Just William (8 page)

‘William!’ she snapped. ‘This isn’t an arithmetic lesson. I’m trying to teach you about the Armada.’

‘Oh,
that
!’ said William brightly and ingratiatingly ‘Oh, yes.’

‘Tell me something about it.’

‘I don’t
know
anything – not jus’ yet—’

‘I’ve been
telling
you about it. I do wish you’d listen,’ she said despairingly.

William relapsed into silence, nonplussed, but by no means cowed.

When he reached home that evening he found that the garden was the scene of excitement and hubbub. One policeman was measuring the panes of glass in the conservatory door, and another was on his
knees examining the beds near. His grown-up sister, Ethel, was standing at the front door.

‘Every single flower has been stolen from the conservatory some time this morning,’ she said excitedly. ‘We’ve only just been able to get the police. William, did you see
anyone about when you went to school this morning?’

William pondered deeply. His most guileless and innocent expression came to his face.

‘No,’ he said at last. ‘No, Ethel, I didn’t see nobody.’

William coughed and discreetly withdrew.

That evening he settled down at the library table, spreading out his books around him, a determined frown upon his small face.

His father was sitting in an armchair by the window reading the evening paper.

‘Father,’ said William suddenly, ‘s’pose I came to you an’ said you was to give me a hundred pounds an’ I’d give you five pounds next year an’ so
on, would you give it me?’

‘I should not, my son,’ said his father firmly.

William sighed.

‘I knew there was something wrong with it,’ he said.

Mr Brown returned to the leading article, but not for long.

‘Father, what was the date of the Armada?’

‘Good Heavens! How should I know? I wasn’t there.’

William sighed.

‘Well, I’m tryin’ to write about it and why it failed an’ – why did it fail?’

Mr Brown groaned, gathered up his paper, and retired to the dining-room.

He had almost finished the leading article when William appeared, his arms full of books, and sat down quietly at the table.

‘Father, what’s the French for “my aunt is walking in the garden”?’

‘What on earth are you doing?’ said Mr Brown irritably.

‘I’m doing my home lessons,’ said William virtuously.

‘I never even knew you had the things to do.’

‘No,’ William admitted gently, ‘I don’t generally take much bother over them, but I’m goin’ to now – ’cause Miss Drew’ – he blushed
slightly and paused – ‘’cause Miss Drew’ – he blushed more deeply and began to stammer, ‘’c – ’cause Miss Drew’ – he was almost
apoplectic.

Mr Brown quietly gathered up his paper and crept out to the verandah, where his wife sat with the week’s mending.

‘William’s gone raving mad in the dining-room,’ he said pleasantly, as he sat down. ‘Takes the form of a wild thirst for knowledge, and a babbling of a Miss Drawing, or
Drew, or something. He’s best left alone.’

Mrs Brown merely smiled placidly over the mending.

Mr Brown had finished one leading article and begun another before William appeared again. He stood in the doorway frowning and stern.

‘Father, what’s the capital of Holland?’

‘Good Heavens!’ said his father. ‘Buy him an encyclopedia. Anything, anything. What does he think I am? What—’

‘I’d better set apart a special room for his homework,’ said Mrs Brown soothingly, ‘now that he’s beginning to take such an interest.’

A room!’ echoed his father bitterly. ‘He wants a whole house.’

Miss Drew was surprised and touched by William’s earnestness and attention the next day. At the end of the afternoon school he kindly offered to carry her books home for her. He waved
aside all protests. He marched home by her side discoursing pleasantly, his small freckled face beaming devotion.

‘I like pirates, don’t you, Miss Drew? An’ robbers an’ things like that? Miss Drew, would you like to be married to a robber?’

He was trying to reconcile his old beloved dream of his future estate with the new one of becoming Miss Drew’s husband.

‘No,’ she said firmly.

His heart sank.

‘Nor a pirate?’ he said sadly.

‘No.’

‘They’re quite nice really – pirates,’ he assured her.

‘I think not.’

‘Well,’ he said resignedly, ‘we’ll jus’ have to go huntin’ wild animals and things. That’ll be all right.’

‘Who?’ she said, bewildered.

‘Well – jus’ you wait,’ he said darkly.

Then: ‘Would you rather be married by the Archbishop of York or the Pope?’

‘The Archbishop, I think,’ she said gravely.

He nodded.

All right.’

She was distinctly amused. She was less amused the next evening. Miss Drew had a male cousin – a very nice-looking male cousin, with whom she often went for walks in the evening. This
evening, by chance, they passed William’s house, and William, who was in the garden, threw aside his temporary role of pirate and joined them. He trotted happily on the other side of Miss
Drew. He entirely monopolised the conversation. The male cousin seemed to encourage him, and this annoyed Miss Drew. He refused to depart in spite of Miss Drew’s strong hints. He had various
items of interest to impart, and he imparted them with the air of one assured of an appreciative hearing. He had found a dead rat the day before and given it to his dog, but his dog didn’t
like ’em dead and neither did the ole cat, so he’d buried it. Did Miss Drew like all those flowers he’d got her the other day? He was afraid that he cudn’t bring any more
like that jus’ yet. Were there pirates now? Well, what would folks do to one if there was one? He din’t see why there shun’t be pirates now. He thought he’d start it,
anyway. He’d like to shoot a lion. He was goin’ to one day. He’d shoot a lion an’ a tiger. He’d bring the skin home to Miss Drew, if she liked. He grew recklessly
generous. He’d bring home lots of skins of all sorts of animals for Miss Drew.

