Donkey Boy (33 page)

Hetty replied that she was sure Phillip had not been upstairs for more than a minute. He had been next door most of the time, with his grandparents. They had asked him to supper, and he had stayed with them until a few minutes before Dickie's return.

“If I can believe what you say, then I must also believe that I am in process of losing my sanity. For I will stake my oath that the lantern was not in the trunk yesterday!”

Richard slept in his dressing-room that night. He lay withdrawn from himself, sleepless until the early hours, by which time his entire life had been reviewed in terms of mortification and despair. He put part of his condition down to the unaccustomed heaviness of the food and the wine. With immense relief he woke to see daylight, and got up to mend the puncture. Taking the tube to the water-butt to detect air-bubbles, he saw two dead fish lying, belly up, just under the surface. They were perch.

So Phillip had done some fishing. If the boy had confided in him about the fish, he would have told him to put them in the bath, with cold running water to make the oxygen necessary to keep them alive. Then he could have taken his perch in a pail in the morning to the Randisbourne, and released them in the river. There they would have had at least a sporting chance of living. No fish could possibly survive in stagnant water in the butt. The water was dead, void of oxygen.

He lifted the fish out. They were covered with mucus, having died of asphyxiation. They might almost be a symbol of his own life, of his own home, where truth did not live. His own son, secretive and untruthful; a coward; and his mother largely to blame for helping to estrange him, in his early years, from his father.

Looking up suddenly, Richard saw Phillip staring down at him from the open bedroom window above the water butt. The head was instantly withdrawn. He took the fish and buried them under the elm-tree in the garden. Then went to look at the motor car.

Having already levered up the front axle, and put bricks under it, he set about examining the outer cover. There was a dun sharp edge of flint through the rubber and canvas, obviously picked up in Hillside Road. He worked it out, and put a canvas patch under the cut in the tyre. He pumped up the tube.

The air was still holding after his cold bath. He put the repaired tube back, pumped it hard, levered up the front axle and kicked the bricks away, let the wheel take the weight again. The Panhard et Lavassor was now ready for its journey down into Hampshire.

A
T BREAKFAST
Richard said, “Phillip, I strictly forbid you, under pain of a thrashing, to go anywhere near your Uncle's motor-car, both before he arrives, and after he arrives, except, of course, by his invitation. Is that quite clear?”

“Yes, Father.”

“And you, Hetty, are a witness to what I am saying!”

Richard had had visions that morning, while dressing after his cold tub, of Phillip clambering upon the seat, letting off the handbrake … the motor-car running down the road to crash into the houses below.

“Yes, Dickie, of course. I am sure he won't disobey you.”

“Well, I am not so sure! I have found you out!”

In agitation Richard shook a warning finger over the breakfast table at Phillip, while the two girls and their mother sat silent upon their chairs. “You are a deceitful little beast, and I shall never believe a word of what you tell me in future. Now, if you please, Hetty, I will not have any interference!”—for Hetty had given him an appealing look, as much as to say, Let the children eat their breakfast in peace, dear, and you too; I am sure there is some mistake about the lantern and the hat—“You are always ready to side with the boy!”

Leaving half his rasher of bacon on his plate, Richard got up from the breakfast table in the kitchen, and taking down the lantern from the top shelf of the dresser, stood it on the table. His eyes fixed upon his son's face, with its downcast look, he cried:

“Do you see that? Look at it closely! That small silvery speck, there! I found that just as it is now, stuck to the cowl. What is it? You may well ask! You——” turning to Phillip—“you know what it is, do you not?”

“No, Father,” Phillip replied miserably.

“What is it, Dickie?” asked Hetty, staring at the silvery mark.

“Better ask the boy—your best boy.”

“Do you know what it is, Phillip?”

“No, Mother.”

“Very well, then I will tell you, since Phillip has not the courage to own up! It is the scale of a fish. Moreover, it is the scale of a perch. I found two dead perch in the water-butt this morning. Need I say any more?”

Phillip had gone grey in the face.

“Did you take the lantern, Sonny?” asked Hetty.

Phillip hung his head lower.

“Yes, he did! I saw him lighting it, with Percy,” said Mavis, suddenly. “He stole it from the loft, to look for bats with, in the summerhouse at Aunty Liz's!”

“I didn't!” muttered Phillip, beginning to cry. “That was another one, belonging to Percy's friend.”

“I am of a good mind to write to Mr. Pickering, and find out how far that statement is true! Now listen to me! I will give you until I come home this evening to make up your mind in the matter! If you admit your fault, then I shall give you a caning; if you persist in your underhand and dishonourable persistence, and your Uncle does not substantiate your statement, then I shall wash my hands of you altogether, and take steps to get you sent to a Reformatory! I'm sick and tired of your underhand, creepy-crawley ways!”

