Still William (6 page)

Douglas was nonplussed.

‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘you jolly well aren’t going to play, so there.’

‘Pleath
let me play,’ said Violet Elizabeth. ‘Pleath.’

‘No. Go away!’

William and Ginger secretly admired the firm handling of this female by Douglas.

‘Pleath
, Douglath.’

‘No!
’

Violet Elizabeth’s blue eyes, fixed pleadingly upon him, filled with tears. Violet Elizabeth’s underlip trembled.

‘You’re making me cry,’ she said. A tear traced its course down the blackberry stained cheek.

‘Pleath
, Douglath.’

Douglas hesitated and was lost. ‘Oh, well—’ he said.

‘Oh, thank you, dear Douglath,’ said Violet Elizabeth. ‘What thall I be?’

‘Well,’ said William to Douglas sternly. ‘Now you’ve
let
her play I s’pose she’d better be a squaw.’

‘A thquaw,’ said Violet Elizabeth joyfully, ‘what thort of noith doth it make?’

‘It’s a Indian lady and it doesn’t make any sort of a noise,’ said Ginger crushingly. ‘Now we’re going out hunting and you stay and cook the
dinner.’

‘All right,’ said Violet Elizabeth obligingly. ‘Kith me goodbye.’

Ginger stared at her in horror.

‘But you mutht,’ she said, ‘if you’re going out to work an’ I’m going to cook the dinner, you mutht kith me goodbye. They do.’

‘I don’t,’ said Ginger.

She held up her small face.

‘Pleath
, Ginger.’

Blushing to his ears Ginger just brushed her cheek with his. William gave a derisive snort. His self-respect had returned. Douglas’s manly severity had been overborne. Ginger had been
prevailed upon to kiss her. Well, they couldn’t laugh at him now. They jolly
well
couldn’t. Both were avoiding his eye.

‘Well, go off to work, dear William and Douglas and Ginger,’ said Violet Elizabeth happily, ‘an’ I’ll cook.’

Gladly the hunters set off.

The Red Indian game had palled. It had been a success while it lasted. Ginger had brought some matches and over her purple layer of blackberry juice the faithful squaw now wore
a layer of black from the very smoky fire they had at last managed to make.

‘Come on,’ said William, ‘let’s set out looking for adventures.’

They set off single file as before, Violet Elizabeth bringing up the rear, Jumble darting about in ecstatic searches for imaginary rabbits. Another small bog glimmered ahead. Violet Elizabeth,
drunk with her success as a squaw, gave a scream.

‘Another thquithy plath,’ she cried. ‘I want to be firtht.’

She flitted ahead of them, ran to the bog, slipped and fell into it face forward.

She arose at once. She was covered in black mud from head to foot. Her face was a black mud mask. Through it her teeth flashed in a smile. ‘I juth thlipped,’ she explained.

A man’s voice came suddenly from the main path through the wood at their right.

‘Look at ’em – the young rascals! Look at ’em! An’ a dawg! Blarst ’em! Er-r-r-r-r!’

The last was a sound expressive of rage and threatening.

‘Keepers!’ said William. ‘Run for your lives, braves. Come on, Jumble.’

They fled through the thicket.

‘Pleath,’ gasped Violet Elizabeth in the rear, ‘I can’t run as fatht ath that.’

It was Ginger and Douglas who came back to hold her hands. For all that they ran fleetly, dashing through the undergrowth where the keepers found it difficult to follow, and dodging round trees.
At last, breathlessly, they reached a clearing and in the middle of it a cottage as small and attractive as a fairy tale cottage. The door was open. It had an empty look. They could hear the
keepers coming through the undergrowth shouting.

‘Come in here,’ gasped William. ‘It’s empty. Come in and hide till they’ve gone.’

The four ran into a spotlessly clean little kitchen, and Ginger closed the door. The cottage was certainly empty. There was not a sound.

‘Ithn’t it a thweet little houth?’ panted Violet Elizabeth.

‘Come upstairs,’ said Douglas. ‘They might look in here.’

The four, Jumble scrambling after them, clattered up the steep narrow wooden stairs and into a small and very clean bedroom.

