Charmed Life - Diana Wynne Jones [49]
Janet was no more bothered by wriggly things than Gwendolen. She picked the caterpillars off and put them in a heap in front of Julia. “I’ve a good mind to shout for your father,” she said.
“Oh, no, don’t be a telltale,” said Roger. “Let her be, Julia.”
“Certainly not,” said Julia. “She’s not getting any lunch.”
After the meeting with Mr. Baslam, Cat was not really very hungry. “Here,” he said, and changed his plate of stew with Janet’s mud. Janet started to protest. But, as soon as the plate of mud was in front of Cat, it was steaming stew again. And the looping heap of caterpillars was simply a pile of twigs.
Julia turned to Cat, not at all pleased. “Don’t you interfere. You annoy me. She treats you like a slave and all you do is stick up for her.”
“But I only changed the plates!” Cat said, puzzled. “Why—?”
“It could have been Michael,” Roger suggested.
Julia glowered at him too. “Was it you?” Roger blandly shook his head. Julia looked at him uncertainly. “If I have to go without marmalade again,” she said at length, “Gwendolen’s going to know about it. And I hope the stew chokes you.”
Cat found it hard to concentrate on lessons that afternoon. He had to watch Janet like a hawk. Janet had decided that the only safe thing was to be totally stupid—she thought Gwendolen must have been pretty stupid anyway—and Cat knew she was overdoing it. Even Gwendolen had known the twice-times table. Cat was worried too, in case Julia started knotting that handkerchief of hers when Mr. Saunders’ back was turned. Luckily, Julia did not quite dare. But Cat’s main worry was how to find twenty pounds by next Wednesday. He could hardly bear to think of what might happen if he did not. The very least thing, he knew, would be Janet confessing she was not Gwendolen. He thought of Chrestomanci giving him that scathing stare and saying, “You went with Gwendolen to buy dragons’ blood, Eric? But you knew it was illegal. And you tried to cover up by making Janet pretend to be Gwendolen? You show touching concern, Eric.” The mere idea made Cat shrivel up inside. But he had nothing to sell except a pair of earrings that shouted that they belonged to someone else. If he wrote to the Mayor of Wolvercote and asked if he could have twenty pounds out of the Fund, the Mayor would only write to Chrestomanci to ask why Cat wanted it. And then Chrestomanci would stare scathingly and say, “You went with Gwendolen to buy dragons’ blood, Eric?” It was hopeless.
“Are you feeling well, Eric?” Mr. Saunders asked several times.
“Oh, yes,” Cat replied each time. He was fairly sure that having your mind in three places at once did not count as illness, much as it felt like it.
“Play soldiers?” Roger suggested after lessons.
Cat would have liked to, but he dared not leave Janet on her own. “I’ve got to do something,” he said.
“With Gwendolen. I know,” Roger said wearily. “Anyone would think you were her left leg, or something.”
Cat felt hurt. The annoying thing was that he knew Janet could have done without her left leg more easily than she could have done without him. As he hurried after Janet to Gwendolen’s room, he wished heartily it was really Gwendolen he was hurrying after.
Inside the room, Janet was feverishly collecting things: Gwendolen’s spell books, the ornaments on the mantelpiece, the gold-backed brush and hand mirror off the dressing table, the jar on the bedside table, and half the towels from the bathroom.
“What are you doing?” said Cat.
“Finding things we can sell. Is there anything you can bear to spare from your room?” said Janet. “Don’t look like that. I know it amounts to stealing, but I get so desperate when I think of that horrible Mr. Bisto going to Chrestomanci that I don’t care anymore.