The Chrestomanci series: 3 Book Collection. Diana Wynne Jones

have come to see you before, of course. Forgive me. Your father was so infernally rude to me, you see. I’ll see you again, I hope.” Then he went away in the cab, leaving Mrs Sharp very sour, Gwendolen jubilant, and Cat nervous.

      “Why are you so happy?” Cat asked Gwendolen.

      “Because he was touched at our orphaned state,” said Gwendolen. “He’s going to adopt us. My fortune is made!”

      “Don’t talk such nonsense!” snapped Mrs Sharp. “Your fortune is the same as it ever was. He may have come here in all his finery, but he said nothing and he promised nothing.”

      Gwendolen smiled confidently. “You didn’t see the heart-wringing letter I wrote.”

      “Maybe. But he’s not got a heart to wring,” Mrs Sharp retorted. Cat rather agreed with Mrs Sharp – particularly as he had an uneasy feeling that, before Gwendolen and Mrs Sharp arrived, he had somehow managed to offend Chrestomanci as badly as his father once did. He hoped Gwendolen would not realise. He knew she would be furious with him.

      But, to his astonishment, Gwendolen proved to be right. The Mayor called that afternoon and told them that Chrestomanci had arranged for Cat and Gwendolen to come and live with him as part of his own family. “And I see I needn’t tell you what lucky little people you are,” he said, as Gwendolen uttered a shriek of joy and hugged the dour Mrs Sharp.

      Cat felt more nervous than ever. He tugged the Mayor’s sleeve. “If you please, sir, I don’t understand who Chrestomanci is.”

      The Mayor patted him kindly on the head. “A very eminent gentleman,” he said. “You’ll be hobnobbing with all the crowned heads of Europe before long, my boy. What do you think of that, eh?”

      Cat did not know what to think. This had told him precisely nothing, and made him more nervous than ever. He supposed Gwendolen must have written a very touching letter indeed.

      So the second great change came about in Cat’s life, and very dismal he feared it would be. All that next week, while they were hurrying about being bought new clothes by Councillors’ wives, and while Gwendolen grew more and more excited and triumphant, Cat found he was missing Mrs Sharp, and everyone else, even Miss Larkins, as if he had already left them. When the time came for them to get on the train, the town gave them a splendid send-off, with flags and a brass band. It upset Cat. He sat tensely on the edge of his seat, fearing he was in for a time of strangeness and maybe even misery.

      Gwendolen, however, spread out her smart new dress and arranged her nice new hat becomingly, and sank elegantly back in her seat. “I did it!” she said joyously. “Cat, isn’t it marvellous?”

      “No,” Cat said miserably. “I’m homesick already. What have you done? Why do you keep being so happy?”

      “You wouldn’t understand,” said Gwendolen. “But I’ll tell you part of it. I’ve got out of dead-and-alive Wolvercote at last – stupid Councillors and piffling necromancers! And Chrestomanci was bowled over by me. You saw that, didn’t you?”

      “I didn’t notice specially,” said Cat. “I mean, I saw you were being nice to him—”

      “Oh, shut up, or I’ll give you worse than cramps!” said Gwendolen. And, as the train at last chuffed and began to draw out of the station, Gwendolen waved her gloved hand to the brass band, up and down, just like Royalty. Cat realised she was setting out to rule the world.

       CHAPTER THREE

      The train journey lasted about an hour, before the train puffed into Bowbridge, where they were to get out.

      “It’s frightfully small,” Gwendolen said critically.

      “Bowbridge!” shouted a porter, running along the platform. “Bowbridge. The young Chants alight here, please.”

      “Young Chants!” Gwendolen said disdainfully. “Can’t they treat me with more respect?” All the same, the attention pleased her. Cat could see that, as she drew on her ladylike gloves, she was shaking with excitement. He cowered behind her as they got out and watched their trunks being tossed out on to the windy platform. Gwendolen marched up to the shouting porter. “We are the young Chants,” she told him magnificently.

      It fell a little flat. The porter simply beckoned and scurried away to the entrance lobby, which was windier even than the platform. Gwendolen had to hold her hat on. Here, a young man strode towards them in a billow of flapping coat.

      “We are the young Chants,” Gwendolen told him.

      “Gwendolen and Eric? Pleased to meet you,” said the young man. “I’m Michael Saunders. I’ll be tutoring you with the other children.”

      “Other children?” Gwendolen asked him haughtily. But Mr Saunders was evidently one of those people who are not good at standing still. He had already darted off to see about their trunks. Gwendolen was a trifle annoyed. But when Mr Saunders came back and led them outside into the station yard, they found a motor car waiting – long, black and sleek. Gwendolen forgot her annoyance. She felt this was entirely fitting.

      Cat wished it had been a carriage. The car jerked and thrummed and smelt of petrol. He felt sick almost at once. He felt sicker still when they left Bowbridge and thrummed along a winding country road. The only advantage he could see was that the car went very quickly. After only ten minutes, Mr Saunders said, “Look – there’s Chrestomanci Castle now. You get the best view from here.”

      Cat turned his sick face and Gwendolen her fresh one the way he pointed. The Castle was grey and turreted, on the opposite hill. As the road turned, they saw it had a new part, with a spread of big windows, and a flag flying above. They could see grand trees – dark, layered cedars and big elms – and glimpse lawns and flowers.

      “It looks marvellous,” Cat said sickly, rather surprised that Gwendolen had said nothing. He hoped the road did not wind too much in getting to the Castle.

      It did not. The car flashed round a village green and between big gates. Then there was a long tree-lined avenue, with the great door of the old part of the Castle at the end of it. The car scrunched round on the gravel sweep in front of it. Gwendolen leant forward eagerly, ready to be the first one out. It was clear there would be a butler, and perhaps footmen too. She could hardly wait to make her grand entry.

      But the car went on, past the grey, knobbly walls of the old Castle, and stopped at an obscure door where the new part began. It was almost a secretive door. There was a mass of rhododendron trees hiding it from both parts of the Castle.

      “I’m taking you in this way,” Mr Saunders explained cheerfully, “because it’s the door you’ll be using mostly, and I thought it would help you find your way about if you start as you mean to go on.”

      Cat did not mind. He thought the door looked more homely. But Gwendolen, cheated of her grand entry, threw Mr Saunders a seething look and wondered whether to say a most unpleasant spell at him. She decided against it. She was still wanting to give a good impression. They got out of the car and followed Mr Saunders – whose coat had a way of billowing even when there was no wind – into a square polished passageway indoors.

      A most imposing lady was waiting there to meet them. She was wearing a tight purple dress, and her hair was in a very tall jet-black pile. Cat thought she must be Mrs Chrestomanci.

      “This is Miss Bessemer, the housekeeper,” said Mr Saunders. “Eric and Gwendolen, Miss Bessemer. Eric’s a bit car-sick, I’m afraid.”

      Cat