Lady Daisy

by Dick King-Smith

  No sooner had she seen the face of the thief who had snatched her from the sitting-room window-sill than she was thrust into the bag, lying down. Since when, of course, she had been oblivious of everything.

  By the beginning of the second half of term, a lot of people had read the reward notice at one place or another, and those children who hadn’t, now saw it on the school notice-board.

  ‘Twenty quid!’ they said to each other. ‘Wish I could find the thing!’

  The captain of the football team came bullocking his way through them.

  ‘Twenty quid for what?’ he said.

  ‘For finding that old doll of Ned’s. He’s lost it. It must be worth an awful lot to offer that much reward.’

  Troy read the notice, grinning.

  ‘Oh, poor Ned,’ he said. ‘Lost his dolly, has he? Bet he cries himself to sleep every night.’

  ‘You want to watch it, Troy,’ said one of Ned’s friends.

  ‘Yes,’ said another. ‘Remember what he did to you.’

  ‘He caught me off guard,’ said Troy. ‘It’ll be different next time.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ they jeered.

  None of them actually saw Troy Bullock coming to school early the following morning. Anyone who had would have seen that he was holding a carrier-bag, which looked quite bulky. There was nothing particularly odd about that, but an observer might have been surprised at Troy’s actions.

  His way to school lay across the playing-field, which was not much more than a rough meadow with a little spinney in one corner. Once on the field Troy broke into a run, jogging around the edge with the carrier-bag swinging from one hand. But when he came opposite the spinney, he suddenly disappeared into the trees. And when he emerged again, the observer would have noted that the carrier-bag was now obviously empty, and would, a few minutes later, have seen Troy stuff it into a rubbish bin in the school playground.

  That afternoon, there was a game of football. Troy’s side was playing with their backs to the spinney, and Troy himself was in top form. As well as having the advantage of height and weight, he was a natural footballer, with good ball control and a hefty thump in either foot. Ned, in the opposite goal, was hard pressed and indeed beaten no less than three times.

  When the sides turned round at half-time, however, Troy seemed to go all to pieces. Whenever he got possession, he booted the ball wildly upfield, always in the direction of the spinney.

  ‘What are you playing at, Troy?’ said the teacher who was refereeing.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ said Troy, but the next time he got the ball, he kicked it so hard that it disappeared among the trees.

  ‘I’ll get it!’ he cried, and ran for the spinney.

  For a few moments he was out of everyone’s sight. Then they heard an excited shout, and out came Troy again. Under one arm was the ball, and in his other hand he carried the figure of Lady Daisy Chain.

  ‘I’ve found her!’ yelled Troy Bullock triumphantly. ‘That doll! I’ve found her!’

  ‘Who found her?’ said his mother, when Ned arrived home carrying the doll.

  ‘Troy Bullock.’

  ‘Isn’t that the boy you thumped?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, we must pay him the reward, mustn’t we?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ned, ‘I suppose so. I’d sooner it was anyone else. I can’t think how she got there – in among those trees at the end of the playing-field.’

  ‘Pity you can’t ask her.’

  ‘Who stole you, Lady Daisy?’ was the first thing Ned said as soon as they were alone together. ‘It couldn’t have been Mr Merryweather-Jones – he wouldn’t have just discarded you like that.’

  ‘It was not,’ said Lady Daisy. ‘It was that boy.’

  ‘What boy?’

  ‘That large unpleasant boy from your school, the one that you struck upon the nose.’

  ‘Troy Bullock! Are you sure?’

  ‘I am quite sure, Ned. There was no mistaking him. I can see his odious face now, looking into mine. What happened was this. As I was standing, looking out of the window, I saw a boy pass the gate. When he saw me, he stopped. Then he looked all around, and after that came up the path, tiptoeing in a furtive manner, and looked all around again, and then tried the window. Which was, it seems, unlatched. Whereupon the rascal seized me.’

  ‘Troy stole you!’ said Ned. ‘And now he’s coming round to claim the reward!’

  ‘Reward?’

  ‘Yes, we offered twenty pounds to anyone who found you, and Troy did.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Among some trees by the school playing-field. I see it all now. He dumped you there – once he knew there was a reward – and then pretended to discover you!’

