The Runaways (19 page)

Ezra and the children sang the last verse for the sixth time not far from the beehives, and when they had finished they bowed and curtsied to the bees. But there wasn’t a single bee to be seen. Usually on a fine morning they were going in and out to fetch and store their honey, but today stillness and silence enveloped
the hives and the children looked anxiously at Ezra. He was looking grave but not despairing. He bowed again and stepped forward, motioning to the children to come with him.

‘Madam queens an’ noble bees,’ he said, ‘these
children
be good children an’ if they ’ave offended you they be sorry for it. They be proper grateful for your protection an’ guidance, an’ us do beg ee to show us you ain’t offended.’

They waited anxiously and then a brown body appeared at the entrance to the first hive, and then another and another and another from the other hives. Four brown bees. Their heads crowned with antennae and many gleaming eyes, winged like the seraphim, sheathed swords in their tails, the four royal and angelic warriors seemed to hover there as though for the children to look at them.

‘Don’t ee touch now!’ whispered Ezra.

But the children knew better, for they remembered about the sheathed swords. ‘What does it feel like to be stung by a bee?’ asked Timothy.

‘It’s as though the fire o’ the sun pierced you,’ said Ezra. ‘The whole limb burns. Ah, there they go!’

The four bees zoomed up, then dived joyously into the scented air like swimmers diving into the sea. Then the airy traffic began once more, bees coming and going in ones and twos and threes, the returning ones gold-dusted with pollen and with honey-bags weighed down with treasure.

‘They comes an’ goes all the while,’ said Ezra, ‘an’ they likes to be with each other. A lost bee will die o’ loneliness. There be as many as sixty or seventy
thousan’ bees in a hive, children. ’Tis a regular city in there with ’ouses an’ streets an’ nurseries, an’
thousands
o’ larders for the ’oney an’ bread, all built o’ sweet-smellin’ wax. There be workers an’ nurses for the children, guards at the gate an’ ladies-in-waitin’ for the royal family. At the ’eart of it all be the queen on ’er throne an’ the princesses in their cradles singin’ the song o’ the queens. There’s nothin’ more wonderful in all the world, children, than a beehive.’

‘Isn’t there a king?’ asked Robert.

‘For a short while,’ said Ezra. ‘’E be one o’ the drones, but only king for a moment. The drones are the bee-men and they don’t never go out to work. In the bee world ’tis t’other way round from what it be in our world, for ’tis the women, the worker bees, what gathers the ’oney an’ the men what stays indoors. Fine roysterin’ fellows they be, wearin’ ’elmets o’ glitterin’ eyes an’ for ever drunk on ’oney. On ’er marriage day, an’ she chooses a fine sunny mornin’, the queen leaves the ’ive for the first time in ’er life an’ darts up into the blue sky. Up an’ up she flies, beyond the flight o’ the birds, beyond the tops o’ the tallest trees, up towards the sun, an’ the bee-men in their glistenin’ ’elmets fly after ’er. But ’er flight is that swift that one by one they falls away an’ only the strongest among the best an’ noblest follows towards the sun. Right up in the sky, beyond sight o’ every livin’ creature, the larks far below ’em, they dance together, king an’ queen for a moment. Then ’is small brown body falls down to the earth, all sparklin’ eyes dark in death.’

‘Poor king!’ cried Nan, in nearly tears. ‘Why must it be like that?’

‘How should I know, maid? ’Tis the way o’ it.’

‘And the queen?’ asked Timothy.

‘She comes lonely down from the sky, an’ lonely she goes to ’er palace in the middle o’ the city. Unless she leaves the ’ive with a swarm she will never see the sun again.’ Ezra stepped back. ‘Our reverence to you, madam queens an’ noble bees,’ he said, and the
children
bowed and curtsied.

Strawberry picking began in an awed silence, until Timothy asked, ‘Why do the bees swarm, Ezra?’

‘If not frightened away by quarrellin’ children, ’tis ’ard to tell,’ said Ezra. ‘It seems that when they’ve brought the city to perfection they grows restless an’ leaves it. Some o’ the workers stay be’ind to look after the children, but the rest flies away after the queen to find a new ’ome. ’Tis a sort of adventure, this seekin’ for a new city. When the bee-master catches up with ’em, with ’is skep in ’is ’and, ’e’ll find ’em all ’angin’ from some tree in a cluster together an’ they be singin’ for joy. They don’t mind when ’e shakes ’em into the new ’ive. They settle down there an’ they build a new city as contented as can be. That’s enough for now, children, but there ain’t no end to the wonder o’ the bees an’ I’ll tell ee more another day.’

