“Yes, sir,” said Robert. “I certainly do.”
“Good heavens!” said the Colonel. “You mean to say you’ve no memory of it at all? I’m afraid there must have been concussion.”
But Mrs Brown assured the Colonel that Robert had been in bed on Monday afternoon.
“But, great heavens! I saw you as plainly as I see you now. Apart from everything else I knew your coat.”
The Colonel turned to William.
“You said that he was unconscious.”
“He was,” said William innocently. “He was asleep. I thought that was what you meant.”
“Well, it must have been a hallucination. A hallucination sent me by Fate, to show me the utter worthlessness of one in whom I had trusted, and to show me the worth of one whom I had ignorantly despised.”
He leant over and shook Robert warmly by the hand.
Robert grinned inanely, and then turned to meet Eleanor’s eyes. They were smiling at him fondly. It was all too wonderful to be true. And yet it was jolly mysterious.
The old chap had said that he’d seen him as plainly as possible in his hat and coat. Snowballing him . . .
He looked at William.
William’s face wore a shining look of innocence; his eyes were slightly upraised.
Robert knew the look well. That kid knew something about all this. He’d get hold of that kid tonight, and he’d— No, on second thoughts, Robert decided not to pursue any investigations that might alter the situation. He looked at William again.
The angelic solemnity of William’s face broke up – just for a second – then quickly restored itself . . .
The situation was highly satisfactory as it stood.
“Away from Civil’sation,” said William scornfully.
“It’s a dotty subject.”
“Ole Frenchie always gives dotty subjects for essays,” said Ginger.
“Ole Frenchie’s against civil’sation,” said Douglas. “He says he wished he’d lived in the Stone Age.”
“I wish he had, too,” said William.
“He says,” said Henry, “that when things get too much for him he likes to leave the horrors of civil’sation behind and make for the peace an’ solace of the open countryside.”
“Dotty sort of thing he would say,” said William.
The four Outlaws had just reached the old barn when suddenly Ginger said, “Gosh, who’s this?”
It was a strange figure, dressed in a shapeless trailing coat, the face almost hidden in a thick black mop of hair.
They gazed at it in bewilderment as it approached.
“Hello, William!” said a small shrill voice.
“Gosh!” groaned William. “Violet Elizabeth Bott!”
Violet Elizabeth removed the mop-like wig.
“Yes, it’s me, William,” she said with her habitual lisp. “I’ve run away from school.”
“Run away?” said William.
“Yes,” said Violet Elizabeth. “I don’t like it. It’s a nasty place and they give you nasty food. Mince!”
Violet Elizabeth’s parents had gone abroad – Mr Bott on business and Mrs Bott on a trip to Paris – and they had parked Violet Elizabeth at Rose Mount School, a select boarding-school for girls on the outskirts of the village.
“But what on earth—?” said William, pointing to the wig that she was now dangling in one hand.
“It’s a disguise,” said Violet Elizabeth proudly. “I stole it. It’s a wig. It belongs to one of the big girls, and I stole it for my disguise, so that I could run away. And the coat belongs to one of the mistresses. I stole that for my disguise, too.”
They stared at her helplessly.
“Yes, but what are you going to do?” said William.
“Stay with you,” said Violet Elizabeth simply. “You must hide me so that they can’t find me.”
“Well, we can’t,” said William indignantly.
“But you must, William. They’re nasty people at that school. I wouldn’t eat mince and they said I mustn’t have anything else to eat till I’d eaten it, so I shall starve to death if you send me back.”
She looked at him appealingly.
“You can’t send me back to starve to death, William. It would be the same as murdering me. And if you try to take me back, I’ll scream an’ I’ll scream an’ I’ll scream till I’m sick, I will.”
William turned to the others. “Gosh! What are we goin’ to do with her?”
“Take her back,” said Ginger.
William gave an ironic snort.
“Yes, screamin’ and yellin’ all down the road! That’s a jolly good idea, I mus’ say!”
