‘The key is lost,’ said Mrs Oldknow. ‘I don’t know what’s in it. It used to be the children’s toy-box.’
He put his hand on the rocking-horse’s mane, which was real horse-hair. Its tail was real hair too, black and soft and long. He started it rocking. It made a nice creaky sound, like a rocking-chair. He opened the front of the doll’s house. ‘Why, it’s this house!’ he said. ‘Look, here’s the Knight’s Hall, and here’s the stairs, and here’s my room! Here’s the rocking-horse and here’s the red box, and here’s the tiny bird-cage! But it’s got four beds in it. Are there sometimes other children here?’
Mrs Oldknow looked at him as if she would like to know everything about him before she answered.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘sometimes.’
‘Who are they?’
‘You’ll see when they come, if they come.’
‘When do they come?’
‘When they like. Now let’s unpack. Here are your pyjamas. Is there anything you want to have in bed with you – any books or photos that you put under your pillow?’
On the chest of drawers Tolly had seen two curly white china dogs, an old clock, and an ebony mouse, life-sized with shiny black eyes. It was so cleverly carved that you could see every hair, and it felt like fur to stroke. As he pulled the sheets up to his nose he said, ‘Can I have the mouse in bed?’
Mrs Oldknow smiled. ‘You want Toby’s Japanese mouse? Here it is.’
‘Who’s Toby?’
‘Well, really another Toseland. Toby for short. Now sleep well. I’ll light the night-light for you. Oh, the clock’s not going.’
She picked up the old clock, which had a sun and moon painted on its face, and started it ticking. It had a very slow ticktock, comforting and sleepy. ‘There,’ she said. ‘Now, good night. My room is underneath yours – you can knock on the floor if you want me.’
She went away, and Tolly lay happily looking at the surprising shadows made by the little night-light – the beams, the big shadow of the rocking-horse, the low one of the doll’s house on the floor, the elongated wandering criss-crosses of the bird-cage on the ceiling. The mirror repeated it all in the opposite direction, distant and slightly tilted. How could such a little light do it all? Never in his life had he lain in such a room, yet it did not feel strange. He felt with all his heart that he was at home. He held the mouse in his hand under the pillow and soon fell asleep.
*
HE SLEPT LONG AND WELL. In his dreams he was swimming towards the house in the dark when he heard the creak of oars coming to meet him. He tried to shout, but it was too difficult to do while swimming. In the effort he woke up. The funny thing was, that lying there with his eyes closed he could still hear the creak-croak. No, it couldn’t be oars, it must be the rocking-horse. He sat up in bed, and it seemed to him that the horse had just that minute stopped rocking. The only sound he could hear now was the slow tick-tock of the old clock. The room was in dim half-light because the curtains were still drawn. Tolly jumped out of bed. First he put his precious mouse back between the two china dogs, then he went to the rocking-horse just to stroke its real silky mane, and to pretend to see if it was out of breath. Then he ran to the window and knelt on the window-seat behind the curtain to look out at the view he had not yet seen. When, just at that moment, Mrs Oldknow came into the room, all she could see of him was the soles of his pink feet. As she pulled back the curtain, he turned a happy excited face to her. ‘Oh look! Oh look!’ he said.
It was a brilliant, sunny morning, and all the view was sparkling blue water, right away to the low hills in the distance. From this high window he could see where the course of the river should be, because of the pollard willows sticking out along each side of the bank, and because there the water was whirlpooled and creased and very brown and swift, while all the miles of overflow were just like blue silk.
‘It really is like being in the Ark,’ said Tolly.
‘Yes, all the children used to call it the Ark. Your grandfather did, and he learnt it from his father, who learnt it from his, and so on right away back. But you called it that by yourself.’
Tolly sat in his pyjamas on the rocking-horse, making it go creak-croak, creak-croak.
‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘when I was lying in bed with my eyes shut I could hear the horse go creak-croak just like this? But when I opened my eyes it was quite still.’
‘And did the mouse squeak under your pillow, and did the china dogs bark?’
