The back door had gone, as we knew. We stepped inside with caution, listening before we took each forward step, but it was evident the place was still empty. Moreover, again it smelt so fetid and unpleasant that there was no temptation to linger. A doorway separated the kitchen from the front room so, after peering through it at the scene of Mr Ward's labours and noting that his spade and pickaxe had gone, we retired to the back garden to think things over.
'Well I shan't be in a hurry to go in there again,' said Kenneth. 'I shouldn't be surprised if you couldn't catch all sorts of diseases in a place like that. You could even catch the plague, I shouldn't wonder. Rats carry it, you know.'
'Only overseas rats,' I said. 'Did you think Mr Ward had made his hole any bigger?'
'Quite a bit. Deeper, too, from what I could see of it.'
'What about the treasure?'
'He would have found it by now.'
'Unless it's hidden upstairs.'
'Dare you to go up!'
'No dare taken, so fainities.'
'That's for playing "he". It's no good for getting out of a dare.'
'Well, you've got to un-dare me, then.'
'All right. What shall we do now?'
'Make raspberry wine, if Aunt Kirstie will find us two bottles and some sugar.'
'She won't. Don't you remember last year when mine fermented in the night and blew its cork up to the ceiling and all the wine spilt over on to the dressing-table cover? Aunt Lally was furious, not about the dressing-table, but because the noise frightened her so.'
'I expect she thought it was a shot.'
'Oh, no, she must be used to hearing shots. Somebody is always going after rabbits on Lye Hill.'
'The gypsies, I suppose.'
'Shouldn't think so. They don't use guns, they use snares.'
'I wish we could go up Lye Hill. I don't believe the gypsies steal children and sell them as slaves. That's just a story to frighten us.'
'They might kidnap us and hold us to ransom, I suppose.'
'No, they wouldn't. Our relations haven't enough money. They might kidnap Lionel, though. Would you go up Lye Hill and rescue him if they did?'
'No. We'd only get into trouble for going up there when we've been told not to.'
'Well, we're not supposed to play down at the sheepwash, but we do. I vote we go to the sheepwash tomorrow. Mr Ward might be there again, doing his madman act with that pickaxe.'
'Better still, we might meet Old Sukie again. She's my friend. She gave me a paper flower. I want to ask her if she'll tell my fortune.'
'She's a witch, not a fortune-teller. Besides, before they'll tell your fortune you have to cross their palm with silver.'
'What does that mean?'
'I think it means you have to give them two bob. I believe it's the only coin which has a cross on it.'
'I tell you what. I expect she'll have a tent at the fair. It might be cheaper there.'
'But we aren't going to the fair. It's on the day we go home.'
'How do you know?'
'Our Sarah told me when it's held. All the village kids save up all the year for it and do jobs, and all that, to get money to spend. There are swings and roundabouts and coconut shies and hoop-la and shooting galleries and goodness knows what. How I jolly well wish we could go.'
'We wouldn't have much to spend if we did go, so perhaps it's just as well we can't.'
Our Sarah and the gang were down at the sheepwash. There was no sign of Mr Ward and Old Sukie did not come down Lye Hill.
Chapter 4
Tea-Party And After
We heard no more about the visit Aunt Kirstie and Uncle Arthur had paid to Hill House. We had remarked on the fact that, although Lionel Kempson-Conyers had been twice to tea with us, there had been no reciprocal invitation, yet when it came it found us unprepared and shy. For one thing, it was given in a note from his grandmother, Mrs Kempson herself, and not merely by word of mouth from Lionel. Moreover, it seemed to call for a written answer. Another problem was that of clothes. Lionel was always informally clad when he came down the hill to play with us, but Aunt Lally decided that we must wear our Sunday best if we were going to tea at the manor house.
'But we can't have any fun if Margaret wears her velvet frock and I have to put on a suit,' complained Kenneth. 'I shall ask Lionel what he thinks we ought to wear.'
