by Nina Bawden
“I don’t mind if … if ….” She looked at the children one after the other and gabbled shyly, “… if you’ll promise to come back tomorrow.”
“Of course we’ll come back,” Ben said. “We’ve got to put the Bust back, haven’t we?”
*
After the children had left, an odd thing happened. Victoria waited in the garage until the sound of their voices and of their feet, scampering down the cobbled alley, had quite disappeared. Then she went slowly up the garden but instead of going into the house, she locked the back door and hid the key under a mossy stone. She went back to the garage—creeping through the twilit garden like a thief in the dusk—climbed out of the window and walked softly to the end of the alley. There she stopped and peered up and down the street, biting at her thumb nail. When she was quite sure the street was empty, she came out of the alley and began to run, keeping always in the shadows, towards the sea.
CHAPTER NINE
MISS PIN’S TREASURE
BEN WAS VERY quiet all through supper. He was thinking. He decided that it would be stupid to tell John and Mary what he was going to do because they would disapprove of it. And even if they approved, they would think it was silly. They didn’t know what Ben knew. They didn’t know Miss Pin was rich.
Ben was quite sure that she was as rich as she said she was. And since she was rich, there was no reason why she shouldn’t lend him some money. Ben remembered his father telling him once that if you needed money badly, you could always borrow from the Bank. Ben knew he was too young for that—the Bank wouldn’t lend him any money, but Miss Pin never seemed to be very sure how old people were. Certainly she never treated Ben like a boy. She always spoke to him as if he was a grown person.
After supper, he slipped out of the kitchen and went into Miss Pin’s room.
She was singing a song to Sir Lancelot and feeding him with a piece of banana before she tucked him up in the box of hay where he slept at night.
“Good-evening, Mr Mallory,” she said. “Are you joining me in a game?”
They played draughts together. Ben usually won but sometimes he let Miss Pin beat him, for the sake of fairness. The happiest times came after the games, when Ben sat on the footstool and Miss Pin told him stories, and the dark, crowded room was silent except for her cracked old voice.
Ben got out the draught board and set out the pieces. He said, “I don’t suppose I shall be able to come quite so often next week.”
“Why not?” Miss Pin asked.
“Because I shall be busy,” Ben said. “Do you want to be white or black?”
“White. White is my lucky colour. Busy doing what?”
“Earning money,” Ben said.
Miss Pin’s eyes were bright and sharp as a bird’s and they watched Ben closely. “What do you want to earn money for? I don’t need to earn money. Consider the lilies of the field. They toil not, neither do they spin.”
“That’s in the Bible,” Ben said. “I just need some money. There’s something I need to buy. You can start if you like.”
Miss Pin moved one of her pieces with the tip of her gloved finger. “If you want something, why don’t you ask your Aunt?”
“Because she’s poor,” Ben said. “She hasn’t got any money so it would be no good asking her. Your move.”
“You’re not paying attention,” Miss Pin said, and cackled with laughter. “Look, I’ve taken you.” She put Ben’s man down beside her. Then she said, “I don’t bother myself with household affairs but this seems to be quite a well run establishment. The standard of service isn’t what it was, perhaps, and Mrs Haggard seems to have trouble with her staff. But by and large I’ve nothing to complain of.”
They played in silence. Ben seemed to be having bad luck, or maybe he wasn’t paying attention, because Miss Pin took four of his men, one after another.
She said, “I wouldn’t have said your Aunt was poor. She is always decently clothed. Besides, poor people live in cottages.”
“Not always,” Ben said. “In Africa, they live in mud huts.”
“There,” said Miss Pin triumphantly. “One, two, three.” She placed three of Ben’s men neatly on top of one another.
Ben said, “And if people don’t come and stay here, Aunt Mabel doesn’t make any money. And if she doesn’t make any money, we shall all starve.”
Miss Pin frowned. She said nothing, but concentrated on winning the game, which she did in two minutes flat. She sat back and said, “Shall we have another?”
“If you like.” Ben set out the pieces again, and sighed. “I don’t really feel like playing tonight.”
Miss Pin leaned back in her chair. There was no sound in the room except the little crackle Sir Lancelot made as he moved about in the hay.