When the others were absorbed in their strawberry picking, chattering and singing, Nan said to Ezra, ‘I’ve a lot to tell you.’

‘You ’ave indeed, maid,’ said Ezra severely. ‘You’ve left a lot to yourself that you should ’ave told me.’ He
straightened
himself. ‘Robert, Timothy, an’ Betsy,’ he said loudly above their uproar, ‘I can’t stoop well with this ’ere wooden leg, so I be goin’ to sit outside the kitchen door
an’ ’ull the berries as you bring ’em to me. An’ I shall need Nan to ’elp me. Keep at it, children, keep at it.’

He stumped off down the garden path and he and Nan settled themselves on two chairs outside the kitchen door. ‘Now, maid,’ he said, ‘what’s worryin’ ee.’

‘A book I found hidden in the cupboard in my parlour,’ said Nan. ‘Uncle Ambrose said he’d found Lady Alicia’s books there, so it must have been with them. But it isn’t one of hers. It’s Emma Cobley’s. It’s a horrid book, Ezra, it’s full of spells and they are nearly all nasty.’

‘Fetch it out ’ere,’ said Ezra and Nan fetched it. But Ezra, it appeared, had never learnt to read and he asked her to read the spells aloud to him.

Nan began to tremble. ‘I can’t read them out loud, Ezra,’ she said. ‘They’re too nasty.’

‘’Ow be I to know what they be if ee don’t read,’ asked Ezra. ‘They won’t seem so bad read out loud in sunshine.’

So Nan read them, and with Ezra sitting beside her and the smell of warm strawberries in her nose, they did not seem so bad.

‘Ah,’ said Ezra when she had finished. ‘Two can play at that there game.’

‘How do you mean, Ezra?’

‘I mean, maid, that I know a spell or two myself. Now read again that spell for makin’ a person dumb, an’ the one for causin’ a man to get lost in a far place.’

Nan read them again and when he had heard them twice Ezra repeated them word for word. ‘How you remember things, Ezra!’ she said admiringly.

‘Ah!’ said Ezra. ‘I ain’t never wanted to learn to read. Book learnin’ destroys the memory.’

‘Ezra, how do you think Lady Alicia got hold of Emma’s book?’ asked Nan.

‘’Ow should I know, maid? Better ask Lady Alicia.’

‘Ezra, the day I found the book I thought I saw Lady Alicia in the little mirror. And then I thought I saw Emma. First one and then the other and they both looked young. Could I have seen them, Ezra?’

‘Likely,’ said Ezra. ‘Both after the same man, they was, an’ ’ating one another like poison. Now don’t worrit no more, maid. Leave Emma to me.’

‘What are you going to do, Ezra?’

‘Tomorrow I be takin’ you children in the pony-trap to Pizzleton. There be a nice little shop at Pizzleton an’ I mean to do a bit o’ shoppin’.’

‘But why, Ezra?’

‘I said, maid, leave it to me.’

‘Pizzleton,’ said Nan. ‘Isn’t that where Daft Davie lived when he was a little boy?’

‘Yes, maid. Now don’t ee ask no more questions. You get on with ’ulling them berries.’

At dinner time Uncle Ambrose adjusted his spectacles and regarded the hard-boiled eggs with disfavour. ‘Ezra, you know my personal abhorrence of hard-boiled eggs. Have you nothing more palatable to offer me?’

‘No, sir,’ said Ezra, and moving to the dining-room window, which he always kept shut now because of Tom Biddle opposite hearing what they said, he opened it wide. ‘There be nothin’ in the larder,’ he said loudly. ‘These children eat us out of ’ouse an’ ’ome. ’Ave I your permission to go shoppin’ in town
tomorrow? I could take the trap, sir, an’ the children. Get ’em out o’ your way. An’ maybe, sir, for one more day they could be excused their preparation? They will ’ave worked in the mornin’ an’ they be still peaky-lookin’. Also, sir, we be that low in victuals that the shoppin’ is likely to take some time.’

‘Very well,’ said Uncle Ambrose testily. ‘I shall never get these children educated, but anything to deliver me from a diet of hard-boiled eggs. And shut that window, Ezra. If there’s one thing I dislike more than hard-boiled eggs it is a draught down the back of my neck.’

Ezra complied with the request, left the room and returned with one sardine on a plate which he placed before Uncle Ambrose. ‘’Ector’s, sir,’ he said, ‘an’ the last.’