‘Don’t you think you ought to be going home, William?’ said Miss Drew coldly.

William hastened to reassure her.

‘Oh, no – not for ever so long yet,’ he said.

‘Isn’t it your bedtime?’

‘Oh, no – not yet – not for ever so long.’

The male cousin was giving William his whole attention.

‘What does Miss Drew teach you at school, William?’ he said.

‘Oh, jus’ ornery things. Armadas an’ things. An’ ’bout lending a hundred pounds. That’s a norful
soft
thing. I unner
stand
it,’ he added
hastily, fearing further explanation, ‘but it’s
soft.
My father thinks it is, too, an’ he oughter
know.
He’s bin abroad lots of times. He’s bin chased by
a bull, my father has—’

The shades of night were falling fast when William reached Miss Drew’s house still discoursing volubly. He was drunk with success. He interpreted his idol’s silence as the silence of
rapt admiration.

He was passing through the gate with his two companions with the air of one assured of welcome, when Miss Drew shut the gate upon him firmly.

‘You’d better go home now, William,’ she said.

William hesitated.

‘I don’t mind comin’ in a bit,’ he said. ‘I’m not tired.’

But Miss Drew and the male cousin were already halfway up the walk.

William turned his steps homeward. He met Ethel near the gate.

‘William, where
have
you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere. It’s
hours
past your bedtime.’

‘I was goin’ for a walk with Miss Drew.’

‘But you should have come home at your bedtime.’

‘I don’t think she wanted me to go,’ he said with dignity. ‘I think it wun’t of bin p’lite.’

William found that a new and serious element had entered his life. It was not without its disadvantages. Many had been the little diversions by which William had been wont to while away the
hours of instruction. In spite of his devotion to Miss Drew, he missed the old days of carefree exuberance, but he kept his new seat in the front row, and clung to his role of earnest student. He
was beginning to find also, that a conscientious performance of home lessons limited his activities after school hours, but at present he hugged his chains. Miss Drew, from her seat on the
platform, found William’s soulful concentrated gaze somewhat embarrassing, and his questions even more so.

As he went out of school he heard her talking to another mistress.

‘I’m very fond of syringa,’ she was saying. ‘I’d love to have some.’

William decided to bring her syringa, handfuls of syringa, armfuls of syringa.

He went straight home to the gardener.

‘No, I ain’t got no syringa. Please step off my rosebed, Mister William. No, there ain’t any syringa in this ’ere garding. I dunno for why. Please leave my ’ose
pipe alone, Mister William.’

‘Huh!’ ejaculated William, scornfully turning away.

He went round the garden. The gardener had been quite right. There were guelder roses everywhere, but no syringa.

He climbed the fence and surveyed the next garden. There were guelder roses everywhere, but no syringa. It must have been some peculiarity in the soil.

William strolled down the road, scanning the gardens as he went. All had guelder roses. None had syringa.

Suddenly he stopped.

On a table in the window of a small house at the bottom of the road was a vase of syringa. He did not know who lived there. He entered the garden cautiously. No one was about.

He looked into the room. It was empty. The window was open at the bottom.

He scrambled in, removing several layers of white paint from the windowsill as he did so. He was determined to have that syringa. He took it dripping from the vase, and was preparing to depart,
when the door opened and a fat woman appeared upon the threshold. The scream that she emitted at sight of William curdled the very blood in his veins. She dashed to the window, and William, in
self-defence, dodged round the table and out of the door. The back door was open, and William blindly fled by it. The fat woman did not pursue. She was leaning out of the window, and her shrieks
rent the air.

‘Police! Help! Murder! Robbers!’

The quiet little street rang with the raucous sounds.

William felt cold shivers creeping up and down his spine. He was in a small back garden from which he could see no exit.

Meanwhile the shrieks were redoubled.

‘Help!
Help! Help!
’

Then came sounds of the front door opening and men’s voices.

‘Hello! Who is it? What is it?’

William glared round wildly. There was a hen house in the corner of the garden, and into this he dashed, tearing open the door and plunging through a mass of flying feathers and angry, disturbed
hens.

William crouched in a corner of the dark hen house determinedly clutching his bunch of syringa.

Distant voices were at first all he could hear. Then they came nearer, and he heard the fat lady’s voice loudly declaiming.

‘He was quite a small man, but with such an evil face. I just had one glimpse of him as he dashed past me. I’m sure he’d have murdered me if I hadn’t cried for help. Oh,
the coward! And a poor defenceless woman! He was standing by the silver table. I disturbed him at his work of crime. I feel so upset. I shan’t sleep for nights. I shall see his evil,
murderous face. And a poor unarmed woman!’

‘Can you give us no details, madam?’ said a man’s voice. ‘Could you recognise him again?’

‘
Anywhere!
’ she said firmly. ‘Such a criminal face. You’ve no idea how upset I am. I might have been a lifeless corpse now, if I hadn’t had the courage to
cry for help.’

‘We’re measuring the footprints, madam. You say he went out by the front door?’

‘I’m convinced he did. I’m convinced he’s hiding in the bushes by the gate. Such a low face. My nerves are absolutely jarred.’