“Oh, Sonny, you naughty boy to worry your Father so! How dare you do such wicked things?”

“It is all very well to talk like that now!” cried Richard, his voice raised with his distress. “You should have been firmer with the boy before, not condone his every whim and fancy as soon as my back is turned! Well, you have heard my last word!”

Richard rolled his table napkin, thrust it into the ring, and went upstairs to clean his teeth, preparatory for departing to the station.

“You naughty,
naughty
boy!” said Hetty, knowing that Papa in the bathroom next door had been listening to Dickie's raised voice. “I shall never trust you again!” to the boy now sobbing with convulsive gulps.

“He
did
take it,
and
Daddy's hat!” said Mavis, pointing her finger at Phillip's downheld face. “And Mummy's blamed for it!”

“Shut up, you fool!” he moaned.

“He
did
take it,
and
Daddy's hat,” echoed Doris, solemnly.

“I don't know what I shall do,” cried Hetty, in despair. She got up trembling from the table. “I have given up all my life to you children, I have done everything I could to please your Father, and now you, Sonny, have broken my heart!” and her face puckering as the tears fell, she went out to hide herself in the front room.

The two little girls were now sobbing unrestrainedly. A series of raucous shrieks came up the passage, from the parrot in the sitting-room. “Sah lah! Sah lah!” it shieked, in Hindustani.

“I shall go mad,” moaned Phillip. “I shall kill myself,” and he got up and went down to the lower lavatory and bolted himself in. Should he put his head in the pan and pull the plug with a piece of string first tied to the chain? Or open the trap door and jump down under the house and bash his head against the brick wall where the 'cello stood, until his neck was broken? Lying on the floor, he moaned in helpless abandon for a few moments, then an idea came to him.

Unbolting the door, he went up to the broom cupboard under the stairs, and took out the box of cleaning materials. Wiping his tears on a rag, he opened the front door and set about cleaning the brass. He would make it shine so bright that perhaps Father would forgive him, and not thrash him with the cane with his trousers down and lying on the bed. Oh, if Father was going to thrash him, he must kill himself.

He was rubbing the dull, sulphurous brass surface with all his energy when Richard came downstairs, and went to the
coat-hanger
to get his straw hat. Phillip stood back. He wanted to beg Father's pardon, but the words would not form themselves.

At such times of emotion Phillip could not speak properly. When he tried, it was as though an extra hole had opened in his throat and his tongue had dissolved. He made clucking noises, and when words did come, they were clipped, half swallowed, and hopelessly jumbled. He wanted to tell Father that he was very sorry, to beg his pardon, to say he would never touch any of his things again; but the words would not come. He stood still as Father walked down the porch, and a choked cry broke from him as he disappeared.

Phillip thought he would run after Father and tell him he had put the lantern back by climbing up through Grandpa's bathroom trap door. He must say he was sorry before it was too late,
and he was taken away to the Reformatory. He had seen the Reformatory boys playing football on the Hill, while a master ran among them, blowing a whistle and pointing. The boys never laughed. They wore black jerseys and black trousers to below the knee. All their heads were clipped short, so that they would be recognised as convicts, Cousin Ralph had said, if they ran away. They were thrashed a terrific lot, said Ralph, and had been sent to the East London Industrial School for stealing, setting fire to things, smashing windows, and acting like the roughs they were. They were awful-looking boys, like Flashman in
Tom
Brown's
Schooldays,
and would torture a new boy, especially if he could not fight, Ralph had said. And he would never never see Mummy anymore.

The tears running down his cheeks, he went on with his chores. After the knocker, the rim of the bell push, after the bell push the letter box, after the letter box the round handle. He would put his penny that week in the collection bag for Mr. Mundy. He cleaned and polished the handle of the garden door, which was unlocked only on Tuesdays, when the dustman came to empty the dustbin. After the brass-work, there were the fire-irons to rub with emery paper, and the steel shutter over the fire-place, which took a lot of doing as there were holes all over it, like acorn-cups, as well as lines, in the pattern.

Down in the sitting-room he watched the parrot for a while, giving it a pencil to bite; but the parrot dropped the pencil and continued to climb about inside the cage and would not speak when spoken to. He grew tired of watching it, and thought to dig up the perch from where he had watched Father burying them, from the back bedroom window, and see it the parrot would eat them; but perhaps it would be better not to do so. Or he might go in and see Uncle Hugh, who was always a nice person to see and talk to. He wasn't like an uncle at all. Mummy said he was very ill, with something that sounded like part of a train accident, words like “locomotive and tax here”. Uncle Hugh had to be careful how he walked, with his two walking sticks with rubber on the bottom, as his legs were sort of wobbly sometimes. Through the high-up open window, with the stained-glass, in the wall above the passage fence, Phillip listened and heard Uncle Hugh groaning in his bed. It was no good going to see him when he groaned, for then he would never play his violin.

