest the sting of his tiny arrows.
Borrowing for two families could sometimes be heavyish work. One Brussels sprout was as big as a cabbage to Arrietty and Timmus, and besides all the other borrowings, they had always to return with four, two for each household. All the same, in that warm and sheltered garden, there were quite long hours of fun and leisure: hide-and-seek among the parsley, and if it rained, they could shelter under the spreading leaves of rhubarb and play guessing games and such. They had, of course, to keep a sharp lookout for Whitlace. And there were rats among the compost. But Spiller saw to those. They, too, grew to know the ping of that tiny bow.
On the way home, they would leave Arrietty's borrowings below the grating (where Pod would take them in), and then go on to the church. Sometimes Aunt Lupy would ask Arrietty to stay to tea, and Arrietty nearly always accepted: she was longing to catch a glimpse of Miss Menzies. Although she had solemnly promised her father never again to speak to a human bean, there might be some way of letting Miss Menzies know that they were safe. But though the other ladies appeared on Wednesdays and Saturdays to do the flowers, Miss Menzies was never among them.
Aunt Lupy, Arrietty noticed, was getting quite fond of her ladies. She was very used to genteel, human conversation, having become a Harpsichord by marriage and living so long with her first husband inside that instrument in the drawing room at Firbank. It was there, Homily maintained, that she had picked up grander manners than those rougher ways current below the kitchen—"Although," Homily would always add, "Lupy was only a Rainpipe from the stables before she married Harpsichord." The harpsichord was never opened because so many of the strings were missing. All the same, superior though it might seem, it had not been an easy life: they had had to subsist entirely on what was left over from afternoon tea. And their borrowing had to be done at lightning speed, between the time the ladies left to change for dinner and the butler appeared to clear away the tea things. And there was many a day (as she once confessed to Homily) when there had been nothing to drink except water from the flower vases and nothing to eat at all. With a few exceptional interludes, Aunt Lupy seemed doomed, Arrietty thought, to make a home inside some kind of musical instrument.
Arrietty liked to hear Aunt Lupy's stories about the human beans and picked up many bits of interesting information with which she would regale her mother and father on her return to supper. For instance, why the old rector no longer lived in the rectory, but in a neat, compact villa across the lane. She learned that Mrs. Whitlace came down to the church every evening to lock away the offertory box in the press in the vestry, and how that solid old press (set deep into the stones of the original church) housed "priceless treasures" (Lady Mullings's description): gold and silver altar plates, a jeweled chalice, exquisite candlesticks, far more ancient than those that had been stolen from the altar, and many other historic objects, described in an awed voice by Lupy but of which Arrietty had forgotten the names.
"Fancy!" Homily would exclaim as Arrietty reeled off as many as she could remember. "Who ever would have guessed it!"
And Pod would remark, "Sounds like the display cabinet at Firbank."
"Should all be under lock and key," Homily had said sternly.
"They are under lock and key," Pod had explained patiently. "I've examined those doors: the oak is that hard with age that no one could drive so much as a nail into it. Not even a human bean could."
"Lady Mullings," Arrietty told them, "thinks all those things should be put in a bank."
"In a bank!" exclaimed Homily, thinking of a grassy slope.
"Yes, it sounded funny to me, too," admitted Arrietty.
"Is that the Lady Mullings who's a 'finder'?" asked Homily, after a moment.
"Yes. Well, she is for other people. But Aunt Lupy says she can never find anything she mislays herself. Aunt Lupy says she heard her telling Mrs. Crabtree that she's lost the key of her attic and now she can't get at the things she laid aside for the jumble sale. And she's always leaving things in the church—umbrellas and handkerchiefs, gloves, things like that..."
"I could do with a nice leather glove," said Pod.
One afternoon, a short time later, Arrietty picked up courage to ask quite openly about Miss Menzies: why did she no longer come?
"Oh, poor thing!" exclaimed Aunt Lupy. "She did come once to make her excuses. But she's been in dreadful trouble."
Arrietty's heart sank. "What ... what kind of trouble?"
"Some vandals broke into the model village and knocked down all the houses!"
"All the houses?" gasped Arrietty, although she knew that Aunt Lupy was apt to exaggerate.