“She bites, too,” said Douglas. “She’s got teeth like daggers. She bit me once an’ it took days to get well.”
“It’s a sort of moral problem,” said Henry.
“What d’you mean, moral problem?” said William.
“Well, she’s sort of taken sanctuary with us.”
“What’s that?” said William. “Same as a bird sanctuary?”
“Yes, in a way,” said Henry, “but it’s more serious with humans. She’s come an’ asked for sanctuary an’ we’ve got to give it to her. It would be treachery to hand her over to her enemies. She’s – trusted us, you see. She’s taken sanctuary with us.”
“Yes, I s’pose there’s somethin’ in that,” said William, “but we can’t hide her up for the rest of our lives. An’ she’s fussy about food. She’d start screamin’ and carryin’ on.”
“She’s a sort of mixture of an orphan an’ a refugee,” said Douglas. “It makes it jolly difficult.”
Violet Elizabeth had tripped over her coat and fallen at William’s feet. She put the wig on again, peering up at them through the tangle of dark hair.
“It’s a lovely disguise, isn’t it?” she said.
“Now listen, Violet Elizabeth,” said William. “You’re a mixture of an orphan an’ a refugee, same as Douglas says, an’ we can’t keep you ’cause we’ve nowhere to hide you, an’ we can’t take you home ’cause your mother’s gone on a trip to Paris.”
“The fairground of Europe,” said Henry. “That’s what I once heard someone call it.”
“Yes,” said Violet Elizabeth with sudden bitterness. “She’s in Paris, riding on roundabouts and swinging on swings at this fairground and she doesn’t care what happens to me. She just leaves me to be poisoned by mince an’ starved to death. I won’t go back to her at all now, an’ it’ll serve her right.”
“Well, we can’t go on keepin’ you for the rest of our lives,” said William. “It would be like that man what had to go about with an albatross tied round his neck.”
Violet Elizabeth glowered at them through the forest of black hair.
“I’m not going to that nasty school,” she said.
Then what could be seen of her face broke into a beaming smile.
“I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll get myself adopted. I’m sick of school an’ I’m sick of my own mother. I want a nice new school and a nice new mother, so you must get me adopted.”
“How could we?” said William.
“Put a notice in the post office,” said Violet Elizabeth.
The Outlaws hesitated.
“Well, it’s better than jus’ stayin’ here,” whispered William to Ginger. “We’ll get rid of her somehow.”
They reached the post office and stood for a minute outside, examining the notices that were displayed in the window.
They went in. It was empty except for the post mistress, who looked at them without interest.
“Well?” she said. “What can I do for you?”
“We want to put a card in the window,” said Violet Elizabeth.
“Where is it?” said the post mistress.
“We haven’t got one,” said William. “If we tell you what we want, will you write it down?”
“What is it?” said the post mistress.
Violet Elizabeth cleared her throat impressively.
“Loveable young lady,” she said, “wants to be adopted by nice person.”
“All right,” said the post mistress. “Now off you go, and no more of your nonsense!”
“We’ll have to think of something else, then,” said Violet Elizabeth when they reached the crossroads.
“Well, we can’t stay here,” said Douglas. “Anyone might come along an’ we’d all get into a row. Look! Someone’s comin’ now!”
Mrs Monks and Miss Caruthers were coming down the road, deep in conversation.
“Quick!” said William, diving into the overgrown ditch. The others followed. The two women stopped at the crossroads and stood talking.
“You see,” said Miss Caruthers, “this friend of mine who shall be nameless – this friend of mine wanted to find a little girl to bring up as a companion for her own little girl, who’s an only child and needs companionship . . .
“Well, I got in touch with someone who seemed ideal – a widower with a little girl of the right age. I got the interview all fixed up . . . This friend of mine (who shall be nameless) is staying at the Somerton Arms in Marleigh . . .
“Anyway, I was going to take the child to the interview there this afternoon. Then I heard from the widower by this morning’s post that the whole thing has fallen through.
