William The Outlaw

by Richmal Crompton

  ‘It’s all dark . . . it’s like a little tunnel . . . I’m going right to the end to see what’s there . . . well, anyway if that wasn’t a salmon I bet there are salmons there and I bet I’ll catch one too one of these days, and—’

  His voice died away in the distance. They waited rather anxiously. . . . They heard nothing and saw nothing more. William seemed to have been completely swallowed up by the rock.

  William slowly and painfully (for the aperture was so small that occasionally it grazed his back and head) travelled along what was little more than a fissure in the rock. The spirit of adventure was high in him. He was longing to come upon a cave full of swarthy men with coloured handkerchiefs tied round their heads and gold ear-rings, quaffing goblets of smuggled rum or unloading bales of smuggled silk. Occasionally he stopped and listened for the sound of deep-throated oaths or whispers or smugglers’ songs. Once or twice he was almost sure he heard them. He crawled on and on and on and into a curtain of undergrowth and out into a field.

  He stopped and looked around him. He was in the field behind the cave. The curtain of undergrowth completely concealed the little hole from which he had emerged. He was partly relieved and partly disappointed. It was rather nice to be out in the open air again (the tunnel had had a very earthy taste); on the other hand he had hoped for more adventures than it had afforded. But he consoled himself by telling himself that they might still exist. He’d explore that passage more thoroughly some other time – there might be a passage opening off it leading to the smugglers’ cave – and meantime it had given him quite a satisfactory thrill. He’d never really thought he could get through that little hole. And it had given him a secret. The knowledge that that little tunnel led out into the field was very thrilling.

  He looked around him again. Within a few yards from him was the wall surrounding the house about which they had just been making surmises. Was it a prison, or an asylum or – possibly – a Bolshevist headquarters? William looked at it curiously. He longed to know.

  He noticed a small door in the wall standing open. He went up to it and peeped inside. It gave on to a paved yard which was empty. The temptation was too strong for William. Very cautiously he entered. Still he couldn’t see anyone about. A door – a kitchen door apparently – stood open. Still very cautiously William approached. He decided to say that he’d lost his way should anyone accost him. He was dimly aware that his appearance after his passage through the bowels of the earth was not such as to inspire confidence. Yet his curiosity and the suggestion of adventure which their surmises had thrown over the house was an irresistible magnet.

  Within the open door was a kitchen where a boy, about William’s size and height and not unlike William, stood at a table wearing blue overalls and polishing silver.

  They stared at each other. Then William said, ‘Hello.’

  The boy was evidently ready to be friendly. He replied ‘Hello.’

  Again they stared at each other in silence. This time it was the boy who broke the silence.

  ‘What’ve you come for?’ he said in a tone of weary boredom. ‘You the butcher’s boy or the baker’s boy or somethin’? Only came in this mornin’ so I don’ know who’s what yet. P’raps you’re the milk boy?’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ said William.

  ‘Beggin’?’ said the boy.

  ‘No,’ said William.

  But the boy’s tone was friendly so William cautiously entered the kitchen and began to watch him. The boy was cleaning silver with a paste which he made by the highly interesting process of spitting into a powder. William watched, absorbed. He longed to assist.

  ‘You live here?’ he said ingratiatingly to the boy.

  ‘Naw,’ said the boy laconically. ‘House-boy. Only came today,’ and added dispassionately, ‘Rotten place.’

  ‘Is it a prison?’ said William with interest.

  The boy seemed to resent the question.

  ‘Prison yourself,’ he said with spirit.

  ‘A lunatic asylum, then?’ said William.

  This seemed to sting the boy yet further.

  ‘Garn,’ he said pugnaciously. ‘Oo’re yer callin’ a lunatic asylum?’

  ‘I din’ mean you,’ said William pacifically. ‘P’raps it’s a place where they make plots.’

