“Yes,” I whispered back. “I’m ready, Grandmamma.”
Just then, a waiter in a black suit came and stood by our table. I could see his legs from under the napkin and as soon as I heard his voice, I knew who he was. His name was William. “Good evening, madam,” he said to my grandmother. “Where is the little gentleman tonight?”
“He’s not feeling very well,” my grandmother said. “He’s staying in his room.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” William said. “Today there is green-pea soup to start with, and for the main course you have a choice of either grilled fillet of sole or roast lamb.”
“Pea soup and lamb for me, please,” my grandmother said. “But don’t hurry it, William. I’m in no rush tonight. In fact, you can bring me a glass of dry sherry first.”
“Of course, madam,” William said, and he went away.
My grandmother pretended she had dropped something, and as she bent down, she slid me out from under the napkin on to the floor under the table. “Go, darling, go!” she whispered, then she straightened up again.
I was on my own now. I stood clasping the little bottle. I knew exactly where the door into the kitchen was. I had to go about halfway round the enormous Dining-Room to reach it. Here goes, I thought, and like a flash I skittled out from under the table and made for the wall. I had no intention of going across the Dining-Room floor. It was far too risky. My plan was to cling close to the skirting of the wall all the way round until I reached the kitchen door.
I ran. Oh, how I ran. I don’t think anyone saw me. They were all too busy eating. But to reach the door leading to the kitchen I had to cross the main entrance to the Dining-Room. I was just about to do this when in poured a great flood of females. I pressed myself against the wall clutching the bottle. At first I saw only the shoes and ankles of these women who were surging in through the door, but when I glanced up a bit higher I knew at once who they were. They were the witches coming in to dinner!
I waited until they had all passed me by, then I dashed on towards the kitchen door. A waiter opened it to go in. I nipped in after him and hid behind a big garbage-bin on the floor. I stayed there for several minutes, just listening to all the talk and the racket. By golly, what a place that kitchen was! The noise! And the steam! And the clatter of pots and pans! And the cooks all shouting! And the waiters all rushing in and out from the Dining-Room yelling the food orders to the cooks! “Four soups and two lambs and two fish for table twenty-eight! Three apple-pies and two strawberry ice-creams for number seventeen!” Stuff like that going on all the time.
Not far above my head there was a handle sticking out from the side of the garbage-bin. Still clutching the bottle, I gave a leap, turned a somersault in the air, and caught hold of the handle with the end of my tail. Suddenly there I was swinging to and fro upside down. It was terrific. I loved it. This, I told myself, is how a trapeze artist in a circus must feel as he goes swishing through the air high up in the circus tent. The only difference was that his trapeze could only swing backwards and forwards. My trapeze (my tail) could swing me in any direction I wanted. Perhaps I would become a circus mouse after all.
Just then, a waiter came in with a plate in his hand and I heard him saying, “The old hag on table fourteen says this meat is too tough! She wants another portion!” One of the cooks said, “Gimme her plate!” I dropped to the floor and peeped round the garbage-bin. I saw the cook scrape the meat off the plate and slap another bit on. Then he said, “Come on boys, give her some gravy!” He carried the plate round to everyone in the kitchen and do you know what they did? Every one of those cooks and kitchen-boys spat on to the old lady’s plate! “See how she likes it now!” said the cook, handing the plate back to the waiter.