'If his granny sends a proper invite,' said Aunt Lally, 'it means tea in the drawing-room, and tea in the drawing-room means Sunday clothes.'
'It won't be in the drawing-room,' I said. 'It will be in the nursery or the schoolroom. I've read about it in library books. Rich people's children never have tea in the drawing-room.'
Kenneth and I, who had heard from the village children all about the importance and glory of the manor house, decided that Mrs Kempson wanted to look us over to find out whether, in her opinion, we were suitable companions for her grandson. However, the aunts in conclave decided that it was our grandfather's position as patriarch and part-owner of the village which was responsible for the honour accorded us, and that we must uphold the family dignity, so I wore my green velvet with the real lace collar and Kenneth his best suit and the bow tie he had for Christmas. We felt smart, uncomfortable and apprehensive. We had hoped Lionel would come for us, but we were left to make our own way. It seemed a long trek up the hill, yet, on the other hand, we seemed to get to the manor house long before we felt ready to face the ordeal before us.
I know now that it was a beautiful old house. At the time it merely intimidated me. A long gravel drive bordered by lime trees led up to it and our first problem was whether we ought to seek admittance by the imposing front door or go round to the back.
While we were hesitating, a young man drove up in what would nowadays be a vintage car, but which, at that time, I suppose, was one of the newest models. As he did so, the front door opened and a stately, bald-headed man-servant appeared.
'Oh, Barker, see that they put the car away, will you? I shan't be needing it again today,' said the young man. 'Hullo,' he said to us, 'are you the merchants who kicked off the cartshed roof and tried to drown yourselves in the sheepwash? Good! Come on in.' He led us past the stately butler and we found ourselves in what appeared to me to be a vast, baronial hall. It had a splendid staircase leading up from it and on the wall of the staircase were portraits. It was awe-inspiring and filled me with renewed apprehension.
The stately butler collected the young man's light overcoat and driving gloves and Kenneth's cap. I stood aside and furtively dusted the toes of my shoes against my stockings.
'All right, Barker, we'll show ourselves up,' said the young man. 'How is my mother?'
'You will find the mistress in her usual good health, sir.'
'The people from Paris arrived yet?'
'With Miss Amabel, yes, sir.'
'Good. Well, now, I'm Nigel Kempson. Who are you two?' he said to us. 'I know you're Lionel's friends, but not your names.'
'Margaret and Kenneth Clifton,' I said. We mounted the splendid staircase and at the end of a short landing the young man flung open double doors painted in white and gold and having what I thought at the time were real gold handles, and said,
'What ho, everybody! Hullo, Lionel! I've brought along your companions in crime.'
It was an enormous room which dwarfed the people in it. I was too confused and shy at the moment to tell how many there were, but I know now that there were not more than seven or eight. Old Mrs Kempson was there, seated near an enormous Tudor fireplace in which a very small log fire was burning, and grouped around the room were a number of people of both sexes and of different ages among whom were Lionel's parents (we were told) and his sister. There were other introductions. Nobody shook hands, as we were accustomed to do at home when we met new people, but they nodded kindly and some of them smiled.
The point which immediately struck me was that Aunt Lally had been right about clothes. Lionel was wearing a smart black jacket and beautifully-creased
light-grey trousers which made Kenneth's Sunday outfit look low-class and shoddy. He had come forward from his seat on a big leather pouffe as soon as we entered the room. He looked elegant and at ease and seemed like a stranger.
'Hullo,' he said. 'Glad you could come. Grandmamma, this is Margaret and this is Kenneth.'
Mrs Kempson, whom we had sometimes seen in the village, smiled rather frostily at us after Lionel had made the other introductions (with a sang froid which I envied him) and said, graciously grande dame:
'I hear you have been very kind to Lionel.' She then told us to sit on a sofa. A bit later on she said,
'Well, Lionel, you may run along now. You must bring your little friends back here when they are ready to go home at six and they will say goodbye to me.'
