“I’m glad to help out,” Beatrix said. She liked the vicar, although she sometimes wished he were a bit more definitive. “Being asked to serve—it makes me feel as though I belong here.”
“Oh, but you
do
belong here, my dear Miss Potter!” the vicar cried, in the most definitive tone Beatrix had ever heard him use. “Why, you are a very important part of our little village. The fires at Applebeck might have gone unsolved, if it hadn’t been for you.”
Beatrix shook her head. “I’m sure that Gilly would have told someone what she knew, sooner or later. I only—”
“No, Miss Potter,” the vicar said authoritatively. “You will not evade my thanks. You befriended the girl and earned her trust. It might have been months or years—or never!—before she felt able to tell someone else what she told you. Indeed, you do belong here, my dear. We wouldn’t know what to do without you!”
And with those encouraging words still ringing in her ears, Beatrix drove Winston back to Tidmarsh Manor, where she spent a little time with Caroline and Miss Burns. Both of them were terribly excited about their upcoming move to London, where Caroline would attend the Royal Academy and Miss Burns would teach at Mrs. Alton’s School for Young Ladies.
“I’m worried about my guinea pigs, though,” Caroline said, looking at the trio of energetic little animals—Nutmeg, Tuppenny, and Thruppence—who lived in a hutch in one corner of the schoolroom. “I don’t know who will look after them while I’m gone.”
“Would you like me to keep them for you in London?” Beatrix asked. “I’ll give them walks in the garden and you can visit them whenever you like.”
“Oh, Miss Potter!” Caroline cried, and flung her arms around Beatrix. “That would be wonderful. Thank you! And thank you so much for all you’ve done.”
“Indeed,” Miss Burns said. “I’m quite sure that our situation would not have turned out so well if you had not intervened.”
“I don’t know about that,” Beatrix said. “But I’m glad to have done what I could. And I shall look forward to seeing you both in London soon and to hearing that you are having a very successful year at your schools.”
Then she went down to the drawing room, where Lady Longford was sitting in the gloom, with all the draperies pulled shut. Her ladyship (having heard from Mrs. Beever that the buttery at Applebeck had burnt the night before) was pouting.
Beatrix wasted no time getting down to business. She seated herself directly across from Lady Longford. “I recently learnt,” she said briskly, “that you and Mr. Harmsworth have been discussing your purchase of Applebeck Farm.”
Lady Longford scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh?” Beatrix raised her eyebrow. “Then you are no longer interested in the property?”
Lady Longford eyed her guest warily. She had been very upset when she learnt, the previous year, that Miss Potter had bought Castle Farm. She had not wanted Castle Farm until she discovered that Miss Potter had bought it, of course, but she had regretted it ever since. After that experience, I don’t blame her for suspecting that Miss Potter might be casting an acquisitive eye on Applebeck. Her ladyship, who hates to be bested at anything, hates it most of all when someone buys an attractive piece of property out from under her nose.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested,” she muttered.
“Ah.” Beatrix gave her a prim smile. “I understand that your purchase is on condition that the Applebeck Footpath will be closed.”
“Indeed it is,” said her ladyship haughtily, lifting her chin. “And it is a firm condition. I have no wish to have people of all sorts trekking across my land, damaging young trees, picking fruit, and leaving their greasy lunch wrappers to blow about. The path must be closed.”
Beatrix spoke in a tactful tone. “Then I fear that your ladyship may wish to withdraw your offer of purchase. Captain Woodcock has ruled that the Applebeck Footpath is to remain open, as it has done for longer than anyone can remember. It will not be closed.” She folded her hands. “In any circumstance. No matter who owns it.”
“Remain open!” Lady Longford cried, half-rising from her chair. “Why, I never heard such nonsense. Miss Potter, this is . . . this is—”
“This is how it must be, I fear,” Beatrix said, with a little smile. “I am very sorry for your disappointment.” She allowed her smile to widen just perceptibly. “And if you are no longer interested in the property, I might consider making an offer. I understand that Mr. Harmsworth is quite anxious to sell.”
There was a silence, as Lady Longford, who was stewing inside, considered the implications of this. At last she spoke.