“I’ve been called to the sick-bed of a dear aunt and have to rush off to the train. I tried to ring my friend up at the hotel but couldn’t get through to her . . .
“I wrote a note for the gardener to take but he’s not turned up. Well, there’s nothing I can do about it, now. So provoking.”
“I’m sorry I can’t help,” said Mrs Monks, “but the Women’s Guild committee is waiting for me and I’m late already. Goodbye.”
“Oh well,” said Miss Caruthers with a sigh.
She stood irresolute for a moment. Suddenly she brightened. She had caught sight of a boy’s head in the ditch.
“Boy!” she called.
Slowly, William emerged.
Miss Caruthers had not lived in the neighbourhood long enough to distinguish one boy from another. Here was a boy, she felt, who could be trusted.
“Will you do something for me, boy?” she said.
“Uh-huh,” said William guardedly.
Miss Caruthers took a note from her handbag.
“Will you go to the Somerton Arms at Marleigh and deliver this note for me? Here’s sixpence for your trouble.”
William crammed the note into his pocket, and received the sixpence into a grubby palm.
“Thanks,” he said, “but—”
But Miss Caruthers was already scurrying away.
The other four climbed out of the ditch.
“That’s what I want to be,” said Violet Elizabeth, beaming joyfully. “I want to be the little girl’s companion. I’ll have a nice new friend, an’ a nice new mother. It’s just what I want. She’ll be waiting for me now and she’ll never know I’m not the real one. Come on. Let’s go to Marleigh quick.”
They stared at her.
“Well, it’s a way of gettin’ rid of her,” said William. “We can jus’ take her there an’ leave her.”
He opened his hand.
“Look! She gave me sixpence.”
“You must buy me a lolly then,” said Violet Elizabeth, “to stop me starving to death.”
“All right,” said William. “If we buy you a lolly, will you promise to go back to school straight away?”
“I’ll think about it,” said Violet Elizabeth graciously.
Ginger ran back to the shops and returned with a lollipop.
“Now will you go back to school?” said William, handing it to her.
“No,” said Violet Elizabeth, “I said I’d think about it and I’ve thought about it and I’ve decided not to.”
Violet Elizabeth had dropped her lollipop on to the road, but she picked it up and proceeded to lick the dust off it.
“Look at her!” said Ginger. “Turns up her nose at mince an’ eats dust!”
“I don’t mind the taste of dust,” said Violet Elizabeth. “It’s quite clean dust. And I made up all that about the mince. I wanted to run away from school so I made all that up about the mince to give me a reason for running away. It was clever of me, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, come on,” said William. “Let’s take her to that place an’ get rid of her.”
They trailed over the fields to Marleigh and the Somerton Arms.
“I’m going to have a nice new mother,” said Violet Elizabeth complacently. “My own mother doesn’t care for anything but riding on roundabouts in Paris, so I don’t want her any more.”
Mrs Bott was not riding on roundabouts in Paris. She was sitting in her bedroom at the Somerton Arms, dressed up to the nines, awaiting her visitor.
During the last few months Mrs Bott had been planning fresh manoeuvres to force her way into the ranks of the local aristocracy.
The aristocracy had been to Paris. They came back with Paris outfits and Paris hats. Mrs Bott had never been to Paris, so when Mr Bott went to Holland on business, and decorators had taken possession of the Hall, she decided to seize the opportunity.
But her thoughts had turned more and more frequently to Violet Elizabeth at Rose Mount School. To judge from her letters, Violet Elizabeth was not happy at Rose Mount School.
Wandering through the Paris shops, Mrs Bott came to the conclusion that the root of the trouble was the fact that Violet Elizabeth was an only child. What Violet Elizabeth needed was a little companion.
She decided to move secretly. She wrote to Miss Caruthers because Miss Caruthers was a newcomer to the village who could be trusted not to spread the news.
She decided to leave Paris at once, to come home incognito, as it were, and stay quietly at the Somerton Arms till her husband had returned and the decorations at the Hall were completed.
