‘Who’ll read first?’ said Ginger, taking the book out of his pocket.
‘I will,’ piped Violet Elizabeth, with an eager flutter of her bobbing curls.
‘You wont,’ said William sternly; ‘you can’t read straight, you can’t. You can’t say words. How old are you?’
‘Thix,’ said Violet Elizabeth proudly.
‘Thix!’ jeered William. ‘Thix!’ Violet Elizabeth only beamed proudly.
‘You – you can’t – read straight,’ ended William, slightly deflated by her complacency.
‘I can,’ said Violet Elizabeth. ‘I’m at Book II, I am, in reading. I’ve finished Book I. I muth be a good reader if I’m in Book II.’
‘Well, anyway,’ said William, ‘who asked you to come here?’
He felt that this was unanswerable, but Violet Elizabeth answered it.
‘I athed mythelf,’ she said with dignity.
‘Oh, come on,’ said Douglas impatiently, ‘let’s get on with the reading. You begin, Ginger.’
‘Yes,’ said Ginger bitterly, ‘you’ll get me readin’ an’ then you’ll go an’ drink up all the liqu’rice water.’
‘No, we won’t, Ginger,’ William reassured him. ‘I’ve got another in my pocket.’
He took it out and held it up.
‘Promise you won’t begin that till I’ve finished readin’,’ said Ginger.
‘Promise,’ said William.
‘Thay ’croth my throat,’ prompted Violet Elizabeth.
‘You shut up,’ said William rudely.
‘Thut up yourthelf,’ rejoined Violet Elizabeth with spirit.
The book was the story of Robin Hood, and it made a special appeal to the Outlaws.
‘They was Outlaws same as us,’ said William with satisfaction.
‘I think that was a jolly good idea,’ said Douglas, taking a deep draught and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in conscious imitation of the gardener, whom he greatly admired. ‘It was a jolly fine idea taking money from rich folks to give it to the poor. I think it was a jolly good idea,’ he ended, handing the bottle to Henry, who was sitting next to him. Henry held it gloomily up to the light.
‘You’ve taken a jolly long drink,’ he said mournfully; ‘you’ve drunk more’n half of it all in one swallow.’
‘Well, I bet you can’t do it,’ said Douglas. ‘I bet you can’t drink all that straight off like that without stoppin’ to breathe.’
‘There’s nothin’ to be proud of,’ rejoined Henry indignantly, ‘in havin’ a mouth like a rhinoceros.’
Douglas fell upon him to avenge the insult, but William separated them.
‘There’s no room in here,’ he said; ‘wait till it’s finished rainin’ an’ then you can have a proper fight outside. An’, anyway, you’ll be spillin’ the liqu’rice water. Give it to me, Henry.’
He took it and drained it to the last drop.
‘Well!’ said Ginger in the voice of one who is aghast at the depravity of the human race. ‘Well – he’s drunk it all up before my turn.’
‘Well, there’s the other bottle,’ said William.
‘Yes, but I didn’t think you’d go an’ drink up all the first one straight off like that.’
‘It had to be drunk up some time, hadn’t it?’ said William.
‘Well!’ repeated Ginger. ‘Fancy sayin’ that. Fancy drinkin’ it all up an’ then sayin’ that – sayin’ it had to be drunk up some time – before it came to my turn—’
‘’S Douglas’ fault,’ said Henry, who was still nursing his grievance. ‘Douglas drinkin’ up all that lot in one drink like – like a rhinoceros—’
‘You’re thinkin’ of camels,’ said William; ‘it’s camels what drink a lot. They’ve got lots of stomachs an’ they can fill them all with water at once an’ it takes them over the desert, an’ when they get thirsty they jus’ drink up one of their stomachs. You’re thinkin’ of camels.’
‘’Scuse me,’ said Henry with dignity, ‘I think I oughter know what I’m thinkin’ of – an’ I’m not thinkin’ of camels. I—’
It was Violet Elizabeth who put an end to the incipient quarrel.
‘I think it would be tho nith,’ she said in her shrill little voice, ‘if we did that – took thingth from rich people to give to poor people, thame ath they did.’