‘Look out of the window and see when they go past,’ commanded William, ‘then we’ll slip out and go back.’

Douglas peeped cautiously out of the window. He gave a gasp.

‘They – they’re not goin’ past,’ he said. ‘They – they’re comin’ in at the door.’

The men’s voices could be heard below.

‘Comin’ in here – the young rascals! Look at their footmarks, see? What’ll my old woman say when she gets home?’

‘They’ve gone upstairs, too. Look at the marks. Blarst ’em!’

William went to the window, holding Jumble beneath his arm.

‘We can easily climb down by this pipe,’ he said quickly. ‘Then we’ll run back.’

He swung a leg over the window sill, prepared to descend with Jumble clinging round his neck, as Jumble was trained to do. Jumble’s life consisted chiefly of an endless succession of
shocks to the nerves.

Ginger and Douglas prepared to follow.

The men’s footsteps were heard coming upstairs when a small voice said plaintively, ‘Pleath – pleath, I can’t do that. Pleath, you’re not going to leave me, are
you?’

William put back his foot.

‘We – we can’t leave her,’ he said. Ginger and Douglas did not question their leader’s decision. They stood in a row facing the door while the footsteps drew
nearer.

The door burst open and the two keepers appeared.

‘Now, yer young rascals – we’ve got yer!’

Into Mr Bott’s library were ushered two keepers, each leading two children by the neck. One held two rough-looking boys. The other held a rough-looking boy and a
rough-looking little girl. A dejected-looking mongrel followed the procession.

‘Trespassin’, sir,’ said the first keeper, ‘trespassin’ an’ a-damagin’ of the woods. Old ’ands, too. Seen ’em at it before but never caught
’em till now. An’ a
dawg
too. It’s an example making of they want, sir. They want pros-ecutin’ if I may make so bold. A-damagin’ of the woods and a-bringing of
a dawg—’

Mr Bott who was new to squiredom and had little knowledge of what was expected of him and moreover was afflicted at the moment with severe private domestic worries, cast a harassed glance at the
four children. His glance rested upon Violet Elizabeth without the faintest flicker of recognition. He did not recognise her. He knew Violet Elizabeth. He saw her at least once or almost once a
day. He knew her quite well. He knew her by her ordered flaxen curls, pink and white face and immaculate bunchy skirts. He did not know this little creature with the torn, stained, bedraggled dress
(there was nothing bunchy about it now) whose extreme dirty face could just be seen beneath the tangle of untidy hair that fell over her eyes. She watched him silently and cautiously. Just as he
was going to speak Violet Elizabeth’s nurse entered. It says much for Violet Elizabeth’s disguise that her nurse only threw her a passing glance. Violet Elizabeth’s nurse’s
eyes were red-rimmed.

‘Please, sir, Mrs Bott says is there any news?’

‘No,’ said Mr Bott desperately. ‘Tell her I’ve rung up the police every minute since she sent last. How is she?’

‘Please, sir, she’s in hysterics again.’

Mr Bott groaned.

Ever since Violet Elizabeth’s disappearance Mrs Bott had been indulging in hysterics in her bedroom and taking it out on Violet Elizabeth’s nurse. In return Violet Elizabeth’s
nurse had hysterics in the nursery and took it out on the nursery maid. In return the nursery maid had hysterics in the kitchen and took it out on the kitchen maid. The kitchen maid had no time for
hysterics but she took it out on the cat.

‘Please, sir, she says she’s too ill to speak now. She told me to tell you so, sir.’

Mr Bott groaned again. Suddenly he turned to the four children and their keepers.

‘You’ve got their names and addresses, haven’t you? Well, see here, children. Go out and see if you can find my little gal for me. She’s lost. Look in the woods and round
the village and – everywhere. And if you find her I’ll let you off. See?’

They murmured perfunctory thanks and retired, followed by Violet Elizabeth who had not uttered one word within her paternal mansion.

In the woods they turned on her sternly.

‘It’s you he wants. You’re her.’