  The boy relapsed into boredom. ‘I dunno what they make,’ he said. ‘Only came this mornin’. They’ve gorn off to ’is aunt but the other one – she’s still here, you bet, a-ringin’ an’ a-ringin’ an’ a-ringin’ at her bell, an’ givin’ no one no peace nowheres.’ He warmed to his theme. ‘I wouldn’ve come if I’d knowed. House-maid went off yesterday wivout notice. She’d ’ad as much as she wanted an’ only the ole cook – well I’m not used to places wiv only a ole cook ’sides myself an’ her upstairs a-ringin’ an’ a-ringin’ at her bell an’ givin’ no one no peace nowheres an’ the other two off to their aunt’s. No place fit to call a place I don’t call it.’ He spat viciously into his powder. ‘Yus, an’ anyone can have my job.’

  ‘Can I?’ said William eagerly.

  During the last few minutes a longing to make paste by spitting into a powder and then to clean silver with it had grown in William’s soul till it was a consuming passion.

  The boy looked at him in surprise and suspicion, not sure whether the question was intended as an insult.

  ‘What you doin’ an’ where you come from?’ he demanded aggressively.

  ‘Been fishin’,’ said William, ‘an’ I jolly nearly caught a salmon.’

  The boy looked out of the window. It was still the first real day of spring.

  ‘Crumbs!’ he said enviously, ‘fishin’.’ He gazed with distaste at his work, ‘an’ me muckin’ about with this ’ere.’

  ‘Well,’ suggested William simply, ‘you go out an’ fish an’ I’ll go on muckin’ about with that.’

  The boy stared at him again first in pure amazement and finally with speculation.

  ‘Yus,’ he said at last, ‘an’ you pinch my screw. Not much!’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ said William with great emphasis. ‘I won’t. Honest I won’t. I’ll give it you. I don’t want it. I only want,’ again he gazed enviously at the boy’s engaging pastime, ‘I only want to clean silver same as you’re doin’.’

  ‘Then there’s the car to clean with the ’ose-pipe.’

  William’s eyes gleamed.

  ‘I bet I can do that,’ he said, ‘an’ what after that?’

  ‘Dunno,’ said the boy, ‘that’s all they told me. The ole cook’ll tell you what to do next. I specks,’ optimistically, ‘she won’t notice you not bein’ me with me only comin’ this mornin’ an’ her run off her feet what with her ringin’ her bell all the time an’ givin’ no one no peace an’ them bein’ away. Anyway,’ he ended defiantly, ‘I don’t care if she does. It ain’t the sort of place I’ve bin used to an’ for two pins I’d tell ’em so.’

  He took a length of string from his pocket, a pin from a pincushion which hung by the fireplace, a jam jar from a cupboard, then looked uncertainly at William.

  ‘I c’n find a stick down there by the stream,’ he said, ‘an’ I won’t stay long. I bet I’ll be back before that ole cook comes down from her an’ – well, you put these here on an’ try ’n look like me an’ – I won’t be long.’

  He slipped off his overalls and disappeared into the sunshine. William heard him run across the paved yard and close the door cautiously behind him. Then evidently he felt safe. There came the sound of his whistling as he ran across the field.

  William put on the overalls and gave himself up to his enthralling task. It was every bit as thrilling as he’d thought it would be. He spat and mixed and rubbed and spat and mixed and rubbed in blissful absorption. . . . He got the powder all over his face and hair and hands and overalls. Then he heard the sound of someone coming downstairs. He bent his head low over his work. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a large hot-looking woman enter, wearing an apron and a print dress.


  ‘Gosh!’ she exclaimed as though in despair. ‘Gosh! of all the places!’

  At that minute a bell rang loudly and with a groan she turned and went from the room again. William went on with his task of cleaning the silver. The novelty of the process was wearing off and he was beginning to feel rather tired of it. He amused himself by tracing patterns upon the surface of the silver with the paste he had manufactured. He took a lot of trouble making a funny face upon the teapot which fortunately had a plain surface.

  Then the large woman came down again. She entered the kitchen groaning and saying ‘Oh, Lor!’ and she was summoned upstairs again at once by an imperious peal of the bell. After a few minutes she came down again, still groaning and saying, ‘Oh, Lor! . . . First she wants hot milk an’ then she wants cold milk an’ then she wants beef tea an’ then the Lord only knows what she wants . . . first one thing an’ then another – I’ve fair had enough of it an’ them goin’ off to their aunt’s an’ that Ellen ’oppin’ it an’ you not much help to a body, are you?’ she asked sarcastically. Then she looked at his face and screamed. ‘My gosh! . . . What’s ’appened to you?’

