The Serial Garden: The Complete Armitage Family Stories

by Joan Aiken

"I don't know if my client wishes to sell,” said the agent repressively.

  "I'll give you forty thousand pounds for it, not a penny more, so it's no use acting cagey in the hope that I'll put my price up, I shan't,” said Mr. Spoggin. “You can take it or leave it."

  The agent took it.

  Mr. Spoggin took them home and carried off the dolls’ house then and there in Tin Lizzie, having telephoned the Queen Mary to wait for him. He left the remains of the cultivator.

  Mr. Beezeley was not seen for some hours after the explosion, but finally turned up in a bed of stinging-nettles, which had cured his rheumatism but left him much chastened. He spent a lot of time wandering round the deep hole which was all that was left of the hundred-acre field, and finally sold his farm and left the neighborhood.

  As the children came down to breakfast next morning they heard the grumbling voice of old Mrs. Perrow in the porch:

  "It's all very well, Mrs. Armitage, but what I mean to say is, Rose Cottage is not what we've been used to. Cooking on that old oil stove of Lily's after Calor gas and a bathroom and all, say what you like, it's not the same thing, and what I mean to say—"

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  Tea at Ravensburgh

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  Bother,” said Mrs. Armitage, reading her midmorning mail. She took the letter that had annoyed her and went upstairs. Through a closed door came the sound of a typewriter. She tapped on the door and went in. Immediately the typing ceased.

  The room she had entered was large and sunny, with a huge dormer window taking up most of one side. It was empty, save for a typing table, portable typewriter and chair, and some shelves of books.

  "Oh, Mr. Peake,” said Mrs. Armitage, “I'm terribly sorry to disturb you at this hour of the morning, but would you mind if I used the typewriter for five minutes? I must just write a note to Harriet."

  There was an offended silence.

  "It's most wicked of me, and I won't do it again,” Mrs. Armitage went on placatingly, “but my wretched old Aunt Adelaide has just cabled from the south of France asking me to meet her in London on Saturday, so I shan't be able to go down and take Harriet out from school this weekend. She'll be cross, I'm afraid. Are you sitting in the chair?"

  "No, I'm not,” said a voice behind her shoulder. Mrs. Armitage jumped. Although she had known him for twenty years, she was never quite used to not knowing where Mr. Peake was.

  "It's most tiresome,” she said, rattling away at the keys, “I'd much rather see Harriet, but Aunt Adelaide is so very rich that it would be foolish to offend her."

  "Nevertheless, it seems hard that the little wench should lose her holiday,” said Mr. Peake. “'Tis a good child. Last holidays she mended the toes of my carpet slippers until I could not tell where the holes had been.” He stuck out his invisible feet and regarded them with satisfaction.

  "Well I know,” agreed Harriet's mother, “but my husband can't go, he has a meeting of the Grass Growers’ Association, and Mark is in quarantine for whooping cough."

  "I shall escort her out,” announced Mr. Peake.

  Mrs. Armitage looked startled.

  "Well—that's very sweet of you,” she answered dubiously. “But are you sure you'll be able to manage?"

  "Madam, you forget that I was once an explorer and sailed to the New World. What terrors could a female boarding establishment have for me?"

  "In that case, I'll add a P.S. to say that you're coming instead. Harriet will be excited. And you can take her a spare pair of socks and a pot of gooseberry jam. There.” She flipped her letter out of the machine, quickly addressed an envelope to Miss Armitage, Silverside School, Ham Street, Dorset, and stood up.

  "Now perhaps,” said Mr. Peake, as she left the room, “I can get on with my memoirs.” But he said it to himself, for he was a polite man.

  Mr. Peake was the Armitages’ lodger, and if he has not been mentioned before, it is because he was so very quiet and unobtrusive that the family hardly noticed his existence. He had one room, with use of Mrs. Armitage's typewriter in the mornings, and he hardly ever came downstairs. He had lived in the house for three hundred years, ever since his death, in fact, and was thought to be writing his autobiography, though as it was invisible no one had read it. He had been a sailor and explorer and a friend of Drake, so there was plenty to write about.

