Phoebe knew something was wrong with the rosemary before she knew there had been a cat. She had come into the Conservatory early, carrying coffee in one hand and the mail in the other, and had made it halfway to the long table when she stopped.
The rosemary was beside the south window in a large terracotta pot.
Or rather, most of the rosemary was.
One side had been flattened. There was soil on the stone floor.
And there was a smell.
Phoebe closed her eyes.
"No."
Jules looked up from the table.
He had been sorting yesterday's papers into two piles which, as far as Phoebe could tell, differed only in ways known to Jules.
"What?"
"My rosemary."
He followed her gaze.
"Oh."
Phoebe put down the mail.
"Why did you say it like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like you know something."
Before Jules could answer, something moved behind the large chair near the stove.
A grey cat emerged.
It stretched.
Long front legs. Rear end high. Tail curved comfortably upward. Then it sat down and began washing a paw.
Phoebe looked at the cat.
Then at Jules.
Then at the rosemary.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."
Jules considered the evidence.
"I don't think he is."
The cat continued washing.
"How long has he been in here?"
"Apparently since last night."
"How did a cat get locked in the Conservatory?"
"That seems to be the more useful question."
Phoebe crouched beside the rosemary.
The cat watched her.
"You couldn't use the floor?"
"He appears to have preferred soil."
"It was rosemary."
Jules came over and looked into the pot.
"Resourceful."
Phoebe stared at him.
"That was my rosemary."
"Yes."
"You're admiring him."
"I'm recognizing competent problem solving under constrained circumstances."
"He peed in my plant."
"Those statements are not mutually exclusive."
The cat stood, walked past both of them and helped himself to Fox's water bowl.
Phoebe pointed.
"And now he's drinking Fox's water."
"He had a difficult night."
"So did the rosemary."
From outside came the small mechanical sound that meant Harold was making his first pass along the path. Phoebe fetched the broom and began sweeping up the spilled soil.
"Who closed up last night?"
Jules thought.
"Arthur was the last to leave."
"Arthur locked a cat in here?"
"I doubt deliberately."
"He's supposed to check the room before he closes the door."
Jules paused.
"Is he?"
Phoebe stopped.
"What do you mean, is he?"
"I mean, is that part of closing?"
"Of course it is."
"Is it written down?"
Phoebe gave him a look.
"We don't have written instructions for closing the Conservatory."
"Then I'm not sure Arthur can be said to have failed to follow them."
"You know perfectly well what I mean. Whoever leaves last closes the door, and obviously you make sure nothing is trapped inside first."
Jules looked at the cat.
The cat drank.
"Apparently not obviously enough."
Phoebe opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
CK came in carrying a bakery bag.
He removed his hat and hung it on its hook, then his jacket.
Only then did he look at Phoebe.
Then Jules.
Then the cat.
Then the rosemary.
"Good morning."
Phoebe pointed at the pot.
"Cat."
"So I see."
"Locked in all night."
CK looked at the cat again.
The cat looked back.
"Unfortunate."
"He used the rosemary as a litter box."
CK considered the pot.
"Sensible."
Phoebe stared at him.
"Why is everyone on the cat's side?"
"I wasn't aware there were sides."
"There are absolutely sides."
CK put the bakery bag on the table.
"What was he expected to do?"
"Not pee in my rosemary."
CK waited.
Phoebe sighed.
"Fine."
Jules went to fetch the dustpan.
CK opened the bakery bag.
"Scones?"
"Yes."
"Thank God."
The cat looked interested.
"No," said Phoebe.
The cat sat down.
• • •
Arthur arrived twenty minutes later.
He had barely removed his scarf before Phoebe said:
"You locked a cat in here."
Arthur stopped.
"I did?"
The cat was now asleep in Fox's chair.
Arthur looked at it.
"When?"
"Last night."
"I didn't know there was a cat."
"That's rather the problem."
Arthur thought about this.
"I checked the windows."
"The windows were fine."
"I checked the stove."
"The stove was fine."
"I turned off the lights."
"Excellent work on the lights."
Arthur looked at Jules.
"Am I in trouble?"
"I don't believe we have established that."
Phoebe pointed toward the rosemary.
Arthur walked over.
"Oh dear."
"Yes."
"Was that the cat?"
"No, Arthur. Harold has taken up gardening."
Arthur ignored this.
"I'm sorry."
"I know."