"Well, that's what it sounded like to me. Upset! I never heard a poor thing more upset. And it was nearly the end of Mr. Pott. The brutes must have got in across the stream. They'd cut the wire and all. And there they both are—Miss Menzies and Mr. Pott—working night and day, to try to repair the damage. Poor things! They had wanted so much to get the place open for Easter. That's when the season starts."
"When..." stammered Arrietty, "I mean—how long ag
o did this happen?"
"Let me see..." Aunt Lupy looked thoughtful. "About a week ago? No, it was more than that—more like two..." She wrinkled her brow, trying to remember. "How long ago is it since you all first arrived here?"
"About two weeks..." said Arrietty.
"Well, it must have been about then. I seem to recall it was the night of a very full moon—"
"Yes." Arrietty was leaning forwards, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that the nails dug into her palms. "That was the night after we first arrived." Her voice had trembled.
"What's the matter, child?"
"Oh, Aunt Lupy! Can't you see? If we'd delayed one night, just one night—and my mother wanted to—they'd have got us!"
"Who'd have got you?" Aunt Lupy looked alarmed.
"The Platters! They'd have taken the roof off, as they did before. And we'd have been in the house. Like rats in a trap, Aunt Lupy!"
"Goodness gracious me..." exclaimed Lupy.
"It wasn't vandals, Aunt Lupy, it was the Platters!"
"You mean those people who shut you up in the attic and were going to put you in a showcase?"
"Yes, yes." Arrietty was standing up now.
"But how do you know it was them?"
"I just know. My father was expecting them. I must go home now, Aunt Lupy." She was searching round frantically for her empty borrowing bag. "I must tell all this to my parents..."
"But you're safe now, dear. Those people don't know that you're here."
"I hope not," said Arrietty. She found her bag ard stooped hurriedly to kiss her aunt.
"The Lord takes care of his own," said Lupy. 'Thank you for the lettuce. Go carefully, child."
But Arrietty did not go very carefully. She was in such a hurry that she nearly ran in to Kitty Whitlace, who was approaching the wicket gate from the far side. Luckily Arrietty heard her singing, recognized the singer by the song, and had time to slip under the edge of a flat gravestone.
"In a dear little town in the old County Down," sang Kitty, as she approached the gate, "You must linger way down in my heart. / Though it never was grand, / It is my fairyland ..." She paused to unlatch the gate, and carefully relatch it behind her, before she went on: "In a wonderful world apart." Arrietty, peering out from under the lip of the gravestone, saw that Kitty, as she strolled along, was swinging a very large key on the forefinger of her right hand. Ah, yes! She suddenly remembered that this was the hour that Kitty Whitlace always went down to the church for a last look round and to lock up the collecting box in the solid old press for the night. Swiftly, she slid out from under the gravestone and between the palings of the gate.
Her mother and father looked grave when they had heard her story. They seemed shaken and appalled at the narrowness of their escape. There was no crowing by Pod about his unheeded warnings to Homily; Nor did she concede, as she half longed to, how right those warnings had proved. This was no time for cheap triumphs or recriminations. They were safe now, and that was all that mattered. But what a near thing it had been!
"How desperate they must have been, those Platters!" Pod said at last.
"And still are, I shouldn't wonder," said Homily.
"Well, they won't find us here," said Pod. He looked round in a pleased way at their sitting room, which was now taking shape: the chairs and sofa were now unstacked, and they were sitting on them.
Homily rose to her feet. "I've got a bit of supper all ready in the kitchen," she told them, and led the way down the steps to the passage under the floor.
Pod took one last look round. "I'll cut a nice piece of glass to fit that grating," he said. "Peagreen's got plenty. And then, come winter, when they turn the central heating on, we'll be snug as houses..."
Homily was very silent during supper, and a little absent-minded. When they had finished eating, she sat with one elbow on the table and, leaning a cheek upon her hand, stared downwards at her plate. Pod, looking at her across the table, seemed puzzled.
"Is anything on your mind, Homily?" he asked, after a longish silence. He knew how easily she could become worried.
She shook her head. "Not really..."
"But there is something?" persisted Pod.
"Nothing really," said Homily, and began to gather up the plates. "It's only..." "Only what, Homily?"
She sat down again. "It's only ... Well, I wish sometimes they'd never told us about that Lady Mullings." "Why, Homily?"
"I don't sort of like the idea of a 'finder,' " she said.