  ‘Why, the cunning young scoundrel!’ said Lady Daisy. ‘I trust you will not pay him a penny?’

  ‘Not a penny,’ said Ned.

  ‘Pity it had to be that particular boy who found your doll,’ Ned’s father said later. ‘I suppose I shall have to pay up and look happy. I imagine he’ll be round to claim the money this evening.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ned, ‘but don’t be in too much of a hurry to hand it to him, Dad. You see, I know something you don’t.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Wait and see.’

  Troy arrived looking very pleased with himself, and watched with glee as Ned’s father took four five-pound notes from his wallet.

  ‘We’re very grateful to you for finding the doll,’ Ned’s mother said.

  ‘It was a bit of luck,’ said Troy.

  ‘It was, wasn’t it?’ said Ned.

  ‘Aren’t you going to say thank you?’ said his mother.

  ‘No,’ said Ned. ‘You see, Troy found the doll all right, but that wasn’t difficult because he’d put it there, in among the trees.’

  ‘Put it there?’ said Troy in scandalized tones. ‘What d’you mean? How could I have?’

  ‘Because,’ said Ned, ‘you stole her in the first place.’

  ‘I never!’

  ‘I’ve got a witness,’ said Ned. ‘A lady who saw the whole thing. She saw you pass our gate, and then stop and look all round, and then tiptoe up the path and look round again, and when you thought no one was watching, you slid the window up–’

  ‘I never did! You’re a liar!’

  ‘–and then you took the doll. This lady told me she saw the whole thing from start to finish.’

  ‘She couldn’t have done!’ shouted Troy, red-faced now. ‘There wasn’t anybody about . . . I mean, I . . . I wasn’t anywhere near.’

  Ned’s mother and father looked at one another. His father put the notes back in his wallet.

  Ned played his trump card.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘There were fingerprints on the window and on the sill, good clear ones, the police said. But if you weren’t anywhere near, you needn’t worry.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Troy sullenly, shuffling backwards out of the door. ‘Don’t you go telling people I’m a thief.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be frightened,’ said Ned, ‘I shan’t tell anyone. I’ll just say you got your reward. And here it is.’ And with that, Ned slammed the door triumphantly in Troy Bullock’s startled face.

  ‘I don’t remember the police taking fingerprints,’ said Ned’s mother later.

  ‘They didn’t,’ said Ned, ‘but Troy doesn’t know that.’

  ‘And what about this witness?’ his father said. ‘This lady who saw the whole business? Did you make all that up too?’

  ‘Oh no. She saw it all right. She told me.’

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘Lady Daisy.’

  CHAPTER 15

  Snookered

  So, of course, when Gran came to stay for Christmas, she was given a blow-by-blow account of Lady Daisy’s adventures.

  That evening she and Ned were playing snooker in the bed-sitter. Ned had challenged her to a match, as he always did, though he knew that she would beat him, as she a
lways did. Ned was an average player, Gran an excellent one.

  ‘Good shot!’ he said, as his grandmother sank the last red and lined up on the first of the colours.

  On top of the bookcase, Lady Daisy stood between her elephants and watched.

  ‘I still don’t understand,’ said Gran, potting the yellow, ‘how you were so sure that the thief was this boy Troy.’

  ‘Same as I said to Mum and Dad, Lady Daisy told me.’

  ‘But that was just a joke, surely?’ said Gran, sinking the green ball. She looked at the little scoreboard on the wall.

  ‘You need snookers to win now,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ Ned said. ‘Look, Gran, you can keep a secret, can’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well, you see, Lady Daisy did tell me. It wasn’t a joke. She speaks to me, you see.’

  His grandmother, who was aiming at that moment for an easy brown in the top pocket, missed it and the cue-ball went into the pocket instead.

  ‘Foul stroke,’ said Ned.

  He spotted the cue-ball and sank the brown.

  ‘It’s no good me telling that to Mum or Dad,’ he said. ‘They’d never believe me. But I thought you might.’

  He went for a difficult shot on the next ball, the blue, and missed, but by sheer luck the blue finished behind both pink and black.