‘I do not wish to deprive Hector,’ said Uncle Ambrose. But actually he did not get the chance, for Hector on his shoulder said, ‘Hick!’ very loudly, shot out a pellet in Ezra’s face, leaned over and grabbed the sardine.

‘Pass me the lettuce,’ said Uncle Ambrose. ‘I doubt if Diogenes ever ate anything but grass and who am I that I should fare better than one of the greatest
philosophers
of all time?’

‘Was Diogenes a Greek?’ asked Timothy.

‘He was,’ said Uncle Ambrose. ‘Please pass me the salad dressing.’

‘I’ve heard of him,’ said Robert. ‘Didn’t he live in a tub?’

‘He did.’

‘Why, Uncle Ambrose?’

‘He desired peace and quiet,’ said Uncle Ambrose. ‘Possibly he had nephews and nieces. Pepper and salt, please.’

He seemed put out and after dinner disappeared into the library, but after tea he and Hector entered the kitchen, where Ezra, watched by the children, was
stirring
the jam. ‘I shall be obliged, Ezra,’ he said, holding out a letter, ‘if you will take this to the Manor. I shall continue stirring the jam in your place. Be so good as to lend me your apron.’

It was Ezra’s turn to be put out. ‘Could I take your letter later, sir?’ he asked.

‘Why later?’ asked Uncle Ambrose.

‘The strawberries, sir. At any moment now they will become jam.’

‘And do you think I have not sufficient intelligence to know when strawberries become jam?’ asked Uncle Ambrose haughtily. ‘My eyesight and my
olfactory
organ are as yet unaffected by old age. I shall be obliged, Ezra, if you will hand me your apron.’

Reluctantly Ezra took off his apron and Nan tied it round Uncle Ambrose.

‘You try it on a saucer, sir,’ said Ezra.

‘Try what on a saucer?’

‘The jam, sir. When the jam jells ’tis jam.’

‘I am obliged to you for the information,’ said Uncle Ambrose. ‘The fresh air, Ezra, will do you good.’

Ezra left looking rather worried. Uncle Ambrose straightened his shoulders, adjusted his glasses and gripped the wooden spoon. Hector, in attendance, leaned over to regard the bubbling jam. The children gathered round. ‘Don’t let it stick to the bottom,’ whispered Nan.

‘Is your letter to Lady Alicia, Uncle Ambrose?’ asked Robert.

‘Is there anyone else at the Manor with whom I should be likely to communicate?’ asked Uncle Ambrose shortly. ‘Nan, should you say there is a subtle change in the aroma of this mixture?’

‘Not yet,’ said Nan.

‘Then oblige me by telling me once again of this likeness which the boys fancied they observed between the tapestry in Lady Alicia’s boudoir and the wall-painting in the cave of – what was the unfortunate gentleman’s name?’

‘Daft Davie,’ said Nan. ‘And they didn’t fancy the likeness. I saw the painting too and it’s the same picture.’

‘A most remarkable coincidence,’ said Uncle Ambrose. ‘Thank you.’

Hector, who had been all this while peering into the jam, suddenly reared up and flapped his wings. ‘Whoo!’ he shouted warningly.

‘The jam’s jammed!’ yelled Robert.

Uncle Ambrose hastily pulled the saucepan off the heat and Timothy leapt for a saucer. They dropped a little liquid into it and it set like glue.

‘A little overcooked?’ asked Uncle Ambrose anxiously.

‘That’s a fault on the right side,’ said Nan soothingly.
‘Let’s pour it into the pots quickly while it will still pour.’

They did so and then because it was a whole holiday today they went into the library and Uncle Ambrose read to them and told them stories until they heard Ezra come back. The others went out to welcome him, but Timothy lingered behind, laying a hand on Uncle Ambrose’s knee. ‘I saw him,’ he said.

‘Saw whom?’ asked Uncle Ambrose.

‘Pan,’ said Timothy, and he told Uncle Ambrose about the marvellous music, and the man he had seen sitting under the beech tree in the moonlight. When he had finished he trembled because he was so afraid that Uncle Ambrose would say ‘nonsense’. He was taking a risk which Robert last night had not dared to take. But then Uncle Ambrose was not like other grown-ups. He rumpled Timothy’s hair and then most surprisingly he kissed him. ‘Now go along and have your supper,’ he said.

They all had their supper in bed, so that they should get to sleep early, and it was a very good supper, but Ezra seemed a bit glum when he brought it up.