"I really didn't see him."
"I know that too."
Arthur crouched beside the pot.
"He had to go somewhere."
"That appears to be the consensus."
The door opened again.
Jackal came in carrying an empty Revision Red can.
He saw Arthur crouched beside the rosemary.
He saw the cat.
He saw Phoebe.
He shook the can once.
shk-shk.
"Not now," Phoebe said.
Jackal pointed at Arthur, mimed closing a door, then pointed toward Jules's notebook.
Phoebe knew exactly where this was going.
"No, it wasn't written down."
Jackal looked at Arthur and nodded.
Arthur said, "Thank you."
Jackal nodded again and went to find what he had actually come for.
Phoebe looked at the cat.
"I still have a ruined rosemary."
"Also true," said CK.
• • •
Margaret arrived while Phoebe was trying to decide whether the rosemary could be saved.
She listened to the story.
Then she said:
"You wet your pants once."
Phoebe looked up.
Arthur looked delighted.
"What?"
Margaret sat down.
"School."
Phoebe stared at her.
"Oh, for heaven's sake."
"You did."
"I was six."
"What happened?" Arthur asked.
Phoebe resumed loosening the soil around the rosemary roots.
"It was first grade."
Margaret supplied, "And she was extremely obedient."
"I was not extremely obedient."
"You wet your pants rather than disobey the teacher."
Arthur pulled out a chair.
"This is improving."
Phoebe put down the trowel.
"The teacher had told everyone to be quiet. Heads down, or rest time, or something. I don't remember exactly."
"This is family history," Margaret said. "Not sworn testimony."
Phoebe gave her a look.
Margaret smiled.
Phoebe continued.
"She said she didn't want to hear from anyone."
"And you needed the bathroom."
"Yes."
"So you asked?"
"No."
Arthur blinked.
"You didn't ask?"
"She said she didn't want to hear from anyone."
"She didn't mean---"
"I was six."
CK looked up from his tea.
"Which seems relevant."
Arthur stopped.
Phoebe pointed at him with the trowel.
"Thank you."
Margaret said, "You could have raised your hand."
"She said nobody was to bother her."
"That is not the same thing."
"It was when I was six."
Arthur leaned back.
"So what happened?"
"What do you think happened?"
Arthur winced.
"Oh."
"Yes."
The cat opened one eye.
Phoebe looked at him.
"Don't you start."
The cat closed it again.
Jules had been listening from the table.
"The instruction was reasonable."
Phoebe nodded.
"A room full of six-year-olds occasionally needs to stop talking."
"The interpretation was also reasonable," he said.
"That's generous."
"You were six."
CK nodded slightly.
"And the consequence was absurd."
Phoebe looked at him.
"Thank you for the summary."
"My pleasure."
Arthur frowned.
"So the teacher should have explained the exceptions?"
"All of them?" Margaret asked.
Arthur considered a classroom of six-year-olds receiving a briefing on every circumstance under which silence might properly be broken.
"Probably not."
"Then what?"
Nobody answered immediately.
The cat began purring.
• • •
Later that afternoon, Gardener Jules came through from the Annex. Nobody called him Gardener Jules to his face. This was partly because all of the retired Juleses objected to being reduced to their most convenient specialty and partly because there was usually more than one of them within hearing distance.
But this particular Jules had spent a great deal of his working life with plants.
Phoebe showed him the rosemary.
He examined it.
"Possibly."
"That doesn't sound encouraging."
"It isn't intended to be discouraging."
"That phrase runs in the family."
He smiled.
He checked the soil.
Then he reached for the watering can.
Phoebe stopped him.
"Don't water it."
He looked at her.
"I watered it yesterday."
He looked back at the pot. Then at the flattened plant. Then at the soil scattered across the floor.
"The circumstances have changed."
Phoebe opened her mouth.
Stopped.
Arthur, from the table, looked interested.
Gardener Jules added a small amount of water.
"Not much."
Arthur pointed.
"But she said not to."
"Yes."
"You ignored her."
"No."
Arthur frowned.
Gardener Jules put down the watering can.
"I understood why she said it."
Phoebe looked at the rosemary.
"And?"
"The reason no longer applied in quite the same way."
Arthur sat back.
"So the rule changed."
"No," said Jules. "The conditions did."
That seemed to settle things for approximately thirty seconds. Then Arthur noticed another plant near the window. Its leaves were drooping.