  ‘You’ve snookered me, pet,’ said Gran. ‘And I’m not just talking about this game. I’ve always taken you to be a truthful boy, and yet here you are expecting me to believe that that doll talks to you.’

  She played a delicate little shot with a lot of screw on to the top cushion, and the cue-ball spun back neatly and clipped the blue.

  ‘Aren’t you just daydreaming?’ she said.

  ‘I suppose I might be dreaming it all,’ said Ned. ‘Lady Daisy says that the whole of life may be just a dream.’

  He played the blue again and missed, leaving it right over the middle pocket. Pink and black were happily positioned quite near their spots, and now there was nothing to stop Gran clearing the table. Which she did, neatly potting all three balls, and then laid down her cue.

  She walked over to the bookcase and stood facing the doll, and said, clearly and distinctly, ‘Now then, Lady Daisy Chain, perhaps you would be kind enough to speak to me?’

  ‘By all means,’ said Lady Daisy, ‘but I fear that there is nothing that I can do to convince you of the truth of Ned’s words. The reason is simple. He is a child. You are a grown-up. I cannot communicate with grown-ups.’

  Gran smiled at Ned.

  ‘I’m afraid she didn’t speak,’ she said.

  ‘But she did, Gran, she did!’ cried Ned, and he told her, word for word, what Lady Daisy had just said.

  Age is no guarantee of wisdom, but Ned’s grandmother was both old and wise. She nodded, first at Ned, and then, to show she had understood, at the doll.

  ‘Thank you, Lady Daisy,’ she said, ‘for explaining things to me. And if you will allow me, may I say that I think the new way your hair is done is quite charming.’

  Ned, watching, thought yet again that the colour of those waxen cheeks heightened a little.

  ‘It’s just sad to think,’ went on Gran, ‘that one day you will no longer be able to speak to my grandson.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ said Ned. ‘Why not? Why won’t she?’

  ‘Because,’ said Gran, ‘you will be grown up. You heard what she just said, even if I didn’t. One day in the not too distant future you will speak to her and you won’t be able to hear her reply. She will still be talking, but only a child will be able to hear her. As you can now, and as, perhaps, your great-great-aunt Victoria could. Which reminds me, I’ve brought those old photographs to show you – the ones I found in the secret drawer, remember? I’ll get them out of my bag.’

  Ned was fascinated to see at last Victoria and her brother, Sidney. The photos were brownish and curling at the edges, but they showed the children clearly – Victoria wearing a flouncy dress with a pinafore over it and little button-up boots, Sidney in a sailor suit.

  There were several of them together, looking deadly serious, one of Sidney astride the dapple-grey rocking-horse, and a number of Victoria holding Lady Daisy Chain.

  ‘They’re smashing, Gran!’ Ned said. ‘I’ll show them to Lady Daisy later. Those clothes – really weird! Oh, and that reminds me – Mr Merryweather-Jones, the antique dealer, you know, gave me a present,’ and he fetched Early Days.

  ‘Turn to page ninety-eight, Gran,’ he said, and when she had, he pointed to ‘Lettie’s Ride’. ‘Lady Daisy recited that to me, long before I got the book. Great-great-aunt Victoria must have had a copy, because Lady Daisy said that “Lettie’s Ride” was her favourite poem. Isn’t that amazing!’

  ‘It is,’ said Gran gravely. She turned the pages and said, ‘Look, here’s a story called “Ned’s Imprisonment” by Mina E. Goulding, author of Little Sally.’ She read a little of it and then said, ‘Ned doesn’t sound particularly pleasant. Listen. “Ned had no sister and didn’t want one. Girls, he thought, were poor, timid things, just good for teasing and frightening.” Lady Daisy is lucky that you’re not like that. But what a wonderful book. And how kind of Mr Thingummy-Jones to give it to you. I must pay a visit to his shop – I love ferreting about in antique shops.’

  And this, Ned found on Christmas Day, was precisely what she did, for he unwrapped her present to him to find a doll’s cot.

  It was a drop-sided cot made of a pale polished wood, and in it were miniature pillows, sheets, blankets and a patchwork quilt.

  ‘For Lady Daisy!’ cried Ned. ‘Oh thanks, Gran! Thanks a million!’

