The Enchanted Castle - E. Nesbit (poetry books to read .txt) 📗

on the pavement with their stumpy feet or borne along noiselessly, as in the case of the flower-hatted lady, by a skirt that touched the ground, and had, Mabel knew very well, nothing at all inside it.

She stood very still; the insides of her hands grew cold and damp, but still she stood, saying over and over again: “They re not true they can’t be true. It’s only a dream they aren’t really true. They can’t be.” And then Gerald was there, and all the Ugly-Wuglies crowding round, and Gerald saying: “This is one of our friends Mabel the Princess in the play, you know. Be a man!” he added in a whisper for her ear alone.

Mabel, all her nerves stretched tight as banjo strings, had an awful instant of not knowing whether she would be able to be a man or whether she would be merely a shrieking and running little mad girl. For the respectable Ugly-Wugly shook her limply by the hand.

(“He can’t be true,” she told herself), and the rose-wreathed one took her arm with a soft-padded glove at the end of an umbrella arm, and said: “You dear, clever little thing! Do walk with me!” in a gushing, girlish way, and in speech almost wholly lacking in consonants.

Then they all walked up the High Street as if, as Gerald said, they were anybody else.

It was a strange procession, but Liddlesby goes early to bed, and the Liddlesby police, in common with those of most other places, wear boots that one can hear a mile off. If such boots had been heard, Gerald would have had time to turn back and head them off. He felt now that he could not resist a flush of pride in Mabel’s courage as he heard her polite rejoinders to the still more polite remarks of the amiable Ugly-Wuglies. He did not know how near she was to the scream that would throw away the whole thing and bring the police and the residents out to the ruin of everybody.

They met no one, except one man, who murmured, “Guy Fawkes, swelp me!” and crossed the road hurriedly; and when, next day, he told what he had seen, his wife disbelieved him, and also said it was a judgement on him, which was unreasonable.

Mabel felt as though she were taking part in a very completely arranged nightmare, but Gerald was in it too Gerald, who had asked if she was an idiot. Well, she wasn’t. But she soon would be, she felt. Yet she went on answering the courteous vowel-talk of these impossible people. She had often heard her aunt speak of impossible people. Well, now she knew what they were like.

Summer twilight had melted into summer moonlight. The shadows of the Ugly-Wuglies on the white road were much more horrible than their more solid selves. Mabel wished it had been a dark night, and then corrected the wish with a hasty shudder.

Gerald, submitting to a searching interrogatory from the tall-hatted Ugly-Wugly as to his schools, his sports, pastimes, and ambitions, wondered how long the spell would last. The ring seemed to work in sevens. Would these things have seven hours’life or fourteen or twenty-one?“His mind lost itself in the intricacies of the seven-times table (a teaser at the best of times) and only found itself with a shock when the procession found itself at the gates of the Castle grounds.

Locked of course.

“You see,” he explained, as the Ugly-Wuglies vainly shook the iron gates with incredible hands; “it’s so very late. There is another way. But you have to climb through a hole.”

“The ladies,” the respectable Ugly-Wugly began objecting; but the ladies with one voice affirmed that they loved adventures. “So frightfully thrilling,” added the one who wore roses.

So they went round by the road, and coming to the hole it was a little difficult to find in the moonlight, which always disguises the most familiar things Gerald went first with the bicycle lantern which he had snatched as his pilgrims came out of the yard; the shrinking Mabel followed, and then the Ugly-Wuglies, with hollow rattlings of their wooden limbs against the stone, crept through, and with strange vowel-sounds of general amazement, manly courage, and feminine nervousness, followed the light along the passage through the fern-hung cutting and under the arch.

When they emerged on the moonlit enchantment of the Italian garden a quite intelligible “Oh!” of surprised admiration broke from more than one painted paper lip; and the respectable Ugly-Wugly was understood to say that it must be quite a show-place by George, sir! yes.

Those marble terraces and artfully serpentining gravel walks surely never had echoed to steps so strange. No shadows so wildly unbelievable had, for all its enchantments, ever fallen on those smooth, grey, dewy lawns. Gerald was thinking this, or something like it (what he really thought was, “I bet there never was such ado as this, even here! ), when he saw the statue of Hermes leap from its pedestal and run towards him and his company with all the lively curiosity of a street boy eager to be in at a street fight. He saw, too, that he was the only one who perceived that white advancing presence. And he knew that it was the ring that let him see what by others could not be seen. He slipped it from his finger. Yes; Hermes was on his pedestal, still as the snow man you make in the Christmas holidays. He put the ring on again, and there was Hermes, circling round the group and gazing deep in each unconscious Ugly-Wugly face.

“This seems a very superior hotel,” the tall-hatted Ugly-Wugly was saying; “the grounds are laid out with what you might call taste.”

“We should have to go in by the back door,” said Mabel suddenly. “The front door’s locked at half-past nine.”

A short, stout Ugly-Wugly in a yellow and blue cricket cap, who had hardly spoken, muttered something about an escapade, and about feeling quite young again.