Finally Miss Pin said, “Are you asking me for some of my Treasure, Ben?”
For once in his life, Ben felt a little nervous and strange. Miss Pin’s eyes were so very bright and unwinking—and fixed on his face.
“No,” he said bravely. “Just to borrow something. Like people borrow from the Bank. I can pay you back, bit by bit. I’m going to collect cockles on the beach like the men do. If you collect enough you can take them to the fish shop and make a lot of money.”
“Can you really?” Miss Pin said.” What an extraordinary thing! Do you know—I used to collect cockles when I was a little girl. Dear Mama disapproved, naturally, I was always so beautifully and richly dressed. Even on the beach, I wore silken gowns and white cotton gloves.”
“You must have got them awfully messy,” Ben said and sighed a little, because once Miss Pin began to wander off into tales of her childhood, it was often difficult to bring her back again. But she was not wandering this evening. She said suddenly, “Go over to that box in the corner, Ben. The one with the silk rug over it. It was my Papa’s chest.”
Underneath the silk rug was a tin trunk with a brass lock.
“I have the key here,” Miss Pin said. She unclasped a thin chain from round her neck. The key was warm from where it had rested against her powdery skin. Ben took it and carefully opened the trunk.
A perfumed, spicey smell came out of it—a smell that reminded Ben of Indian shops in small, African towns. The trunk was full of small objects wrapped in pieces of old, yellow silk. Exploring, Ben found some pale green animals and tiny figurines, like the things Miss Pin kept on the table beside her.
“There’s a cloth bag at the side,” Miss Pin said.
Ben felt at the side of the trunk and found a bag, made of what looked like a piece of old, blue, curtain material. It was gathered tight at the neck by a red cord.
“Take it out and bring it to me,” Miss Pin said.
Ben wanted to examine the trunk, there were so many queer, pretty things in it, but her voice was so sharp and peremptory that he didn’t dare. He carried the cloth bag over to Miss Pin. It was heavy and when he put it on her lap, it collapsed with a chunk.
She untied the red cord and shook the contents of the bag into her lap, a pile of yellow coins that looked like new half-pennies, only smaller. Not quite like half-pennies, though—more like some strange, foreign money. Miss Pin selected one and gave it to Ben.
“Here,” she said. “I trust this will help you out of your little financial difficulty.” She scooped up the other coins with trembly, gloved hands and put them back in the bag. “Put them back in the trunk,” she said and gave a deep sigh. “Riches are a great responsibility, Mr Mallory. Too heavy a burden for an old woman.”
Ben put the bag in the trunk and locked it up and gave the key to Miss Pin. The little coin she had given him was hard and cold in his palm. He felt very miserable. Miss Pin hadn’t understood after all. She had given him an old foreign coin that wasn’t worth anything. And he couldn’t tell her so because she obviously believed it was real money. Poor Miss Pin.
He said, “Thank you very much, Miss Pin.” I’ll—I’ll pay you back.”
“It is a Gift,” she said graciously. “
Not a loan. Neither a borrower nor a lender be. Remember that. Lending money is as bad as giving someone a knife. It cuts friendship. That is what Dear Papa said, when he was forced to leave London….” Her eyes were half-closed and she began to tell Ben the story she had told him before, about how her father had lent money to a friend and the friend had gone off with it, leaving them in what Miss Pin called, Very straitened circumstances.”
Ben wondered what Very straitened circumstances were, but he felt too depressed to ask her.
She was saying, “But of course, we still had the Treasure.
Papa would never dispose of it, though. He said it was to be my Little Capital. He was always so kind and careful of me…. “Her voice was sleepy and her soft, pleated mouth sagged a little. Sometimes in the middle of these stories, she would drop off into a light doze, wake up a few minutes later and go on where she had left off.
But she wasn’t dozing now. She said suddenly in a brisk, clear voice—quite unlike her story-telling voice—“Benjamin, I want you to tell me the truth, now. Are you a truthful person?”
“Yes,” Ben said, rather indignantly.
“I thought you were.” The feathers bobbed on her hat as she nodded her head thoughtfully. “Now, listen. Is your Aunt really poor?”