‘No,’ said Tolly. ‘Do they?’
Mrs Oldknow laughed. ‘You seem ready for anything, that’s something,’ she said. ‘Now get dressed and come down to breakfast.’
Tolly found his own way down the winding staircase, through the Music Room that was like a knight’s hall, down the winding stairs again and across the entrance hall with its polished wooden children and queer sticks of flowers, and into the room where he had first met his great-grandmother the night before.
Breakfast was on the table, but she was standing by an open door throwing crumbs on to the doorstep for the birds. There were so many of them that they seemed to drop from the branches of the trees like ripe chestnuts when the tree is shaken, and as many were going up again with a piece of bread in their beaks as were coming down to get it. A few yards beyond the doorstep the garden was under water.
‘The birds are very hungry. You see, they can’t get worms, or seed, or ants’ eggs until the floods go. Would you like to be introduced to them?’
‘Yes please,’ said Tolly.
‘Come here, then,’ said Mrs Oldknow; and although her back was rather bent and her face was wrinkled, when she looked at him so mischievously he could almost imagine she was a boy to play with. ‘They love margarine better than anything,’ she said. ‘Hold out your hands.’
She spread his fingers and palms with margarine carefully all over, even between the fingers, then told him to go to the door and stand still, holding out both hands with the fingers open. She stood beside him and whistled. In a minute tits and robins and chaffinches and hedge-sparrows were fluttering round him till at last one ventured to perch on his thumb. After that the others were soon jostling to find room on his hands, fixing him with their bright eyes and opening their wings and cocking their tails to keep their balance. They pecked at the margarine on his palm and between his fingers. They tickled dreadfully, and Tolly wriggled and squealed so that they all flew away, but in a minute they were back.
‘You must keep still and be quiet,’ said Mrs Oldknow, laughing at him.
Tolly tried hard to obey her, but their beaks and little wiry clutching hands felt so queer that he had to shut his eyes and screw up his face to keep still. The tits hung on underneath and tickled in unexpected places.
While he was standing there pulling faces he heard a laugh so like a boy’s that he could not believe his great-grandmother had made it, and opened his eyes to see who was there. There was no one else. Mrs Oldknow’s eyes were fixed on his. The blackbirds were scolding in the branches because they were afraid to come on to his hands and could see the margarine was nearly finished. Then with a squabbling noise, like a crowd of rude people off a football bus, a flock of starlings arrived, snatching and pushing and behaving badly in every way.
‘That will do,’ said Mrs Oldknow. ‘Starlings don’t wait to be introduced to anybody. I’ll give them some bread, and you can wipe your hands on these crusts and throw them to the blackbirds. Then run and wash your hands.’
She shut the door and sat down to breakfast. Tolly came quickly and sat down where a place was laid for him opposite the fireplace.
While he was eating he was looking round again at the room which was so different by daylight, though just as unusual, with all its big windows looking out on to water. Suddenly he saw something he had not noticed at all the night before, when the room had been full of firelight and shadows. Over the fireplace hung a large oil painting of a family, three children and two ladies. There were two handsome boys, wearing l
ace collars and dark green silk suits. They had long hair but looked anything but girlish. The elder of the two, who might be fourteen years old, was wearing a sword, and it looked so natural to him that Tolly was filled with hero-worship. He had his hand on the collar of a tame deer. The younger brother had a book under his arm and a flute in his hand. The little girl had a smile of irrepressible high spirits that seemed to defy the painter to do a serious portrait of her. She was holding a chaffinch, and beside her on the ground was an open wicker cage. One of the two ladies was young and beautiful. At her feet was a little curly white dog with a black face; on her arm a basket of roses. The other lady was old and dressed in black. They all had large dark eyes and all their eyes seemed fixed on Tolly. If he moved to one side all the eyes moved after him.
‘Granny, they are all looking at me.’
‘I’m not surprised. You have only just come. They must be tired of looking at me.’
‘Who are they?’
