Just William (4 page)

Approaching these, he stood and talked fiercely and unintelligibly for a few minutes, turning his scowling corked face and pointing his finger at her every now and then, as, apparently, he
described his capture.

Then he approached her again.

‘That was Red Indian what I was talkin’ then,’ he explained in his ordinary voice, then sinking it to its low, roaring note and scowling more ferociously than ever,
‘Snake Face says the Pale-face must be scalped and cooked and eat!’

He took out a penknife and opened it as though to perform the operation, then continued, ‘But me and the others say that if you’ll be a squaw an’ cook for us we’ll let
you go alive.’

Miss Cannon dropped on to her knees.

‘Most humble and grateful thanks, great Red Hand,’ she said. ‘I will with pleasure be your squaw.’

‘I’ve gotter fire round here,’ said William proudly, leading her to the back of the wigwam, where a small wood fire smouldered spiritlessly, choked by a large tin full of a
dark liquid.

‘That, O Squaw,’ said Red Hand with a dramatic gesture, ‘is a Pale-face we caught las’ night!’

The squaw clasped her hands together.

‘Oh, how
lovely
!’ she said. ‘Is he cooking?’

Red Hand nodded. Then,

‘I’ll get you some feathers,’ he said obligingly. ‘You oughter have feathers, too.’

He retired into the depth of the wigwam and returned with a handful of hen feathers. Miss Cannon took off her big shady hat and stuck the feathers into her fluffy brown hair with a laugh.

‘This is jolly!’ she said. ‘I love Red Indians!’

‘I’ve got some cork you can have to do your face, too,’ went on William with reckless generosity. ‘It soon burns in the fire.’

She threw a glance towards the chimneys of the house that could be seen through the trees and shook her pretty head regretfully.

‘I’m afraid I’d better not,’ she said sadly.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘now I’ll go huntin’ and you stir the Pale-face and we’ll eat him when I come back. Now, I’ll be off. You watch me track.’

He opened his clasp-knife with a bloodthirsty flourish and, casting sinister glances round him, crept upon his hands and knees into the bushes. He circled about, well within his squaw’s
vision, obviously bent upon impressing her. She stirred the mixture in the tin with a twig and threw him every now and then the admiring glances he so evidently desired.

Soon he returned, carrying over his shoulder a doormat which he threw down at her feet.

‘A venison, O squaw,’ he said in a lordly voice. ‘Let it be cooked. I’ve had it out all morning,’ he added in his ordinary tones; ‘they’ve not missed it
yet.’

He fetched from the ‘wigwam’ two small jagged tins and, taking the larger tin off the fire, poured some into each.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘here’s some Pale-face for you, squaw.’

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I’m sure he’s awfully good, but—’

‘You needn’t be frightened of it,’ said William protectively. ‘It’s jolly good, I can tell you.’ He picked up the paper cover of a packet of soup from behind
the trees. ‘It’s jus’ that and water and it’s jolly good!’

‘How lovely! Do they let you—?’

‘They don’t let me,’ he broke in hastily, ‘but there’s heaps in the larder and they don’t notice one every now an’ then. Go on!’ Encouragingly,
‘I don’t mind you having it! Honest, I don’t! I’ll get some more soon.’

Bravely she raised the tin to her lips and took a sip.

‘Gorgeous!’ she said, shutting her eyes. Then she drained the tin.

William’s face shone with pride and happiness. But it clouded over as the sound of a bell rang out from the house.

‘Crumbs! That’s tea!’

Hastily Miss Cannon took the feathers from her hair and put on her hat.

‘You don’t keep a looking-glass in your wigwam, I suppose?’ she said.

‘N-no,’ admitted William. ‘But I’ll get one for next time you come. I’ll get one from Ethel’s room.’

‘Won’t she mind?’

‘She won’t know,’ said William simply.

Miss Cannon smoothed down her dress.

‘I’m horribly late. What will they think of me? It was awful of me to come with you. I’m always doing awful things. That’s a secret between you and me.’ She gave
William a smile that dazzled him. ‘Now come in and we’ll confess.’

