Black Queen (2 page)

So we looked over the fence into the garden of Number 22. No sign of Matey there either. Mind you, it would have been rather difficult to spot him anyway in the garden of Number 22, because it was completely overgrown. The place was like a jungle. All I could see was a beehive, with lots of bees buzzing about, a tumble-down garden shed, a rusty roller up against the fence and a black cat sitting on top of a sundial, watching me with orange eyes.

I was all for climbing over there and then to see if I could find Matey, but my father held me back. We knew there was a Mrs Blume living in Number 22 – Mrs Watson had told us that much – but we hadn’t even seen her yet, let alone
met
her. “We can’t just go barging in, Billy,” my father said. “We’d better ask first. Someone’ll have to go round to the front door.”

“I will,” I said. I don’t know why I volunteered, but I did.

So that was how I found myself going up the steps into the porch of Number 22 that afternoon. It was strange, but somehow I knew even then that once I had pressed that bell I would be starting something I would not be able to stop. I wasn’t frightened exactly, but I was nervous, I admit it. But I could still hear Rula crying. I had no choice. I couldn’t chicken out, not now.

I heard the bell echoing through the house. I waited, but no-one came. I rang again. Still no-one. I stepped back out of the porch, down a step or two, and looked up. The house looked deserted. But it wasn’t, because I could hear music from inside. All the curtains were closed.
Then,
in a downstairs window, a curtain shivered – I was sure of it. It wasn’t the only thing shivering, I can tell you. If I’d had any sense at all I’d have just run for it. But for some reason I didn’t. I heard footsteps. I saw a shadow looming closer behind the frosted glass door. I heard bolts grinding back, a key turning in the lock. Slowly, horribly slowly, the door opened.

Chapter 2

Black Queen

“WELL?” IT WAS
a strange voice, deep and croaky, like no voice I’d heard before. The door had opened only a crack. She wore glasses – that was all I could see of her. “Well, what do you want?”

“I live next door,” I began. My mouth was so dry I could hardly speak. “I just moved in.”

“And?”

“It’s our . . . We wondered if we could climb over into your garden. We lost our—”

“Football, right?” She sounded American, I thought, and not at all friendly.

“No,” I said. “It’s a rabbit.”

“A rabbit! You mean to tell me you’ve got a rabbit that jumped right over the fence into my backyard? That’s some rabbit.” And the croak turned suddenly into a high-pitched chuckle. “What did he do? Pole-vault over? Trampoline? What?”

As I tried to explain how Matey had tunnelled his way out, the door opened a little wider, just enough for me to be able to see more of her. She seemed to be dressed entirely in a black coat of some kind, and she wore a floppy black hat with a wide brim that shaded her face. But I could see her eyes clearly through her glasses. They were darting about nervously all the time we spoke, at one moment fixing me with a piercing stare, the next looking out
beyond
me into the street.

She suddenly seemed in a hurry to get rid of me. “OK, OK,” she said, the door closing again. “Listen, I don’t want you snooping about in my backyard. Not you, not anyone. I’ll go look for the rabbit myself, OK? Now, go on home. Get out of here.”

I backed away down the steps, and was already out of the gate and in the street when she called me back. “Hey, kid.” She had the door open wider again. “I didn’t mean to get mad at you. It’s the bees. I wouldn’t want you coming into my backyard on account of the bees. Those bees can be real mean.
And
if they don’t get you, then that grouchy old pussy cat of mine surely will. Rambo doesn’t take kindly to strangers. Bit like me, I guess. Listen, kid, if I find that rabbit of yours, I’ll let you know – that’s a promise.” The door closed.

I went on home. I just didn’t know what to make of her. One minute she was frightening me half to death, the next laughing herself silly. One moment kind, the next moment nasty.

We were busy all the rest of that day putting up
LOST RABBIT
notices on every lamp post, in every shop window, at every bus stop, with our telephone number to call if anyone found him. But no-one called. We asked up and down the street, everywhere, but no-one had seen Matey.

That evening at supper, whilst everyone else was being sad about Matey, I couldn’t stop myself talking about the lady in black at Number 22. “She was weird, really weird,” I told them. “All in black, like that woman in the Addams family on the telly, in the cartoons – you know, that family of ghosts in the spooky house.”

“Black Queen,” my father said suddenly. “Her real name’s Mrs Blume, of course, but everyone round here calls her the Black Queen – that’s according to Mrs Watson next door. Loves to talk, does Mrs Watson. She told me all the gossip. Apparently that Mrs Blume hasn’t been there long, just rents the place. A bit snooty, Mrs Watson says, a bit stand-offish. Always dresses in black – big long coat, big black hat. Never talks to anyone. She goes out walking on the common, but only at night. You hardly ever see her out by day.”

“Like bats,” I quipped. “Like vampires, like witches. She’s got a black cat too. A witch! Maybe she’s a real witch.”

At that Rula began to cry all over again, into her baked beans. My mother eyed us both darkly as she tried to hug Rula better.

We both did our very best to put
things
right. “Don’t you worry, Roo,” my father said sheepishly. “Matey’ll be all right.”

“He’s just gone off to explore, probably,” I added. “He’ll be back tomorrow. You’ll see.” But neither of us really believed it and nor did Rula. She buried her head in my mother’s arms and sobbed her heart out.

Chapter 3

Rabbit Stew

BY LUNCHTIME THE
next day there was still no sign of Matey. I was alone in the house. Everyone else was out. They had all gone shopping to cheer Rula up – Rula adores shopping. The chain had come off my bike again, and I was trying to mend it out in the garden, when I heard a voice.

“Hey, you! Hey, kid!” It was her! Mrs Blume! The Black Queen! She was peering over the fence at me in her floppy black hat, and smiling. Then, like a magician, she produced a rabbit – Matey – holding him up by the scruff of his neck and dangling him over the fence at me. “This your bunny rabbit?” she asked. “You want him?”

I was just tall enough to reach up and take him. “Where d’you find him?” I asked, cradling Matey in my arms.

“He was just sitting there in the grass. Rambo was eyeballing him. I reckon he was freaking him out, hypnotizing him. Hey, don’t worry. No harm done. He’s fine, just fine.”

“Thanks,” I said, setting Matey down on the grass. “Thanks a lot.”

“I’m telling you, that’s one fine rabbit you’ve got there. You take good care of him, you hear me. You don’t want him ending up as rabbit stew, do you?”

And I heard her chuckling as she walked away, rustling through the long grass as she went. It was odd. I had met her twice now, and I still had no idea what she really looked like under that great floppy hat. She had long black hair – I had noticed that much. But why did she wear that hat inside the house as well as outside? And why was
she
always dressed in black as if she’d just been to a funeral?