Just William (13 page)

It was William who discovered first that it was teatime and there was no tea. At first he felt slightly aggrieved. Then he thought of the larder and his spirits rose.

‘Come on!’ he called. ‘All jus’ get what you can.’

They trooped in, panting, shouting, laughing, and all just got what they could.

Ginger seized the remnants of a cold ham and picked the bone, George with great gusto drank a whole jar of cream, William and Douglas between them ate a gooseberry pie, Henry ate a whole currant
cake. Each foraged for himself. They ate two bowls of cold vegetables, a joint of cold beef, two pots of honey, three dozen oranges, three loaves and two pots of dripping. They experimented upon
lard, onions, and raw sausages. They left the larder a place of gaping emptiness. Meanwhile Cook’s voice, growing hoarser and hoarser as the result of the inhalation of coal dust and
exhalation of imprecations, still arose from the depths and still the door of the coal-cellar shook and rattled.

Then one of the guests who had been in the drawing-room window came back.

‘She’s coming home!’ he shouted excitedly.

They flocked to the window.

Jane was bidding a fond farewell to her young man at the side-gate.

‘Don’t let her come in!’ yelled William. ‘Come on!’

With a smile of blissful reminiscence upon her face, Jane turned in at the gate. She was totally unprepared for being met by a shower of missiles from the upper windows.

A lump of lard hit her on the ear and knocked her hat on to one side. She retreated hastily to the side-gate.

‘Go on! Send her into the road.’

A shower of onions, the ham bone, and a few potatoes pursued her into the road. Shouts of triumph rent the air. Then the shouts of triumph died away abruptly. William’s smile also faded
away, and his hand, in the act of flinging an onion, dropped. A cab was turning in at the front gate. In the sudden silence that fell upon the party, cook’s hoarse cries for vengeance rose
with redoubled force from the coal-cellar. William grew pale.

The cab contained his family.

Two hours later a small feminine friend of William’s who had called with a note for his mother, looked up to William’s window and caught sight of William’s
untidy head.

‘Come and play with me, William,’ she called eagerly.

‘I can’t. I’m goin’ to bed,’ said William sternly.

‘Why? Are you ill, William?’

‘No.’

‘Well, why are you going to bed, William?’

William leant out of the window.

‘I’m goin’ to bed,’ he said, ‘’cause my father don’t understand ‘bout English Grammar, that’s why!’

CHAPTER 7

‘W
illiam! You’ve been playing that dreadful game again!’ said Mrs Brown despairingly.

William, his suit covered with dust, his tie under one ear, his face begrimed and his knees cut, looked at her in righteous indignation.

‘I haven’t. I haven’t done anything what you said I’d not to. It was “Lions an’ Tamers” what you said I’d not to play. Well, I’ve not played
“Lions an’ Tamers”, not since you said I’d not to. I wouldn’t
do
it – not if thousands of people asked me to, not when you said I’d not to.
I—’

Mrs Brown interrupted him.

‘Well, what
have
you been playing at?’ she said wearily.

‘It was “Tigers an’ Tamers”,’ said William. ‘It’s a different game altogether. In “Lions an’ Tamers” half of you is lions an’
the other half tamers, an’ the tamers try to tame the lions an’ the lions try not to be tamed. That’s “Lions an’ Tamers”. It’s all there is to it.
It’s quite a little game.’

‘What do you do in “Tigers and Tamers”?’ said Mrs Brown suspiciously.

‘Well—’

William considered deeply.

‘Well,’ he repeated lamely, ‘in “Tigers an’ Tamers” half of you is
tigers —
you see – and the other half—’

‘It’s exactly the same thing, William,’ said Mrs Brown with sudden spirit.

‘I don’t see how you can call it the same thing,’ said William doggedly. ‘You can’t call a
lion
a
tiger,
can you? It jus’ isn’t one.
They’re in quite different cages in the zoo. “
Tigers
an’ Tamers” can’t be ’zactly the same as ‘
Lions
an’ Tamers”.’

‘Well, then,’ said Mrs Brown firmly, ‘you’re never to play “Tigers and Tamers” either. And now go and wash your face.’

William’s righteous indignation increased.

‘My
face
?’ he repeated as if he could hardly believe his ears. ‘My
face?
I’ve washed it twice today. I washed it when I got up an’ I washed it for
dinner. You told me to.’

‘Well, just go and look at it.’

William walked over to the looking-glass and surveyed his reflection with interest. Then he passed his hands lightly over the discoloured surface of his face, stroked his hair back and
straightened his tie. This done, he turned hopefully to his mother.

‘It’s no good,’ she said. ‘You must wash your face and brush your hair and you’d better change your suit – and stockings. They’re simply covered with
dust!’

William turned slowly to go from the room.

‘I shouldn’t think,’ he said bitterly, as he went, ‘I shouldn’t think there’s many houses where so much washin’ and brushin’ goes on as in this,
an’ I’m glad for their sakes.’

She heard him coming downstairs ten minutes later.

‘William!’ she called.

He entered. He was transformed. His face and hair shone, he had changed his suit. His air of righteous indignation had not diminished.

‘That’s better,’ said his mother approvingly. ‘Now, William, do just sit down here till teatime. There’s only about ten minutes, and it’s no good your going
out. You’ll only get yourself into a mess again if you don’t sit still.’

William glanced round the drawing-room with the air of one goaded beyond bearing.

‘Here?’