‘I can’t,’ said William. ‘I’ve got to wash an’ come down tidy. I promised I would. It’s a special day. Because of Robert, you know. Well
you
know. Because of – Robert!’

He looked up at her mystified face with a significant nod.

Robert was frantic. He had run his hands through his hair so often that it stood around his head like a spiked halo.

‘We
can’t
begin without her,’ he said. ‘She’ll think we’re awful. It will – put her off me for ever. She’s not used to being treated like
that. She’s the sort of girl people don’t begin without. She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met in all my life and you — my own mother — treat her like
this. You may be ruining my life. You’ve no idea what this means to me. If you’d seen her you’d feel more sympathy. I simply can’t describe her – I—’

‘I said four o’clock, Robert,’ said Mrs Brown firmly, ‘and it’s after half past. Ethel, tell Emma she can ring the bell and bring in tea.’

The perspiration stood out on Robert’s brow.

‘It’s – the downfall of all my hopes,’ he said hoarsely.

Then, a few minutes after the echoes of the tea-bell died away, the front doorbell rang sharply. Robert stroked his hair down with wild, unrestrained movements of his hands, and summoned a
tortured smile to his lips.

Miss Cannon appeared upon the threshold, bewitching and demure.

‘Aren’t I perfectly disgraceful?’ she said with her low laugh. ‘To tell the truth, I met your little boy in the drive and I’ve been with him some time. He’s a
perfect little dear, isn’t he?’

Her brown eyes rested on Robert. Robert moistened his lips and smiled the tortured smile, but was beyond speech.

‘Yes, I know Ethel and I met your son –
yesterday,
wasn’t it?’

Robert murmured unintelligibly, raising one hand to the too tight collar, and then bowed vaguely in her direction.

Then they went in to tea.

William, his hair well brushed, the cork partially washed from his face, and the feathers removed, arrived a few minutes later. Conversation was carried on chiefly by Miss Cannon and Ethel.
Robert racked his brain for some striking remark, something that would raise him in her esteem far above the ranks of the ordinary young man, but nothing came. Whenever her brown eyes rested on
him, however, he summoned the mirthless smile to his lips and raised a hand to relieve the strain of the imprisoning collar. Desperately he felt the precious moments passing and his passion yet
unrevealed, except by his eyes, whose message he was afraid she had not read.

As they rose from tea, William turned to his mother, with an anxious sibilant whisper,

‘Ought
I
to have put on my best suit too?’

The demure lights danced in Miss Cannon’s eyes and the look the perspiring Robert sent him would have crushed a less bold spirit.

William had quite forgotten the orders he had received to retire from the scene directly after tea. He was impervious to all hints. He followed in the train of the all-conquering Miss Cannon to
the drawing-room and sat on the sofa with Robert who had taken his seat next to his beloved.

‘Are you – er – fond of reading, Miss Cannon?’ began Robert with a painful effort.

‘I –
wrote
a tale once,’ said William boastfully, leaning over Robert before she could answer. ‘It was a jolly good one. I showed it to some people. I’ll
show it to you if you like. It began with a pirate on a raft an’ he’d stole some jewel’ry and the king the jewels belonged to was coming after him on a steamer and jus’ when
he was comin’ up to him he jumped into the water and took the jewels with him an’ a fish eat the jewels and the king caught it an’ ’ he paused for breath.

‘I’d love to read it!’ said Miss Cannon.

Robert turned sideways, and resting an arm on his knee to exclude the persistent William, spoke in a husky voice.

‘What is your favourite flower, Miss Cannon?’

William’s small head was craned round Robert’s arm.

‘I’ve gotter garden. I’ve got Virginia Stock growin’ all over it. It grows up in no time. An’ must’erd ’n cress grows in no time, too. I like things
what grow quick, don’t you? You get tired of waiting for the other sorts, don’t you?’

Robert rose desperately.

‘Would you care to see the garden and greenhouses, Miss Cannon?’ he said.