  When the Armitage family first moved into the house, they took over Mr. Peake from the previous owners. Harriet was a baby at the time, and the nursemaid had left in hysterics next week because one night when Harriet was teething she had come up to the nursery and seen Mr. Peake walking to and fro hushing Harriet in his arms; or at least she had seen Harriet, for of course no one saw Mr. Peake.

  He had always remained very fond of Harriet ever since and used to give her odd little presents which he called fairings or baubles. When she had measles he sat by her bed reading to her for hours and hours. No one had ever known Mr. Peake to go to sleep.

  Harriet was devoted to Mr. Peake, but just the same, she was a little doubtful at the thought of being taken out from school by him. She had not been at Silverside very long, and did not want to get a reputation for peculiarity. It was very disappointing that her mother was obliged to go and meet Aunt Adelaide, as Mrs. Armitage always made a good impression—she arrived punctually, wore the right sort of hat, made the right sort of remarks (and not too many of them) when she was taken round the school, and had tea with Harriet at the right places. It was to be hoped that Mr. Peake would behave in an equally exemplary manner, but Harriet was afraid that he might seem eccentric to the rest of the school.

  On the following Saturday, she hung about in the front hall, hoping to catch him when he arrived. She did not want the difficulty of explaining about an invisible bell-ringer to one of the housemaids. Unfortunately, members of the junior classes were not supposed to loiter in the hallway and she had to keep pretending to be looking to see if there were any letters for her on the hall table, and then walk briskly up the front stairs and run hurriedly down the back stairs. After one of these descents she was lucky enough to see a pot of gooseberries and a pair of her mother's knitted socks approaching up the front steps, and was just in time to intercept Mr. Peake before he rang the bell.

  "It is nice to see you,” she said (no one ever remembered to adapt their speech to Mr. Peake's peculiarity). “Let me take that jam from you, and then I have to report that I am going out to my house-mistress and we can be off."

  "I should admire to see a little of this female academy of learning, if it is convenient,” said her visitor. “Such things have come in since my day."

  "Oh blow,” thought Harriet. Luckily on a Saturday afternoon she could rely on the place being fairly well deserted, but two tiny juniors squeaked as she showed him around the gymnasium:

  "Coo, listen to Harriet Armitage talking to herself. She must be going crackers!"

  Harriet swept Mr. Peake off to the library before he had half finished gazing at the ropes and the parallel bars.

  Talking in the library was normally forbidden but a certain amount of latitude was allowed when visitors were being shown round. Mr. Peake took a great interest in the historical section and asked dozens of questions. Harriet noticed with alarm that Madeline Bogg, the Head Girl, who was working for a history examination, was in the next alcove and looking angrily in their direction.

  "Harriet, will you stop making all that noise, please. I shall have to give you a hundred lines for talking in here."

  "But I have a visitor with me."

  "Don't talk nonsense, please."

  "Here, give her these lines,” said Mr. Peake's voice in her ear. “Doubtless the subject matter is of no importance? I always travel with some reading material.” And he pulled out a parchment (from his doublet presumably), and passed it to Harriet, who handed it on to Madeline, absently noticing that it seemed to be about ship money. Madeline's jaw dropped.

  "Where in the name of goodness di
d you get this,” she began. “It's just the subject I was reading up—” But Harriet quickly dragged Mr. Peake away and persuaded him that there was nothing else in the school worth looking at. She reported herself to her house-mistress and they went out into the little town of Ham's Street, where Harriet was quickly pounced on by two senior girls coming back from shopping.

  "Harriet! What are you doing out by yourself? You know it's not allowed."

  "I'm not by myself, I'm with Mr. Peake,” Harriet said miserably.

  "Be at ease, the little wench is under my care,” Mr. Peake reassured them.

  "Mr. Peake's had a rather bad cold—that's why you can't see him very well,” Harriet said desperately.

  "I can't see him at all,” said Gertrude, the elder girl.

  "Perhaps this will certify you of my presence, my fair sceptic.” Mr. Peake presented her with a flower, apparently from his buttonhole. It was something like a wild rose but white, with a very sweet scent. They left Gertude and her friend staring at it in perplexity and walked on.