‘Yeth,’ agreed the tousled ragamuffin who was Violet Elizabeth, sweetly, ‘ith me.’

‘Well, we’re going to find you an’ take you back.’

‘Oh,
pleath
, I don’t want to be found and tooken back. I like being with you.’

‘Well, we can’t keep you about with us all day, can we?’ argued William sternly. ‘You’ve gotter go home sometime same as we’ve gotter go home sometime. Well,
we jolly well want our dinner now and we’re jolly well going home an’ we’re jolly well goin’ to take you home. He might give us something and—’

‘All right,’ agreed Violet Elizabeth holding up her face, ‘if you’ll all kith me I’ll be found an’ tooken back.’

The four of them stood again before Mr Bott’s desk. William and Ginger and Douglas took a step back and Violet Elizabeth took a step forward.

‘We’ve found her,’ said William.

‘Where?’ said Mr Bott looking round.

‘Ith me,’ piped Violet Elizabeth.

Mr Bott started.

‘You?’ he repeated in amazement.

‘Yeth, Father, ith me.’

‘But, but – God bless my soul—’ he ejaculated peering at the unfamiliar apparition. ‘It’s impossible.’

Then he rang for Violet Elizabeth’s nurse.

‘Is this Violet Elizabeth?’ he said.

‘Yeth, ith me,’ said Violet Elizabeth again.

Violet Elizabeth’s nurse pushed back the tangle of hair.

‘Oh, the poor poor child!’ she cried. ‘The poor child!’

‘God bless my soul,’ said Mr Bott again. ‘Take her away. I don’t know what you do to her, but do it and don’t let her mother see her till it’s done, and you
boys stay here.’

‘Oh, my lamb!’ sobbed Violet Elizabeth’s nurse as she led her away. ‘My poor lamb!’

In an incredibly short time they returned. The mysterious something had been done. Violet Elizabeth’s head was a mass of curls. Her face shone with cleanliness. Dainty lace-trimmed skirts
stuck out ballet-dancer-wise beneath the pale blue waistband. Mr Bott took a deep breath.

‘GOD BLESS MY SOUL!’ EXCLAIMED MR BOTT, PEERING AT THE APPARITION. ‘IT’S IMPOSSIBLE.’

‘Now fetch her mother,’ he said.

‘WE’VE FOUND HER,’ ANNOUNCED WILLIAM, AND VIOLET ELIZABETH TOOK A STEP FORWARD. ‘ITH ME,’ SHE PIPED.

Like a tornado entered Mrs Bott. She still heaved with hysterics. She enfolded Violet Elizabeth to her visibly palpitating bosom.

‘My child,’ she sobbed. ‘Oh my darling child.’

‘I wath a thquaw,’ said Violet Elizabeth. ‘It dothn’t make any thort of a noith. Ith a lady.’

‘How did you—?’ began Mrs Bott still straining Violet Elizabeth to her.

‘These boys found her—’ said Mr Bott.

‘Oh, how kind – how noble,’ said Mrs Bott. ‘And one’s that nice little boy who played with her so sweetly yesterday. Give them ten shillings each, Botty.’

‘Well, but—’ hesitated Mr Bott remembering the circumstances in which they had been brought to him.

‘Botty!’ screamed Mrs Bott tearfully, ‘don’t you value your darling child’s life at even thirty shillings?’

Hastily Mr Bott handed them each a ten-shilling note.

They tramped homewards by the road.

‘Well, it’s turned out all right,’ said Ginger lugubriously, but fingering the ten-shilling note in his pocket, ‘but it might not have. ’Cept for the money it jolly
well spoilt the morning.’

‘Girls always do,’ said William. ‘I’m not going to have anything to do with any ole girl ever again.’

‘ ’S all very well sayin’ that,’ said Douglas who had been deeply impressed that morning by the inevitableness and deadly persistence of the sex, ‘ ’s all
very well sayin’ that. It’s them what has to do with you.’

‘An’ I’m never goin’ to marry any ole girl,’ said William.

‘ ’S all very well sayin’
that
,’ said Douglas again gloomily, ‘but some ole girl’ll probably marry you.’