The Cozies - The Legend of Operation Moonlight

8

Agnes of the Horizontal Head

Returning to our main narrative.

Agnes, the new nanny, moved in the very next day. It was as if a shadow fell over the household.

“Woe!” bemoaned Musetta, collapsing onto our parlor settee. “Woe art we who hath received unto our bosom this burden, but of bosom unburdening, may not partake!”

She gave us a sidelong glance.

“Ah!” I responded. I applauded to encourage the others. “Bravissima, Musetta! Brava!”

“That was wonderful!” raved Ruby.

“It gave me chills!” agreed Gracie.

“Coo-coo! Coo-coo!” chimed Gubbins. In addition to substituting for laughter, his cuckoo-clock chimes apply to general approval and enjoyment. At least I hope they do. Otherwise, Gubbins has been laughing in our faces for years. Ha, ha.

Hm.

Musetta sat up into a less distraught pose, giving short bows of the head. “Thank you. Thank you all. But there isn’t anything we can do, and it’s driving me crazy.”

The Twins climbed onto the settee with Musetta, one on each side. Gracie asked, “What do you mean ‘do,’ Musetta?”

Ruby joined, “You mean like, perform on the window sill?”

“Or watch clouds?”

“Or snuggle Bingo to help him sleep?”

“Like snuggling Bingo,” said Musetta. “But something more. Something like . . .” Musetta looked at me as if I might finish her thought.

I was stumped. Together we looked at Gubbins.

A whirring sound started to build inside him, but fell away. A miniature winch-wheel on his upper back pulled two wires attached to his shoulders inward, then let them drop. In other words, Gubbins shrugged.

“Like when Thursby got into the trunk?” suggested Gracie.

“Yes!” said Musetta and I together.

“You were going to fight pirate parrots!” Ruby proclaimed proudly. What a sweetheart.

“Something like that,” I said. “To be honest, I had no clue what I’d do if I ended up at sea. After all, one wouldn’t sing lullabies for a pirate-fighting sailor.”

Gracie was incredulous. “Pirate fighters don’t get lullabies?!”

“Poor little pirate fighters,” said Ruby with a frown.

We all sat quietly for a moment, baffled by this concept of doing something about something. As you might have guessed, Cozies are not exactly action-oriented. What with being imaginary and living in a nursery and all.

Suddenly Rumple started to applaud. He was looking at Musetta.

“I do believe he’s praising your performance,” I guessed. “‘Woe art we . . .’?”

“Oh!” Musetta stood and gave our soft, baby-blue friend a hug. “Thanks, Rumply-wumply!”

“Maybe there isn’t anything that needs to be done about Agnes,” I suggested. “After all, we have no proof that she’s scary. We only have a bad feeling.”

“The proof is in her eyes,” Musetta pressed. “Her sullen, covetous eyes.”

“Ah yes. The eyes.”

“They’re sullen,” said Gracie.

“And covetous,” added Ruby.

Having seen Agnes for the first time earlier in the day, I had to admit that our dramaturge’s description was accurate.

Strangely enough, the shape of the nanny’s head added to her unnerving aura. Most humans’ heads, of course, are generally oval in shape. That oval usually extends up from the neck in a vertical position, like a potato standing on one end. Agnes’s head, on the other hand, was oval-shaped in a horizontal position—that is to say, longer from ear to ear than from chin to crown.

Not that there is anything wrong with horizontal-headed people! Why, some of my best imaginary friends have horizontal heads. With Agnes, though, the shape only accentuated the constant frown on her mouth. Her whole head frowned.

Then there was her covetousness, revealed mainly in the way her gaze lingered on things—the household finery, Mother’s jewelry, Father’s handsome face. Most disturbing was the way Agnes would fix her jealous stare on little Bingo. Even the grabby way she would take Bingo into her arms seemed covetous, like she was snatching him away.

Not wanting to inspire panic, I said nothing more on the subject. In my mind, however, there was little doubt: The arrival of Agnes of the Horizontal Head spelled trouble.