He picked up the watering can.
Gardener Jules said:
"No."
Arthur stopped.
"What?"
"That one doesn't need water."
"It looks thirsty."
"It isn't."
"How do you know?"
Gardener Jules walked over.
"Because I know what it is."
Arthur put the watering can down.
Margaret laughed.
"That rather spoils the lesson."
"I think it improves it," said CK.
Arthur returned to his chair.
"So knowing why a rule exists doesn't automatically mean I know when to ignore it."
"That's a start," Phoebe said.
"That," said Jules from the long table, "appears to be the afternoon's difficulty."
• • •
Fox arrived shortly before four.
He came in through the garden door, jumped onto the low stone ledge beneath the windows and began walking along it.
The ledge was narrow.
Helen, who had stopped by late and knew enough about the Conservatory by now not to ask why there was a fox walking indoors, watched him.
Fox placed one paw.
Then another.
His body shifted slightly.
His tail moved.
He corrected.
Continued.
Another tiny wobble.
Another correction.
Helen said, "He's constantly adjusting."
Nobody answered.
Fox reached the end of the ledge, jumped down and went to inspect the cat.
The cat woke.
There was a moment of mutual evaluation.
Then Fox sat down.
The cat went back to sleep.
"Apparently that's settled," Helen said.
"For now," said Phoebe.
CK looked at her.
Phoebe noticed.
"Oh."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"No, you had an 'oh.'"
Phoebe looked toward the ledge Fox had crossed.
"He was correcting the whole way across."
"And still perfectly stable," Helen said.
Jules smiled.
Phoebe saw it.
"Don't."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to put that in a beautifully labeled box."
"I was merely listening."
"Suspiciously."
CK reached for another scone.
"Perhaps stability and rigidity have been confused."
Phoebe looked at him.
"That is the box."
"It seemed useful."
"It is."
Arthur looked from one to the other.
"So we're allowed to change rules?"
"No," said three people at once.
Arthur threw up his hands.
• • •
By late afternoon the rosemary had been moved to a quieter corner.
The cat had eaten.
Fox had accepted the cat's continued presence as a matter requiring no immediate action. Arthur had been cleared of wrongdoing but not of responsibility for checking the Conservatory more carefully in future.
Phoebe had written nothing down.
This bothered Jules.
"You should probably write something."
"What?"
"Closing instructions."
Phoebe considered it.
"Check windows. Check stove. Turn off lights. Make sure nobody is still inside."
"Reasonable."
"Lock the door."
"Yes."
She looked toward the cat.
"And if something happens that isn't on the list?"
Jules looked at her.
"Use judgement."
"That seems dangerous after this afternoon."
"Then ask."
"What if I can't?"
"Use judgement."
Phoebe laughed.
"We've made tremendous progress."
CK put on his jacket.
Then his hat.
"Perhaps the purpose of the instructions should be included."
Phoebe looked at him.
"Keep the Conservatory and everyone in it reasonably safe overnight."
CK nodded.
"That seems harder to misunderstand."
Arthur, who was putting on his scarf, said:
"What if keeping something safe requires breaking one of the instructions?"
Phoebe thought about the rosemary.
About the cat.
About six-year-old bladders.
About Gardener Jules and the watering can.
"Then I suppose you'd better know why you're doing it."
Arthur opened the door.
"And if I'm wrong?"
"Then we fix it."
CK paused beside him.
"At the appropriate level."
Arthur looked at the rosemary.
"So not a constitutional convention."
"Probably not."
Arthur and CK went out together.
Margaret followed a moment later, still arguing with her crossword.
• • •
Jackal returned just before closing.
He had forgotten his brush.
He found it beneath his chair, picked it up, and started toward the door.
Then he stopped.
The cat was still inside.
Jackal looked at the closing instructions beside the door.
Then at Phoebe.
Then at the cat.
Without a word, he opened the door.
The cat stretched, walked past him and disappeared down the path.
Jackal pointed once at the instructions.
Phoebe smiled.
"Yes. I noticed."
Jackal gave her a look.
"Eventually."
He nodded, satisfied, and followed the cat outside.
Phoebe watched both of them disappear down the path.
Jules came up beside her.
"Shall I lock it?"
Phoebe looked around one more time.
Windows secure.
Stove safe.
Fox already outside.
Rosemary recovering, perhaps.
"Yes."
He did.
Then they went home.