“If you think,” she said between clenched teeth, “that a little thing like a footpath is going to stop me from buying that property, you can think again, Miss Potter. I have made an offer for the property, and my offer will stand. Footpath or no footpath.”
Beatrix pulled a long face, although in her heart she was delighted. She had told Mr. Beecham the truth: she could not afford to buy Applebeck, no matter how much she might want to own a producing orchard. And she knew that Lady Longford, for all her faults, was a capable landlord with a care for good farming practices. She would let the orchard and the old farmhouse to a capable farmer and orchardist who could make the most of both. Under her stewardship, the land and its creatures would prosper.
Pleased at having outwitted her rival, Lady Longford gave a smug laugh. “I see, Miss Potter, that you are bitterly disappointed at not being able to purchase Applebeck yourself. Well, well. These things happen, my dear. Life’s little frustrations. We must just learn to live with them.”
“I suppose,” said Beatrix, putting on a sorrowful face. She rose and took her leave, and she and Winston drove home through the dappled shade of morning, the sun blessing the lane ahead, the meadows spread like a green comforter around her. Her time at Hill Top was growing short, and there were a great many things she wanted to do. She was glad that the next few days were free of any other obligations, and she could simply relax and enjoy them—enjoy her garden and fruit trees, her Herdwick sheep and the cows and pigs and chickens, enjoy a few hours for sketching and another few hours for walking at Moss Eccles Tarn and Esthwaite Water.
But enjoy, most of all, the secret she held warm and close to her heart: the pledge she had exchanged with Mr. Heelis the night before. It was lovely to know that she was loved. And while she knew that Mr. Heelis would come to regret his moonstruck promise and take it back when he had had some time to think, she would hold on to the memory of that night as long as she lived.
The pledge that Beatrix and Will had exchanged the night before was not as secret as they thought, of course. You and I witnessed this momentous event, although I don’t believe we are likely to tell anyone, are we? But two others saw it, as well, and they are not quite so discreet as we. In a few days, the news will be all over the village—at least, among the village animals. The Big Folk may have to wait a little longer to find it out.
The witnesses, as you might have already guessed, were Max the Manx and Fritz the ferret. They may seem an odd couple, perhaps, but many people keep cats and ferrets together and find that the two are quite companionable. This amiable pair had spent a very pleasant day together whilst Fritz put the finishing touches on Max’s portrait.
When it was done and the canvas unveiled, Max was astonished, for there he was, portrayed in all his tailless splendor. He suddenly saw himself in a whole new light.
“Why, it’s me!”
he cried.
“And I’m . . . I’m quite handsome!”
“Of course you are,”
said Fritz warmly.
“Didn’t I say so? Didn’t I say that you are unique among cats? An impressive beast? Well, here’s the portrait to prove it!”
Max sat staring at himself, purring deep in his throat and feeling himself grow proud and strong. Miss Potter had made pictures of some of the other cats in the village—Tabitha Twitchit and Crumpet and that lot—but Fritz had not chosen to paint them, for they were just ordinary cats. And in Max’s opinion (although I’m not sure that his view is to be trusted, since he is, after all, quite flattered by this artistic attention), Fritz’s talents were superior to those of Miss Potter. Why, just look at that expression! And the way those whiskers gleamed. And those amber eyes, and that glistening black fur . . . No, Miss Potter had never done anything as fine as
this.
After the portrait was properly hung in Fritz’s gallery (where Max could come and look at it anytime he liked), they had celebrated with fresh-baked scones that Max borrowed from Sarah Barwick’s bakery, thick yellow cream Fritz had fetched from the Applebeck cow, and strawberry jam from the ferret’s pantry. Fritz, who had traveled in Cornwall, added a treacle topping and called the whole affair “Thunder and Lightning,” which he said was quite the Cornish treat.
When they had finished, Max took one last look at his portrait. And then, feeling quite emboldened and pleased with his unique self, had gone out to look for a new job.
