Charmed Life - Diana Wynne Jones [32]
Chrestomanci turned and looked at Mr. Saunders. Mr. Saunders nodded. There was a sort of flicker, which jolted Cat where he sat and, when he looked at the windows, every saint was stand-ing stiff and glassy there, as they should be. Gwendolen’s head came up indignantly. Then she shrugged. At the back of the church a great stone crusader sat up on his tomb and, with much rasping of stone, thumbed his nose at the vicar.
“Dearly beloved—” said the vicar. He saw the crusader. He stopped, confounded.
The curate hastened up and tried to exorcise the crusader. A look of irritation crossed the crusader’s face. He lifted his great stone sword. But Mr. Saunders made a sharp gesture. The crusader, looking even more irritated, lowered his sword and lay down again with a thump that shook the church.
“There are some in this congregation who are certainly not sanctified,” the vicar said sadly. “Let us pray.”
When everyone straggled out of church, Gwendolen sauntered out among them, quite impervious to the shocked looks everyone gave her as she passed. Millie hurried after her and seized her arm. She looked most upset. “That was disgraceful, you ungodly child! I don’t dare speak to the poor vicar. There is such a thing as going too far, you know!”
“Have I gone it?” Gwendolen asked, really interested.
“Very nearly,” said Millie.
But not quite, it seemed. Chrestomanci did not say anything to Gwendolen, though he said a great deal, very soothingly, both to the vicar and to the curate.
“Why doesn’t your father tell Gwendolen off?” Cat asked Roger as they walked back up the avenue. “Taking no notice of her just makes her worse.”
“I don’t know,” said Roger. “He comes down on us hard enough if we use witchcraft. Perhaps he thinks she’ll get tired of it. Has she told you what she’s going to do tomorrow?” It was clear Roger could hardly wait.
“No. She’s cross with me for playing soldiers with you,” said Cat.
“Her stupid fault for thinking she owns you,” said Roger. “Let’s get into old clothes and build some more of the tree house.”
Gwendolen was angry when Cat went off with Roger again. Maybe that was why she thought of what she did next. Or perhaps, as she said, she had other reasons. At all events, when Cat woke up on Monday morning, it was dark. It felt very early. It looked even earlier. So Cat turned over and went to sleep again.
He was astonished to find Mary shaking him a minute later. “It’s twenty to nine, Eric. Get up, do!”
“But it’s dark!” Cat protested. “Is it raining?”
“No,” said Mary. “Your sister’s been hard at it again. And where she gets the strength from, a little girl like her, beats me!”
Feeling tired and Mondayish, Cat dragged himself out of bed and found he could not see out of the windows. Each window was a dark crisscross of branches and leaves—green leaves, bluish cedar sprays, pine needles, and leaves just turning yellow and brown. One window had a rose pressed against it, and there were bunches of grapes squashed on both of the others. And behind them, it looked as if there was a mile-thick forest. “Good Lord!” he said.
“You may well look!” said Mary. “That sister of yours has fetched every tree in the grounds and stood them as close as they can get to the Castle. You wonder what she’ll think of next.”
The darkness made Cat weary and gloomy. He did not want to get dressed. But Mary stood over him, and made him wash too. The reason she was so dutiful, Cat suspected, was that she wanted to tell someone all about the difficulties the trees were causing. She told Cat that the yew trees from the formal