This suggestion was received in silence. The Outlaws looked at William, the leader. William screwed his freckled countenance into a thoughtful frown and ran his hand through his wiry hair. William’s best friends could not have called him a handsome boy. Nor did they. Violet Elizabeth’s idea appealed to William’s adventure-and-romance-loving soul. But it had one serious drawback. It had been proposed by Violet Elizabeth, for whom William professed a most profound contempt. His contempt for the proposer (which was almost a point of honour with him) struggled hard with his secret delight at the proposal.
‘I was jus’ goin’ to say that,’ he said at last rather sternly: ‘That’s jus’ like a girl saying jus’ what I was goin’ to say – not givin’ anyone else time to say anythin’ – talkin’ an’ talkin’ all the time. Well,’ he added, ‘what’ll we do and how’ll we do it?’
‘Let’s get guns an’ shoot all the rich people,’ said Ginger ferociously.
‘Yes,’ said William scornfully, ‘an’ then get put in prison. No, we’ve either gotter find some – some unfathable woods where we can attack the travellers an’ no one ever be able to find us, or else do it all in secret.’
‘Well, there aren’t any un – any woods like what you said round here,’ said the practical Douglas.
‘How can we do it in secret, anyway?’ said Henry rather contemptuously.
‘Like robbers do, of course,’ said William. ‘D’you think robbers walk up to people with guns an’ shoot them straight off, ’cause if you do, let me tell you they don’t. There wun’t be any sense in it, would there, Ginger?’
‘I dunno,’ said Ginger gloomily. ‘All I say is he might have left a drop at the bottom ’stead of drinkin’ it all up like that.’
‘Well, I think,’ said William, ‘that we oughter do it in turns – each one of us take something from a rich person an’ give it to a poor. Not all at once, or else people’d get suspicious.’
‘Wath thuthpiciouth?’ inquired Violet Elizabeth.
William ignored her.
‘Well, who’ll do it first?’ said William.
‘Me firtht,’ chanted Violet Elizabeth.
‘I should say not,’ said William severely. ‘You’re goin’ to be last.’
‘I’m not – I’m goin’ to be firtht,’ said Violet Elizabeth.
‘Well, let me tell you, you’re not,’ said William.
Violet Elizabeth’s eyes brimmed with tears. Her lip quivered.
‘I am,’ she said. ‘My fatherth rich – I oughter be firtht becauth my fatherth rich.’
The truth of this was irrefutable. Mr Bott, of Bott’s Digestive Sauce, was very rich indeed. He lived and breathed and had his being in an atmosphere of all-enveloping plutocracy.
‘It’s all our money,’ said Henry lugubriously. ‘We eat his sauce.’
‘We don’t,’ said William severely; ‘it’s made of black-beetles. I once met someone who lived near the works an’ they said that you can see carts an’ carts full of black-beetles goin’ in every mornin’ and then carts an’ carts of sauce goin’ out every night. It’s all made out of black-beetles.’
‘I don’t care if it ith,’ said Violet Elizabeth. ‘We never uthe it.’
‘We once got a bottle,’ said Douglas, ‘an’ it went bad.’
‘I don’t care if it did,’ said Violet Elizabeth, ‘an’ if you don’ let me be firtht, I’ll thcream an’ thcream an’ thcream till I’m thick – I can!’
The Outlaws looked at her in apprehension. William called to his aid his dignity as leader of the Outlaws. He had had experience of Violet Elizabeth’s screams.
‘Well,’ he said judicially, ‘we’ll give
you an hour to get something, an’ if you don’t we’ll put someone else first. We’ll stay here an’ wait for you, an’ if you don’t come with somethin’ in an hour we’ll give someone else a turn.’
‘All right!’ sang Violet Elizabeth, pirouetting round joyfully, her fair curls bobbing. ‘I’m firtht! I’m firtht! I’m goin’ to thteal! An’ I don’ care if it ith made out of black-beetleth!’
It was still raining. They finished the Robin Hood book while she was away. William took out the second bottle of liquorice water and Ginger’s spirits rose. He had the first drink (one swallow only allowed) and claimed that it beat Douglas’s swallow by several lengths. Douglas disputed this claim, and, the rain having stopped, they all went out to the field for the fight which was to decide the capacity of their respective swallows. The decision was never reached, for Violet Elizabeth arrived just as they were carrying on an indecisive wrestling match on the ground.
Violet Elizabeth danced gaily up to them. In her hand she held a string of pearls worth several thousand pounds.
