Still William (22 page)

‘Yes, dear,’ she said, ‘how thoughtful of you.’

An hour later Robert returned. ‘I say,’ he said, ‘where’s that note? I left a note here. Has it been taken round?’

‘Yes, dear,’ said Mrs Brown absently.

At that moment William was sitting on a gate far from the main road reading the note. On his face was a smile of pure bliss. There was a look of purpose in his eye.

The evening arrived. William as a Page, Ginger as Ace of Clubs, Douglas as a Goat Herd, Henry as a Gondolier, stood in a sheepish group and were gazed at proudly by their fond
mothers. They looked far from happy, but the thought of the Brigands’ clothes concealed in the summer house comforted them. Robert as Henry V was having a good deal of trouble with his
costume. He had closed the vizor of his helmet and it refused to open. Several of his friends were trying to force it. Muffled groans came from within.

Violet Elizabeth was dressed as a Star. She was leaping up and down and squeaking, ‘Look at me. I’m a thtar!’ She shed stars at every leap, and an attendant nurse armed with
needle and cotton sewed them on again.

Pierrots, peasant girls, harlequins, kings, queens, gypsies and representatives of every nationality filled the room. It was noticed, with no particular interest on anyone’s part, that
William the Page was no longer the centre of the sheepish group of fancy-dressed Outlaws. William the Page had crept into the ladies’ dressing-room, and in the temporary absence of the
attendant (who was engaged in carrying on an impromptu flirtation with a good-looking chauffeur in the drive) he purloined a lady’s black velvet evening cloak and a filmy scarf. Fortunately
the cloak had a hood . . .

Robert, helmetless and rather purple in the face as the result of his prolonged sojourn behind his vizor (from which he had finally been freed by a tin opener borrowed from the
kitchen), came to the rose garden. Upon the seat that was the appointed trysting place a petite figure was awaiting him shrouded in a cloak.

‘Glory!’ breathed Robert softly.

The figure seemed to sway towards him, though its face was still completely hidden by its scarf and hood.

Robert slipped his strong arm round it, and it nestled on his shoulder.

‘Just to think,’ murmured Robert, ‘that this time last week I didn’t know you. You’ve given an entirely new meaning to my life – I feel that everything will
be different now. I shall give up all my life to trying to be more worthy of you—’

The figure gave a sudden snort and Robert started.

‘Glor! Are you ill?’

The figure hastily emitted a deep groan.

Robert sprang up.

‘Glor,’ he cried in distress. ‘I’ll get you some water. I’ll call a doctor. I’ll—’

He fled into the house, where he got a glass of water and actually found a doctor – a very unhappy doctor in a hired Italian costume that was too small for him. When he found the seat
empty he turned upon Robert indignantly.

‘But she
was
here,’ said the bewildered Robert. ‘I left her here in the most awful agony. My God, if she’s dead.’

‘If she’s dead,’ said the doctor coldly, ‘I’m afraid I can’t do anything. I’m sorry to seem unsympathetic, but if you knew the pain it causes me to walk
in these clothes you’d understand my saying that I’ll let the whole world die in awful agony before I come out here again on your wild goose chase after dying females.’

‘JUST TO THINK, DARLING,’ MURMURED ROBERT, ‘THAT LAST WEEK I DIDN’T KNOW YOU. YOU’VE GIVEN A NEW MEANING TO MY LIFE.’

Robert was hunting distractedly under all the bushes around the seat . . .

The Outlaws had changed their clothes. They stood arrayed as Brigands in all the glory of coloured scarves and handkerchiefs and murderous-looking weapons. Upon the floor lay
the limp outer coating of the Page, the Ace of Clubs, the Gondolier and the Goat Herd. They leapt with joy and brandished kitchen choppers and bread knives and trowels.

‘Now what’re we going to
do
?’ said Ginger.

‘Everyone else is dancing,’ suggested Douglas mildly.

‘Dancing!’
repeated William scornfully. ‘D’you think we’ve put these things on to
dance
?’

‘Well, what’re we goin’ to do?’ said Ginger.

‘There’s one thing we mus’ do first of all,’ said William. He spoke in his leader’s manner and his freckled face was stern. ‘There’s a man here dressed
as a tor – as a bull killer.’

‘A Toreador,’ said Douglas with an air of superior knowledge.

William looked at him crushingly.

‘Well – din’ I say that?’ he said, then turning to the others: ‘Well, this man, this torrydoor man’s been starvin’ folks an’ killin’
’em. I heard my father say so. Well, we’ve gotter
do
something – we may never get a chance of gettin’ him again. He’s a starver an’ a murderer, I heard my
father say so, an’ we’ve gotter
do
something to him.’

‘How?’
said the Brigands.

‘Well, you listen to me,’ said William.

The Brigands gathered round.

William crept round the outside of the ballroom. Through the open window came the sound of the band, and, looking in, William could see couples of gaily dancing youths and
maidens in fantastic dresses. Near one open window Henry V stood with a small and dainty Columbine.

‘But it
is
my dance with you, Glor,’ Henry V was saying hoarsely. ‘I wrote to you and asked you, and oh, I’m so glad that you’re better. I’ve been
through hours of agony thinking you were dead.’

‘You’re absolutely mad,’ Glory replied impatiently. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. You never wrote and you’ve never asked me for a dance.
I’ve never seen you all evening till this minute, except in the distance with everyone trying to pull your head off. You shouldn’t come in a costume like that if you don’t know
how to open and shut it, and now you suddenly come and begin to talk nonsense about me being dead.’

