Book I Chapter 12 The Twilight of Magic by Hugh Lofting
The supper at the Golden Mitre
Below, Anne found more surprises. She rushed into the dining-hall with her mouth full of the strange news from upstairs. But again she was struck silent. For that room was all lit up, too, with gay candelabra, and there was another jolly fire on the great hearth. The broken table stood all repaired and polished in the centre of the room; and it was set with platters, knives and forks, bowls of fruit, goblets and flagons of wine. Master Giles, the host of the Golden Mitre, was pottering to and fro at a great pace, fetching hams, turkeys, pasties, sausages and what not from out of the kitchen, just as though it was a conjurer’s hat. Two or three very richly dressed gentlemen were seated drying themselves before the fire.
Giles had no time for his sister, and Anne had to run behind him out into the kitchen to get any word from him. There her chances proved not much better; for she found the coachman and four other servants seated at a wide table gobbling bread and cheese and drinking ale from pewter mugs.
‘But, Giles,’ she whispered as her brother bent down to pull still another joint out of the oven, ‘what is it? It’s the same way upstairs. Everything bewitched, befuddled, bedizened. What is it? What’s happening? Who are all these people? Where did all the food come from?’
‘How should I know?’ snapped the busy host. ‘I smelt it. Must have cooked itself. As for the people, why ask me?—Some of those guests you were wishing for, I suppose. Maybe you were sitting on a wishing stone or something and didn’t know it, when you spoke. Anyway, here they all are and they have got to be fed. Take that bread-knife there and chop that big loaf up into small hunks—only don’t chop your silly fingers.’
One thing that Anne spoke of later to her brother was that none of these strange people seemed to think the age and size of the host and hostess of the Golden Mitre at all unusual. It is true they spoke very little, either among themselves or to Giles and Anne. But that could very easily be because they were worn out from travelling. Tired men do not want to talk.
The supper was a great success. The servants, who had already eaten in the kitchen, helped Anne and Giles serve it. After it was all over the great lady again praised and thanked her host and hostess for their service and excellent cooking.
Shortly after that she retired to her room for the night; and one by one the rest of the company also went to bed. The servants found themselves quarters over in the haylofts of the stables; while the gentlemen took the other bedrooms in the inn.
Then at last, for the first time in so long, the children were alone. And they sank into chairs on either side of the dining-hall fireplace, wearily gaping at one another. Said Anne presently:
‘Well! did you ever?’
And Giles answered:
‘No, I never did.’
They were full of a thousand questions. But each knew the other could not answer them. So for a while they sat silent, lying back in the deep chairs and gazing at the glowing fire.
And there soon they must have fallen asleep. For the next thing they knew they were sitting on the floor, leaning against one another, terribly cold. There was no fire in the grate. The wind was blowing in through broken window-panes. Dust lay on the broken table and cobwebs hung from the dirty walls.
It was morning.
‘Giles! Giles!’ said Anne at last in a trembling voice. ‘Tell me: was I dreaming? Wasn’t there a great feast laid on the table here last night?’
‘Yes,’ said her brother, ‘and a company of grand people and—’
‘And a very beautiful and high-born lady,’ Anne added, springing up, ‘who brought a maid with her and slept upstairs in a bed of fine linen, with lace. Why—!’
Without another word they both raced upstairs. At the open door of the big bedroom they paused, staring. The grand lady and her maid were nowhere to be seen. The four-poster stood askew on its broken legs. The dust lay thick upon the floor. Everything was just as it had been when they first came to the inn and explored the rooms.
Giles grabbed his sister by the arm.
‘The horses!’ he cried. ‘Let’s see if they’re gone, too.’
A scamper down the stairs and out through the back door. A rush across the yard. And in a twinkling the big stable door was thrown open.
The only living thing to be seen was a large black cat which came out to meet them, blinking in the new and sudden light.
Silently they went back into the house. They were barely inside when Giles felt the shell burning in his pocket again. He pulled it out and listened.
‘It’s Mother and Father,’ he said to Anne. ‘They’re nearly frantic because we’ve been away all night. I can hear Mother crying her heart out, and Father stamping back and forth across the floor. Now they’re talking again—Sh!’
For a moment Giles was silent. Then he burst out with:
‘Oh, my goodness, this is dreadful! Father thinks Agnes has kidnapped us. Shragga the Witch, as they call her—child-stealing—and all that. Somebody saw us with her the other day when we went to the beach. Father is going to the Mayor to have her arrested. Quick! There’s no time to lose. Let’s get back home!’
Together they ran out of the dining-hall. But at the door Anne caught her brother’s sleeve and held him as she looked back for a last glimpse.
‘It seems impossible, doesn’t it?’ she said slowly. ‘Here they all sat last night around the table laden with good things to eat. And now this morning everything—everybody—gone! It can’t have been a dream because we both saw it all. And two people couldn’t have exactly the same dream.’
‘Yet—if somebody made them dream—I’m not so sure,’ said Giles.
‘What do you mean, if somebody made them dream?’ asked Anne.
‘Well, if it’s possible to read people’s thoughts maybe it’s possible to give them thoughts. And Mother says that dreams are only the thoughts you think while sleeping. So perhaps someone might be able to make two people think the same thing while they were asleep ... Anyway, come. Let us be going. We’ve got to hurry.’
Together they ran for the front door, knocked away the broom handle and leapt out.
Then before they could stop themselves they had stumbled over a bent figure seated on the steps. They fell sprawling into the yard. The figure was Agnes the Applewoman. She rose and without a word walked into the inn.
‘Agnes!’ called Anne. ‘Agnes! We want to speak with you!’
The Applewoman paid no attention. They ran into the inn after her. But she was nowhere to be seen. They searched the rooms upstairs and the cellars below. Yet not a sign of Agnes could they find.
Suddenly Giles said: ‘Oh, my! That shell is burning again. Let’s get home quick. We’ve got to stop Father from going to the Mayor.’
And together they raced out of the house and down the road.