Mr. Wicker's Window

by Carley Dawson

  CHAPTER 5

  "Well now," began Cilley, "that's a tale that not everyone knows,don't you see. And Mistress Becky would not care to be reminded of it,mark you, for reasons I shall shortly tell."

  His eyes, humorous as they were, took on a shrewdness under theirsandy brows as if judging the character of the boy before him and hisability to keep a secret.

  "First and foremost," he said, "You had best know who I am." He leanedback and hooked his thumbs under his armpits in a prideful gesture.

  "My lad," said Ned Cilley, thrusting out his chin, "I am a member ofthe _Mirabelle's_ crew!"

  "The _Mirabelle_!" Chris exclaimed, "Why--that's the ship in thebottle!"

  "Aye," agreed Cilley, nodding sagely, "The model of it's in a bottleright enough, since it's meself that made it, the last trip home fromthe Chiny Seas."

  "You made it _yourself_?" Chris breathed, looking aghast at thegnarled knotted fingers, thick and roughened by work and weather,picturing to himself the delicacy of the miniature ship that lay sosnugly in its transparent walls. "How in the world could you get itinside?" he asked.

  Ned wagged his head. "Ah, 'tis a trick and a tedious thing, nomistaking, but there's time and to spare for it, coming home fromChina."

  "China? You've been there? What's it like?" Chris wanted to know, hiseyes eager.

  Cilley smiled at him, a snaggled-toothed friendly grin. "That's a talefor another time, my boy, for there's much telling there. You wantedthe story of Becky's fine hat."

  "Yes--yes!" Chris urged. "Before she comes back."

  "Well, now," began Cilley, "Bein' a member of the _Mirabelle_ and all,means I see quite a bit of this port when we're home." He looked archas if Chris must know the reason for that. "An' seein' as how MistressBecky and me are fast friends, well--she's told me a thing or two thatnot everyone knows."

  He took a pull on the mug and wiped the froth from his lips.

  "It seems," he began, "that in her younger days, Mistress Becky hadone craving. She'd seen this hat that she now wears, in a milliner's,and have it she must.

  "Now--" and the sailor leaned forward as the story held his owninterest--"now a hat of that sort costs many a shilling, and Beckyworked and saved for that bonnet for over a year." He eyed Chris againclosely. "If you tell what I tell ye, Chris lad," Cilley conjured him,"I shall get even with ye, I swear I will! For I would never want tohurt the feelin's of Becky Boozer, on my oath."

  "I'll not tell, sir. Not to anyone," Chris assured him.

  Ned Cilley seemed satisfied. "Well now," hunching closer with hischair, "It seems at long last she paid for that bonnet, and decided towear it to the spectacle, that very afternoon."

  "The spectacle?" Chris questioned, his forehead wrinkled. "What'sthat?"

  "Haw--Haw!" cackled Cilley, "You _are_ a country boy! Why--the_spectacle_, where the players are. The _theatre_--what else?"

  "Oh," Chris said shortly, and thought of television and the movies,and held his tongue. He was beginning to try to fit himself into twocenturies before his own time.

  "Yes," took up Cilley, "so as I was saying, Mistress Boozer bein'young and flighty in them days, and rightful proud of the bonnet shehad took so long to earn, wore it to the spectacle, together with herbest gown.

  "Now as you seem not acquainted with the theatre, me lad, let me tellyou that we give it here in any hall standing vacant, and out of doorsin fair weather, and we set the benches in rows for those that pay forseats."

  He pulled out an evil-smelling clay pipe and stuffed it with tobacco,tamping it down with one grubby forefinger, and when it was well lit,pointed the stem at Chris by way of emphasis.

  "Mistress Becky gets herself a good place, on this occasion, and sitsherself down, a-tossin' of her feathers and her flowers, and as proudas a peacock, every inch of her. The people pack the benches, and theperformance then begins.

  "Rightly--" and Cilley jabbed the pipestem at Chris--"Rightly, onlyladies of quality wear such hats as Becky wore, and should they go tothe spectacle--which would be doubtful, for the crowd makes it noplace for gentlewomen--they would be sitting off apart, don't you see?

  "But Becky sat spang in the center of the hall, and--you've seen thehat? 'Tis big enough for two and no mistake, and spreads along as wellas up--well, the time came to begin. The players came out on thestage, a-speakin' of their parts and abrandishin' of their arms asthey do, when all at once a gentleman sitting behind Becky Boozerleaned forward and asked her--ever so polite--'Madam,' sez he, 'pleasebe so good as to remove your bonnet!'"

  Here Cilley leaned forward, one hand on his stomach to facilitate abow, aping as best he could the speech and manners of a gentleman. Ina flash he resumed his own character and turned to Chris.

