The Books of Elsewhere, Vol. 1: The Shadows by Jacqueline West Page A
Authors: Jacqueline West
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the cat yell. “That’s right, you rump-fed roustabout! Try to get me!” The dog and cat crashed away through the barn. Olive came through the door just in time to see them leap through the frame back into the attic, with the dog’s jaws clamped around the cat’s long tail.
Harvey caromed off an antique chaise and soared toward the rafters. The dog, who had lost his grip on Harvey, came crashing behind, knocking over the hat rack and managing to shake the cat down from his balancing beam. Olive, crawling back through the frame, watched the cat bolt down the staircase like a flying squirrel, barely touching the floor. The dog was right on his tail.
“Harvey, no! Dog! Stop!” yelled Olive. Nobody listened.
There was a hearty thump as one or both animals hit the attic door and tumbled through the painted arch and into the bedroom. Olive could still hear Harvey laughing like a maniac as the sound of eight galloping paws faded away.
By the time Olive made it to the bottom of the attic stairs, the whole house was in chaos. Mr. and Mrs. Dunwoody had come rushing out of the library, alerted to the crashings coming from the parlor. Mr. Dunwoody was asking questions such as “What on earth was that?” and not getting any answers. Mrs. Dunwoody was sneezing.
Harvey had made a sharp right turn at the bottom of the staircase, leaping from the piano to the mantel-piece. The dog had tried to follow, but had fallen several feet short and landed on the chess table. Horatio had conveniently disappeared.
Olive watched as Harvey catapulted from the hanging lamp through the door to the dining room. “Ha HA!” the cat proclaimed. “No one can capture the wily Captain Flintlock!” The dog answered by knocking over a potted fern.
Harvey and his pursuer skidded down the polished wood of the hallway, Harvey bounding onto a table, the dog jostling the table’s legs so that a glass lamp teetered and fell with a crash.
In the knick of time, Olive made a blockade with her body so that both animals were diverted back up the stairs. Two furry blurs barreled toward the pink bedroom. Once more, Olive heard Harvey’s taunting “Ha HA!” Horatio, who had been waiting beside the painting, hopped through the arch and slammed the attic door neatly behind them.
Mr. and Mrs. Dunwoody stood in the hallway, surveying the damage.
“Was that a cat?” asked Mr. Dunwoody.
“That was absolutely a cat,” said Mrs. Dunwoody.
“And I believe there was also a dog,” said Mr. Dunwoody.
“I believe you’re right,” said Mrs. Dunwoody.
Olive tried to slink out of sight.
“Olive, dear,” Mrs. Dunwoody called, “would you come here a moment, please?”
Mr. Dunwoody picked up a frond of bedraggled fern and turned it over thoughtfully. “We’re not saying that you let in the cat and the dog, Olive,” he began. “But we hope that you can see why we cannot have animals running through the house like this.”
“Yes, I see,” said Olive, looking at her feet.
Mrs. Dunwoody sneezed.
“Good.” Mr. Dunwoody gave Olive a businesslike nod. “Now, if you make sure both animals are out of the house, we won’t have to talk about this again.”
Olive turned and shuffled away up the stairs.
For a moment, Mr. and Mrs. Dunwoody looked down at the fragments of the glass lamp scattered across the hall like treacherous confetti.
“How many pieces, dear?” Mr. Dunwoody asked Mrs. Dunwoody with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Three hundred thirteen,” said Mrs. Dunwoody.
Mr. Dunwoody smiled at her lovingly. “You’ve still got it, darling.”
14
A RE YOU SURE you’ll be all right, sweetie?” Mrs.
Dunwoody asked Olive for the hundredth time.
“Mom,” answered Olive, also for the hundredth time, “I’m eleven and three-quarters. And it’s just for one night. I’ll be fine.”
Olive didn’t tell her mother this, but she had plans of her own for that night. First, with the house all to herself, she was going to eat ice cream out of
Harvey caromed off an antique chaise and soared toward the rafters. The dog, who had lost his grip on Harvey, came crashing behind, knocking over the hat rack and managing to shake the cat down from his balancing beam. Olive, crawling back through the frame, watched the cat bolt down the staircase like a flying squirrel, barely touching the floor. The dog was right on his tail.
“Harvey, no! Dog! Stop!” yelled Olive. Nobody listened.
There was a hearty thump as one or both animals hit the attic door and tumbled through the painted arch and into the bedroom. Olive could still hear Harvey laughing like a maniac as the sound of eight galloping paws faded away.
By the time Olive made it to the bottom of the attic stairs, the whole house was in chaos. Mr. and Mrs. Dunwoody had come rushing out of the library, alerted to the crashings coming from the parlor. Mr. Dunwoody was asking questions such as “What on earth was that?” and not getting any answers. Mrs. Dunwoody was sneezing.
Harvey had made a sharp right turn at the bottom of the staircase, leaping from the piano to the mantel-piece. The dog had tried to follow, but had fallen several feet short and landed on the chess table. Horatio had conveniently disappeared.
Olive watched as Harvey catapulted from the hanging lamp through the door to the dining room. “Ha HA!” the cat proclaimed. “No one can capture the wily Captain Flintlock!” The dog answered by knocking over a potted fern.
Harvey and his pursuer skidded down the polished wood of the hallway, Harvey bounding onto a table, the dog jostling the table’s legs so that a glass lamp teetered and fell with a crash.
In the knick of time, Olive made a blockade with her body so that both animals were diverted back up the stairs. Two furry blurs barreled toward the pink bedroom. Once more, Olive heard Harvey’s taunting “Ha HA!” Horatio, who had been waiting beside the painting, hopped through the arch and slammed the attic door neatly behind them.
Mr. and Mrs. Dunwoody stood in the hallway, surveying the damage.
“Was that a cat?” asked Mr. Dunwoody.
“That was absolutely a cat,” said Mrs. Dunwoody.
“And I believe there was also a dog,” said Mr. Dunwoody.
“I believe you’re right,” said Mrs. Dunwoody.
Olive tried to slink out of sight.
“Olive, dear,” Mrs. Dunwoody called, “would you come here a moment, please?”
Mr. Dunwoody picked up a frond of bedraggled fern and turned it over thoughtfully. “We’re not saying that you let in the cat and the dog, Olive,” he began. “But we hope that you can see why we cannot have animals running through the house like this.”
“Yes, I see,” said Olive, looking at her feet.
Mrs. Dunwoody sneezed.
“Good.” Mr. Dunwoody gave Olive a businesslike nod. “Now, if you make sure both animals are out of the house, we won’t have to talk about this again.”
Olive turned and shuffled away up the stairs.
For a moment, Mr. and Mrs. Dunwoody looked down at the fragments of the glass lamp scattered across the hall like treacherous confetti.
“How many pieces, dear?” Mr. Dunwoody asked Mrs. Dunwoody with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Three hundred thirteen,” said Mrs. Dunwoody.
Mr. Dunwoody smiled at her lovingly. “You’ve still got it, darling.”
14
A RE YOU SURE you’ll be all right, sweetie?” Mrs.
Dunwoody asked Olive for the hundredth time.
“Mom,” answered Olive, also for the hundredth time, “I’m eleven and three-quarters. And it’s just for one night. I’ll be fine.”
Olive didn’t tell her mother this, but she had plans of her own for that night. First, with the house all to herself, she was going to eat ice cream out of
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