Mrs Carwardine thought I’d been meaning to go outside and she strongly advised against it, on account of ‘them ragged boys’ who might still be hanging about.
Before I could tell her that I was expecting somebody to call on me, she said, all in one breath, that it was shocking awful that them boys never came when there was men in the house to give them what for, such as Mr Seed and Mr Carwardine—
‘And Mr Baynim,’ put in Mrs Baynim sharply. Mrs Branch merely looked hopeful.
—Mr Carwardine being a Thames waterman, continued Mrs Carwardine, flowing round the interruption as if it had been a small pebble, and you know what they are, and if I looked down Hanging Sword Alley at eleven o’clock, I might see him wave as he rowed by.
She paused to hit one of the children, who I supposed was her own, and demand that they shouldn’t disgrace the house in front of Mr Seed’s young gentleman.
Mrs Carwardine, apart from being immensely talkative, was a very anxious and polite person and thought me very grand. She made a great deal of my shirt that she was washing (her arms were covered with greyish soap and there was some on her forehead), and said it was of the very best quality and she doubted if you might get finer, even in Gracechurch Street. She supposed I must be worth a mint of money and she hoped I wouldn’t be offended if she showed Mrs Baynim and Mrs Branch my stockings, too.
Mrs Baynim, whose head was also done up like a pudding, and who had moles all over her face like currants, did not seem impressed. She was, I thought, one of those haughty women who always disparages boys. But Mrs Branch, who was thin and gypsyish, eyed me with even greater respect than did Mrs Carwardine.
Mrs Baynim remarked that she couldn’t waste the morning standing in the hall like a common gossip, and withdrew, taking a quantity of children with her, apparently at random. I never did discover for certain, which were Baynims and which were Branches. Mrs Carwardine was easier, as she had two daughters of about my age who were always screaming at each other.
Mrs Carwardine apologized for Mrs Baynim whose husband was in the building trade and came from Shropshire. Then she hit one of her noisy daughters again and told Mrs Branch that I’d come over queer last night and Mr Seed himself had brought me back.
Mrs Branch peered at me timidly and said that I did look rather peaky and she hoped she wasn’t taking a liberty but might she offer me some hot soup and cheese?
I hesitated, for I was still waiting for Mr Robinson to knock; but Mrs Branch took it the wrong way and overwhelmed me with apologies for having presumed and hoped that I hadn’t taken offence because she’d offered me soup just as if I was an ordinary person instead of being somebody rather princely who wore a shirt that might have come from Gracechurch Street.
She didn’t exactly say all that, but she made me feel it and I didn’t know what to say. Mrs Carwardine wasn’t any help as she, who had already been staggered by my shirt and stockings, was enlarging on the quality of my coat.
I told Mrs Branch that I would be pleased to take soup with her; and she went off with her children—there were three of them—looking so honoured that I felt like a bishop.
Mrs Carwardine, addressing her two daughters, who were sitting on the stairs, one above the other, and making faces at me, declared that I was a kind and condescending person whose example ought to be followed.
This made me feel very strange and I began to think that my family had never really understood me as they had always tended to the opposite view, that my example was not so much to be followed as caught up with and stopped.
Mrs Carwardine told me, all in one breath again, that Mrs Branch was a good soul underneath, except that she was inclined to be light-headed from hope. She had tramped all the way from York with her children, looking for her husband who was either a soldier, a sailor or a travelling salesman in saucepans; she wasn’t quite sure. He’d gone to London and she kept seeing him down every street; so that hardly a day went by without Mrs Branch saying that, if only she’d been able to run across the road without being knocked down, she’d have been united, and that Mr Branch had put on a lot of weight.
She paused for another breath, and I listened for the sound of Mr Robinson’s knock while the upper of Mrs Carwardine’s daughters tried to kick her sister off the lower stair. No knock came; and I guessed that Mr Robinson, seeing the savage boys, had gone away and would come back later.
‘If you want to step outside, dear,’ said Mrs Carwardine, seeing me look at the door, ‘I expect it will be all right now.’
I thanked her—which piece of good breeding did not go unrecommended to the two Miss Carwardines, who promptly began squeaking thank-yous at each other like spiteful mice.