Chapter Nineteen
There was no doubt that Homily very much enjoyed the snippets of human gossip with which Arrietty regaled her after visits to the church. Although the news of the Platters' invasion of the model village had shocked and frightened her at the time, by the next day it had slid to the back of her mind, merging into a feeling of relief at their escape and the prospect of a safe and happy future.
Peagreen's pictures were a great success. They were the size of postage stamps and, as Homily said, "went very well together." Each painting was of a single object: a bumblebee with every glinting hair lovingly observed, its iridescent wings delicately transparent; blossoms of vetch, of speedwell, and of their familiar pimpernel; a striped fly; a snail emerging from its shell—all silver and gunmetal and whorling curves of golden brown—the head turned inquiringly towards them. "Why," she exclaimed, "you could almost pick it up! Not that I would want to. And look at its eyes on stalks!"
Peagreen had stuck the fine canvas onto pieces of cardboard and, on the edge of each, he had painted a frame. It
looked like a real frame: only by touching it did you find it was flat. (Some sixty years later, when repairs were being done to the house, these pictures were discovered by a human being; they aroused great wonder and were put into a collection.)
"He says they're your Easter present," Arrietty told her mother.
"What's Easter?" asked Homily, wonderingly.
"Oh, I told you, Mother. Easter is next Sunday. And all the ladies will come and do the flowers for the church. Even Miss Menzies! I heard Lady Mullings say that, however busy she is, Miss Menzies would never miss helping with the flowers for Easter. Oh, Mother"—she sounded tearful—"I wish Papa would let me speak to her—just once After all, when you come to think of it, everything we have we owe to Miss Menzies—this lovely room, the chiffonier, the cooking pots, our clothes ... She loved us, Mother, she really did!"
"It wouldn't do," said Homily. "All our troubles started by you speaking to that boy. And you might say he loved us, too..." She sounded sarcastic.
"He did," said Arrietty.
"And much good it did us," retorted Homily.
"Oh, Mother, he saved our lives!"
"Which wouldn't have been in danger but for him. No, Arrietty, your father's right. Go down and listen to them as much as you like. But no speaking. No being 'seen.' We've got to trust you, Arrietty. Especially now, when you've got all this newfangled liberty..." Seeing the expression on Arrietty's face, she added more gently, "Not that you and Timmus aren't doing a very good job. And your Aunty Lupy thinks so, too."
Some days before, Aunt Lupy and Uncle Hendreary had come to tea. It had taken a good deal of persuasion. The rectory was foreign ground to them, and they did not know quite what to expect. Nowadays neither of them went out of doors much: the church was their territory, and there they felt at home. And, although Aunt Lupy was thinner than she used to be, she did not much care for that scramble through the stone wall and the rough passage alongside the drainpipe: there was always the fear of getting stuck. However, Pod and Arrietty went to fetch them. Pod helped Lupy through the hole and guided her courteously along the path, through the paling of the wicket gate, and up to the opened grating. Arrietty stayed down in the church with Timmus—both of them delighted to miss the boredom of a grown-up tea party.
Once she was safely inside, Lupy was astonished at the grandeur of their dollhouse furniture. Homily, as polite as Pod on this occasion, took no credit for it. "
All given," she trilled gaily. "There's nothing here we chose ourselves. Nor made, for that matter—except the walls and doors."
Aunt Lupy had looked round wonderingly. "Very tasteful," she said at last. "I like your wallpaper."
"Do you?" exclaimed Homily with feigned surprise. "I thought it a bit dull." Though, in reality, she had grown to admire it herself.
"I'd call it refined," said Lupy.
"Oh, would you? I'm so glad. Of course, there's a lot of good reading on it, if you bend yourself sideways..." The fact that neither Lupy nor Homily could read was gently ignored.
If there was a gleam of envy in Aunt Lupy's eye when Homily brought out the doll's tea service, she suppressed it quickly. That it was a little out of proportion did not seem to matter: Miss Menzies had searched high and low for cups small enough to suit such tiny fingers and a teapot that would not be too heavy for a tiny hand to hold. But large as the cups were, they were very pretty, with their pattern of wild forget-me-nots, and Homily always remembered only to half-fill the teapot.
After tea, Lupy was taken to see the kitchen. She expressed some surprise at the long walk under the floor. "I wouldn't
like to have to carry our meals all this distance," she said. "At home, I have only to slip back from the gas ring."