Barbra had gone, snuck out the back door with Snuffles while the others were distracted by the arrival of Mrs K.
Mrs K was all for calling the police, or at the very least throwing Morwen, Felindre and Rosa out, when a sleepy Megan appeared at the top of the stairs, squealed with joy and threw herself at Mrs K for a cuddle.
Long story short, with Megan to vouch for them, Mrs K went from suspicious little old lady to gracious host, plying them all with tea, freshly baked scones and hot chocolate, while they filled her in about Snuffles’ nefarious deeds.
“And what about you?” asked Morwen. “Barbra Allen told us you were safely trapped in an Old Folk’s Home in London.”
“She lied,” said Mrs K, buttering a scone. “It was Glasgow. But I was trapped – she’d fed them some line about me suffering from delusions of entrapment and constantly trying to escape. So I had to bide my time, lull them into a false sense of security. When they allowed me access to the kitchen to bake my favourite courgette, raisin and valerian cake, I knew I’d be able to escape. And here I am.”
She looked at the others.
“You didn’t really expect me to wait around to be rescued did you?”
Megan yawned loudly.
“Have you finished your hot chocolate?” asked Mrs K.
Megan nodded sleepily.
“Good. Off you go, back to bed now, and don’t forget to brush your teeth.”
Megan dutifully slid down from the chair, and, still yawning, made her way upstairs again. Mrs K watched her go with a soft and wistful expression on her face.
“I missed her so much,” she said, almost to herself. Then, louder, to the others: “Thank you for looking after her. Believe me, next time I see him I’ll be giving Horace and the rest of the Order a piece of my mind! How they didn’t figure out that something was wrong with me, I’ll never understand! And that Snuffles! What a piece of work, for a guinea pig.”
“And now she’s absconded with Barbra Allen,” said Rosa, shuddering. “Who knows what they’re planning.”
“Nothing good, I’m sure,” said Felindre grimly. “Still, there’s not much we can do about it at the moment.”
“I’ve got to ask,” said Morwen. “But the whole business with ‘The Art and Science of Fruit’s and Vegetable’s’. Why get it published in the first place?”
“Ah, that was a limited print run, being sold to raise money for the Order’s annual dinner dance. We’ve used recipes from the original copy on last year’s charity calendar, with no problems. Not many people have the natural talent to turn the recipes into spells.”
“But why was Snuffles so hell bent on tracking down all the copies?” asked Morwen.
Mrs K looked thoughtful.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe she didn’t want anyone stumbling across the antidote to Cabbage Surprise Number 4.”
“But there isn’t an antidote, is there?” asked Rosa.
“Of course there is,” said Mrs K. “What did you think the recipe for Carrot au Van was? Yes, carrots turn really nice and sweet when you cook them in foil on the engine block of a white van, but honestly, roasted in honey and oil, then pureed, is so much easier, and costs less in petrol.”
There was a popping sound, and a white rabbit jumped onto the table, nearly spilling the scones on the floor. Everyone jumped.
The white rabbit glared at them all, individually and as a group.
After a few moments, Rosa snapped.
“Ok, what?! What are you trying to tell us now?!”
With a profound air of disgust for the stupidity of the human species, the rabbit nudged the sugar bowl until it spilled on the table, and then scrawled “ArM A VeG ON” in the resulting spill.
“Looks like rabbits can’t spell for toffee either,” muttered Morwen, at the same time as Rosa said:
“Arm…A…Veg…On… Armavegon! Oh, I’d forgotten about that!”
“Yes, yes, alright,” said Mrs K, giving the rabbit her best disapproving look. “We’ll sort it out – in the morning.”
Her tone brooked no argument, and the white rabbit nodded its head in agreement and disappeared again.
They all said their goodnights, and made plans to meet up to sort out the antidote to Armavegon. Morwen, Felindre and Rosa were just getting back into their car when they heard a scream and a thud from upstairs. They rushed back to the front door, in time for Mrs K to open it in front of them.
“Could you girls do me a favour?” she asked, in a slightly shaky voice. “Can you take that thing out of my bedroom and get rid of it? Thanks ever so much.”
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