William Again (9 page)

They followed William silently round the back of the house and across a field. From the other end of the field they had a glimpse of the tall man coming out of the house, taking off his hat with
a polite bow, then standing at the gate and looking round in bewildered amazement. Then they disappeared over a stile into another road. Here a small person at the rear of the procession set up a
plaintive cry.

‘Oh – oo – oo,’ she sobbed, ‘I’m tahred of the country Oo – oo – oo, I want to gow ’owm.’

Eglantine came to the rescue.

‘If you don’t shut up makin’ that noise, Christine ’Awkins,’ she said, ‘a cow or sumphin’ll eat you up. Yer never knows in the country.’

The sound ceased as by magic. William led his friends along the road. At a pair of iron gates leading past a lodge into a winding drive, Eglantine stopped.

‘I’m tahred of walkin’ along this ’ere road,’ she announced. ‘Let’s go in here.’

Even William was aghast.

‘It’s someone’s garden,’ he explained.

‘Fought yer could go anywhere yer loiked in the country,’ said Eglantine aggrievedly. ‘That’s wot they said, anyway. They said yer could go anywheres yer loiked in the
country. Dunno whoi we cime,’ she ended wearily.

The shrill wail rose again from the back of the crowd.

‘Oo – oo – oo – oo, I’m tahred of the country. I want to gow ’owm.’

Eglantine entered the gate determinedly.

‘Come orn!’ she said.

‘They’ll turn us out,’ said William.

Eglantine squared her thin shoulders.

‘Let ’em jes’ troi turnin’
me
aht,’ she said.

‘Not much,
’ murmured William proudly.

They passed with no opposition up the first part of the drive. Then Eglantine saw a hedge with a gate in it and marshalled her party through that. Within they saw a lawn, some gardens, and a
fountain.

‘Looks orl roight,’ commented Eglantine loftily.

A young man rose languidly from a hammock in the trees.

‘I beg your pardon?’ he said politely.

‘Grarnted,’ said Eglantine, not to be outdone in politeness.

‘Can I do anything for you?’ said the young man.

‘We’re St Luke’s and St Mary’s,’ explained Eglantine importantly.

‘I see,’ said the young man. ‘You, I presume are a St Mary, and he of the horsey headgear is a St Luke.’

‘ ’Im?’ said Eglantine, pointing at William, ‘ ’e’s a horphin.’

The young man adjusted a monocle.

‘Really,’ he said, ‘how intensely interesting!’

‘We’ve come into the country fer a ’oliday,’ went on Eglantine, ‘an’ we jes’ cime in ’ere ter see wot it was loike in ’ere.’

‘How extremely kind of you!’ said the young man, ‘I hope you like it.’

Eglantine surveyed the scene distantly.

‘Wiv a band an’ some swings an’ a hice cream cart, it’d be orl roight,’ she admitted.

The young man sighed.

‘I suppose so,’ he said.

Most of the children were already making the best of their opportunities. Some were chasing butterflies, some picking flowers, some had taken off shoes and stockings and were paddling in the
ornamental pond. The young man watched them rather despondently.

‘If I’d known that you were coming,’ he said, ‘I’d have procured something in the way of a band and ice-cream cart.’

Eglantine again was not to be outdone in politeness. She stood, a curious picture, in her blue dress, white stockings, yellow boots, with her over-frizzed hair standing out around her sharp
little face beneath her feathered hat, and nodded slightly.

‘Hits of no consequnce,’ she said graciously.

She had the situation entirely in hand. Even William, born leader as he was, was overshadowed by her, and was content that it should be so. Just as two small boys had climbed the pedestal in the
middle of the ornamental pond and were endeavouring to stop up the fountain, a butler came down the path with an expression of horror on his face. The young man waved him away

‘It’s all right, Thomson,’ he said.

‘Yes, sir,’ said the man, ‘but her ladyship has arrived, sir. Her ladyship has had her boxes sent upstairs. I thought I’d better warn you, sir.’

The young man groaned.

‘Is there time for me to be summoned to town?’ he asked.

‘I’m afraid not,’ replied the butler. ‘She’s coming to find you now, sir. Here she is, sir.’

