Matty and Bill for Keeps (6 page)

The new meeting place for the club was a low-beamed space under the Grubs' roof. Mat called it the attic. They climbed up to it via a ladder and through a manhole in the ceiling of Matty's bedroom. It was quite dark with the faintest bit of light coming from a four-paned, cobwebby window on one side. Matty had made a space amongst boxes and old suitcases in the centre of the attic where there was maximum height, but they had to step carefully or they would bump their heads. The three children sat on a blanket with a torch placed in the midst of them. Its beam shone upwards so that Matty, Bill and Crispin's faces were misshapen. Their jaws and mouths looked huge, but the upper parts of their heads were shadowy, like ghosts.

‘I thought I'd passed all the tests,' said Crispin forlornly.

‘You have passed the tests of courage and endurance,' said Mat, ‘but you still have to prove that you're worthy of our trust.'

‘How do I do that?'

‘You have to tell us something about yourself that's secret.'

‘But I'm not a secretive sort of person,' said Crispin. ‘I've told you everything you've asked.'

‘Give him a hint, Matty,' suggested Bill. ‘Tell him about you.'

‘Good idea,' said Mat. ‘Well, you can take me for an example. I used to operate under a secret name – Grube. I didn't like the name Grub. I thought people might make mean jokes. My real name was the secret I told Bill.'

‘That wasn't much of a secret,' said Crispin. ‘You've already told me Grub is an ancient Saxon name.'

‘What I'm getting at . . .' began Mat.

Bill could tell Mat was searching about for a kindly way to explain about his own terrible, traitorous behaviour. Once again, he felt burdened with guilt.

‘It was all my fault . . .' Bill began to explain.

‘Water under the bridge,' said Mat in a matter-of-fact way. ‘Bill can explain some other time, if you want. The point is, the secret has to be something that you're only willing to share with people you trust.'

‘I'll tell you mine,' said Bill. ‘My dad was in jail for theft. I told Mat and she kept my secret for ages. I ended up telling the rest of the kids at school, though.'

‘Why on earth would you do that?' asked Crispin.

‘It's all to do with the reason everyone knows Mat's real name,' said Bill.

‘For heaven's sake, you've got to explain. None of this makes sense. Secrets that aren't secrets anymore,' said Crispin.

‘Let's put it this way,' said Bill, taking a deep breath. ‘I got caught up with Isabelle Farquay-Jones who wanted some dirt on Mat. I was weak enough to tell Isabelle about Mat's name. Isabelle told everyone at school. So I told everyone about my dad – just to make it even between Mat and me.'

‘Ah,' said Crispin, ‘the lovely Isabelle strikes again! So I'm not her only victim.'

‘You can see,' said Mat, ‘that if we're to help each other, we also need to have absolute trust.'

Crispin paused. He twisted his mouth in such a way that they could tell he was tossing up what he might reveal. ‘Alright then,' he said. ‘I'll tell you something I'm very ashamed of.'

‘Something you've done?' asked Mat.

‘Yes,' said Crispin.

‘It's hard to imagine you doing anything terrible,' said Bill.

‘Well, I have. And it's really getting me down,' said Crispin.

‘Go on. Tell us,' said Mat.

Crispin hesitated.

‘If you want our help to protect you from the Farquay-Joneses, you just have to speak,' said Mat.

At the mention of the name ‘Farquay-Jones', Crispin shuddered, then seemed spurred into action. ‘I have besmirched the family name,' he said in a burst.

‘You have what?' asked Bill.

‘Our family motto is
Nunquam retrorsum
which is Latin for “Never retreat”,' explained Crispin. ‘Our ancestor, Rolo de Floriette, accompanied William the Conqueror in the 1066 Battle of Hastings. Even surrounded by seven Saxon knights, Rolo de Floriette refused to surrender. He lost the tip of his nose to the sword of one of his enemies, but all seven men lost their lives. Ever since then, in a thousand years of family history, not one single de Floriette has retreated. Not until me.'

Matty was looking horrified. ‘What have you done, then? How did you retreat?'

‘The night I tied Isabelle to the tree, fibbed to her parents and then ran away,' said Crispin.

‘You were a desperate man,' said Bill.

‘Aunt Victoria does not see it that way,' said Crispin sadly. ‘She says I have “besmirched the family name”. That's why she's so cross with me.'

‘I think you and your aunt are getting this out of proportion,' said Mat. ‘A thousand years of family history is nothing.'

‘Nothing?' asked Crispin amazed.