“Yes,” Ben said. “We’re a worry to her because we cost so much to feed.”
Miss Pin said nothing for a minute. Then, “Ben, I want you to do something for me. In that bureau over there you will find paper and ink. And a pen. Bring them to me.”
He opened the bureau and found a pile of mauve paper, thick and smelling of something sweet and musty, like violets. There was a thin, ivory pen-holder and a bottle of blue ink. He took them to Miss Pin and she cleared a place on the table beside her.
“Will you wait while I write a letter?” she said.
It seemed to take her a long time. Her fingers were stiff and couldn’t hold the pen properly. The nib scratched and scratched, from time to time she gave a little sigh: there was no other sound in the room. When she had covered a sheet with her pointed, spidery writing, she wrote an envelope, put the letter inside and sealed it. Then she leaned back in her chair, looking crumpled and tired. She said slowly, “I want you to post this for me. Tonight. It is a letter to a solicitor. Do you know what a solicitor is, Benjamin?”
“No,” Ben said.
Miss Pin smiled, a thin ghost of a smile. “Never mind. You will find out, I daresay. I am tired now. Perhaps you will tell your Aunt I am ready to settle for the night.”
Her eyes drooped, she seemed almost asleep already. Ben tiptoed from the room and called down the basement stairs to Aunt Mabel. “Miss Pin wants to settle.” Then he slipped out of the front door before she could tell him it was time for bed.
It was dark outside and raining in the wind. Ben ran to the nearest post box. There was a stamp machine beside it. Rather reluctantly he took threepence out of his pocket and got a stamp, stuck it on the envelope and posted the letter.
On the way back, he passed a lighted shop that sold tobacco and sweets. He stopped outside it and took the coin Miss Pin had given him out of his pocket. It was very pretty—bright yellow with a rough, milled edge like a half-crown and had a picture on one side of a man on a horse killing a dragon. It was almost certainly worthless. Ben thought for a minute, then made up his mind and marched into the shop.
“Can you change this?” he asked the fat woman behind the counter. “I want a packet of mints.”
She looked at the coin he held out to her and gave a good-natured laugh. “Bless you, no, sonny. We only take good English money in this shop.” She saw his disappointed face and added, “Is it all you’ve got, love? Go on then—take a packet of mints, if that’s what you want.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that,” Ben said. His face went pink. “You see I have got some English money, only I don’t want to spend it. It’s—it’s for something else.”
She laughed again, she was a very jolly, cheerful person. “Well, I don’t want your savings. Go on, have the mints. Pay me back when you’ve got some spare cash.” Her eyes twinkled at him and Ben thought she might be hurt if he said no. Besides, he wanted the mints.
He said politely, “It’s very kind indeed. Thank you.”
Outside the shop he opened the packet and put two mints in his mouth, one in each cheek. He sucked thoughtfully, feeling rather sad. Poor Miss Pin. She was just old and a bit muddled as John had said. And she was poor, too, like Aunt Mabel. He spun the little coin up in the air, caught it, and looked at it affectionately. It was very pretty and winked at him under the light of the street lamp. He said, “I’ll keep it always. It can be my lucky coin.” Then he ran home, whistling.
When he got back to The Haven, he pushed open the front door that he had left on the latch. He was very quiet, but Aunt Mabel must have heard him because she called out, “Ben—Ben, is that you? It’s bedtime.”
He screwed up his face and tiptoed, soft as a cat, down the passage to the garden. The light was blazing in Uncle Abe’s shed and Uncle Abe was working on a great slab of terracotta on the table.
“Uncle Abe,” Ben said, “can I look at your things?”
Uncle Abe barely glanced at him, he was very busy. “Look all you want to.”
Ben walked slowly round the workshop. There were little statues on all the shelves and several busts. There was one Ben liked particularly. It was the head and shoulders of an African boy who looked like Thomas. Ben examined this bust for a long time and then he said, “Uncle Abe?”
“Mmm?”
“Uncle Abe—you do sell your things, don’t you. Would you sell one to me?”
“What?” Uncle Abe swung round, his eyes wide and surprised. Then he smiled. “Well—which one do you like?”
“This one.”
“Why?”