‘I’d love to,’ said Miss Cannon.

With a threatening glare at William, Robert led the way to the garden. And William, all innocent animation, followed.

‘Can you tie knots what can’t come untied?’ he demanded.

‘No,’ she said, ‘I wish I could.’

‘I can. I’ll show you. I’ll get a piece of string and show you afterwards. It’s easy but it wants practice, that’s all. An’ I’ll teach you how to make
aeroplanes out of paper what fly in the air when it’s windy. That’s quite easy. Only you’ve gotter be careful to get ’em the right size. I can make ’em and I can make
lots of things out of matchboxes an’ things an’—’

The infuriated Robert interrupted.

‘These are my father’s roses. He’s very proud of them.’

‘They’re beautiful.’

‘Well, wait till you see my Virginia Stock! that’s all. Wait—’

‘Will you have this tea rose, Miss Cannon?’ Robert’s face was purple as he presented it. ‘It – it – er – it suits you. You – er – flowers
and you – that is – I’m sure – you love flowers – you should – er – always have flowers. If I—’

An’ I’ll get you those red ones and that white one,’ broke in the equally infatuated William, determined not to be outshone. An’ I’ll get you some of my Virginia
Stock. An’ I don’t give my Virginia Stock to
anyone
,’ he added with emphasis.

When they re-entered the drawing-room, Miss Cannon carried a large bouquet of Virginia Stock and white and red roses which completely hid Robert’s tea rose. William was by her side,
chatting airily and confidently. Robert followed – a pale statue of despair.

In answer to Robert’s agonised glance, Mrs Brown summoned William to her corner, while Robert and Miss Cannon took their seat again upon the sofa.

‘I hope – I hope,’ said Robert soulfully, ‘I hope your stay here is a long one?’

‘Well, why sha’n’t I jus’
speak
to her?’ William’s whisper was loud and indignant.

‘Shh, dear!’ said Mrs Brown.

‘I should like to show you some of the walks around here,’ went on Robert desperately with a fearful glance towards the corner where William stood in righteous indignation before his
mother. ‘If I could have that – er – pleasure – er – honour?’

‘I was only jus’
speaking
to her,’ went on William’s voice. ‘I wasn’t doin’ any harm, was I? Only
speaking
to her!’

The silence was intense. Robert, purple, opened his lips to say something, anything to drown that horrible voice, but nothing would come. Miss Cannon was obviously listening to William.

‘Is no one else ever to
speak
to her?’ The sibilant whisper, raised in indignant appeal, filled all the room. ‘Jus’ ’cause Robert’s fell in love with
her?’

The horror of the moment haunted Robert’s nights and days for weeks to come.

Mrs Brown coughed hastily and began to describe at unnecessary length the ravages of the caterpillars upon her husband’s favourite rose tree.

William withdrew with dignity to the garden a minute later and Miss Cannon rose from the sofa.

‘I must be going, I’m afraid,’ she said with a smile.

Robert, anguished and overpowered, rose slowly.

‘You most come again some time,’ he said weakly but with passion undaunted.

‘I will,’ she said. ‘I’m longing to see more of William. I adore William!’

They comforted Robert’s wounded feelings as best they could, but it was Ethel who devised the plan that finally cheered him. She suggested a picnic on the following
Thursday, which happened to be Robert’s birthday and incidentally the last day of Miss Cannon’s visit, and the picnic party was to consist of Robert, Ethel, Mrs Clive and Miss Cannon,
and William was not even to be told where it was to be. The invitation was sent that evening and Robert spent the week dreaming of picnic lunches and suggesting impossible dainties of which the
cook had never heard. It was not until she threatened to give notice that he reluctantly agreed to leave the arrangements to her. He sent his white flannels (which were perfectly clean) to the
laundry with a note attached, hinting darkly at legal proceedings if they were not sent back, spotless, by Thursday morning. He went about with an expression of set and solemn purpose upon his
frowning countenance. William he utterly ignored. He bought a book of poems at a second-hand bookshop and kept them on the table by his bed.