Mrs Carwardine picked up a heavy broom and, for a moment, I thought she was going to batter her children; but instead, she went to the back of the hall and thumped loudly on the wall.
‘That’ll learn you!’ she shouted with each thump. ‘Pig! Villain! Coward!’
After a moment, there came an answering thump and a furious voice shouted back that he would have the law on her.
She put down the broom and returned to the foot of the stairs.
‘It’s only that Mr Twiss, dear,’ she said. ‘Mr Twiss, from the Coffee. He’s be’ind it, all right.’
I thought she meant the wall—which in point of fact he was, behind it, I mean—but it turned out that she was referring to the ferocious attack of the ragged boys.
‘It’s these premises, dear,’ she said. ‘That Mr Twiss wants to get poor Mr Seed out. It ain’t anything personal, really, it’s just business. You see, he needs the premises for hisself on account of havin’ no back way in for deliveries, so all them barrels and sacks has to come round the front and upset all his fine gentlemen at their coffee. And if I catch you nicking sugar from there again, I’ll have the hide off you and so will Mr Carwardine!’
This last was directed at the two Miss Carwardines who had suddenly become friends and were clasping each other round the waist.
‘Yes, dear,’ she went on to me. ‘It’s just business. Mr Seed, workin’ as he does, in Foxes Court, and knowin’ a thing or two, has got what you call a lease. That means Mr Twiss can’t get him out exceptin’ by things like them boys. But Mr Seed knows his rights, and, boys or no boys, he won’t stir. He’s very obstinate, is Mr Seed. For a little man, he’s very obstinate indeed!’
‘Soup!’ screamed Mrs Branch from above. ‘If the young gentleman would step up, please! Soup!’
The two Miss Carwardines curtsied unexpectedly as Mrs Carwardine led me past them and up the stairs, talking indiscriminately all the time.
‘That’s nice, girls. Mr Carwardine will be pleased when I tell him. Mrs Branch lives very humble of course … These stairs is horrible dirty, I must mention it to Mrs Baynim … What with havin’ no husband to speak of, and havin’ to live off stitchin’ and sewin’, which don’t bring in much … And if I catch you nickin’ her pins again, you’ll not sit down for a fortnight … Well, here he is, Mrs Branch! Mr Seed’s young gentleman as large as life!’
Mrs Branch’s room was a real bewilderment of ragged old clothes hanging up everywhere so that you had to duck and dodge to get by them. It was very hard not to tread on the little Branches, who were all very thin and would probably have snapped, like twigs; and even harder to find somewhere to sit down.
‘Over here, Mr Seed’s young gentleman!’ cried Mrs Branch, appearing from behind an ancient green coat, like a tree fairy.
She drew aside a tattered article that I supposed might have been a petticoat, and had a hole through it as if a cannonball had passed that way, and revealed a chair. I sat down, rather jerkily, as I expected pins.
‘Will you take your cheese before your soup, or as afters, Mr Seed’s young gentleman?’ inquired Mrs Branch.
I told her I didn’t mind. This threw her into such a state of confusion that she had to appeal to Mrs Carwardine, whose head appeared through the hole in the petticoat.
‘Mrs B
ranch wants to know, dear, if you wants your soup before your cheese?’
I told her, yes; and both heads went away, leaving me entirely curtained in among Mrs Branch’s hanging work. It was very odd, sitting there with no idea where anybody was, until a waistcoat, or a dressing-gown twitched aside and revealed one of the Miss Carwardines mincing past, fantastically dressed in borrowed rags with battered feathers in her hair.
My soup arrived. I was the only one who had any, and I felt quite regal, alone in my tent and being waited on. I’m sorry to say, I rather looked down on the children; and I think that, if I myself had been present, I would have looked down on me, too … if you know what I mean.
At eleven o’clock—Mr Robinson still not having called—I was invited to accompany Mrs Carwardine downstairs and out into Hanging Sword Alley to see Mr Carwardine—a tiny figure in a tiny boat—wave as he rowed by. Then I went back for my cheese.
But before that, I looked towards the tenements from which the ruffians had come that morning and frightened the ragged boys away. They were tall and toppling buildings and I saw a thin slit between them that vanished, under a line of washing, into a menacing blackness.
