The Tale of Cuckoo Brow Wood Read Online Free PDF Page B

to herself. It’s appalling to call the major’s wife a—” She broke off. “A rat!” she shrieked, and jumped up onto her chair.
    “Get that rat, Crumpet!” Beatrix cried.
    And then, Miss Potter having given a direct order (so that the Rule was no longer in question), Crumpet bounded across the floor and pounced fiercely on the bold, whiskery fellow who had ventured out of the cupboard. She gave him two savage shakes. The rat uttered a single terrified squeal and went limp as a rag doll.
    “There, there, Dim,” Sarah said in a comforting tone. “You can come down from your chair. Crumpet’s taken care of the foul beast.” She chuckled. “You see, Bea? What you need is a really first-rate ratter.”
    “I’m afraid you’re right,” Beatrix said, as Dimity climbed off the chair. “It is time to fling down the gauntlet. I shall look into getting another cat straightaway—although he will have to live in the barn.”
    “How about Crumpet?” Sarah asked. “That was an impressive catch.”
    “Mrs. Stubbs wouldn’t part with her.” Beatrix went to the door and opened it wider. “You were very quick in dispatching that fellow, Crumpet. Now, take him outside, will you? That’s a good cat.”
    “Glad to oblige, I’m sure,” Crumpet said, around her mouthful of warm rat. She strutted out the door with an envious Tabitha at her heels, feeling quite proud of herself—as I daresay you would, if you had just rid the world of an exceedingly ugly rat.
    “Let’s see,” mused Sarah, as Beatrix came back to the table. “We were talking about the mysterious Mrs. Kittredge, who may or may not be the Raven Hall ghost come to life. And Dimity was feeling cross with Lydia Dowling for saying that she’s a witch.”
    Dimity took a sip of tea to steady herself. “I’m sure Lydia was only trying to be funny,” she said. “But this is a very old-fashioned village. There are some who still believe in witches and ghosts and fairies. One has to be careful about what one says,” she added sternly.
    “Is Mrs. Kittredge from around here?” Beatrix asked. She knew from her own experience that the villagers were clannish and apt to feel antagonist toward off-comers.
    “From London,” Sarah replied. “Of course, that’s part of it. That, and her clothes. The housemaid said she’s never seen so many grand dresses and so much fine jewelry. Must have set the major back thousands of pounds.”
    “Sawrey is a bit out of the way of things,” Beatrix remarked. “And as Dimity says, it’s very old-fashioned. No electric lights, no telephone, no entertainments. It suits me exactly, but I wonder whether Mrs. Kittredge might find life dull here.”
    “I doubt it,” Dimity said stoutly. “Mrs. Kittredge could not possibly find it dull. Christopher—Major Kittredge—is a very interesting person. Marriage to him would be—”
    She stopped abruptly, coloring, and looked away, but not before Beatrix—who often noticed what others might like to hide—understood that Dimity Woodcock had once cared a very great deal for Christopher Kittredge and was forcing herself to set her feelings aside and accept the fact that he now had a beautiful new wife. Realizing this, Beatrix felt a great sympathy for Dimity, for she herself knew what it was like to lose the one person you loved. Married, Major Kittredge was as irretrievably lost to poor Dimity as Norman was to herself.
    “That’s as may be, Dim,” Sarah said, tossing her head carelessly. “But p’rhaps you’ll forgive me if I am just a tiny bit glad that the villagers have happened on something new to keep their tongues wagging—besides my trousers and my bicycle, that is.” She smiled at Beatrix. “You won’t want to miss the reception, Bea. Saturday afternoon, at Raven Hall. The whole village plans to turn out to ogle the mysterious Mrs. Kittredge and stuff themselves with sandwiches and sweets. My sweets,” she added proudly. “The Raven Hall cook isn’t up to