‘Nothing,' repeated Mat. ‘On Nan's side, my family goes back at least forty thousand years.'

‘Good gracious!' said Crispin. ‘A longer lineage than mine.'

‘Yours would be as long if they'd kept oral records. And anyway, you can't account for all the branches and twigs of a family. There'd be relatives all over the place letting the family name down,' said Matty.

‘Just like my dad did,' said Bill.

‘But then you've got your mum,' Mat pointed out. ‘Pam's a real hero. That's what families are like – goodies and baddies all over the place.'

‘But families keep quiet about the baddies,' said Bill. ‘That's why sometimes people never hear about them or, at least, not for a hundred years.'

‘It's called a “skeleton in the cupboard”,' explained Mat. ‘You can be sure the de Floriettes will have plenty of skeletons.'

Crispin's face brightened, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. But then he looked anxious again. ‘I don't want to be the family's skeleton. I'd like to restore our honour, so to speak.'

‘You will have the chance to face up to things when the Farquay-Joneses, the police officer and the lawyer speak to you on Monday,' said Mat. ‘If you get sent to prison and go bravely without whingeing, your aunt will be proud of you.'

Crispin went pale. ‘I suppose that is my chance to redeem myself,' he said sadly.

‘But you're not going through this alone,' said Mat.

‘I'm not?'

‘Me and Bill will be going into that office with you,' announced Mat.

‘We will?' asked Bill.

‘Yes,' said Mat firmly.

‘That would be wonderful, but I can't imagine the grown-ups letting a couple of children join the meeting. I mean, if you'd been involved in what happened to Isabelle, that would be different, but you weren't,' said Crispin.

‘I have a plan,' said Matty.

‘Run along children,' said Mrs Farquay-Jones, flicking the back of her hand at Mat and Bill as though she were shooing away annoying dogs. She was sitting in the waiting room of the Principal's office with Isabelle (dressed all in pink), her husband, a policeman and a long-nosed man in a pin-striped suit who carried a briefcase. The children guessed he must be the solicitor.

Isabelle squirmed away from Mat and Bill as if they smelt. She clung to her father's hand.

‘I don't think you have any place being here,' added Mr Farquay-Jones in a stern voice.

‘Excuse me, Mr and Mrs Farquay-Jones,' said Mat politely, ‘Bill and I are here to represent Crispin de Floriette.'

‘Represent?' asked the man with the long nose.

‘In an official capacity,' said Mat, tapping a folder she held under one arm.

‘And what would that be?' asked the man with a sneer.

‘I'm here to give legal advice and Bill is the Union representative,' explained Mat.

Bill was sure the policeman's shoulders shook; he looked like he was trying not to laugh. He put his hand to his mouth, turned away and coughed. Bill wished he could pull Mat away. Being ordered to leave as well as being laughed at was embarrassing. But then the policeman turned back and faced the group. ‘I think they should be allowed to stay,' he said with authority. ‘At the very least, the kids might throw some light on the situation.'

‘But—' began the long-nosed man.

‘They can stay,' said the policeman.

Mrs Townsend opened her office door. She seemed surprised to see Mat and Bill standing there.

‘We're not at all happy about Sergeant Smith saying these two children can be a part of our meeting,' whined Mrs Farquay-Jones to the Principal.

‘Perhaps you are right,' Mrs Townsend agreed uneasily.

‘Excuse me, Mrs Townsend,' said Sergeant Smith politely. ‘I have my reasons for allowing the kids to stay.'

‘Well then,' said Mrs Townsend smiling brightly, ‘we can't go against the law, can we? Let's go into my office and we'll sort this out.'

Mrs Townsend ushered everyone in and asked her secretary to bring more chairs. Crispin was already sitting by himself on one side of the room. Aunt Victoria wasn't there.

‘Crispin's aunt will be coming shortly,' explained Mrs Townsend. ‘She had to return home. Something to do with a sheep stuck in a fence. She said we should start without her.'

Mrs Townsend introduced everyone. The long-nosed man was Mr Selwyn Slark, a solicitor from Slark, Slark and Gobbings. The policeman was Sergeant Michael Smith, head of the local police station. Bill recognised him from the time he slipped into the station to leave an anonymous tip-off about the crime his father's so-called buddy, Maggot, was planning to commit.

Mat and Bill sat each side of Crispin.

It was like a courtroom. Each opposing group sat as far as possible from the other – like two giant magnets repelling one another.