‘You don’t want to go in there, dear,’ said Mrs Carwardine, drawing me back into the house. ‘It ain’t safe in there. Throats is cut in there as soon as spit.’
We got back into Mrs Branch’s room and I found my chair again.
‘I was tellin’ him, Mrs Branch,’ said Mrs Carwardine, ‘about not goin’ in to Whitefriars. I was tellin’ him that throats is cut in there.’
‘I seen a gent go in what never come out,’ said Mrs Branch, leaning round the petticoat. ‘Never seen again.’‘Exceptin’ in pieces,’ said Mrs Carwardine. ‘They cut ’em up, you know.’
‘At night,’ said Mrs Branch, coming back round the petticoat.
‘Mr Carwardine seen ’em,’ said Mrs Carwardine, appearing from behind a coat and going away again.
‘I wonder if that’s what happened to Mr Branch?’ said Mrs Branch, vanishing again.
‘Oh no, dear. Mr Carwardine would have found him!’
‘Cheese, Mr Seed’s young gentleman! Excuse fingers.’
‘Like I said, dear,’ said Mrs Carwardine, as I ate my cheese, ‘you don’t want to go into Whitefriars.’
She was right. I didn’t. I remembered the line of washing, and shuddered. I supposed the washing had been done to get out the blood.
‘But of course Mr Seed’s all right,’ said Mrs Carwardine. ‘Being a dwarf, and meanin’ no offence, but he is a dwarf whichever way you looks at it, he comes and goes in there as he pleases. All them thieves and murderers and footpads never lays a finger on him, exceptin’ in the way of good luck. He’s their lucky dwarf. That’s why they comes out to help him. When them boys comes, Mr Seed’s only got to ring a bell and shout “Boarders!”—which is a very common expression with pirates—and out they comes, ready and willin’ to oblige by slittin’ a few throats! I suppose it’s nice of ’em, really; but I ain’t sure that I’m not more frightened of them murderers than I am of them boys! But it’s all business, dear, and beyond me!’
After that, Mrs Carwardine went away with her daughters to get on with her washing, and left me with Mrs Branch, who begged me to take some pie. I spent some time trying to persuade her that my name was William, and not Mr Seed’s young gentleman. But she never got further than ‘Mr Jones.’
At half-past three Mrs Carwardine and her daughters came up with a jug of ale. Mrs Branch fetched various peculiar receptacles, distantly related to cups, and the ale was distributed all round. We were sitting drinking it, when Mrs Branch said abruptly:
‘I don’t like that tune. It gives me the shivers.’
There was silence; and once again I heard the whistling outside.
‘I care for nobody, no, not I;
And nobody cares for me!’
It was Mr Robinson. He had returned. I waited for his knock. ‘There’s somethin’ burnin’!’ said Mrs Carwardine suddenly. ‘Hope it ain’t your stockin’s, dear. I’d best go and see …’
She stood up; but before she could leave the room, there came the most horrible screech from downstairs, followed by the noise of the front door bursting open. There were more screeches—dreadful agonized ones—and then a violent uproar, as if hundreds of feet were pounding up the stairs!
10
IT WAS MOSTLY Mr Seed. He had come back early. He had not been expected; and had made a catch. What a catch!
He came puffing and panting into Mrs Branch’s room, shouting:
‘Where are you? Where are you all?’
The hanging clothes shook and swayed, as if they wanted to get out of the way of Mr Seed’s catch; as if, patched and smelly and ragged as they were, Mr Seed’s catch was something they wouldn’t even touch with a barge-pole; as if Mr Seed had brought in with him the boiled down essence of all violence, blackness and disease.
‘Caught him! Caught him!’ shouted the dwarf, holding out at a very short arm’s length, and I don’t know by what part, a boy.
I say a boy, although he was much more like a wild and savage animal; a largish rat, maybe, in a long black coat that thrashed about round his legs. He had some tufts of reddish hair, which made him look as if somebody had started to burn him down, for reasons of health, and left him smouldering.
To make matters worse, there was some smoke about; but it was coming from a piece of tarred rope that Mr Seed was holding in his other hand.