‘They are Oldknows. Your family. The boy with the deer is Toby, the other with the flute is Alexander, and the little girl is Linnet. She is six years old. That is their mother in the blue dress.’
‘My mother was called Linnet,’ said Tolly. ‘And that’s you behind them!’
‘It’s their grandmother, Mrs Oldknow.’
‘Is this their house?’
‘Yes, they lived here.’
‘When did they live here?’
‘Oh, a long time ago,’ said Mrs Oldknow, fidgeting and being suddenly very busy about the breakfast table. But Tolly was only seven, and to him a long time ago meant more than seven years. Five lively pairs of eyes were challenging him to ignore them. Linnet was laughing straight into his. Even the dog looked as if it would play.
‘Has Toby got a real sword?’ he asked.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’s going to be a soldier. His father gave it to him when he was thirteen.’
‘Is Alexander going to be a musician?’
‘He will go to the University. He wants to be a poet.’
‘And Linnet?’
‘My little Linnet –’
‘Oh,’ said Tolly, interrupting, ‘that’s the bird-cage in my room. It’s the bird-cage in my room! It made such funny shadows on the ceiling when you put the night-light under it. Is the doll’s house Linnet’s?’
‘No, the doll’s house was mine when I was a little girl. I was brought up here by my uncle because I was an orphan.’
‘Did you have brothers and sisters?’
‘No; but I played that I had. I was lonely. That’s why I put four beds in the doll’s house.’
‘Did you play that they were your brothers and sister?’ said Tolly, pointing to the picture. Mrs Oldknow looked hard at him.
‘Yes, my dear. How did you know?’
‘Because I think that is what I shall play. Do you want to read the newspapers now?’
‘Good gracious no, child. What should I do that for? The world doesn’t alter every day. As far as I can see, it’s always the same. But I have plenty to do, so you must amuse yourself. Can you?’
‘Oh, yes. I would like to go up to the rocking-horse and the mouse. Can I play with the cage if I can reach it?’
‘You can play with anything you like if you are careful. Don’t fall out of the window.’ Tolly took two lumps of sugar from the bowl. ‘For the horse,’ he said. ‘Can I?’ He ran upstairs to his room as happy as a little boy could be.
First he pulled a chair under the wicker cage so that he could reach up to it. He opened the door, which made a little bird-like squeak as it turned on its hinges. He had nothing else to put in it, so he put the mouse inside and closed the door. He pretended to feed the horse with the sugar and put what was left over of it for the mouse. Then he groomed the horse all over with his hairbrush, particularly its mane and tail, and passed his hands down its legs as he had seen men do in stables, and talked to it all the time. He mounted it and started a long ride, creak, croak, pretending that Toby and Alexander and Linnet had invited him to visit them. ‘Horses always know the way,’ he said aloud. ‘I expect it will take hours and hours.’
He was cheerfully rocking along, singing at the top of his voice a song his mother used to sing to him, before she died and the stepmother came.
What is your one oh?
Green grow the rushes oh
What is your one oh?
One is one and all alone
And ever more shall be so.
What are your two oh?
Green grow the rushes oh
What are your two oh?
Two, two, the lily white boys
Clothed all in green oh
One is one and all alone
And ever more shall be so.
Presently he heard tip-tap at one of the windows, and while he looked in that direction, tap-tap at the window behind him. It was a chaffinch knocking on the glass, for all the world as if it wanted to come in. Toseland dismounted and went over to see. Still it did not fly away, but held on to the cross-bars and tried first one pane and then another.
‘Do you want to come in?’ said Tolly, opening the window. At once the bird flew in and perched on the cage. It hopped from one wicker strand to another, giving little excited calls until it found the door, which was shut. ‘Cheep, cheep, cheep,’ it scolded, and fluttered round the room, making a little sound of bird footsteps on the wooden floor when it hopped. Toseland opened the cage door, and the chaffinch flew straight across the room and into the cage. There it turned round and gave a little song, tried all the perches, hopping round to face both ways on each, swung in the swing, pecked at the sugar, and hopped out again on to Tolly’s head. ‘Don’t,’ said Tolly, shaking it. ‘I don’t like that. I can’t see you.’ The bird flew off on to the window-sill, looked round at him with a final chirp, and dived into a big tree near by, level with the window, where it perched and sang quietly to itself.