‘Glor—’

‘I wish you’d
stop
calling me by that silly name.’

‘But – Glor – Glory – you
must
have got my note. You were in the rose garden. You let me put my arm round you. I’ve been treasuring the memory all evening
when I wasn’t racked with agony at the thought of you being ill – or dead.’

‘I
never
met you in the rose garden. You’re
mad
!’

‘I’m not. You did. Oh, Glor—’

‘
Stop
calling me that. It sounds like a patent medicine or a new kind of metal polish . . . and, as you don’t care for me enough to get a dance in decent time, and as you go
mooning about the garden with other girls – girls who seem to go dying all over the place from your account – and pretend you think they’re me—’

‘I didn’t pretend. I thought it was. It must have been. Oh, Glor—’

‘
Stop
saying that! I’ve simply finished with you. Well, if you don’t care about me enough to know who
is
me and – thank you, when I want to die I’ll
do it at home and not in a beastly old rose garden – so
there
– And I’ve
finished
with you, Robert Brown – so
there
.’

Columbine flounced off and Henry V, pale and distraught, pursued her with a ghostly, ‘Oh, Glor—’

The Brigand passed on, a faint smile on his face.

The Toreador had found a quiet corner in the empty smoking-room and was relaxing his weary limbs in an armchair. He had indulged in a quiet smoke and was now indulging in a
quiet doze . . . He did not like dancing. He did not like wearing fancy dress. He did not like the Botts. He did not like the noise of the band. He did not like anything . . .

He opened his eyes with a start, conscious of an alien presence. By his side he saw a small and very villainous-looking Brigand with a stern freckled face, a row of gardening tools and a carving
knife round his waist and a red handkerchief tied round his head.

‘There’s a Russian wants to see you,’ said the Brigand in a dramatic whisper. ‘He’s waiting for you in the coachhouse. He’s gotter message for you from the
Russians – private.’

The Toreador sat up and rubbed his eyes. The Brigand was still there.

‘Please say it again,’ said the Toreador.

‘There’s a Russian wants to see you. He’s waiting for you in the coach-house. He’s gotter message for you from the Russians,’ repeated the Brigand.

‘Where did you say he was?’ said the Toreador.

‘In the coach-house.’

‘And what do you say he’s got?’

‘A message from the Russians.’

‘What Russians?’

‘All the Russians.’

‘Good Lord!’ said the Toreador. ‘Just pinch me, will you?’

William obeyed without a flicker of expression upon his face.

‘Still here,’ said the Toreador in a resigned tone of voice. ‘I thought it might be a nightmare. Well, there’s no harm in going to see. What’s he like?’

‘Oh – just like a Russian,’ said William vaguely. ‘Russian clothes an’ Russian face an’ – an’ – Russian boots.’

‘How did he get here?’

‘Walked,’ said William calmly. ‘Walked all the way from Russia.’

‘Does he speak English?’

‘No. Russian.’

‘How do you know what he says then?’

‘I learn Russian at school,’ said William with admirable presence of mind.

‘You’re a linguist,’ commented the Toreador.

‘No, I’m not,’ corrected William. ‘I’m English like you.’

They were on the way to the coach-house.

‘I may as well see it through,’ said the Toreador. ‘It’s so intriguing. It’s like
Alice in Wonderland
. A Russian brought a message from all the Russians and
walked all the way from Russia. He must have started when he was quite a child. It’s better than being bored to death watching idiots making still greater idiots of themselves.’

‘This is the coach-house,’ said the Brigand.

‘It’s dark.’

‘Yes,’ said the Brigand. ‘He’s right in the corner over there. He’s just having a little sleep.’

The Toreador stepped into the coach-house. The door was immediately slammed and bolted from outside. The Toreador took out his pocket torch and looked round the room. It was empty. No Russian in
Russian boots, etc., with a message from all the Russians, slept in a corner. The only means of exit were the door and a barred window. He went to the barred window. Four small stern Brigands stood
outside.

‘I say,’ said the Toreador. ‘Look here—’

The freckled frowning Brigand who had led him there spoke.

‘We’re not going to let you out,’ he said, ‘till you’ve promised to go away from England and never come back.’

‘But
why
?’ said the Toreador. ‘Why should I? I know it’s all a dream. But just tell me why I should, anyway.’

‘Because you’re starvin’ an’ killin’ folks,’ said the Brigand sternly. ‘You’re ruinin’ the country.’

‘I do hope I remember all this when I wake up,’ said the Toreador. ‘It’s too priceless. But look here, if you don’t let me out I’ll kick the door down.
I’ve never starved anyone and I’ve never killed anyone, and I—’

‘We don’ want to argue,’ said William remembering a frequent remark of his father’s and trying to imitate his tone of voice, ‘but we’re not goin’ to let
you out till you promise to go out of England and never come back.’

With that the Brigands turned and went slowly back to the house. The sound of a mighty kick against the coachhouse door followed them into the night.

‘What we goin’ to do
now
?’ said Ginger.

‘Oh, jus’ look round a bit,’ said William.

Again they went round the outside of the house passing by each open window. Just inside one sat Henry V with a very demure Spring.

‘I can’t tell you what a difference it’s made to me getting to know you—’ Henry V was saying.

By another a group of people stood around a – yes – the Brigands rubbed their eyes, but there he was – a Toreador.

‘I SAY,’ SAID THE TOREADOR, ‘IF YOU DON’T LET ME OUT I’LL KICK THE DOOR DOWN.’