The Boggart by Susan Cooper Page B

for Jess” she said, handing out dusters. “And for Pete’s sake don’t break anything.”
    â€œAre you kidding?” said Jessup with feeling. “She’d atomize us!”
    â€œYou’ve all been having a difficult time,” said Aunt Jen diplomatically. She was always careful not to take sides in Volnik family tussles. “Do a great job, and things’ll get better. Maggie will be back soon — she’s picking something up from Customs.”
    She disappeared into the back of the shop, and Emily and Jessup began their dusting, very carefully indeed. Jessup took six champagne glasses off a shelf, polished the shelf and each glass, and put the last glass back with a sigh of relief. Emily polished a silver coffeepot, cream jug and sugar bowl. “Good thing that boggart’s not here,” she said.
    â€œWhy holly?” Jessup said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHe put holly branches over all the windows. He must have had a reason.”
    â€œI don’t think it has real reasons for anything,” said Emily wearily. “It just likes bothering people. I mean what reason would it have for putting a squishy sandwich on your chair, except playing a silly joke?”
    â€œI don’t think he’s an it — ” Jessup began, but the door of the shop opened and their mother came in, carrying a cardboard carton. Emily looked up warily, and saw behind Maggie a tall, dark, grave man whom she felt she had seen before, though she couldn’t remember when or where.
    â€œEmily, Jessup,” said Maggie, formal and brisk. “This is Dr. Stigmore.”
    â€œGood morning,” said the man.
    â€œHi,” said Jessup.
    â€œHello,” said Emily. She started to polish a box full of silver-plated knives and forks, all set neatly in rows.
    Sitting on the open lid of the box, the Boggart looked across at Maggie, resentfully. He had come to the shop, clinging invisibly and uncomfortably to the handlebars of Emily’s bicycle, because he wanted to be with his two new friends — not with this woman who had dared to dress up as the Cailleach Bheur . Someone had described her costume that night as the Wicked Witch of the West, whatever that might be, but he knew better. The Boggart felt disappointed. He was not good at coping with more than one emotion at once, and the sight of Maggie had brought a shadow over his new-discovered happiness. He made a small self-pitying sound, and it vibrated through the air of the shop like the whimper of a lost puppy.
    Emily and Jessup stiffened, and looked nervously at each other.
    â€œWhat did you say?” Maggie said, pausing.
    â€œNothing,” said Emily.
    â€œNothing,” said Jessup.
    â€œWe’re just dusting,” Emily said. “Very carefully.”
    â€œGood,” said her mother. She gave them a last suspicious glance and beckoned the dark man into the room at the rear of the shop. “It’s in here, Dr. Stigmore. The largest piece we brought back . . . too large for you perhaps, but it would go well with your desk . . .”
    They disappeared. Jessup said, “It’s the creep.”
    â€œSo it is,” Emily said. That was why he had looked familiar: he was the bad-tempered man who had bought her rolltop desk. Well, now she had one of her own, so there, and it was nicer than his and had come all the way from the castle.
    Emily paused suddenly. Through her mind there floated an image of Ron and Jim the delivery men, struggling to bring the little Scottish desk up the stairs to her room. It had lurched erratically all over the place, and in the end seemed to tip itself onto Jim’s foot. “ It’s bewitched! ” Ron had said. . . .
    She looked uncertainly around the shop. “I don’t think that noise was anything, do you?” she said to Jessup.
    â€œCourse not!” said Jessup heartily, hoping he was right.
    The Boggart watched with approval as Emily