A few hours later, Lucy woke up. She wanted to find out if Nutmeg had come back. But suddenly she felt afraid. Instead of rushing out of bed, she turned her face into the pillow and lay with her eyes shut tight.
A minute went by, then she pulled herself together and sat up. Arthur was still sleeping. Quietly, so as not to wake him, she walked over to the dresser. And with a rush of relief, she saw a tiny envelope propped against her hairbrush.
“Arthur, she’s back!” she cried. While her brother was still rubbing his eyes, she found the magnifying glass in the drawer of her bedside table and read Nutmeg’s letter out loud.
Dear Arthur and Lucy,
Thanks to your wonderful trick, I have escaped. But events took quite a turn and went much better than we might have planned. In the end, I stole Lady Crossbones from under the Rats’ very snouts, and sailed her home by the light of the moon, leaving the pirates marooned on the island. It was quite a night!
But we must never allow the pirates to reclaim their ship—for then they would start pirating again. So from now on, Lady Crossbones belongs to you. She will need a wash, of course, and a fresh coat of paint, and perhaps a dab of superglue on her rudder. But for the most part she is in good shape, and I believe you will find much to admire in her. I have moored her on the southern bank of the Pond, near the tree stump with moss on it.
Now hurry, my dears, and claim her before someone else does.
Love,
Nutmeg
P.S. I would not send the Rats any more chocolates if I were you. Rich food has a bad effect on them.
The children were overwhelmed. At best they had hoped they would get Nutmeg back. They hadn’t expected a new boat as well.
“Come on, let’s go and find it,” Arthur said.
They got dressed then hurried downstairs and let themselves out into the garden. It was very early. The village had not yet stirred, and the grass was still covered in dew. They shut the back door quietly, so as not to wake their father, then ran across the meadow to the Pond.
The children did not know which way was south, but they soon spotted the tree stump that Nutmeg had described. It was on the far side of the Pond, where the grass had been trampled by sheep. They ran over to it, and when they parted the weeds they found Lady Crossbones moored against the bank.
She did not look so menacing at close range. Her huge gold sails had been tied down, and there was a snail snoozing on the deck. The children carefully lifted the boat from the water and stood it on the grass. Then they knelt down and peered through the portholes, examining each cabin in turn.
Everything looked very real. There were rugs on the floor, blankets on the beds, and clothes spewing from the dresser. And there were paintings hanging from the walls—big gloomy portraits, mainly of rats—and silver candlesticks on the bedside tables.
Arthur felt no regrets for Bluebottle now. This was the best toy boat he had ever seen.
“Nutmeg’s right, we should repaint her. Black’s too sinister,” Lucy said. “And we should give her a new name. Lady Crossbones sounds silly.”
“Let’s call her Lady Nutmeg,” Arthur said. Lucy agreed to this. So Lady Nutmeg she became.
“Do you think the pirates will be stuck on the island forever?” Lucy said.
Arthur shrugged. “I don’t see how they’ll get back without a boat.”
It was strange to think there were pirates on the Pond. But many strange things had happened to Arthur and Lucy, so they supposed it must be true. They longed for a glimpse of them—but when they looked across to the island, all they could see was the margarine tub upturned on the bank and a few gold chocolate wrappers scattered along the shore.
“I wonder if we’ll ever see them,” Lucy said.
“I should think we’re bound to one day,” Arthur replied. Though he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He’d had enough of pirates for now. “Come on. Let’s take Lady Nutmeg home and start painting her,” he said.
They lifted the boat between them, for it was very heavy, and turned back toward the cottage. But had they watched the island a moment longer, they would have seen something stir. For just then Captain Pong, who had slept all night under a crisp wrapper in the cove, rolled over and gave a loud belch.
And there is not much more to say about the Rats. The Captain had become quite frenzied when he saw the mice escaping in his ship and had tried to chase after them in the margarine tub. But it was much too small for him, and he had capsized a few inches from the shore.
The other Rats could say nothing to console him that evening. But next morning, when they all took stock of the situation, things didn’t seem so bad. For it was a glorious day, and they still had lots of chocolates left. And now that General Marchmouse had gone, the island was all theirs again. Which made them feel quite rich in a way—for as Captain Pong rightly observed, it’s not every rat who has an island in the sun.
Meanwhile, the General had returned home to a tearful reception from Mrs. Marchmouse. Just as he feared, she had been worrying about him nonstop. The General often went off exploring on his own, but it was most unlike him to stay away for as long as this.
She was beginning to feel sure something awful must have happened to him. And she was just putting on her bonnet, ready to go out and summon help, when suddenly he burst through the gun cupboard door.
“Marchie!” she cried weakly, throwing herself upon his mousely chest, and the General was so touched by her concern that he promised he would never go adventuring again.
This would have come as welcome news to Tumtum and Nutmeg, who felt the General had embroiled them in quite enough trouble as it was. The last few days had been a terrible ordeal, and it was a wonderful moment when they finally crept back into the broom cupboard and saw their beloved Nutmouse Hall again.
They had been away so long that everything looked dusty and neglected. A fly had knocked over the milk jug on the kitchen table, and there was a spider bathing in the sink.
Nutmeg was too tired to tackle these upsets now. She had barely slept all night, and she could feel herself fading. Tumtum suddenly noticed how drawn she looked. “You sit down and I’ll make some breakfast,” he said.
They both felt much better when they had eaten some porridge. Then Tumtum made a pot of tea, and they sat at the table for a long while, mulling things over.
“What is it with us, Tumtum?” Nutmeg asked. “No sooner is one adventure over than another seems to come along.”
Tumtum leaned back in his chair, considering this problem. What they both liked most of all was peace and quiet, so all this excitement did seem rather bad luck. But then it occurred to him they might not appreciate their peaceful days nearly so much if there wasn’t the occasional adventure to interrupt them.
And he was about to explain this to Nutmeg, but he dozed off while thinking how to phrase it.