‘I found theetfa in a bocth in Mummyth drawer,’ she shrilled excitedly. ‘She’s left the key in the hole, tho I juth turned it an’ took them. Wathn’t I clever?’
William took them and looked at them contemptously.
‘Beads!’ he said with scorn.
‘They’re nithe beadth, William,’ said Violet Elizabeth, with pleading in her voice, ‘they’re pearl beadth.’
‘But beads is no good,’ said William patiently. ‘We don’ want to give beads to the poor what are starving for food an’ drink.’
‘Let’s sell ’em,’ said Ginger.
This suggestion was considered a good one, and the five of them went down to the village.
At the end of the village was a small and dingy secondhand shop in whose window reposed a dirty collection of old iron, photograph frames, bits of tawdry jewellery and old furniture. This collection was seldom disturbed.
William, as spokesman, entered the shop carrying the string of pearls, followed by the other Outlaws.
Mr Marsh, who owned the shop, was out, and his mother, deaf and almost blind and very old, sat behind the counter.
‘We want to sell this, please,’ said William, a businesslike scowl upon his freckled countenance.
‘Eh?’ said the old dame, her hand to her ear.
When he had repeated it four times she seemed to understand, and stretched out a skinny hand for the pearls.
She peered at the pearls through her ancient spectacles.
‘What is it, lovey?’ she said.
‘Beads,’ said William.
‘Eh?’ said the old dame again.
When he had repeated it four times she said:
‘What sort of beads, dearie?’
‘Pearl beads,’ yelled William.
Yes. She remembered. They’d had some pearl beads last week, and Jim had given the owner sixpence, marked them two shillings, and sold them within a week.
THE OLD DAME PEERED AT THE PEARLS THROUGH HER ANCIENT SPECTACLES.
‘WHAT SORT OF BEADS, DEARIE?’ SHE ASKED.
‘PEARL BEADS,’ YELLED WILLIAM.
She handed William sixpence and the Outlaws filed out of the shop.
‘Sixpence!’ said William. ‘’S not much – isn’t sixpence.’
‘It’ll do to start on,’ said Ginger optimistically.
‘It’ll have to,’ agreed William.
‘Anyway, I thtealed ’em,’ squeaked Violet Elizabeth, with pride, ‘I thtealed ’em for the poor.’
‘Now we’ve got to find the poor,’ said Henry brightly.
They looked up and down the road. One solitary figure was shambling down it – James Finch, the village reprobate. He was a merry, unprincipled, good-for-nothing ne’er-do-well.
‘He looks poor,’ said Ginger pitifully. ‘Look at him, poor ole man. He looks awfully poor.’
‘He’th got holth in hith bootth,’ squeaked Violet Elizabeth, ‘’an’ holth in hith clo’th, poor ole man.’
‘Give him the money, William,’ said Henry. ‘Poor old man!’
William stepped forward with the sixpence and accosted the dilapidated figure.
‘Are you hungry an’ thirsty?’ asked William.
‘I’m thirsty,’ said the old man, with a wink.
‘Here you are then,’ said William.
‘Thank you,’ said the old man.
He took the sixpence and went into the ‘Blue Lion’.
The Outlaws watched him, their hearts warmed by the glow of virtue.
‘Poor man,’ said Violet Elizabeth. ‘He mutht be thirthty. Heth gone for a nithe drink of lemonade.’
‘Starvin’ for drink,’ put in Ginger sententiously.
‘Isn’t it nice to think what pleasure we’ve been able to give the poor old man?’ said Henry.
‘And all with jus’ a few beads,’ said Douglas.
‘Whose turn is it to get something next?’ said Ginger.
‘Bags me,’ said William.
Old Lady Markham, who lived at the Manor House in the next village, was on her way in her carriage to visit Mrs Bott. Beside her was Angela, her six-year-old granddaughter, who had been staying with her, and whose home was a few miles beyond the Bott mansion. The carriage was to drop Lady Markham at the Botts’, then proceed to Angela’s home to drop Angela, then return to the Bott mansion to pick up Lady Markham.
‘Where you goin’, Gramma?’ said Angela.
‘To visit a Mrs Bott, dear,’ said Lady Markham.