So it was schoolroom tea after all, or, rather, it was tea in the housekeeper's room. It was a very good tea, too. There was bloater paste as well as jam, chocolate biscuits and little buns as well as a big plum cake. The housekeeper was an intimidating, unsmiling, elderly little woman, but, having poured out tea and re-filled the pot, she left us to ourselves.
During the meal there was almost no conversation. After a preliminary period during which Kenneth and I ate in our most genteel way, stiffness and formality were abandoned and, without wasting time in talking, we stuffed ourselves with the riches of the loaded table. The housekeeper looked in once or twice, but she said nothing and went away again immediately.
'Well, that's that, then,' said Lionel when, regretfully, we had to admit that we could not manage to eat any more. 'There isn't time to do much, so would you rather come outside or go up and see my playroom?'
'What would we do outside?' asked my brother.
'Nothing, really. There's never anything to do here. We could skate stones on the pond, if you like.'
We opted for the playroom, hoping that he had some good toys and also mindful (at least, I was) that we were wearing our best clothes and that these and a pond might not harmonise. The playroom was at the very top of the house; in fact, it was one of the attics. Lionel's bedroom was next door and opened out of it.
He had not much in the way of toys, but there was a tin roundabout which worked when you wound it up, although the musical-box on it was broken. We played with this and with a few other things such as a humming-top and a small game of skittles. The roundabout, however, reminded me of St Swithin's Fair. I asked Lionel whether he would be going to it.
'When is it?'
'Saturday.'
'Then I won't be able to. It's my sister's birthday party. I don't suppose they'd let me go, anyway.'
'We shan't be going, either,' said Kenneth. 'We go home on Saturday afternoon because our London school starts on Monday, worse luck.'
We had told lies to Our Sarah and the other children about the amount of money we would spend at the fair because we knew the truth would never come out. Of course we had nothing to spend, or so we thought.
'You're going home?' said Lionel. 'Oh, you can't do that! Who shall I have to play with? I'm stuck here for another three weeks.'
'There's your sister's birthday party,' said Kenneth.
'That's no good to me. She's inviting a lot of idiotic girls she used to be at school with, and their brothers, and Nigel's friends. It will be nothing but dancing and charades and all that sort of rot. In fact, I believe there's even some talk of fancy dress.'
'You'll look nice as Little Lord Fauntleroy,' said Kenneth unwisely. I separated them before any damage was done. At six o'clock we went home. Mrs Kempson said we must come again, but I did not think she meant it.
'I feel sorry for Lionel,' said Kenneth, as we walked down the drive and out past the lodge where nobody had lived since the old lodgekeeper died. 'It will be rotten for him when we've gone. Tell you what. Let's leave him the hermit's cottage.'
'Well, don't tell him yet. He blabs, you know, to that uncle. The uncle knew all about us, didn't he?'
'Well, we shan't need the cottage any more after Saturday. When we see him next time, let's swear him to keep it a secret and take him there. After all, that was a jolly decent tea he gave us, better than ours to him.'
'Oh, I don't know. I don't suppose he has kippers for tea up at the house. I believe rich people only eat them for breakfast and rich children wouldn't have them even then, I don't suppose. They only get porridge, I think.'
'Well, we've got to leave the cottage to someone. Even Our Sarah and Our Ern don't go there any more, so they don't know how exciting it's become. Besides, they wouldn't think as much of that grave as Lionel would.'
'All right, then,' I said doubtfully, 'but I expect he'll get into an awful row if he gets his clothes mucked up or takes back fleas or bugs or anything, and then he'd be sure to split and say we took him there.'
'We have never taken home bugs.'
'Only because we're careful never to go near the walls.'
'We could warn him.'
'All right, then, we'll tell him all about it, but only just before we go home.'
My father was to have come down on Saturday morning to take us back, but there was a surprise because we did not go. It turned out that my mother had had a fall and was in hospital, so on the Thursday there came a letter to ask whether we could stay on for a bit, as my father could not stay away from work to look after us and our little brother Bruce. A neighbour would take on Bruce, but no arrangements could be made about us because no one wanted to look after school-age children, even well-behaved ones.