“It’s like my friend. My friend in Africa,” Ben said.
Uncle Abe shrugged his shoulders. “I daresay you can have it in your room, if you like. Might as well be there as here, if it takes your fancy.”
“I didn’t mean that,” Ben said. “I mean—I want it for my own. To do what I like with. I want to buy it.”
Uncle Abe’s laugh boomed out. Then he stopped laughing and said apologetically, “Sorry, boy. Bad-mannered of me. Well—I’m always open. What’s your offer?”
Ben stood up tall, his face intent. “I haven’t got much money. But I thought, if I gave you what I had, then I could pay the rest by Easy Terms. Like you pay the television shop. I could earn money.”
Uncle Abe stroked his chin and said nothing.
Ben said desperately, “I’d work awfully hard, I really would. I can collect cockles and run errands and … and I could work for you if you like. I could clean out your workshop.”
“No, no,” Uncle Abe said hastily. “Not that. But you could collect cockles, could you? Well—I daresay I owe you a bit, you’ve collected a good many for me.”
“Oh, no,” Ben said. “I wouldn’t want you to pay for the cockles you’ve had. They were presents. But if you liked, you could pay me for the cockles I get from now on. I’d try hard to get especially nice ones.”
“I suppose that’s a fair bargain,” Uncle Abe said slowly. “Let’s say sixpence a day. Say two and sixpence a week, counting out Sundays and supposing one day to be rainy. The Bust should fetch—say seventy-five pounds. That means you’ll have to collect cockles for … let’s see….”
“It’ll take eight weeks to collect a pound,” Ben said in a dispirited voice.
Uncle Abe looked at him admiringly. “That’s sharp. How long will seventy-five pounds take?”
Ben closed his eyes. “Six hundred weeks. That’s about twelve years.”
“Mmm. And interest, of course. Still, it depends what you’ve got to put down as deposit….”
Unhappily, Ben turned out his pockets. “I’ve got one and three-halfpence. I had one and fourpence halfpenny, only I had to post a letter for Miss Pin.”
&n
bsp; Uncle Abe looked at the money, laid out on Ben’s grubby palm. He cleared his throat. “Well, that cuts it down a bit, certainly. Tell you what—I daresay I’m overcharging a bit. You usually make a special price for a friend. You collect the cockles and you can have the Bust. And when you become a wizard financier, as I daresay you will with your head for maths, you can pay off the remainder.”
Ben’s face glowed. “Here’s the money,” he said. “One and three halfpence. That’s all I’ve got except for the lucky coin Miss Pin gave me.” He paused and added, rather unwillingly, “You can have that too, if you really want it. It’s a foreign coin, but I suppose it would come in useful if you went abroad.”
“No, no—you keep it. Miss Pin gave it to you, did she? Getting lavish in her old age.” Uncle Abe grinned, as if this was a huge joke. “Sure she could spare it, Ben?”
“Oh—easily,” Ben said. “She’s got hundreds and hundreds of coins, just like this one.”
CHAPTER TEN
“JUST A PARCEL OF THIEVING BRATS”
THE NEXT MORNING Victoria was waiting for them in the garden of the house next door. This time she didn’t scowl. She smiled as cheerfully as anyone and said, “I thought you were never coming.”
“We had to wait until Aunt Mabel was upstairs, doing the rooms,” Mary explained. “Because we had to get out of the house with this.”
In his arms, Ben was carrying a large, roundish object, wrapped in newspaper. He held it as carefully as if it were a basket of eggs.
“What is it?” Victoria asked.
“You’ll see,” Mary said mysteriously. “You mustn’t look yet. If you stay in the kitchen, we’ll call when we’re ready.”
They went through the kitchen, upstairs and into the hall. Ben placed his bundle gentle on the floor and unwrapped it. Then John picked up the Bust of the African child, stood on tiptoe and placed it on top of the empty marble column.
“Come and see,” he called.
Victoria came into the hall and saw the Bust. She stared and stared. Her thin face grew quite fat and radiant as she smiled. “It’s beautiful,” she said in a breathless voice. “Oh—it’s a beautiful thing.” And she went on staring at it in a rapt, awestruck way that the Mallorys found a little absurd.