She sighed as she spoke. The Botts were Lady Markham’s pet aversion. She had long known of, and delighted to disappoint, Mrs Bott’s frenzied attempts to ‘know’ her. She had managed for a very long time to escape an introduction to Mrs Bott, but last week she had been caught unawares and introduced at the Vicarage. She had, however, managed to infuse into her greeting a whole refrigerator full of ice.
But suddenly she found that she needed Mrs Bott. She was holding a charity fête in her grounds and found herself hampered on all sides by lack of funds.
‘Ask Mrs Bott to be on the committee,’ said her neighbours. ‘She’ll stock every stall in the place. She’s made of money, and she loves throwing it about as long as it makes a splash.’
At first old Lady Markham had merely laughed scornfully. Finally she had capitulated. She was on her way to the Bott mansion now to ask Mrs Bott to be on the committee.
‘I’ve had a lovely stay with you, Gramma, darling,’ sighed Angela.
‘So glad, dear,’ said Lady Markham absently.
‘I meant to buy you a good-bye present, Gramma, darling, but I hadn’t time before we came away, so may we stop at the first shop we pass and me buy you something?’
‘Oh, no dear,’ said Lady Markham. ‘You mustn’t buy me anything.’
‘Oh, I must! Please!’ said Angela in distress.
‘Very well,’ said Lady Markham with a smile.
‘Then we’ll stop at the first shop we pass,’ said Angela happily.
The first shop was Mr Marsh’s.
Angela descended from the carriage and entered the shop importantly, holding a half-crown tightly in her hand.
‘Good-afternoon,’ she said. ‘Please, have you anything for two-and-six?’
The old lady took up the pearl necklace, which was still lying on the counter. ‘You can have these beads for two-and-six, missie,’ she said.
‘Oh, thank you,’ said Angela; ‘they are pretty.’
She danced back to the carriage.
‘I’ve got some beads for you, Gramma,’ she said. ‘You will wear them, won’t you?’
‘Oh, darling,’ said Lady Markham in dismay.
Angela’s face fell.
‘Oh, Gramma!’ she said reproachfully. ‘They’re very good beads. They cost two-and-sixpence.’
‘Very well, darling,’ said Lady Markham with a sigh of resignation, ‘put them on.’
Lady Markham was extremely short-sighted. All she knew was that
her granddaughter had slipped a string of whitish beads round her neck. She covered them carefully with her scarf, then completely forgot them.
The carriage stopped at the Bott mansion. Lady Markham said good-bye to her granddaughter, slipped a ten-shilling note into her hand, and descended from the carriage.
The carriage proceeded to Angela’s home and Lady Markham entered the Bott mansion.
Mrs Bott was so excited at the news that Lady Markham had called that she was afraid she was going to have hysterics and not be able to receive her. But she mastered her emotions and went to the drawing-room, where Lady Markham was waiting.
Mrs Bott was quivering with apprehension lest she should fail to live up to this high honour done her. She had striven long and earnestly to ‘get in with’ Society as typified by Lady Markham. She felt that the day of her dreams had come at last, with Lady Markham’s card on the tray on the hall table she could now die happy.
She hoped that Botty would stay in the study (where he was engaged in studying a novel and a cigar) and not join them in the drawing-room. Botty was a hardworking man and a good husband, but there was no denying that he dropped his aitches. He generally picked them up as quickly as he could, but he dropped them with a bang and the picking up only drew attention to their fall.
Mrs Bott, small and plump, dressed in an expensive dress, was sitting on an expensive chair hoping that Lady Markham guessed how much they’d had to pay for it at an antique dealer’s. She moved her hands about frequently to show her rings, and she chattered excitedly, glowing with pride and pleasure.
‘Oh, yes, Lady Markham, I’ll be on the committee with the greatest pleasure. I’ll certainly have a stall. What stall? Oh, any stall at all, Lady Markham – The provision stall if you like. I could stock it complete out of the garding, you know. The gardeners could see to the cutting of the things and one of the chauffeurs could bring the stuff over in one of the cars.’
It was nice to say ‘one of the chauffeurs’ and ‘one of the cars.’ The only drawback to the phrases was that they gave no inkling of how many cars there were. On the other hand, ‘one of the three chauffeurs’ and ‘one of the seven cars’ were rather cumbersome for ordinary conversation.
William The Conqueror Page 14