A large woman bore down upon them. She wore a large cloak and a large hat, and several Pomeranians trotted at her heels.

The young man rose to receive her.

‘Here you are, Bertram,’ she said. ‘You didn’t invite me, but I’ve come.’

‘How awfully good of you,’ said the young man dispiritedly.

The lady put up her lorgnettes and surveyed the children.

‘Who – are – these – ragamuffins?’ she said slowly and distinctly.

‘Oh, just a nice little party of mine,’ said the young man pleasantly. ‘St Luke’s and St Mary’s. You’ll get awfully fond of them. They’re very
lovable.’

The lady’s face became stony

‘Are you aware,’ she said, ‘that they’re trampling on the flowers and splashing in the pond and sitting on the sundial?’

‘Oh, yes,’ he smiled. ‘Just jolly childish pranks, you know.’

And that one in the awful tweed cap—’

‘He’s an orphan,’ said the young man. ‘I’m going to give you the room next to his. He’s got quite a jolly voice. I heard him humming to himself a moment
ago.’

At this point four things happened.

One – William, who had wandered over the flower beds, was suddenly impelled by the general brightness of the day to give vent to his feelings by a burst of song –

He yelled the words happily in his strident young voice.

Two – The small pessimist again lifted up her voice in a wail. ‘Oo – oo – oo – oo. I’m tahred of the country I want to gow ’owm. Oo – oo – oo.’

Three – Eglantine, who had surveyed the visitor in outraged silence for a few moments, at last burst forth. She set her thin hands on her thin hips and began.

‘An’ oo’re you ter talk abaht ragamuffins? Queen of Hengland, are yer? An’ wot abaht yer own ’at? A-hinsultin’ of hother people in hother people’s
gardings.’

Four – The five Poms, excited by the uproar, burst into simultaneous yapping.

Above the horrible sounds of William’s song, the pessimist’s wails, Eglantine’s recriminations, the Poms’ yapping, the lady screamed to her nephew.

WILLIAM YELLED THE WORDS IN HIS STRIDENT YOUNG VOICE.

‘I’m going straight home, Bertram. When you have a Christian house to invite me to, perhaps you’ll let me know.’

‘Yes, Aunt,’ he screamed back. ‘Shall I see you to your car?’

He left them for a few minutes and returned, mopping his brow, in time to rescue three boys from an early death from drowning in the pond. William and a few other daring spirits were balancing
themselves at a dizzy height on the top of the wall. The young man was beginning to look pale, when once more the butler appeared.

‘There’s a gentleman at the front door, sir,’ he said respectfully, ‘who seems in a great state, sir, and he says that he’s lost some slum
children—’

The young man’s face brightened.

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘tell him I’ve found some, and ask him to come and see whether they happen to be his. They’ve done me a very good turn, but I shouldn’t mind
being relieved of them now.’

‘ ’E was one of the swanks an’ no mistake,’ said Eglantine to William. ‘Oi’d no patience wiv ’im an’ ’is wye of
talkin’. Oi can plye the toff as well as anyone when oi loikes – oi did wiv ’im, din’t oi? But oi despises ’em.’

William was looking anxiously down the road where the tall man was taking them.

‘Where we goin’?’ he said distrustfully.

‘To the kind lady’s who invited us to tea,’ said the tall man, overhearing him.

William walked along in silence. Eglantine began to expatiate again.

‘Look at all them ’ouses,’ she said, with a contemptuous glance at the houses between which they were passing. ‘Wot they want wiv such big ’ouses? Swank!
That’s all it is. Swank! Livin’ in big ’ouses an’ talkin’ so soft. Oi’ve no patience wiv ’em. Oi wouldn’t be one of ’em – not fer
nuffin’.’

But William was growing more and more uneasy

‘What we’re goin’ along here for?’ he muttered truculently.

The tall man turned in at a gate. William moistened his lips.

‘He’s making a
mistake,
’ he murmured, pulling his check cap still farther over his eyes.

At the door stood Mrs Brown and Ethel. Their glance fell first on Eglantine.

‘What a dreadful child,’ whispered Mrs Brown.

Next it fell on all that could be seen of Eglantine’s companion.