  Harriet decided that it would be best if they went to the cinema. It was something of a strain being out with Mr. Peake, and she felt that sitting down in the sheltering dark would be a relief. She suggested this plan to him.

  "I have never been in one of those places,” he replied, “but one is never too old to do something new. Let us go by all means."

  When they came to the Paramount, Ham Street's only cinema, they found that it was showing The Nineteenth Man, an “A” film.

  "Two two and three's, please,” said Mr. Peake, prompted by Harriet.

  "You can't go in without an adult, ducks,” said the cashier, looking through him at Harriet. “Sorry, it's a smasher, but the manager's just over there."

  "But I've got an adult here—he's in front of me,” explained Harriet rather hopelessly. Mr. Peake rapped with his two half-crowns on the cash desk and the cashier let out a shriek which fetched over the manager.

  "Two seats in the pit, if you please,” demanded Mr. Peake.

  "Now, now, none of your nasty ventriloquism tricks here,” he said, scowling at Harriet. “Go on—hop it, afore I rings your headmistress."

  "This town boasts a river, does it not?” inquired Mr. Peake, as they walked once more along the High Street. “Should we adventure in a boat?"

  Harriet privately thought it rather a chilly pursuit for a November afternoon, but perhaps Mr. Peake was pining for a taste of his nautical past. She tucked her arm through his, feeling rather sorry for him, and they went down to the boathouse by the bridge, where a few punts and canoes were still being hired out.

  "No one under the age of sixteen to go out unaccompanied by an adult,” said the man, pointing inflexibly to a framed copy of the by-laws on a notice board.

  "But I am accompanied by an adult."

  "One who, moreover, has countless times weathered the Spanish Main,” added Mr. Peake. “Be more polite to your betters, sirrah."

  "Blimey,” said the man, scratching his head. “Ought to go on the halls, you ought. Run along, now, scram, before I give you in charge."

  "It is an uncourteous city,” said Mr. Peake, as they stood irresolutely on the bridge.

  "I know,” exclaimed Harriet, seeing a bus approaching. “We'll go and look at Ravensburgh Castle—I've always wanted to."

  They had no trouble on the bus, apart from the conductor's displeasure with the Queen Anne six pence which Mr. Peake absently tendered him (change from rent paid to the last landlord but five, he explained to Harriet). Presently, as the bus filled up, people began to look meaningly at the empty seat next to Harriet, but Mr. Peake solved this problem by taking her on his lap. It is a very strange feeling to ride on a ghost's lap in a bus.

  Once Mr. Peake remarked: “The horseless carriages in this county are indifferent well sprung,” and the woman on the seat in front of them jumped and looked round at Harriet indignantly.

  The sky was clouding when they reached Ravensburgh on its hill, and it was almost cold enough for snow. Harriet shivered and wished that they were allowed to wear duffel coats instead of uniform ones.

  "Shall we go up on the ramparts?” Mr. Peake inquired. “I believe one could achieve a view of the sea from them."

  As they were making the circuit of the top they heard shouts from below, and gathered that a uniformed attendant was trying to tell Harriet she should not be up there on her own.

  "I fear this is not a very happy outing for you,” said poor Mr. Peake.

  "Oh no, I'm loving it,” lied Harriet gallantly. As a matter of fact she did feel that to walk in the icy dusk hand in hand with a spectre round the battlements of Ravensburgh was rather a grand thing to do, even though the spectre was such an old friend as Mr. Peake. But she would have liked her tea, and wondered what sort of reception they would have if they went into a café.

  They came down to a wide room that had once been an upstairs banqueting hall.

  "Why, bless my soul,” said Mr. Peake, pausing, “if that isn't—or is it—yes, it is—my old boon companion, Sir Giles Harkness!"

  "Where?” asked Harriet, looking all round and seeing nothing.

  But Mr. Peake had left her side and was exclaiming:

  "Giles! My old messmate! How fares it with you?"

  "Gregory! Gregory Peake! By my halidome! Well met after three hundred years. What brings you here? You must come and meet my lady—we lodge in the East Tower here. Do you remember that time off Madeira when we were in the pinnace and we saw the three galleons coming up to windward?"

  They launched out into a flood of reminiscence.