‘Oh, come back, do come back, chaffinch! I wish I had some margarine. Perhaps sugar won’t do. I wonder what Linnet used to put in the cage? Chaffinch! Chaffinch!’
The bird would not be coaxed, but when he had finished his song shot off across the water like an arrow and disappeared into a distant tree.
*
THE FLOODS HAD begun to go down. Already Tolly could see spikes of grass sticking up through the edge of the water. The shapes of lawns and flower-beds were showing through the ripples round the house. He longed for the water to go, so that he could explore the garden.
When he came downstairs for lunch, Boggis, in long wading boots, was bringing in logs for the fire, making a big stack of them in a corner of the inglenook.
‘Good morning, Mr Boggis,’ said Tolly. ‘Have you come in the boat? I forgot to look last night to see what it was called.’
‘It’s called the Linnet, Master Toseland, but I didn’t come in it today. I came in my waders. The water’s going down lovely.’
‘The Linnet?’ said Toseland, turning to his great-grandmother.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘There’s always a boat called Linnet on the river.’
‘That’s right,’ said Boggis. ‘There’s always a Linnet. This one’s new – leastways not more than twenty years old – but I used to go out in the old Linnet when I was a boy, and my grandfather used to talk about fishing at night with torches from the Linnet when he was young. See, ma’am, I’ve managed to borrow these from my niece whose boy is in hospital.’ He held out two Wellingtons. ‘I reckon Master Toseland will need these. Isn’t he the fair spit of his grandfather! Might be the same come back.’
‘Yes, he seems to belong here,’ said Mrs Oldknow. ‘He has it all hidden in him somewhere. I like to see him finding his way about.’
‘Shall I take him out with me into the barn this afternoon while I cut wood, to keep him out of your way?’
‘He’s not in my way at all, but I expect he would like to go.’
‘Oh yes, please!’
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‘Very well, Boggis, you can keep him till tea-time. Goodbye, Toby.’
‘You said “Toby”,’ said Tolly, pulling on his borrowed Wellingtons.
‘Why, so I did! I was forgetting.’
Boggis and Toseland paddled off side by side across the drive and turned into a walled yard that was now a walled lake, though you could see the cobbles through the shallow water, all different colours like pebbles at the sea-side. Along three sides there were buildings or sheds, very old and tumbledown. The longest had a row of arches, and over them bits of broken stone carving stuck out of the wall. Inside it was divided up into little rooms with scrolled iron doorways opening on to a passage. Some were filled with straw, some with faggots or peat. One was empty, and one had a wall ladder with hand and foot holes instead of rungs. Up this Boggis went, and through a trap-door above.
Tolly followed, and found himself in a room rather like his bedroom but much larger, smelling of hay and sawdust, and rich with a soft, musty kind of darkness. There was only one small round window covered with cobwebs, so that the light that came through was dovegrey. Here and there a ray of white light came slanting through a broken roof tile, against which you could see the golden motes of dust in the air. It looked mysterious and enticing. The floor made hollow noises and had holes in it where the boards had rotted. Up here Boggis had a bench and saw, and as he finished a log he threw the pieces through the trap-door on to the floor below.
In one of the little rooms downstairs Tolly had seen a chair and table and a blue tea-pot and mug. ‘Do you live here?’ he asked. Boggis looked at him with teasing bright blue eyes. ‘It all depends what you call living,’ he said. ‘When I’m awake I’m mostly here, but when I go home I mostly sleeps.’
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Fifty-five years. I came when I was twelve. But of course I knew it before that because my father worked here, same as me.’
‘What are those little rooms downstairs with park gates instead of doors?’
The Children of Green Knowe Collection Page 2