Book I Chapter 11 The Twilight of Magic by Hugh Lofting
At the Haunted Inn
‘Look!’ said Anne. ‘The door is locked with a key. That’s why the old handle broke off. You’ll have to turn the key to open the door.’
‘Well, if the key’s the right one I’ll open it this time and no mistake,’ said Giles. And without further ado he went up to the cupboard, turned the key and pulled the door wide open.
And a big black cat walked silently out into the room.
‘So much for your fears, Anne,’ laughed the boy. ‘We might have known that ghosts never scratch. First, we were afraid to come into the house, and then we were afraid to open the cupboard. That’s the way with most fears: they are always fears about what you don’t know. Now, let’s go all over the house and explore it from top to bottom. Then when we go back to the town we can tell the people we have made a good job of the Haunted Inn.’
‘Giles,’ said Anne, ‘that cat there—doesn’t he look like one of the cats that Agnes had?’
The big black animal seemed quite friendly; and after brushing himself against the children’s legs he walked slowly from the room.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Giles. ‘All black cats are alike to me. Let’s take a look around upstairs. Wait. Maybe I’d better close the cupboard again, first.’
As he went to fasten the door Giles noticed an old tinder-box and two stumps of candles on a shelf within.
Then the children went upstairs.
‘Be careful of the holes in the steps and the landings,’ said Giles, who was walking ahead. ‘Many of the boards are rotten. Tread lightly first before you trust your whole weight.’
The rooms upstairs they found pretty much like those below, only worse. There was more plaster fallen from the walls; and the holes in the roof had let the rain spoil the ceilings in many places. More dust, more cobwebs and more broken windows. Here, too, there was very little furniture. In the largest room, the one over the dining-hall, there was another fireplace and an old broken-down four-poster bed, leaning awry, with only two feet to stand on.
‘Now let’s go down into the cellar,’ said Giles.
‘Do you think that is necessary?’ asked Anne.
‘Quite,’ said her brother, ‘if we are going to explore the place properly. Come along.’
They found nothing very unusual in the cellar: shadows, a musty smell, barrels, more broken furniture, paint-pots, and an old lantern which they brought upstairs with them.
‘Well,’ said Giles, puffing out his chest, ‘the deed is done. It wasn’t so bad, was it? I wonder if there are any more haunted houses left in these parts. I am feeling pretty brave now—indeed, this is one of my bravest days. How do you feel, Anne?’
‘I’m doing nicely, thank you,’ said his sister. ‘But one haunted house a day for me will be enough. I was just thinking, Giles, as we were coming up those cellar-steps, the stone all worn into hollows by all the feet that must have trudged up and down them for hundreds of years ...’
‘Well, what about it?’ asked Giles. ‘This was an inn, you know, where I suppose thousands of guests came a year. And all the food and wine for those people was brought up from the cellar. No wonder the steps are worn.’
‘Yes, that’s just it,’ Anne went on. ‘I had been thinking again of what Mother said, about Piers Belmont knowing everyone. I suppose an innkeeper must have come to know an enormous lot of people in his lifetime. That would be as good a way as any to get to know everybody, being an innkeeper, wouldn’t it? Oh, here’s another closet! I wonder what’s in this one.’
They were now standing in what was clearly the kitchen, since it had large ovens next to its fireplace and nails and hooks for hanging pots and pans. Anne opened the closet. At first she thought it was empty, but by standing on tiptoe she was able to see on to the higher shelves; and there she found two pieces of linen. On spreading them out she saw they were aprons.
‘Oh, Giles!’ she cried. ‘Let’s put them on.’
‘What on earth for?’ he asked.
‘Why, then we can play at being innkeepers.’
At first Giles was not very keen about the idea; but after Anne had persuaded him a little, he thought it might not be such a bad game, and he tied his apron round his waist. In a flash they became Master Giles and Mistress Anne, the host and hostess of the Golden Mitre. As busy as monkeys they were, running up and down stairs; making make-believe beds; skipping in and out of the kitchen to serve make-believe meals; calling to Joe, their make-believe houseboy, to ‘fetch in those trunks and hurry about it, Sirrah!’
Such a good time did they have, attending to the wants of a never-ending procession of travellers coming to and going from the inn, that they hardly stopped playing even when the rain came on again. However, when the water began driving into the passage through the front entrance, Master Giles called out of the window to his servant Joe to come in and fasten up the front door—‘and be quick about it, Sirrah!’ But the hard-working Joe took so long about it that the master of the inn came down and did it himself. And no easy matter it was, with a door that had only one hinge left to hold it against the screaming wind. But he got an old broom-handle to prop it, or strut it, at one corner, and it kept the storm out.
Then Anne spoke of how dark it had grown; and Giles fetched one of the candle-ends he had seen in the cupboard and lit it with the tinder-box. This added something new to the game and they went at it again keener than ever, till at length, thoroughly tired, they sat down to take a rest.