‘Now I'd like to begin by hearing what Isabelle has to say,' said Mrs Townsend, leaning forward on her desk with clasped hands. ‘Tell us what happened, dear.'

Isabelle's story was breathtakingly different from Crispin's. It involved her being forcibly tied to the tree and begging for mercy. The part that was probably true was how she was left in the dark for over forty minutes before her parents found her. The fact that Mr and Mrs Farquay-Jones would have found Isabelle sooner if they had not been squabbling was something that would obviously never be revealed. There was no mention from Isabelle of agreeing she be tied up, asking for a kiss or being kissed by an oyster.

Then it was Mr and Mrs Farquay-Jones' account of events. The facts of the case sounded very incriminating coming from them. When Mr and Mrs Farquay-Jones had found their daughter tied to the tree, she was hysterical and they needed to call the local doctor. They had the doctor's medical report with them and they handed it to Mrs Townsend. As they spoke, the long-nosed solicitor, Mr Selwyn Slark, took copious notes. The sergeant did, too.

Bill felt really sorry for Crispin. He wondered what help he'd be able to give his friend. After all, he had only recently become a Union rep.

‘Now it's your turn,' said Mrs Townsend to Crispin.

‘If you don't mind, Mrs Townsend,' said Mat, ‘before Crispin speaks, I have a few questions I'd like to ask Isabelle and her parents.'

‘Well, I'm not sure if this is normal procedure,' said Mrs Townsend, looking perplexed. ‘And perhaps Crispin would prefer to speak for himself, anyway.'

‘There's no particular procedure necessary,' said Sergeant Smith, ‘except trying to get to the bottom of this. Let the kid ask her questions if it's going to help. Is it, Matty?'

‘It certainly will help, Sergeant,' said Mat. ‘I'm here because our friend and my client, Crispin de Floriette, is in no fit state to think clearly enough to ask questions.'

‘I object,' said Mr Slark. ‘It's . . . it's . . .'

‘It's what?' asked the sergeant.

‘It's contrary to normal practice and it contravenes the privacy of my client.'

‘Excuse me, Mr Slark,' said Matty, ‘it's plain common sense. Isabelle has three grown-ups on her side, not counting Sergeant Smith – and my client, Crispin, has no grown-ups. You can't be scared of just Bill and me giving him some support.'

Mr Slark rolled his eyes and was about to speak when the sergeant said, ‘Fair enough. Fire away, girl.'

Matty opened her folder. ‘Isabelle,' she said, ‘why were you outside in the dark all on your own with Crispin?'

‘During dinner, Crispin said he liked my parents' garden, that it reminded him of his uncle's garden back in England and he asked if he could see it by moonlight,' said Isabelle.

‘Mr and Mrs Farquay-Jones,' asked Mat, ‘why did you let your daughter and Crispin go outside all by themselves?'

‘He was our guest. Isabelle had wanted us to invite him. He comes from an apparently good family with a distinguished pedigree. You don't expect guests to tie up your child,' said Mr Farquay-Jones as if the question were ridiculous.

‘I see,' said Mat, ‘so Isabelle had liked Crispin enough to ask you to let him visit?'

‘Yes.'

‘And you felt he came from a good family and trusted him enough to go outside with your daughter?'

‘Yes, but—' said Mr Farquay-Jones.

‘Just “yes” or “no” please, Mr Jones,' said Mat.

‘It's Farquay-Jones, you common piece of—'

‘Trash,' finished Mrs Farquay-Jones.

‘Let's watch our language!' said Sergeant Smith. ‘Not in front of the kiddies, please. Is that all, Matty?'

‘Just a couple more questions, sir,' said Mat, looking down at her folder. Right there and then, the school secretary led Aunt Victoria into the office.

‘Dreadfully sorry to be so late. Please continue with whatever I've interrupted,' she said, seating herself in the chair she had been offered.

‘Mrs Farquay-Jones, would you please tell us what you served for dinner that night?' asked Matty.

‘I object,' said Mr Slark. ‘The question is irrelevant.'

‘I intend to show you that it's very relevant,' said Mat.

‘Answer the question then, Mrs Farquay-Jones,' said Sergeant Smith.

Mrs Farquay-Jones narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but her husband said, ‘Tell them, darling. They'll see what a royal welcome we gave this thug of a boy, only to have him treat our Isabelle so violently.'

‘We served oysters,' sniffed Mrs Farquay-Jones.

‘And how were the oysters cooked?' asked Mat.