‘Well, dear – just till teatime.’

‘What can I do in here? There’s nothing to
do,
is there? I can’t sit still and not
do
anything, can I?’

‘Oh, read a book. There are ever so many books over there you haven’t read, and I’m sure you’d like some of them. Try one of Scott’s,’ she ended rather
doubtfully.

William walked across the room with an expression of intense suffering, took out a book at random, and sat down in an attitude of aloof dignity, holding the book upside down.

It was thus that Mrs de Vere Carter found him when she was announced a moment later.

Mrs de Vere Carter was a recent addition to the neighbourhood. Before her marriage she had been one of
the
Randalls of Hertfordshire. Everyone on whom Mrs de Vere Carter smiled felt
intensely flattered. She was tall, and handsome, and gushing, and exquisitely dressed. Her arrival had caused quite a sensation. Everyone agreed that she was ‘charming’.

On entering Mrs Brown’s drawing-room, she saw a little boy, dressed very neatly, with a clean face and well-brushed hair, sitting quietly on a low chair in a corner reading a book.

‘The little dear!’ she murmured as she shook hands with Mrs Brown.

William’s face darkened.

Mrs de Vere Carter floated over to him.

‘Well, my little man, and how are you?’

Her little man did not answer, partly because Mrs de Vere Carter had put a hand on his head and pressed his face against her perfumed, befrilled bosom. His nose narrowly escaped being impaled on
the thorn of a large rose that nestled there.

‘I adore children,’ she cooed to his mother over his head.

William freed his head with a somewhat brusque movement and she took up his book.

‘Scott!’ she murmured. ‘Dear little laddie!’

Seeing the expression on William’s face his mother hastily drew her guest aside.

‘
Do
come and sit over here,’ she said nervously. ‘What perfect weather we’re having.’

William walked out of the room.

‘You know, I’m
frightfully
interested in social work,’ went on her charming guest, ‘especially among children. I
adore
children! Sweet little dear of yours!
And I
always
get on with them. Of course, I get on with most people. My personality, you know! You’ve heard perhaps that I’ve taken over the Band of Hope here, and I’m
turning it into
such
a success. The pets! Yes, three lumps, please. Well, now, it’s here I want you to help me. You will, dear, won’t you? You and your little mannikin. I want to
get a different class of children to join the Band of Hope. Such a sweet name, isn’t it? It would do the village children such a lot of good to meet with children of
our
class.’

Mrs Brown was flattered. After all, Mrs de Vere Carter was one of
the
Randalls.

‘For instance,’ went on the flute-like tones, ‘when I came in and saw your little treasure sitting there so sweetly,’ she pointed dramatically to the chair that had
lately been graced by William’s presence, ‘I thought to myself, “Oh, I
must
get him to come”. It’s the refining influence of children in
our
class that
the village children need. What delicious cakes. You will lend him to me, won’t you? We meet once a week, on Wednesday afternoons. May he come? I’ll take great care of him.’

Mrs Brown hesitated.

‘Er – yes,’ she said doubtfully. ‘But I don’t know that William is really suited to that sort of thing. However—’

‘Oh, you can’t put me off!’ said Mrs de Vere Carter shaking a playful bejewelled finger. ‘Don’t I
know
him already? I count him one of my dearest little
friends. It never takes me long to know children. I’m a
born
child-lover. ’

William happened to be passing through the hall as Mrs de Vere Carter came out of the drawing-room followed by Mrs Brown.

‘
There
you are!’ she said. ‘I
thought
you’d be waiting to say goodbye to me.’

She stretched out her arm with an encircling movement, but William stepped back and stood looking at her with a sinister frown.

‘I
have
so enjoyed seeing you. I hope you’ll come again,’ stammered Mrs Brown untruthfully, moving so as to block out the sight of William’s face, but Mrs de Vere
Carter was not to be checked. There are people to whom the expression on a child’s face conveys absolutely nothing. Once more she floated towards William.

‘Goodbye, Willy, dear. You’re not too old to kiss me, are you?’

Mrs Brown gasped.

At the look of concentrated fury on William’s face, older and stronger people than Mrs de Vere Carter would have quailed, but she only smiled as, with another virulent glare at her, he
turned on his heel and walked away.

‘The sweet, shy thing!’ she cooed. ‘I
love
them shy.’

Mr Brown was told of the proposal.

‘Well,’ he said slowly, ‘I can’t quite visualise William at a Band of Hope meeting; but of course, if you want him to, he must go.’

‘You see,’ said Mrs Brown with a worried frown, ‘she made such a point of it, and she really is very charming, and after all she’s rather influential. She was one of
the
Randalls, you know. It seems silly to offend her.’

‘Did William like her?’

‘She was sweet with him. At least – she meant to be sweet,’ she corrected herself hastily, ‘but you know how touchy William is, and you know the name he always hates so.
I can never understand why. After all, lots of people are called Willy’

The morning of the day of the Band of Hope meeting arrived. William came down to breakfast with an agonised expression on his healthy countenance. He sat down on his seat and raised his hand to
his brow with a hollow groan.

Mrs Brown started up in dismay.

‘Oh, William! What’s the matter?’

‘Gotter sick headache,’ said William in a faint voice.

‘Oh, dear! I
am
sorry. You’d better go and lie down. I’m
so
sorry, dear.’

‘I think I will go an’ lie down,’ said William’s plaintive, suffering voice. ‘I’ll jus’ have breakfast first.’