  ‘Me?’ said William blankly.

  ‘Yes. Your face’ as gone an’ changed since jus’ a few minutes ago. What’s ’appened to it?’

  ‘Nothin’,’ said William.

  ‘Well, it’s my nerves, then,’ she said shrilly. ‘I’m startin’ seein’ things wrong. An’ no wonder. . . . Well, I’ve ’ad enough of it, I ’ave, an’ I’m goin’ ’ome . . . now . . . first that Ellen ’oppin’ it an’ then them goin’ off an’ then ’er badgerin’ the life out of me. An’ then your face changin’ before me very eyes. Me nervous system’s wore out, that’s what it is, an’ I’ve ’ad enough of it. When people’s faces start changin’ under me very eyes it shows I needs a change an’ I’m goin’ to ’ave one. That Ellen ain’t the only one what can ’op it. ‘Er an’ ’er bell-ringing – an’ – an’ you an’ your face-changin’! ’Taint no place for a respectable woman. You can ’ave a taste of waitin’ on ’er an’ you can tell them I’ve gone an’ why – you an’ your face!’

  During this tirade she had divested herself of her apron and clothed herself in her coat and hat. She stood now and looked at William for a minute in scornful silence. Then her glance wandered to his operations.

  ‘Ugh!’ she said in disgust, ‘you nasty little messer, you! Call yourself a house-boy – changin’ your face every minute. What d’you think you are? A blinkin’ cornelian? An’ messin’ about like that. What d’you think you’re doin’? Distemperin’ the silver or cleanin’ it?’

  At this moment came another irascible peal at the bell.

  ‘Listen!’ said the fat woman. ‘’Ark at ’er! Well, I’m orf. I’m fair finished, I am. An’ you can go or stay has you please! Serve ’em right to come ’ome an’ find us hall gone. Serve ’er right if you went up to ’er an’ did a bit of face changin’ at ’er just to scare ’er same as you did me. Do ’er good. Drat ’er – an’ all of you.’

  She went out of the kitchen and slammed the back door. Then she went out of the paved yard and slammed the door. Then she went across the field and out of the field into the road and slammed the gate.

  William stood and looked about him. A bell rang again with vicious intensity and he realised with mingled excitement and apprehension that he and the mysterious ringer were the only occupants of the house. The ringing went on and on and on.

  William stood beneath the bell-dial and watched the blue disc waggle about with dispassionate interest. The little blue disc was labelled ‘Miss Pilliter’. Then he bethought himself of his next duty. It was cleaning the car with the hose. His spirits rose at the prospect.

  The bell was still ringing wildly, furiously, hysterically, but its ringing did not trouble William. He went out into the yard to find the car. It was in the garage and just near it was a hose pipe.

  William, much thrilled by this discovery, began to experiment with the hose pipe. He found a tap by which it could be turned off and on, by which it could be made to play fiercely or languidly. William experimented with this for some time. It was even more fascinating than the silver cleaning. There was a small leak near the nozzle which formed a little fountain. William cleaned the car by playing on to it wildly and at random, making enthralling water snakes and serpents by writhing the pipe to and fro. He deluged the car for about a quarter of an hour in a state of pure ecstasy. . . . The bell could still be heard ringing in the house, but William heeded it not. He was engrossed heart and mind and soul in his manipulation of the hose pipe. At the end of the quarter of an hour he laid down the pipe and went to examine the car. He had performed his task rather too thoroughly. Not only was the car dripping outside; it was also dripping inside. There were pools of water on the floor at the back and in the front. There were pools on all the seats. Too late William realised that he should have tempered thoroughness with discretion. Still, he thought optimistically, it would dry in time. His gaze wandered round. It might be a good plan to clean the walls of the garage while he was about it. They looked pretty dirty.

