The Beasts of Clawstone Castle

It did not go well. By lunchtime only ten people had come and there had been some unpleasantness because Emily had left her bedroom door open and a family with two small boys had gone in and peered at her nightdress, which they thought had been worn by Queen Victoria and was part of the tour. Nobody bought a lavender bag and a man with a red face brought back the jigsaw puzzle he had bought the week before and asked for his money to be returned because the pieces did not fit properly. It was not until the visitors had made their way out of the castle and were wandering about in the gardens that Sir George and his sister could relax.

But today their quiet time did not last for long because the postman brought a most distressing letter. It was from Sir George’s niece, Patricia Hamilton, asking if they could have Madlyn and Rollo to stay for two months in the summer.

The parents apologized; they hated to ask favours, but if it was possible it would be a wonderful thing for the children.

‘Children!’ said Sir George, leaning back in his chair. His voice was grim. He might as well have been saying ‘Smallpox!’ or ‘Shipwreck!’

‘Oh dear, children,’ repeated Emily. ‘I do find children a little alarming. Especially if they are small.’

‘Children are generally small,’ said Sir George crabbily. ‘Otherwise they would not be children.’

Emily was about to say that actually some children were quite large these days because they ate the wrong things – she had read about it in the paper – but she didn’t.

‘Do you think they will shout and scream and... play practical jokes?’ she asked nervously. ‘You know . . . string across the stairs and apple-pie beds?’

Sir George was frowning, staring out of the window at the park.

‘If they let off fireworks and frighten the animals I shall have to beat them,’ he said.

But the thought of beating children was seriously alarming. You had to catch them first, and then upend them ... and his joints were a trouble to him even when he had to get up from his chair. What if they were the kind of children who squirmed ?

‘They have been brought up in town,’ he went on disapprovingly. ‘The boy will probably pretend to be a motor car and make those vroom-vroom noises all the time.’

‘And the girl will wear thin shoes and carry a handbag.’

A gloomy silence fell. Then:

‘Cousin Howard won’t like it,’ said Emily.

‘No,’ said her brother, ‘Cousin Howard won’t like it at all. But the children are “family”. Patricia is my niece. They have Percival blood.’

Emily nodded. Blood is blood and cannot be argued with – and the next day they wrote to say that of course Madlyn and Rollo would be welcome to spend the summer at Clawstone.

CHAPTER THREE

Madlyn stood still in the centre of the courtyard and looked round at the towers and the battlements which surrounded her.

‘Poor thing,’ she said.

‘Poor thing’ is not usually what people say to castles, but Madlyn was right. Clawstone did not look well. There were blobs of lichen – green blobs and yellow blobs and purple blobs – all over the steps which led to the front entrance. The statue of a knight-at-arms had lost his nose, the two cannons which flanked the doorway were covered in rust.

And the two old people who came carefully down the steps to greet them looked rather like poor things also. Sir George had bent down, ready to shake hands, but it did not seem certain that he would be able to straighten himself up again. Emily’s skirt was coming unravelled at the hem, and her watery eyes were worried.

The children had travelled in charge of Rollo’s former childminder, a plump and caring lady called Katya. She loved the children and she loved England, but she did not care for the English language, which she spoke oddly or not at all.

‘Is here Madlyn, is here Rollo,’ she said. Then thumping herself on the chest: ‘Is here Katya.’

Uncle George shook hands with everybody. Now that they were here he had to admit that the children did not look dangerous. Madlyn was very pretty and Rollo was very small and the lady who had brought them was returning to London on the following day.

As the children followed Aunt Emily up the stone staircase and down the corridor which led to their rooms a figure in a long dressing gown appeared suddenly and came towards them. They stopped, ready to greet him, but when he saw them the man turned round abruptly and scuttled away.

‘Oh dear,’ said Aunt Emily when he was out of sight. ‘I did so hope he would say good evening to you. He’s a very polite person really, but so dreadfully shy.’

‘Who is he?’ asked Madlyn.

‘It’s Cousin Howard. He finds it so hard to meet new people but I hoped as you were “family” . . . Never mind, I’m sure when he knows you better ... Now here are your rooms.’

Their rooms were in the newest part of the castle, which was only three hundred years old. They were next to each other with a connecting door between them, and Katya’s room was across the corridor, so they slept well and were up early next morning to explore.