The Enchanted Castle, E. Nesbit [books to read fiction .txt] 📗

“Because I’m not frightened of the Ugly-Wuglies. They’re as harmless as tame rabbits. But an idiot might be frightened, and give the whole show away. If you’re an idiot, say so, and I’ll go back and tell them you’re afraid to walk home, and that I’ll go and let your aunt know you’re stopping.”

“I’m not an idiot,” said Mabel; “and,” she added, glaring round her with the wild gaze of the truly terror-stricken, “I’m not afraid of anything.”

“I’m going to let you share my difficulties and dangers,” said Gerald; “at least, I’m inclined to let you. I wouldn’t do as much for my own brother, I can tell you. And if you queer my pitch I’ll never speak to you again or let the others either.”

“You’re a beast, that’s what you are! I don’t need to be threatened to make me brave. I am.”

“Mabel,” said Gerald, in low, thrilling tones, for he saw that the time had come to sound another note, “I know you’re brave. I believe in you, That’s why I’ve arranged it like this. I’m certain you’ve got the heart of a lion under that black-and-white exterior. Can I trust you? To the death?”

Mabel felt that to say anything but “Yes” was to throw away a priceless reputation for courage. So “Yes” was what she said.

“Then wait here. You’re close to the lamp. And when you see me coming with them remember they’re as harmless as serpents⁠—I mean doves. Talk to them just like you would to anyone else. See?”

He turned to leave her, but stopped at her natural question:

“What hotel did you say you were going to take them to?”

“Oh, Jimminy!” the harassed Gerald caught at his hair with both hands. “There! you see, Mabel, you’re a help already.” he had, even at that moment, some tact left. “I clean forgot! I meant to ask you⁠—isn’t there any lodge or anything in the Castle grounds where I could put them for the night? The charm will break, you know, some time, like being invisible did, and they’ll just be a pack of coats and things that we can easily carry home any day. Is there a lodge or anything?”

“There’s a secret passage,” Mabel began⁠—but at the moment the yard-door opened and an Ugly-Wugly put out its head and looked anxiously down the street.

“Righto!”⁠—Gerald ran to meet it. It was all Mabel could do not to run in an opposite direction with an opposite motive. It was all she could do, but she did it, and was proud of herself as long as ever she remembered that night.

And now, with all the silent precaution necessitated by the near presence of an extremely insane uncle, the Ugly-Wuglies, a grisly band, trooped out of the yard door.

“Walk on your toes, dear,” the bonneted Ugly-Wugly whispered to the one with a wreath; and even at that thrilling crisis Gerald wondered how she could, since the toes of one foot were but the end of a golf club and of the other the end of a hockey-stick.

Mabel felt that there was no shame in retreating to the lamppost at the street corner, but, once there, she made herself halt and no one but Mabel will ever know how much making that took. Think of it⁠—to stand there, firm and quiet, and wait for those hollow, unbelievable things to come up to her, clattering 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