‘This is very silly,' said Mrs Farquay-Jones, but she explained. ‘As one does with the very best gourmet Hawkesbury River oysters, we did not cook them. We served them raw, in their shells. And the boy scoffed them down.'

Matty wrote something in her folder. ‘Just a few more questions,' she said politely. ‘Mr and Mrs Farquay-Jones, after Isabelle and Crispin went into the garden, how many times did Crispin return inside?'

‘Once,' said Mrs Farquay-Jones. ‘To tell us Isabelle wanted us.'

‘And when you found Isabelle in the garden, what was she tied up with?'

At this question, Isabelle fell to the floor in a fit of tears. She screamed, rolled, and beat the floor with her fists. It was hideous to watch the transformation of Isabelle from a blue-eyed, golden-haired beauty to this lobster-faced human tsunami.

‘Look what you're doing to our baby!' yelled Mrs Farquay-Jones. ‘As if she hasn't been through enough trauma already.'

‘She clearly can't cope with the stress,' said Mr Slark. ‘I suggest an adjournment.'

‘Remove her, for goodness sake,' said Aunt Victoria, looking down at Isabelle as she rolled about on the floor.

Mrs Townsend rose from behind her desk and walked across to Isabelle. ‘Please get up, Isabelle. There's nothing to worry about. If we find Crispin did, indeed, do this terrible thing, he will be expelled and you'll never have to see him again. There's nothing to worry about.' Mrs Townsend reached down to help Isabelle up.

‘Don't you touch our girl!' cried Mrs Farquay-Jones.

‘Very well. Stay where you are, Isabelle. But I'd be obliged if you would answer Mat's questions, Mr and Mrs Farquay-Jones.'

With Isabelle screaming like a squadron of fighter jets breaking the sound barrier, Mr Farquay-Jones said over the top of the noise, ‘Her hands were tied with a silk scarf. She was blindfolded with another silk scarf and there was rope around her legs.'

‘Where did the scarves and the rope come from?' asked Matty.

‘I know what you're up to, you nasty girl!' yelled Mrs Farquay-Jones, clutching at the silk scarf that was draped fashionably around her neck. ‘Don't say another word, dear!' she commanded her husband.

Isabelle was still on the floor, but she'd heard this exchange and was now silently waiting to see what her father said.

‘No harm in answering that, darling. The scarves are my wife's and the rope was something I had lying around – in the laundry cupboard, I think. That delinquent over there must have stolen them.'

‘Stolen the scarves from where?' pursued Mat. ‘Where were the scarves, for instance?'

Mrs Farquay-Jones called her husband an ‘idiot' and then refused to answer a ‘child's question'.

Sergeant Smith said, ‘It's a pretty simple question. Where do you keep the scarves?'

‘In a hat box on a shelf in my bedroom cupboard,' she muttered.

‘And when and how would Crispin have found the scarves and this rope if he'd only visited for the first time that very night and he only re-entered the house after he'd tied up your daughter?' asked Sergeant Smith.

‘I don't know. He just did, that's all.'

‘Is that it, Matty?' asked the sergeant.

‘That's it from me, but the Union rep has some questions for everyone.'

‘Ask away, Bill,' said the sergeant. ‘But be quick about it.'

Bill had been so impressed with Matty's cool-headed performance that he didn't have time to get nervous about his role.

‘I'd like to ask you, Crispin, what you think about oysters?' he asked.

‘I detest them. They make me want to puke,' said Crispin quietly.

‘Liar!' shouted Mrs Farquay-Jones. ‘We saw with our own eyes the way you scoffed down those oysters.'

‘Did you scoff those oysters, Crispin?' asked Bill.

‘No, I didn't. I pretended to. I secretly dropped them into my pocket through sleight of hand.'

‘Aunt Victoria,' said Bill, ‘are you aware of Crispin's magician skills? Can he use sleight of hand?'

‘As a matter of fact, he's very adept at magic tricks,' said Aunt Victoria. ‘He taught himself those skills during long British winters when he could hardly venture from his tower.'

‘What has dropping oysters into your pockets, you ungrateful boy, got to do with our Isabelle's ordeal?' asked Mr Farquay-Jones.

‘Because Crispin needed to get out into your garden to empty his pockets,' explained Bill.

‘True or not, that has no bearing on how our girl came to be tied to a tree,' said Mr Farquay-Jones.

Mr Slark nodded his head and took down more notes. He'd had barely anything to do; Bill wondered if Mr Slark had to look busy in order to earn his money. He then seemed to see his chance to appear useful. ‘Did you or did you not tie Isabelle to that tree?' Mr Slark asked Crispin.

