saw that, where Gwendolen would have been furious at being dragged into another world, Janet was looking as wan as he felt.
“I wonder how Mum and Dad are getting on with my Dear Replacement,” she said wryly. Then she pulled herself together. “Do you mind if I don’t burn this? It’s the only proof I’ve got that I’m not Gwendolen who’s suddenly gone mad and thinks she’s this girl called Janet Chant. May I hide it?”
“It’s your letter,” said Cat.
“And your sister,” said Janet. “God bless her dear little sugar-coated shining soul! Don’t get me wrong, Cat. I admire your sister. She thinks big. You have to admire her! All the same, I wonder if she’s thought of the clever hiding-place where I’m going to put her letter. I shall feel better if she hasn’t.”
Janet bounced up in her un-Gwendolenlike way and took the letter over to the gilded dressing-table. Cat bounced up and followed her. Janet took hold of the gold-garlanded mirror and swung it towards her on its swivels. The back was plain plywood. She dug her nails under the edge of the plywood and prised. It came free quite easily.
“I do this with my mirror at home,” Janet explained. “It’s a good hiding-place – it’s about the one place my parents never think of. Mum and Dad are dears, but they’re terribly nosy. I think it’s because I’m their only one. And I like to be private. I write private stories for my eyes only, and they will try to read them. Oh, purple spotted dalmatians!”
She raised the wood up and showed Cat the signs painted on the red-coated back of the glass itself.
“Cabbala, I think,” said Cat. “It’s a spell.”
“So she did think of it!” said Janet. “Really, it’s hell having a double. You both get the same ideas. And working on that principle,” she said, sliding Gwendolen’s letter between the plywood and the glass and pressing the plywood back in place, “I bet I know what the spell’s for. It’s so Gwendolen can have a look from time to time and see how Dear Replacement’s getting on. I hope she’s looking now.” Janet swung the mirror back to its usual position and crossed her eyes at it, hideously. She took hold of the corners of her crossed eyes and pulled them long and Chinese, and stuck her tongue out as far as it would go. Then she pushed her nose up with one finger and twisted her mouth right round to one cheek. Cat could not help laughing. “Can’t Gwendolen do this?” Janet said out of the side of her face.
“No,” Cat giggled.
That was the moment when Euphemia opened the door. Janet jumped violently. She was much more nervous than Cat had realised. “I’ll thank you to stop pulling faces,” said Euphemia, “and get out of your nightdress, Gwendolen.” She came into the room to make sure that Gwendolen did. She gave a croaking sort of shriek. Then she melted into a brown lump.
Janet’s hands went over her mouth. She and Cat stared in horror as the brown lump that had been Euphemia grew smaller and smaller. When it was about three inches high, it stopped shrinking and put out large webbed feet. On these webbed feet, it crawled forward and stared at them reproachfully out of protruding yellowish eyes near the top of its head.
“Oh dear!” said Cat. It seemed that Gwendolen’s last act had been to turn Euphemia into a frog.
Janet burst into tears. Cat was surprised. She had seemed so self-assured. Sobbing heavily, Janet knelt down and tenderly picked up the brown, crawling Euphemia. “You poor girl!” she wept. “I know just how you feel. Cat, what are we to do? How do you turn people back?”
“I don’t know,” Cat said soberly. He was suddenly burdened with huge responsibilities. Janet, in spite of the confident way she talked, clearly needed looking after. Euphemia clearly needed it even more. If it had not been for Chrestomanci, Cat would have raced off to get Mr Saunders to help that moment. But he suddenly realised that if Chrestomanci ever found out what Gwendolen had done this time, the most terrible things would happen. Cat was quite sure of this. He discovered that he was terrified of Chrestomanci. He had been terrified of him all along, without realising it. He knew he would have to keep both Janet and Euphemia a secret somehow.
Feeling desperate, Cat raced to the bathroom, found a damp towel, and brought it to Janet. “Put her down on this. She’ll need to be wet. I’ll ask Roger and Julia to turn her back. I’ll tell them you won’t. And for goodness sake don’t tell anyone you aren’t Gwendolen – please!”
Janet lowered Euphemia gently on to the towel. Euphemia scrambled round in it and continued to stare accusingly at Janet. “Don’t look like that. It wasn’t me,” Janet said, sniffing. “Cat, we’ll have to hide her. Would she be comfortable in the wardrobe?”
“She’ll have to be,” said Cat. “You get dressed.”
A look of panic came over Janet’s face. “Cat, what does Gwendolen wear?”
Cat thought all girls knew what girls wore. “The usual things – petticoats, stockings, dress, boots – you know.”
“No, I don’t,” said Janet. “I always wear trousers.”
Cat felt his problems mounting up. He hunted for clothes. Gwendolen seemed to have taken her best things with her, but he found her older boots, her green stockings and the garters to match, her second-best petticoats, her green cashmere dress with the smocking and – with some embarrassment – her knickers. “There,” he said.
“Does she really wear two petticoats?” said Janet.
“Yes,” said Cat. “Get them on.”
But Janet proved quite unable to get them on without his help. If he left her to do anything, she put it on back to front. He had to put her petticoats on her, button her up the back, tie her garters, fasten her boots, and put her dress on a second time, right way round, and tie its sash for her. When he had finished, it looked all right, but Janet had an odd air of being dressed up, rather than dressed. She looked at herself critically in the mirror. “Thanks, you’re an angel. I look rather like an Edwardian child. And I feel a right Charley.”
“Come on,” said Cat. “Breakfast.” He carried Euphemia, croaking furiously, to the wardrobe and wrapped her firmly in the towel. “Be quiet,” he told her. “I’ll get you changed back as soon as I can, so stop making a fuss, please!” He shut the door on her and wedged it with a page of Gwendolen’s notes. Faint croaking came from behind it. Euphemia had no intention of being quiet. Cat did not really blame her.
“She’s not happy in there,” Janet said, weakening. “Can’t she stay out in the room?”
“No,” said Cat. Frog though she was, Euphemia still looked like Euphemia. He knew Mary would recognise her as soon as she set eyes on her. He took Janet’s resisting elbow and towed her along to the playroom.
“Don’t you two ever get up till the last minute?” said Julia. “I’m sick of waiting politely for breakfast.”
“Eric’s been up for hours,” said Mary, hovering about. “So I don’t know what you’ve both been up to. Oh, what’s Euphemia doing?”
“Mary’s beside herself this morning,” Roger said. He winked. For a moment, there were two Marys, one real and one vague and ghostly. Janet jumped. It was only the second piece of witchcraft she had seen and she did not find it easy to get used to.
“I expect it’s Gwendolen’s fault,” said