And now they had skirted the marble-edged pool where the goldfish swam and glimmered, and where the great prehistoric beast had come down to bathe and drink. The water flashed white diamonds in the moonlight, and Gerald alone of them all saw that the scaly-plated vast lizard was even now rolling and wallowing there among the lily pads.

They hastened up the steps of the Temple of Flora. The back of it, where no elegant arch opened to the air, was against one of those sheer hills, almost cliffs, that diversified the landscape of that garden. Mabel passed behind the statue of the goddess, fumbled a little, and then Gerald’s lantern, flashing like a searchlight, showed a very high and very narrow doorway: the stone that was the door, and that had closed it, revolved slowly under the touch of Mabel’s fingers.

“This way,” she said, and panted a little. The back of her neck felt cold and goose-fleshy.

“You lead the way, my lad, with the lantern,” said the suburban Ugly-Wugly in his bluff, agreeable way.

“I I must stay behind to close the door,” said Gerald.

“The Princess can do that. We’ll help her,” said the wreathed one with effusion; and Gerald thought her horribly officious.

He insisted gently that he would be the one responsible for the safe shutting of that door.

“You wouldn’t like me to get into trouble, I’m sure,” he urged; and the Ugly-Wuglies, for the last time kind and reasonable, agreed that this, of all things, they would most deplore.

“You take it,” Gerald urged, pressing the bicycle lamp on the elderly Ugly-Wugly; “you’re the natural leader. Go straight ahead. Are there any steps?” he asked Mabel in a whisper.

“Not for ever so long,” she whispered back. “It goes on for ages, and then twists round.”

“Whispering,” said the smallest Ugly-Wugly suddenly, “ain’t manners.”

“He hasn’t any, anyhow,” whispered the lady Ugly-Wugly; “don’t mind him quite a self-made man,” and squeezed Mabel’s arm with horrible confidential flabbiness.

The respectable Ugly-Wugly leading with the lamp, the others following trustfully, one and all disappeared into that narrow doorway; and Gerald and Mabel standing without, hardly daring to breathe lest a breath should retard the procession, almost sobbed with relief. Prematurely, as it turned out. For suddenly there was a rush and a scuffle inside the passage, and as they strove to close the door the Ugly-Wuglies fiercely pressed to open it again. Whether they saw something in the dark passage that alarmed them, whether they took it into their empty heads that this could not be the back way to any really respectable hotel, or whether a convincing sudden instinct warned them that they were being tricked, Mabel and Gerald never knew. But they knew that the Ugly-Wuglies were no longer friendly and commonplace, that a fierce change had come over them. Cries of “No, No!” “We won’t go on!” “Make him lead!” broke the dreamy stillness of the perfect night. There were screams from ladies voices, the hoarse, determined shouts of strong Ugly-Wuglies roused to resistance, and, worse than all, the steady pushing open of that narrow stone door that had almost closed upon the ghastly crew. Through the chink of it they could be seen, a writhing black crowd against the light of the bicycle lamp; a padded hand reached round the door; stick-boned arms stretched out angrily towards the world that that door, if it closed, would shut them off from for ever. And the tone of their consonantless speech was no longer conciliatory and ordinary; it was threatening, full of the menace of unbearable horrors.

The padded hand fell on Gerald’s arm, and instantly all the terrors that he had, so far, only known in imagination became real to him, and he saw, in the sort of flash that shows drowning people their past lives, what it was that he had asked of Mabel, and that she had given.

“Push, push for your life!” he cried, and setting his heel against the pedestal of Flora, pushed manfully.

“I can’t any more oh, I can’t!” moaned Mabel, and tried to use her heel likewise but her legs were too short.

“They mustn’t get out, they mustn’t!” Gerald panted.

“You’ll know it when we do,” came from inside the door in tones which fury and mouth-rooflessness would have made unintelligible to any ears but those sharpened by the wild fear of that unspeakable moment.

“What’s up, there?” cried suddenly a new voice a voice with all its consonants comforting, clean-cut, and ringing, and abruptly a new shadow fell on the marble floor of Flora’s temple.

“Come and help push!” Gerald’s voice only just reached the newcomer. “If they get out they’ll kill us all.”

A strong, velveteen-covered shoulder pushed suddenly between the shoulders of Gerald and Mabel; a stout man’s heel sought the aid of the goddess’s pedestal; the heavy, narrow door yielded slowly, it closed, its spring clicked, and the furious, surging, threatening mass of Ugly-Wuglies was shut in, and Gerald and Mabel oh, incredible relief! were shut out. Mabel threw herself on the marble floor, sobbing slow, heavy sobs of achievement and exhaustion. If I had been there I should have looked the other way, so as not to see whether Gerald yielded himself to the same abandonment.

The newcomer he appeared to be a gamekeeper Gerald decided later looked down on well, certainly on Mabel, and said:

“Come on, don’t be a little duffer.” (He may have said, “a couple of little duffers .) “Who is it, and what’s it all about?”

“I can’t possibly tell you,” Gerald panted.

“We shall have to see about that, shan’t we,” said the newcomer amiably. “Come out into the moonlight and let’s review the situation.”

Gerald, even in that topsy-turvy state of his world, found time to think that a gamekeeper who used