Short Story: The Bayswater Fox
“Who goes there?”
“Oh. Hello, I didn’t think anybody would be awake this hour of night,” the fox slinked from the brick wall onto a garden table and from there, glided onto the grass.
“Now - now don’t you get any ideas sonny!”
The fox scanned the garden for movement. It was perfectly still. A shape just discernible at the very centre of lawn - a small boulder. It shook ever so slightly.
“Ah I see, a tortoise,” said the fox, "Hello old boy, keeping well?”
“We don’t want any trouble ‘round here!” the tortoise croaked in his most commanding voice.
“Oh but of course, nor do I - that’s why I’m also conducting a night patrol.”
The tortoise was taken aback, “Hmmf, I didn’t call for back-up. Don’t need it. I’ve been keeping watch on this patch of land for eighty years laddie. I’m on top of things.”
“So I see,” said the fox with a curling smile. He glanced behind the tortoise, light fell from a window and glinted on some promising looking bins, “But you don’t mind if I have a look around do you?”
“Hold it right there. What kind of a beast are you exactly? Badger? We don’t need any more trouble with your kind. Had a badger problem in ’56 and I showed them. So you think on!”
“Why, I’m a cat, from number twelve - you do remember me, don’t you?”
“Ah, I can see you now. Of course. Red cat, number twelve, yes it all checks out. Can’t be too careful you know.”
“Oh you can’t.”
“Not with rabbits to protect.”
“With… rabbits?” said the fox, eyes searching. There it was - a hutch at the back of the garden, crouched in shadows under an overgrown shrub. He wondered why he hadn’t sniffed it before. Perhaps he was losing his famous touch. “Ah of course, the rabbits."
“I’ve been guarding little Miss Clara-belle’s rabbits since her eighth birthday. Special orders. Shan’t let her down.”
“Oh no doubt,” said the fox, “I see this garden is well protected. Miss Clara-belle’s lucky to have you. I could, if you like, just pop my head in and check the rabbits are okay.”
“No need. They’re sleeping, not a peep out of them.”
“Of course. Though, as you say yourself you can’t be too careful these days. No doubt you’d want to trot on over there yourself and make absolutely sure that all’s in order - but I could save you a day’s journey…?”
Silence from the mound. He was thinking it over. “I suppose no harm in a spot check. I’ll admit, just between us, I’m not quite as fast on my feet as I once was.”
“My pleasure old chap.”
The fox skipped lightly over the midnight lawn, his tongue teasing his lips. Tonight he’d already dined on dry pork chops and nibbled fried chicken bones from a cardboard box - but real rabbit, well that was a rare treat.
As he neared the hutch his merry feet slowed, clogged with confusion. The roof of the hutch was sunken. He nudged the cobwebbed grating with his nose - it creaked and fell in. Darkness. Empty.
“Well, what say you?” called the tortoise.
Light shot across the lawn, a figure emerged in the doorway. An old woman. She shuffled over, scrapped food from a plate into the bins and replacing the lid with a clang. When turning back she held onto the window-sill, steadied herself - then made her way carefully to the doorway. She stood there a moment looking towards the tortoise, nodded, and closed the door.
They were in darkness once more.
“I say! What news of the rabbits? Come along young man!” said the tortoise impatiently.
“The rabbits are safe,” said the fox, “No doubt thanks to you.”
“Quite right. Quite right,” said the tortoise.
The fox jumped to the wall, looked to the ancient tortoise loyally keeping watch, then disappeared back into the night.