Then she would blossom forth in all her Paris glory. She had had things done to her face and to her hair. She had bought a Paris dress and a Paris hat.
She was wearing both hat and dress now as she sat in her bedroom in the Somerton Arms awaiting the little companion.
There was a knock at the door and the manageress of the hotel entered, closing the door behind her. She looked pale and shaken.
“There’s a child,” she said. “At least I think it’s a child. Something about you expecting her . . .”
“Oh yes,” said Mrs Bott, moving the hat sideways. “I’m expecting her. Show her in.”
She opened the door and a small figure entered. The wig hid her face completely and the lollipop dangled from it, inextricably entangled in the thick black hair. The coat followed like a bedraggled tail. Mrs Bott gave an hysterical scream.
“Go away, you horrible child!” she cried. “I wouldn’t let my Violet Elizabeth see you even. It would kill her. Go away!”
But, at the same moment, Violet Elizabeth had also given an hysterical scream; and heard not a word of this.
“I don’t want you for my mother, you nasty woman! I want my own nice mother. I want my own Mummy. Go away, you nasty horrid woman! If you don’t go away I’ll scream and I’ll scream and I’ll scream . . .”
Mrs Bott stared at her. The voice lisping was familiar. The scream was familiar. What she could see of that small distorted face was familiar.
“Oh, my darling!” she said, throwing herself on the floor beside Violet Elizabeth.
“Go away!” screamed Violet Elizabeth again.
Mrs Bott’s abrupt descent had not only displaced Violet Elizabeth’s black wig, but had also displaced the Paris hat and hairdo – reducing her, almost, to her old self.
“Oh Mummy!” said Violet Elizabeth. “My own nice Mummy!”
They sat on the floor clasped in each other’s arms.
And then Miss Golightly, Headmistress of Rose Mount School, entered: she had tracked her errant pupil to the Somerton Arms. Mrs Bott rose to her feet.
“Miss Golightly,” she said sternly, “you have a lot t
o explain.”
Miss Golightly explained it. The flu epidemic had reduced the staff to half its normal numbers and things had, she admitted, got a little out of hand. But that a pupil of Rose Mount School should run away was unprecedented.
She fixed a stony gaze on Violet Elizabeth.
“And you, Violet Elizabeth,” she said, “have something to explain. Kindly explain it.”
Violet Elizabeth’s small sweet face wore a look of troubled innocence. “It wasn’t my fault,” she said plaintively. “It was those horrid boys. They made me do it.”
“What boys?” said Miss Golightly.
The manageress had joined the group in the bedroom.
“There were four boys at the door . . .” she said.
But the four boys were at the door no longer. They had heard fragments of the conversation and they were following Old Frenchie’s example – leaving the horrors of civilisation behind them and making for the peace and solace of the open countryside.
“William, dear,” said Mrs Brown, “I wonder if you’d do something for me this afternoon. I’ll give you a shilling if you will.”
William immediately assumed an expression of shining selflessness.
“It’s all right, Mother,” he said. “I’ll help you any way I can.”
“That’s very sweet of you, dear,” said Mrs Brown, deeply touched. “It’s this,” she went on. “I forgot to order the fish for dinner, and I want you to go into Hadley and get it for me. From Hallett’s in the High Street. I’ll write down on a piece of paper just what I want you to get.”
William said, “Will you give me the shilling before I go, then I can spend it in Hadley?”
“Certainly not, dear. I shall only give you the shilling if you bring it back properly. Unless you bring it back properly I shan’t give you a penny.”
“S’pose,” he said thoughtfully, “s’pose that I do it nearly all right, will you give me sixpence?”
But Mrs Brown, who had finally come to the conclusion that a penny and his bus fare would have been quite enough, answered, “Of course not, William. I shan’t give you anything at all unless you do it perfectly, and a shilling’s far too much in any case . . .”
William's Birthday and Other Stories Page 6