  "Oh dear,” thought Harriet, bored and shivering. “Now they'll go on for hours; grown-ups always do."

  She tried to climb into one of the embrasures, slipped, stumbled, and turned her ankle rather severely.

  "What ails you, lass?” said Mr. Peake, turning from his conversation. “Oh, Giles, this is my little godchild, Mistress Harriet Armitage."

  "Your servant, madam,” said the invisible Sir Giles gravely. “But there is something amiss? You have injured your foot? My lady shall bind it up straightway."

  Between them the two friends supported Harriet back to the rooms in the East Tower, never for one moment ceasing their flow of chat.

  "And do you remember when Francis boarded you in the night and stole all your powder and ball and was away before dawn with none of your men any the wiser? Ah, Frank was a rare one for a jest."

  In the East Tower a lady with a very friendly voice skillfully bound up Harriet's ankle with what felt like a strip of silk.

  It was curious to sit among people that one could not see and listen to them talking. Harriet did not think that she should like it for long. She felt inquisitively at the heavy carved arms of her chair, which she could not see either, and wondered if they were made of pale bright new oak.

  "Ah, here is our little Hubert,” said Lady Harkness. “He and the little maid should fadge well together—th'are much of an age."

  As usual on such occasions Harriet took an instantaneous unreasoning dislike to little Hubert. She was sure that he was a pale, puffy little boy in a ruff and imagined him staring at her with his finger in his mouth.

  Comfits were served round, very sweet and chewy, and drinks of Hippocras, which Harriet did not care for. Hubert snatched a bit of Harriet's comfit while his mother was busy pouring out the drinks, and Harriet dealt him what she hoped was a kick on the shin—she heard him squeak.

  Then his elder brother Giles came in, a cheerful-sounding boy who told Harriet about his boat, which he kept on the estuary, and invited her to go sailing with him next summer.

  "I will if I can,” she promised, wondering if one can go sailing with a ghost. The whole party was becoming more and more dreamlike.

  "Mr. Peake,” she said, “I'm afraid we should be going, as I haven't got permission to be out late.” She stood up, and then let out a cry as her ankle gave way under her.

  "The wench can't walk on that ank
le!” said Sir Giles. “I'll lend you my mare, Black Peg—she'll have you home like a flash of lightning and find her own way back here again."

  "We are greatly obliged to you,” replied Mr. Peake. They left amid cordial invitations to come again.

  As far as Harriet could make out, Black Peg had wings; they could not of course be seen, but she could feel feathers. She wondered if the mare was any relation of Pegasus. They covered the distance to Ham Street in ten minutes, though it had taken an hour to come by bus. It was a pity that Black Peg sailed through the school dining-room window. To be deposited by a ghost horse and rider in the middle of a school's Saturday night supper is not the best way to avoid a reputation for peculiarity.

  "Harriet,” said the house-mistress coldly. “Your godfather did not go to see the headmistress, as you should have told him to do before he took you out. And please get rid of that invisible horse and eat your supper."

  Black Peg galloped off through the window again, thinking of spectral oats in her phantom stable no doubt, and Harriet sat down miserably to cold spam and beet root.

  It was all right, though. Miss Drogly pronounced Mr. Peake to be a most interesting and delightful man—history was her own subject, and they had had a long chat about the Duke of Medina Sidonia. And Mr. Peake gave Harriet a dear little pouncet box with a clove orange in it before leaving, and she hugged him and said it had been a lovely party and promised to starch all his ruffs for him next holidays.

  Next week Harriet had a letter from her mother.

  "Aunt Adelaide was sorry that she had unintentionally prevented our outing, and asked me to send you this to make amends."

  This was sent under separate cover and turned out to be a small folding helicopter, so Harriet's reputation for being quite a perfectly ordinary girl with normal healthy interests was quite restored.

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  The Land of Trees and Heroes

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  The children had had whooping cough, rather badly, and although they were now well past the distressing stage of going black in the face, crowing, and having to rush from the room, they were still thin, pale, and cross. Mrs. Armitage decided that they had better lose a bit more schooling and go to stay with Grandmother for a change of air. Mark and Harriet received the news listlessly. There seemed to be so many snags and prohibitions about going to Grandmother's.