I suppose we were sorry that mother had to go to hospital, but my first emotion, I am ashamed to say, was one of elation to think that we would be staying on in the village and might even be able to persuade Uncle Arthur to take us to the fair on Saturday after all.
'We still haven't got any money, though,' Kenneth said sadly, 'and a fair isn't any fun at all without money.' It turned out, however, that father had enclosed a postal order with his letter. It was for the princely sum of five shillings (old money) and to us it seemed a fortune. 'There are plenty of things you can have a ride on for twopence,' said Kenneth, 'and Our Ern told me about "a penn'orth on the mat" and that there are two roundabouts, one a penny a go and a little one, with only horses, not cocks and ostriches and things, for only a ha'penny.'
The next thing was to get Uncle Arthur to take us. This he proved willing to do.
'I used to be a devil among the coconuts,' he said, 'and I once got a prize at the shooting gallery. Remember when I laid four coconuts and a china doll in your lap, Kirstie?'
'I remember when you went into that wrestling booth to win five pounds and nearly got your neck broken,' said Aunt Kirstie. 'You were a fool in those days, Arthur.'
'Ah. Pity it wasn't boxing. I'd have won at that,' said Uncle Arthur, not at all put out by her candid criticism.
'What did you make of Lionel's people?' I asked. It was the morning of the fair, the day we had expected to be going home, so we had to discuss mundane matters in order to cope with our inward excitement. It was like Christmas Eve, but even more so, because we had never been to a fair before.
'Well, we didn't see much of them. I suppose they were all right,' said Kenneth. 'I didn't think much of Lionel's toys. Ours are better.'
'I expect he has others at home. His mother looked rather stuck up. Perhaps she thought we weren't good enough for Lionel. I didn't care for his sister much, either.'
'Was she the one who giggled with the uncle or whatever he is, and didn't take any notice of us? Lionel doesn't like her. He says he wishes she was a brother and would take him fishing. I wonder what her birthday party will be like?'
'Lionel told us. Dancing, and all that, and perhaps fancy dress. Do you really think he'll have to dress up? I bet they'll have jolly good things to eat, anyway,' I said enviously.
'That was a very decent tea that old woman gave us. She looked a bit strict, though. And the servant who took my cap! He picked hold of it as though I'd got nits in my hair.'
'Wonder what Lionel's
doing this morning?'
'I expect,' said Kenneth, giggling, 'he's having a special bath and his hair shampooed, ready for the party tonight. Let's go down to the sheepwash and see if Mr Ward's there again. He's a lunatic, must be.'
'We'll have to make sure he doesn't spot us. He's a dangerous lunatic, I'm sure,' I said earnestly.
'Oh, well, it's not as though he knows we know he digs in the hermit's cottage,' said Kenneth. 'We'll have to keep mum about that.'
Down by the brook we found Our Sarah with Our Ern and the rest of the hangers-on. This was surprising, for in Our Sarah's cottage, we knew, Saturday was bedroom day and she was usually kept at home to help turn out the rooms, change the sheets and clean the floors. Bedroom day was an institution among poor families in my childhood, but in London it was usually celebrated on Fridays and the bigger girls were kept away from school regularly on Friday in term-time so that they could help with the chores. In Our Sarah's home, however, bedroom day was on Saturday and she carried out the whole operation on her own, while her mother shopped at the Co-op and her father spent money at the pub.
'Hoy, you young Oi say,' she called out as we approached. 'Where be you a-goen?'
'To the sheepwash,' Kenneth replied.
'You don't warnt to be a-goen there today. You stop along of us and see the band and the percession,' said Our Sarah authoritatively.
'What band?'
'This be 'Orspital Sat'day. They always has it on Saint Swithin's.'
[Mrs Bradley 50] - Late, Late in the Evening Page 4