* * *

9

A Brief Discourse on Figmentology

You might be wondering why we Cozies found the mere presence of a suspicious person so worrisome. Understandably, humans take for granted the ability to control their physical surroundings. So let us examine further the science of figmentology.

If my assistant would be so kind . . .

(Flip-chart Exhibit #4: “Comparison Diagram”)

As we’ve discussed, in most cases nursery figments cannot affect the so-called real world. Absent moonlight or its various derivatives, we Cozies could not type a letter on the fine black typewriter in Father’s study. The letter T, for example—long considered the most aristocratic of letters—would remain untyped.

Just the same, if we Cozies were in Father’s study on a summer afternoon and a breeze swirled in from the garden window, we would enjoy its refreshing caress. The scent of wisteria would make our nostrils flare and whiskers twitch as much as anyone’s. What’s more, if that ambrosial breeze billowed just right, the Twins might enjoy a ride on sheets of paper scooting across Father’s mahogany desk.

All this is discussed in my pamphlet, Scents and Sans Ability: A Theoretical Analysis of the Relationship Between Imaginary Beings and the Natural World, A Lop-eared Perspective. Please see the convention organizers for ordering information.

For our purposes, a summary will do: The natural world and the world of dreams share some qualities, but not all, by any means.

When you think about it, humans can also move from one world to another without truly joining it. A person might swim underwater, but said person can’t breathe there, or talk to the fish. Which is too bad, as I am reliably informed that fish have formidable senses of humor. Particularly carp.

But enough of the science lesson, hm?

* * *

10

The Next First Tuesday of the Month

Early spring moved toward mid-spring one day at a time, then one week at a time, and finally, not unexpectedly, by a full month.

With the new nanny available, Bingo spent less time with Mother. Father had told Mother that she needed her rest. He wanted her to let Agnes care for Bingo. Mother did not seem ill, so we weren’t sure why she would need more rest than before. Mother even seemed to have put on weight, mainly through the middle. She had a healthy glow about her.

As habitual human watchers, Mother’s condition seemed familiar to us. We sensed, however, that this touched on those aspects of “reality” that Cozies prefer to ignore. So we simply went about our business.

Our business at night, of course, was to watch over and comfort Bingo. Poor tyke. The less time he spent with Mother, the less happy he was. Was it not for our round-the-clock work, if I do say so myself, he wouldn’t have had a single good night’s sleep. We sang lullabies, we danced, we whispered happy, dreamy tales into his little pink ears.

During the daytime, we went on with our usual activities. Several days were warm and clear enough for Dinmont rides in the garden. We made our first trip of the new year to the rooftop for cloud gazing. And the Spring Gallery Stroll was a distinct success, with works presented by each of the Cozies. Rumple’s entry was actually the product of a sneeze. But who were we to question an artist’s choice of medium?

The next first Tuesday of the month finally arrived—time, at last, for the long delayed premiere of Pining Maiden, Part III. It was not raining this time. In fact, beyond the nursery windows the weather was quite clear.

This calm weather surprised us. The newspaper—which I would read at the breakfast table from Father’s shoulder—had reported that storms were expected throughout the region all week.

Mother, Father, Bingo, and Dandie were away visiting neighbors for the day. Michael had taken the family on their outing in the big carriage. Michael was a lanky, quiet human who wore many hats around the estate, including stable keeper, chauffeur, and husband of Bridie the housekeeper.

The day-trippers had dropped Bridie in town to do the shopping. Abigail the cook had the day off. This meant that, other than Great-grandfather, who was napping, the only human in the house was Agnes. We had, I must admit, grown less wary of Agnes over the weeks. Other than her sullen and covetous eyes, she hadn’t done anything scary . . . yet.

Pudding benefitted from the unusual lack of humans and terriers. She sat between Gubbins and I on the window seat, wagging her tail and panting. These were new additions to her caninean repertoire.

“Sproing!” sang the Twins, adding sound effects to their latest game. They’d discovered that they could bounce from the big burgundy pillow, off of Rumple, and to the window-seat cushion. Rumple’s little black eyes widened with surprise every...