By now the rain was really terrible, worse than it had ever been. The lightning flashed and flickered and the thunder made the old house rattle and shake from end to end.
‘Wouldn’t it be funny, Giles,’ said Anne, ‘if a real guest were to come along now.’
‘Funny?’ said Giles. ‘What is the matter with you? This is a game, isn’t it? Why would anyone come here?’
And then, as if in answer to his question, there came a Bang! Bang! Bang! on the front door.
Both children sprang to their feet. For a while they stood staring at one another with their mouths open.
‘Who-oo-oo can it be?’ whispered Anne at last.
‘How sh-sh-should I know?’ stuttered Giles. ‘Why don’t you open the door and see?’
‘Why don’t you open it?’ asked his sister. ‘I don’t think I’m strong enough to pull the prop away with the storm blowing so hard.’
‘Well, I opened the cupboard door,’ said Giles. ‘It’s your turn now.’
While they were arguing, the knocking broke out again even louder than before. Giles took the candle and went out into the passage and peered through the keyhole.
‘There seem to be several of them out there,’ he whispered.
A third time the door shook to the thunderous knocking. And still poor Giles hesitated with his hand upon the broomstick which held the door to. And now the children thought they could hear the snorting and stamping of horses and the jingling of harness. But it was too dark to see very far beyond the door through a keyhole. Giles began to wonder what time it was. It should be only about four o’clock in the afternoon; but the darkness of the storm made it seem much later. Suddenly he felt the shell burning in his jacket. Who could it be that was speaking of him? He had started to reach into his pocket, when a voice outside shouted:
‘Open! Open, I say! Would you have us drown out here?’
Without further delay Giles struck away the prop and the door flew inwards before the wind and rain.
Standing on the threshold was a tall dark man. Rain dripped from the feather in his hat, from the hem of the big cloak that hung about his shoulders, from the tips of the embroidered gloves that covered his hands. He was evidently a nobleman. He hardly seemed to look at Giles or Anne, but strode past them while they peered into the darkness and the rain outside.
There they could now dimly see other figures moving about. Orders were being shouted. Then they thought they saw a coach—yes, a very grand and lovely coach—then two coal-black horses standing in the shafts. The flickering lightning glittered on their shiny, rain-soaked skins. A coachman got down from his seat and the horses were unharnessed and led away to the stables. And over and around the whole mystery the rain splashed and streamed and hissed.
Presently the door of the coach opened and a woman got out carrying a small valise. In spite of the downpour she stood respectfully to one side as though waiting for someone else still within.
And then there stepped from the coach the most beautiful and grandly dressed lady the children had ever seen. On the arm of the other woman (who was clearly her maid) she walked swiftly towards the door of the inn. But, on the way, two of the men came up and spoke to her; and Anne noticed that they addressed her as ‘Your Ladyship’ or ‘My Lady’.
Inside the passageway she shook the water from the collar of her cape and spoke to Giles.
‘I am indeed glad to reach the inn. What terrible weather! You are the host of the Golden Mitre?’
Giles looked blankly at his sister’s apron and then at his own. The grand lady did not wait for his answer, but turned to Anne.
‘And you will be the hostess, of course. This is my maid, Margaret. Please lead us to my room. I am tired from the journey and would rest before supper.’
Giles looked at Anne and whispered, ‘Supper!’ And Anne looked back at her brother and choked, ‘Supper!’
‘Please hasten,’ said the lady to Anne. ‘Lead the way. My lackeys will help you with the trunks,’ she called over her shoulder to Giles as she turned towards the stairs.
Poor Anne! She went forward with candle in her hand and her head in a daze. At every step upwards she said to herself, ‘That awful room! With the broken-down bed! With the broken windows! With the dust on the floor! With the cracks in the plaster! What a dreadful place to put a lady to sleep! O dear! O dear! What shall I do?’
Well, she didn’t do anything about it. She kept going straight on upstairs as though she were bewitched and quite powerless to turn and tell the woman behind her what a dreadful mess she was taking her to.
And then, on nearing the landing, she thought she saw signs of a light, another light upstairs besides the one she was carrying. And when she reached the landing she was sure. There was light, lots of it, shining from the big bedroom door. She ran forward to look in. Then she put her hand up to hold back a cry of surprise.
For the bedroom was all bright with many candles. The tumbledown bedstead was all set up with four feet and laid with lovely white linen, lace coverlet and embroidered pillows. Gone were the dust and the cobwebs and the holes in the walls and the ceiling. The windows were washed and all the panes mended. And in the grate a warm fire was blazing up the chimney. Anne just gaped, unable to say anything.
‘Truly, good hostess,’ said the gracious voice of the lady behind her, ‘I am both pleased and surprised that you’ve been able to provide for me so well. Yes, indeed, pleased and surprised I am.’
‘So am I, your Ladyship,’ said Anne, finding her tongue at last.
Then she ran downstairs to look for Giles.