He washed his face to get rid of the tear-stains, and having brushed his hair, went out to look at the motor-car. He was careful to stand well away from it, looking at it from a distance only. He would keep always a long way away from it. While he was guarding it, the gate of the top house clicked, and people came out.

They were Mr. and Mrs. Rolls of Turret House. They were very nice, always smiling at him when he said, “Good Morning”, as he passed. Phillip was afraid of them, because Mummy said that they did not want to know her children. They never invited him or Mavis or Doris to their parties. They did other people further down the road, called Wood, although the Woods were not so high up the road as the Maddisons.

Phillip felt proud that his uncle had a motor-car. He thought it a wonderful fine thing. Uncle Hilary was richer than anyone else in Hillside Road.

“Wait for me, Dads dear, wait for me!”

Phillip looked up the road and saw Mr. and Mrs. Rolls waiting, and then their little girl ran out of the gate, and held their hands, and they were walking down the road. When they came nearer all his thoughts about the motor-car went from him, as he looked into the little girl's face. She had wide blue eyes and fair curls falling down under a white sailor hat with a black bow. She wore a white sailor blouse and skirt. When she looked at him and smiled his heart beat wildly, he dared not look at her again.

When the beautiful people were gone round the corner, he imagined himself driving the motor-car full speed down the road, and winning all the races with it like Jack Valiant in the
Pluck
Library,
while the face looked at him, smiling because he was a hero. The fancy faded, leaving a deep ache.

In a few moments there was something to think about, for from down Randiswell way he heard the rapid ringing of the fire-engine bell, and then the clashing hoofs and trundling of wheels as the four grey horses of the Fire Engine dashed at the gallop up Charlotte Road. Men in bright brass helmets stood on the red engine by the smoking funnel.
A
Fire!
Fire!
Boys were running out from the houses in Charlotte Road below, and also across the grass of the Hill. Could he be in time if he ran, and perhaps save a child's life?

Phillip had soon climbed over the railings in the gulley. He
ran up the steep slope among the thorn bushes to the hurdle fence above, and was crossing the grass, fists clenched and elbows into sides to run the better, when he turned his head and saw Uncle Hilary walking up Hillside Road. He stopped, and returned.

“Hullo, young fellow, where are you off to? There's no fire, it's a practice. They told me at the railway station. So I've saved you a run. Well, how about one in the Panhard? What, your Father has already mended my puncture? That was very civil of him!”

Phillip remembered the ride in the blue and red motor-car all his life, the chequered hammercloth round his knees like a real coachman. Uncle Hilary took him down through Randiswell, where he dared to wave as he passed Helena Rolls, feeling a wonderful happiness as she waved back, and on to the High Street. Turning south, they were soon out of the area of streets and houses, and on the grey road to Cutler's Pond. It was like a story. On they went past the Pond, round the bend by the water-cress beds, where a big cedar was growing by another pond, near an ivy-grown wooden mill called Perry's. After that everything was strange and new.

They went up a hill and to Phillip's surprise came to a town. He had imagined that all beyond Perry's Mill was fields and country. They went down a lane beyond a railway station and along by other fields, coming at last to what a finger-post said was Reynard's Common. Trees and bushes grew here, with gorse and broom, and lots of pebbles, where were only blackened stems of burnt trees.

“Work of naughty boys, I'll be bound,” said Uncle Hilary.

Beyond the burnt places were silver birch trees, and two deep ponds with firs and pines on their banks held together by brown roots on top of the pine-needle slippery ground.

Here Uncle Hilary stopped the motor-car by tripping the switch, he said. They got down by the ponds. The sun shone slantingly on the bigger pond and many fish were to be seen lying just under the surface of the water. They had red fins.

“I expect they are either rudd or roach, Uncle Hilary.”

“And those very big brown fellows, see them in the middle? They're carp.”

The carp, said Uncle Hilary, was the fox of the waters, it was so cunning and hard to catch. Phillip thought it was as wonderful a place as Brickhill. Uncle was a very nice man, not a bit like the White Uncle who had squeezed him between his legs and not let him go until Aunty Bee came, when he had been only a little boy.

“Well, Phillip, we must think of getting back.”

Back in the town, Uncle stopped before a shop and said: “What would you like for a birthday present, eh, Phillip? Your Mother tells me you will be nine next week. Is that right?”

“Yes, Uncle Hilary.”

“Well, let's see what they have got here, shall we? How about this, eh? An electric torch. Ever had one?”

“Oh, no, Uncle Hilary!”