Which was why, when Major Ragsdale returned to Teapot Cottage from fighting the fire in the buttery late that night, he discovered Max the Manx on his doorstep. At his feet were not one but
two
dead mice, both of them quite large. Max had met them at the hole under the pantry window, where the Teapot mice were accustomed to come and go. He had slaughtered them quickly, but let one go, with instructions to tell the others that there was now a cat on the premises and they had better watch their step.
“I understand that you are in want of a cat,”
Max said, offering a polite paw.
“I brought these fellows to demonstrate my mousing talents. I am quite skilled,”
he added.
“And I have references. My most recent employment was at Hill Top Farm. Miss Potter would be willing to vouch for me, I’m sure.”
The major was so delighted to see Max—and those two very dead mice—that it never even occurred to him that he ought to ask for a character.
“My dear fellow,” he cried ecstatically, bending over for a better look. “
Two
mice? Bravo! By any chance are you a stray?”
“I am not a stray,”
said Max, bristling.
“I am merely a cat in search of employment. I do have one condition, however. I should like to be free at the weekend to visit the ferret who lives in Wilfin Bank. He is my dearest friend.”
“Well, whatever you like, you shall have,” said the major, casting another delighted look at the mice. “I say, old chap, you have made a most admirable beginning. I shall follow your progress with the keenest interest. And you may have employment here as long as you like.” He stood aside so that Max could come in. “Now, how about a saucer of milk and a bit of liver to go along with those mice?”
“Thank you,”
said Max warmly, and followed the major inside.
A few days later, Miss Potter walked through Far Sawrey on her way to catch the ferry. She was returning across the lake to Helm Farm and her parents, and in a few weeks they would all take the train back to London. (And in case you are wondering, yes. Yes, the Potters did hire a special train car for their horses and carriage.)
Leaving made her feel sad and regretful. Her heart belonged in the Land Between the Lakes, with the farm and, yes, in spite of all her reservations, with Mr. Heelis. She had seen him only once since they exchanged those impulsive pledges, on the night of the Great Applebeck Fire. But once was enough for him to reiterate his promise, remind her of hers, and claim that missed first kiss. (I’m sorry we weren’t there to see it, but we can’t be everywhere, can we? And it is good, after all, for our Beatrix and her Will to have a little privacy. Heaven only knows how long they will have to wait before they can be alone together again.)
Miss Potter was passing Teapot Cottage when she heard a sharp
Meow!
She looked up to see Max the Manx, sitting under Major Ragsdale’s dahlias, his front paws folded under his black bib.
“Why, Max!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here in Far Sawrey? Quite a distance from home, aren’t you?”
“I
am
home,”
purred Max, quite comfortably.
“I now hold the position of chief cat here at Teapot.”
“Why, hello, Miss Potter,” said Major Ragsdale, coming toward her, rake in hand. “Fully recovered from that accident, have we?”
“Fully,” Miss Potter assured him. She gestured at Max. “I see that you have a new cat.”
“Splendid fellow, splendid,” barked the major proudly. He bent over to stroke Max’s ears. “I must say, I’m rather keen on the chap. Since he’s been here, the mice have all but disappeared.”
“They’ve moved to the Sawrey Hotel,”
Max explained, sotto voce. He gave Miss Potter a conspiratorial smile.
“I keep a few around for entertainment, and for show. Don’t want the major to think he doesn’t need a cat, you know.”
And with that, he got up and began to wrap himself around the major’s ankles.
“I am very glad to hear that,” Miss Potter said. “There’s nothing more comfortable around the house than a good mouser.”
The major’s voice softened. “Y’ know, I’ve always wanted a Manx, ever since I was a lad,” he said reflectively. “Always seemed to me to be distinctive. A different sort of cat. Out of the ordinary.”
“Oh, I’m different, all right,”
Max agreed happily.
“And very out of the ordinary.”
He arched his back, purring loudly.
“Extraordinary, I’d say.”
Miss Potter sighed. “Well, I must be on my way. I mustn’t miss the ferry. My parents are expecting me to tea.”
“With luck, you’ll get there tomorrow,” the major said, and saluted with his rake. “Remember, that’s not a ferry; that’s a conundrum. Farewell, Miss Potter.”
“Goodbye, Miss Potter,”
meowed Max, as she turned to leave.