‘What an appalling cap!’ whispered Ethel.

Then they advanced to welcome them.

‘Here we are,’ said the tall man, with a note of relief in his voice. ‘Here we are . . . we’ve had a delightful time – er – quite a delightful time – er – on the whole –
er – just a little misunderstanding at one point – a – temporary separation, but all’s well that ends well. It’s too kind of you. This is – er – Eglantine, and – er – this little boy is
an orphan, poor little chap!’

Mrs Brown laid her hand tenderly on the tweed cap. ‘Poor little boy,’ she began. ‘Poor little—’ then she met the eyes beneath the tweed cap.
‘William!
’ she said sharply. ‘Take off that horrible cap and go and wash your face.’

William, clean and brushed and frowning, sat and glared across the table at his late friends. He felt himself disgraced for ever. He was a pariah, outside the pale, one of the
‘swanks’ who lived in big houses and talked soft. His mother’s and Ethel’s intonation and accent seemed at that moment a public humiliation to him. He did not dare to meet
Eglantine’s eyes. Fiercely he munched a currant bun. Into his unoccupied hand stole a small grimy one.

‘Never moind,’ whispered Eglantine, ‘yer carn’t ’elp it.’

And William whispered gratefully,
‘Not much.
’

CHAPTER 6

WILLIAM AND THE WHITE CAT

W
illiam had before now met the strange species of male who succumbed to the charms of his elder sister. William never could think what people saw
in Ethel. Red hair and blue eyes and a silly little voice . . . Some people (thought William) might call her pretty – but, crumbs, what a temper! – making a fuss if his dog Jumble chewed up any of
her old things, or if he jus’ borrowed her bicycle, or if his pet rats got loose in her room.

She didn’t even like interesting things like pistols and rabbits and insects. Girls were bad enough when they were at school, thought William, but they were heaps worse when they grew
up.

The female sex was an entire mystery to William. Except in the case of his mother, he could see no reason for their existence. Yet he grudgingly admitted to himself that Ethel’s admirers
had not been useless to him. There was Mr French, who had given him his first couple of white rats, there was Mr Drew, who had showered rare postage stamps upon him, there was Mr Loughton, who had
nervously pressed sixpence into his hand whenever they met . . .

But Mr Romford was different. He had a strange idea that William had no influence with his elder sister. This happened to be true, but that made it none the less annoying to William. He thought
it only right that any young man who was interested in Ethel should ensure his (William’s) sympathy by practical means. Mr Romford treated him as if he did not exist. William resented this
very much.

‘Wot’s he
come
for?’ he said, indignantly. ‘He doesn’t take no interest in Jumble, nor the rats, nor the toolshed, nor the bridge wot I’m making over
the stream, nor
me.
Wot’s he come for?’ he demanded of his assembled family.

They all replied to him.

Ethel said coldly: ‘Don’t talk about things that aren’t your business.’

His mother said: ‘William, I wish something could be done about your hair. It never looks tidy!’

His father said: ‘That reminds me, William, you’d better go and weed your garden. It’s in a disgraceful state.’

William went slowly to the door.

‘Mr Romford’s going to give me a Persian cat for a Christmas present,’ Ethel went on to her mother.

William stopped.

‘Wot about Jumble?’ he said, indignantly. ‘Wot about Jumble with an ole cat about the place? Wot about my rats? How d’you think they’ll like an ole cat about the
place? My rats ’ve got as much right to live’s an ole cat, you’d think, wun’t you? My rats an’ poor ole Jumble came here first, I
think –
I
think
they
did, considering that the ole cat hasn’t come yet. You’d think that Jumble an’ the poor ole rats deserved a
bit
of peace . . . ’

‘Go and give your hair a good brushing, William,’ said his mother.

‘Take every one of those weeds up. You can’t have touched it for weeks,’ said his father.

‘You aren’t the only person in the world who can keep animals,’ said Ethel.

‘A lot of int’rest you take in animals, don’t you? – in
real
animals.’ William exploded bitterly. ‘A lot of int’rest you take in my insecks an’
rats an’ things, don’t you? I mus’ say you take a lot of int’rest in them,’ he went on in heavy sarcasm.