  He turned the hose on to them. That was almost more fascinating than cleaning the car. The water bounced back at you from the wall unexpectedly and delightfully. He could sluice it round and round the wall in patterns. He could make a mammoth fountain of it by pointing it straight at the ceiling. After some minutes of this enthralling occupation he turned his attention to the tap which regulated the flow and began to experiment with that. Laying the hose pipe flat on the floor he turned the tap in one direction till the flow was a mere trickle, then turned it in the other till it was a torrent. The torrent was more thrilling than the trickle but it was also more unmanageable. So he tried to turn the tap down again and found that he couldn’t. It had stuck. He wrestled with it, but in vain. The torrent continued to discharge itself with unabated violence.

  William was slightly dismayed by the discovery. He looked round for a hammer or some other implement to apply to the recalcitrant tap, but saw none. He decided to go back to the kitchen and look for one there. He dripped his way across to the kitchen and there looked about him. The bell was still ringing violently. The blue disc was still wobbling hysterically. It occurred to William suddenly that as sole staff of the house it was perhaps his duty to answer the bell. So he dripped his way upstairs. The blue disc had been marked 6. Outside the door marked six he stopped a minute, then opened the door and entered. A woman wearing an expression of suffering and a very purple dress lay moaning on the sofa. The continued ringing of the bell was explained by a large book which she had propped up against it in such a way as to keep the button pressed.

  She opened her eyes and looked balefully at William.

  ‘I’ve been ringing that bell,’ she said viciously, ‘for a whole hour without anyone coming to answer it. I’ve had three separate fits of hysterics. I feel so ill that I can’t speak. I shall claim damages from Dr Morlan. Never, never, NEVER have I been treated like this before. Here I come – a quivering victim of nerves, riddled by neurasthenia – come here to be nursed back to health and strength by Dr Morlan, and first of all off he goes to some aunt or other, then off goes the housemaid. And I shall report that cook to Dr Morlan the minute he returns, the minute he returns. I’ll sue her for damages. I’ll sue the whole lot of you for damages; I’m going to have hysterics again.’

  She had them, and William watched with calm interest and enjoyment. It was even more diverting than the silver cleaning and the hose pipe. When she’d finished she sat up and wiped her eyes.

  ‘Why don’t you do something?’ she said irritably to William.

  ‘All right – what?’ said William obligingly, but rather sorry that the entertainment had come to an end.

  ‘Fetch the cook,’ snapped the lady, ‘ask her how she dare ignore my bell for hours and hours and HOURS. Tell her I’m going to sue her for damages. Tell her—’

  ‘She’s gone,’ said William.

&n
bsp; ‘Gone!’ screamed the lady. ‘Gone where?’

  ‘Gone off,’ said William; ‘she said she was fair finished an’ went off.’

  ‘When’s she coming back? I’m in a most critical state of health. All this neglect and confusion will be the death of my nervous system. When’s she coming back?’

  ‘Never,’ said William. ‘She’s gone off for good. She said her nervous system was wore out an’ went off – for good.’

  ‘Her nervous system indeed,’ said the lady, stung by the cook’s presumption in having a nervous system. ‘What’s anyone’s nervous system compared with mine? Who’s in charge of the staff, then?’

  ‘Me,’ said William simply. ‘I’m all there is left of it.’

  He was rewarded by an even finer display of hysterics than the one before. He sat and watched this one, too, with critical enjoyment as one might watch a firework display or an exhibition of conjuring. His attitude seemed to irritate her. She recovered suddenly and launched into another tirade.

  ‘Here I come,’ she said, ‘as paying guest to be nursed back to health and strength from a state of neurasthenic prostration, and find myself left to the mercies of a common house-boy, a nasty, common, low, little rapscallion like you – find myself literally murdered by neglect, but I’ll sue you for damages, the whole lot of you – the doctor and the housemaid and the cook and you – you nasty little – monkey . . . and I’ll have you all hanged for murder.’

  She burst into tears again and William continued to watch her, not at all stung by her reflections on his personal appearance and social standing. He was hoping that the sobbing would lead to another fit of hysterics. It didn’t, however. She dried her tears suddenly and sat up.