  ‘Mr Merryweather-Jones produced it for me,’ said Gran. ‘He told me to tell you how glad he was that Lady Daisy had been found. What a nice man he is, don’t you think, Ned?’

  Ned nodded. I do now, he thought, I didn’t once.

  ‘I always like a man to smoke a pipe,’ Gran said. ‘Your grandfather did. Anyway, as I was saying, he didn’t have a genuine Victorian doll’s bed, but this is quite an authentic reproduction, he tells me. I thought it would be more suitable for Lady Daisy than that old cardboard box.’

  ‘Oh, we can burn that now,’ said Ned.

  ‘No, don’t do that,’ said Gran. ‘I’ll take it home with me.’

  ‘Gran!’ said Ned accusingly. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve started filling up the box-room again?’

  ‘Well, not filling it up, just a few; you never know when you might need a box for something or other.’

  ‘Oh Gran!’

  Lady Daisy was delighted with the new cot, which plainly was a present, not for Ned, but for herself.

  ‘Capital, capital!’ she cried when she saw it. ‘How very kind of your grandmother to think of me at the festive season. Pray tell her how welcome a gift it is, and thank her warmly, Ned.’

  She was delighted, too, when Ned showed her the photographs of Victoria and Sidney.

  ‘How well I remember the dear children!’ she said. ‘It seems but yesterday that I last set eyes on my little dollmother. But time flies, does it not, Ned?’

  And it will keep on flying, I suppose, thought Ned. How many more years before one day I shall speak to you and you will not answer? How awful that will be.

  For the first time, so depressed was he at this thought, he forgot to address the doll by her proper title.

  ‘Oh Daisy!’ he said. ‘I don’t want to be grown up.’

  ‘Dear Ned,’ said Lady Daisy Chain. ‘You have done so much for me since first you woke me from that long sleep. You have looked after me, fought my battles, saved me indeed from certain destruction. And we still have time to talk together, for you will not be grown up yet awhile. But one day the magic cord between us will snap, and then you must put me to bed in that charming cot and leave me there, to sleep until another child wakes me. You will not lose me, I shall still be with you, and once you are older you will find, I think, that the moment will not be too hard to be
ar. Nowadays folk are considered grown up at eighteen, I understand – in my day it was twenty-one – but in case that moment comes earlier than I expect, there is something which I insist you must do, should I be unable to ask you at the time.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Should you be selected to play in goal for England, promise you will take me to Wembley to watch.’

  ‘I promise,’ said Ned.

  At the end of that Christmas Day, Ned’s mother and father came up to say goodnight to him. He was sitting up in bed reading Early Days, while on the bedside table Lady Daisy lay tucked up in her new cot. Ned had undone the gold ribbon, and her long dark hair lay spread upon the white pillow.

  ‘She looks very comfortable,’ said Ned’s mother.

  ‘She is, Mum,’ said Ned.

  ‘Told you so, did she?’ laughed Ned’s father.

  ‘Oh, Dad,’ said Ned, ‘she can’t talk when she’s asleep!’

  Afterwards, his grandmother came up.

  ‘Thanks again, Gran,’ Ned said. ‘Lady Daisy’s so pleased with your present. She said to thank you warmly.’

  ‘That’s all right then,’ Gran said. ‘Let’s hope it lasts a long time. Long enough perhaps for your daughter to enjoy it one day.’

  ‘My daughter!’ laughed Ned. ‘That’s a long way ahead. I’m not ten till next month.’

  ‘Time flies,’ said his grandmother.

  ‘That’s what Lady Daisy said.’

  ‘Well, just think – let’s suppose you get married when you’re about twenty-five, and then you and your wife have a little girl before too long, and add on enough time for the little girl to be perhaps four years old. Let’s say twenty years from now altogether. That makes it the year 2010. I’ll stick my neck out and prophesy that in that year somebody else in our family will be chattering away with Lady Daisy Chain.’

  ‘Oh, go on, Gran! How much will you bet?’

  ‘Not much use me betting,’ said Gran. ‘I’ll be in my box by then. But you just mark my words, pet, and remember that date. 2010.’

  CHAPTER 16

  17/6/2010