‘Tried to burn us down!’ panted Mr Seed, waving the glowing rope. ‘Caught him at it! Trying to push it under the door!’
He shook his catch who promptly screeched and made a sudden twist with the object of biting Mr Seed anywhere he could. I saw his mouth fly open and display a few ragged teeth and a sharp little tongue. Mr Seed dropped him instantly and kicked the door shut to stop him getting away.
‘Catch him! Catch him!’
At once everything in the room began to flap and swing, like sails at the beginning of a storm, as everybody blundered about after the screeching scuttling boy. Mrs Carwardine was shrieking, Mrs Branch’s children were howling and the room was absolute bedlam.
‘He’s here! He’s over here!’
‘He’s gone!’
‘He can’t! Where—where?’
‘There he is! Fetch a poker or something!’
‘I’ve got him!’
‘Where are you?’
‘Quick! Quick! In the corner! Too late! He’s got away again!’
The excitement was enormous. It was like hunting a fox.
‘I’ve found him! He’s down here! Down behind the chair!’
‘Hold on to him! Catch hold of him! By his hair, if you like!’
It was me who found him. I hadn’t expected to; and, I admit, I was more than a little frightened when I saw him suddenly. I thought he was going to spring at me. I backed away.
‘I told you to catch hold of him!’ said Mr Seed, pushing me out of the way. ‘Or are you afraid of dirtyin’ your hands, Mr Jones?’
I felt stupid and angry; and wasn’t helped by Mrs Carwardine saying: ‘You can’t expect it, Mr Seed, sir. He ain’t used to that sort of thing.’
The two Miss Carwardines laughed squeakily; and Mrs Branch, who seemed to have got lost in her own room, suddenly appeared round the side of the torn petticoat, waving an iron poker and shouting:
‘Who wanted it? Here it is! Here it is, Mr Jones!’
She thrust it into my hand, meaning, I suppose, for me to kill the boy with it.
‘What’s your name?’ demanded the dwarf, standing with his stumpy legs astride and his hands on his hips. He was shaking with anger.
The boy spat at him. The two Miss Carwardines nodded approvingly as if for once they’d been confronted by an example they were prepared to follow.
‘Who put you up to it?’ pursued Mr Seed. ‘Burnin’ me house down, I mean.’
The boy spat again.
‘Was it Mr Twiss from
the Coffee?’
The boy looked exceedingly cunning; but somehow I thought he didn’t understand, any more than an animal would have understood. I wondered if he could even talk. Mr Seed, however, thought differently.
‘Give me that!’ he said, taking the poker out of my hand.
The boy’s eyes glinted and he shrank back against the wall.
‘Do you want me to beat it out of you?’ inquired Mr Seed, flourishing the poker. ‘Because I will, you know. There ain’t an inch of pity in me. I’m too short for that. Was it Mr Twiss what paid you? Or was it—’
Suddenly the boy gave the most terrific screech, put his head down and sprang at the dwarf, with his fists going like mad.
He caught Mr Seed in the chest so that he had to stagger and clutch on to the hanging clothes. They came down all over him in a rush and a large part of the room was exposed, with startled faces looking everywhere.
‘The door! The door!’ shouted Mr Seed, much muffled. ‘Get to the door!’
I saw his arm come up, waving the poker. I took it and rushed across to the door. The scuttling boy, who had knocked Mrs Carwardine over and left her shouting, had already got his hand on the door-knob.
I lifted the poker, meaning to bring it down on his arm. Or I think I meant to; I don’t know, as I was very excited at the time and anxious to make up for not having held on to him before.
He looked straight at me. I’ve never seen such a look, before or since. I don’t know how to describe it. It wasn’t fear; it wasn’t hatred. Or at least, not in any way I knew them. It was as if—and I can’t think of any other way to put it—it was as if a scream had looked at me.
I lowered the poker; and the boy was gone.
Naturally Mr Seed was very angry with me. I suppose he thought I’d been slow, or frightened of being bitten, or of getting my hands dirty; which, I must say, would have surprised my family … the part about getting my hands dirty, I mean.
John Diamond (Vintage Childrens Classics) Page 7