‘I suggested it to Isabelle as a sort of game. She liked the idea and she was the one who got the scarves and the rope and . . .' Crispin paused.

‘And what? Finish, lad!' commanded Mr Slark.

‘And Isabelle wanted me to kiss her, so I thought I could pretend I was going to, but run away instead.'

‘I'm ashamed of you!' cried Aunt Victoria.

Crispin hung his head in shame.

‘You heard the boy's aunt!' cried Mr Slark. ‘We all see the situation the same way. Tying that lovely young girl up.'

‘Disgraceful!' added Mr Farquay-Jones.

‘Nonsense,' said Aunt Victoria, waving her hand as if she were getting rid of a blowfly. ‘That's not what I'm upset with Crispin about. This situation is ridiculous. Children must have their adventures and things do go wrong. When I was three years old, my three big brothers played hide and seek with me in our family home. I had to shut my eyes and count to twenty. It didn't help that I couldn't count that far and I kept going from one to ten over and over again. And it also didn't help that our house had one hundred rooms and I got horribly lost. In fact, my parents couldn't find me for one and a half days. I kept alive by staying in one of the bathrooms and drinking from the tap. I was eventually found by one of my father's hunting hounds. My parents weren't at all cross with either my brothers or me. All my father did was buy me a whistle and attach it to a string around my neck so that I could whistle for help if I got lost again. I really think this upset about Isabelle being tied to a tree has been blown out of all proportion.'

‘Then what has made you so cross with Crispin?' asked Mrs Townsend.

‘That the boy didn't face up to things. Didn't just say straight out that he didn't fancy oysters. That he felt he had to run away and didn't tell Isabelle quite plainly that he had no intention of kissing her,' said Aunt Victoria. ‘Would have saved you a lot of pain, Crispin!' she said straight to him. ‘
Nunquam retrorsum
!'

Of course, this Latin went over the heads of everyone except the three friends, who immediately recognised the de Floriette family motto.

Sergeant Smith spoke next. ‘I believe the situation is far more complicated than it seemed at first.' He pointed out the fact that Crispin would have been highly unlikely to be able to find the rope and the scarves by himself – that ‘a person or persons unknown must have assisted in the crime'. Bill thought this was a very clever and delicate way of saying that Isabelle had played a part in her own fate.

For the first time that day, Crispin came to life. He said he could prove that the oyster story was true, and that this also explained why he'd been so keen to get outside. ‘I propose that we all visit the Farquay-Jones' place right now and I'll show where I disposed of the oysters.'

Five cars then drove in convoy out of the school and up the hill to the Farquay-Jones' mansion: Mrs Townsend with Mat and Bill; Sergeant Smith; Aunt Victoria with Crispin in her tiny, snail-shaped car; Mr and Mrs Farquay-Jones with Isabelle; and Mr Selwyn Slark. On arriving at the Farquay-Jones' place, everyone followed Crispin. He went straight to where he had thrown out most of the oysters. They were still there under a lavender bush – a grey, stinky mound of the dead creatures, covered in busy ants.

Crispin retched at the sight. Matty and Bill led him away to the shade of a jacaranda tree. Crispin sat beneath it, his head hanging between his knees. Sergeant Smith walked over and handed Crispin a bottle of water to drink. ‘You're off the hook, mate,' he said. ‘I declare this case closed.'

Crispin stood up and shook Sergeant Smith's hand. ‘You all handled yourselves in a mature manner,' said the sergeant. When Crispin looked up, Isabelle, her parents and Mr Slark were walking back to the house. Mrs Townsend was getting into her car. Aunt Victoria walked over to the jacaranda tree. ‘Mrs Townsend has given you three the rest of the day off. She said to tell you that no one will be getting into trouble for what happened. I have to get back to a Spinners' Association meeting, but I'll drop you all off at the Grubs'.'

Sergeant Smith patted Crispin on the back and strolled back to his patrol car.

When Aunt Victoria delivered the three friends to the Grubs' place, she had to get out in order to open the front passenger door with her usual kick.

‘Rather a waste of expensive oysters, but an imaginative alternative to eating them – and the three of you presented an airtight case. Well done,' she said. Then she slapped Crispin on the back and said to him, ‘
Fortes adiuvat fortuna
!' And with that, she squeezed back into the driver's seat and drove off with swirls of dust spraying behind. Crispin's face was shining with delight.