Archer’s Goon. Diana Wynne Jones

walked into the hall. In order not to shut Awful into the house, Miss Potter had to leave the door open. She stood holding it and looking meaningly from Awful to Howard and Fifi. When none of them moved, she said, with cross politeness, “Won’t you all come in?”

      They went into the small dark house. It had a sad, damp smell and a lot of clocks ticking. Awful made a face because her curiosity was already satisfied. Miss Potter ran ahead of them into a spotless little living room and cleared two small books and a neat note pad from a shiny table. “You’ll have to excuse everything being so untidy,” she said. “I’ve been working hard all day, and I wasn’t expecting visitors. I’m so nervous about that paper Mr Sykes set me, Fifi! I can’t think of anything else!”

      “Think about that typescript,” said Fifi. “Have you still got it?”

      “How about some tea and biscuits?” Miss Potter said brightly.

      “Yes, please,” said Awful.

      But Howard and Fifi both said, “No, thanks,” at the same time, and Fifi added, “Typescript, Maisie.” Awful glowered.

      Miss Potter put a hand to the towel around her head distractedly. “Oh, yes. Now let me think…”

      Awful was annoyed at not being allowed tea and biscuits. She said loudly and gloomily, “She’s putting you off. She’s stolen it.”

      “I have not!” Miss Potter exclaimed indignantly. “I’ve only – that is— Well, if you must know, I lent it to someone.”

      “Whatever for?” said Fifi. “When you knew Mr Sykes—”

      “I can get it back,” Miss Potter protested. “My friend only lives just up the road. She only wanted a peep at it.” And with a distinct look of relief she added, “I’ll – I’ll get it back and give it to you tomorrow without fail, Fifi.”

      It seemed to Howard that Miss Potter was getting more and more shifty. Fifi evidently thought so too, because she said sternly, “No, that won’t do, Maisie. Tell us where your friend lives and we’ll go get it now.”

      “Oh, I can’t do that!” Miss Potter cried out. “She doesn’t like strangers. She won’t know who you are. She – she doesn’t care for children. I’ll go and see her myself this evening, I promise!”

      Fifi looked frustrated. Howard found he did not believe a word about this friend of Miss Potter’s. He thought of the Goon and the Goon’s techniques. He said, “We’re staying here until you give us that typescript. My father needs it. It’s his property.”

      This produced a new flurry of excuses from Miss Potter. “But I can’t bother my friend in the middle of the afternoon like this! And just look at these awful old clothes I’m in!”

      “We’ll wait while you change,” said Fifi.

      “Besides,” added Miss Potter, becoming truly inspired, “my hair’s wet.”

      “Wear a hat,” said Awful. “Doesn’t she tell a lot of lies?”

      At this, Miss Potter made a noise of exasperation. “Very well,” she said, tossing her towelled head angrily. “We’ll all go to see my friend. But I insist on going upstairs to change first.” She turned and marched out of the neat living room.

      Howard hastily nudged Awful and gave her the look which meant she could be as awful as she liked. It did not seem to him that Awful needed much encouraging just then. Nor did she. She grinned fiendishly and scampered after Miss Potter. He heard her following Miss Potter upstairs, saying, “I want to see your bedroom. I like seeing bedrooms.”

      “Oh, Howard,” Fifi whispered. “She’ll never forgive me!”

      Howard comforted his conscience by telling it that Miss Potter probably deserved it for stealing the words and telling lies about friends. “Quick,” he whispered back. “I bet the words are here somewhere.”

      Quietly and hastily he and Fifi tiptoed about, searching the neat little room. They opened drawers and cupboards, looked in the empty wastepaper basket, and ended lifting up clocks and shaking out empty vases. There was nothing. Miss Potter did not seem to keep even old letters.

      They tiptoed to the only other room, which proved to be Miss Potter’s kitchen, and searched cupboards there, too. Fifi looked in the oven and the fridge, while Howard sorted through the two plastic bags and the cabbage stalk, which was all that was in Miss Potter’s waste bin. Again nothing. All the while, they could hear footsteps moving about upstairs and Awful’s voice loudly saying things like, “Why do you have so many kinds of make-up? They don’t make you any prettier.” Or, “Why do you keep your nightie in this silly teddy bear?” It made Fifi giggle.

      Howard thought Miss Potter must have the words upstairs, probably in the teddy with her nightdress, and he was just hoping that Awful would have the sense to look when he heard Awful saying, in a very loud, warning way, “You did change quickly! Don’t you like little girls watching you?” Fifi was giggling helplessly. Howard took her arm and towed her back to the living room just in time.

      Miss Potter came bouncing tightly down the stairs in a neat pleated skirt, with a neat scarf over her head, and her lips were tightly pressed together. She looked furious. “Fifi, you should teach that child some manners!” she said. “Do you think you could wait outside while I find my keys?”

      Awful stuck her head over the banisters, grinning wider than the Goon. She whispered, in a great loud gust, “Miss Potter wants to telephone. She’s got a telephone upstairs, too.”

      Miss Potter shot Awful a venomous look and followed that up with an artificial-looking jump. “Oh, silly me! I have my keys here all the time! Shall we go?”

      They went out of the house. While Miss Potter was locking it with much fussy jangling of keys, Howard tried to decide whether there really was a friend or Miss Potter had just decided on this way to get rid of them. Either way there was nothing they could do but follow Miss Potter uphill and into Pleasant Hill Road itself.

      “My friend is such an admirer of your father’s books,” Miss Potter explained to Howard as they climbed. “She’s been asking me for months now if I couldn’t get her just a peep at some of his newest writing. She says she simply must read every word he’s ever written. She says it’s his style that’s so marvellous, but I think the important thing is that he’s so sympathetic to the woman’s point of view. Don’t you agree?”

      “I don’t know,” Howard panted. Miss Potter set quite a fast pace. “I’ve never read any of Dad’s books.”

      “He says we mustn’t till we’re old enough,” Awful explained.

      Miss Potter struck back smartly at this. “You poor child! Can’t you read yet? How sad!”

      “You do make catty remarks,” Awful said. “Is it because you’re an old maid?”

      Miss Potter pressed her lips together and walked on up the hill in seething silence. Howard gave Awful the look that was meant to call her off, but he was not sure it worked. They came in silence to the very top of the hill, to the driveway of the largest and reddest house yet. The brick gatepost said 28. Number 28 was like several castles melted together, with brick battlements and towers sprouting off its many corners. The way into it seemed to be through a big glass porch in front. Miss Potter went through the porch door and then undid the mighty studded front door beyond enough to put her head around it.

      “Cooee!” she called. “Anyone at home? Dillian, dear, it’s me!”