  "Well, did she take it off?" Ned demanded of Chris, frowning withconcentration. "'Twas asked with rare politeness, anyone would agreeto that." He shook his head solemnly. "Why no, Master Christopher,that she did not! Our Becky had just paid the final pence upon thathat, and after a year, seven months and eighteen days, the hat washers. She wanted all beholders to admire it. What cared she if thegentleman seated on the bench behind her saw more of her bonnet thanof the play? In Becky Boozer's opinion, 'twas a more than fairexchange! So she tossed her head, did Becky, and deigned not even areply."

  Cilley tossed his own sun-bleached thatch and pursed up his mouth inimitation of Becky. Then, with another rapid change of grimace, hesquinted up his eyes to signify the growing intensity of thesituation, and leaning half-way across the table, shoved the dishes,pies, and pickles out of his way with his elbows. His deep voice sankto a husky whisper.

  "So the performance went on, and never a glimpse of it did the poorgentleman see, seated as he was behind our Becky Boozer. So once morehe bends forward and he speaks at her ear, urgent-like--"

  Cilley's eyebrows rose and fell with his agitation. So strong was thegrip of the story upon him that it was evident that he fancied himselfat the play, and could see the whole thing before him as plain as day.

  "The poor gentleman says again," he took up, "'Madam,' he says, 'I begof you--please to be so kind! Nothing of the spectacle can I see!Please and be so good as to remove your hat!'

  "And would you believe it, my lad--no." Ned Cilley shook his head fromside to side, "No, no, you would not." He leaned back, waving his handas if to wipe away any lingering doubt in Chris's mind. "MistressRebecca Boozer was that proud--_that proud_"--he dropped hisvoice--"that not for the world would she remove her bonnet. Dear meno! She tossed her head again, feeling all them plumes a-tossin' too,and sat up straighter than before. An' she a tall woman."

  Master Cilley took a red bandanna handkerchief from his coattailpocket and mopped his face, so excited and heated had he become at hisown telling of the tale. Then once more he leaned forwardconfidentially.

  "Well, little did she dream, our Becky Boozer. For when she tossed herhead the second time and made no motion to remove her hat, thegentleman bent toward her, and--no doubt, his words were for heralone. And this is what he said."

  Ned Cilley's blue eyes popped and he cupped his hand by the side ofhis mouth so that his words could carry no further than the few inchesdividing the boy and the man.

  "He said--and so she told me, it did sound like a roar of thunder,though no one else did seem aware of it--'So, then, Rebecca Boozer,_wear_ your hat!' the gentleman said. 'The Devil himself shall have nopower to take it off'n you'!

  "And do you know," whispered Cilley in a low rumble, his eyes startingout of his head as were Chris's own, "'Tis our belief it must havebeen the Devil himself who sat behind her there, for from that verytime Rebecca Boozer has been unable to remove that hat, neither bypushing, pulling, prying, steaming, cutting, tearing, nor by anymethod howsomever! The Devil it was! The Devil it must have been!"

  Master Cilley, exhausted by his recital, fell back in his chair, withjust strength enough left to replenish his pewter mug from the jug ofale. Then, refreshed, he set the mug down, wiped his lips, and cockedan eye at Chr
is who sat staring at him open-mouthed.

  "Try it yourself," he suggested wagging his head. "I have. You'll notbe able to heave it off, that I promise you. That hat is there forgood and all. Mistress Boozer will doubtless be buried in thatbonnet." He cocked his head the other way. "And what do you think of_that_?" Ned Cilley enquired.

  After a long and thoughtful pause Chris found his voice.

  "Master Cilley," he said respectfully, "Does she--does she _sleep_ init?" he asked.

  The picture of the elephantine Becky Boozer with a counter-pane underher chin and the hat with twenty-four red roses and twelve wavingblack plumes rising above the pillow took hold of the sailor's fancy.He tipped back in his chair and laughed till he cried, and as he wascoughing and spluttering, Mistress Boozer herself came rustling out ofthe passageway and across the kitchen to the table.

  "Be off with you, boy!" she cried. "You and Cilley--you're two of akind, that is plain to be seen!"

  She looked from one to the other and Chris decided that it was a goodthing for him that Becky likened him to the object of her doting,Master Cilley.

  "Get along with you!" she cried again, pulling Chris up out of hischair by his coat collar. "You are wanted by the master in his study,so look sharp! It's down the passage and to your right," Becky said,"and knock before you go in!"

  Chris started off, but in the dusk of the passage he looked back intime to see Becky Boozer lost in tittering giggles and wild blushes asMaster Cilley, reaching up as high as his arm would go, chucked herunder the chin.