Still William (8 page)

She handed it to William. William read it gravely and put it in his pocket.

‘Thanks ever so much,’ he said fervently.

‘Don’t mention it,’ said Miss Dexter demurely. ‘Quite a pleasure.’

He walked down the road in a rosy glow of virtue. Well, he’d done something for Robert that ought to make Robert grateful to him for the rest of his life. He’d
helped
Robert
all right. He’d like to know what
service
was if it wasn’t that – getting people engaged to people they wanted to be engaged to. Jolly hard work too. Now there remained his
mother and Ethel. He must go home and try to find some way of
helping
them . . .

When he reached home Ethel was showing out Mrs Helm, a tall, stern-looking lady whom William knew by sight.

‘I’m so
frightfully
disappointed not to be able to come,’ Ethel was saying regretfully, ‘but I’m afraid I
must
go to the Morrisons. I promised over a
week ago. Thank you so much for asking me. Good morning.’

William followed her into the dining-room where his mother was.

‘What did she want, dear?’ said Mrs Brown. ‘Go and wash your hands, William.’

‘She wanted me to go in this evening but I told her I couldn’t because I was going to the Morrisons. Thank Heaven I had an excuse!’

William unfortunately missed the last sentence as, still inspired by high ideals of virtue, he had gone at once upstairs to wash his hands. While he splashed about at the handbasin an idea
suddenly occurred to him.
That
was how he’d help Ethel. He’d give her a happy evening. She should spend it with the Helms and not with the Morrisons. She’d sounded so sorry
that she had to go to the Morrisons and couldn’t go to the Helms. He’d fix it all up for her this afternoon. He’d
help
her like he’d helped Robert.

‘GOOD HEAVENS!’ SAID MISS DEXTER. ‘DOES HE KNOW YOU’VE COME TO ASK ME?’

‘ROBERT’S DEEP IN LOVE WITH YOU,’ SAID WILLIAM. ‘HE’S WRITIN’ PO’TRY AN’ NOT SLEEPIN’ AN’ NOT EATIN’ AND
CARVIN’ YOUR INITIALS ALL OVER THE HOUSE.’

He had hoped to be able to give Robert Miss Dexter’s note at lunch, but it turned out that Robert was lunching at the golf club with a friend.

Directly after lunch William set off to Mrs Morrison’s house. He was shown into the drawing-room. Mrs Morrison, large and fat and comfortable-looking, entered. She looked rather bewildered
as she met William’s stern frowning gaze.

‘I’ve come from Ethel,’ said William aggressively. ‘She’s sorry she can’t come tonight.’

Mrs Morrison’s cheerful countenance fell.

‘The girls will be disappointed,’ she said, ‘they saw her this morning and she said she was looking forward to it.’

Some explanation seemed necessary. William was never one to stick at half measures.

‘She’s been took ill since then,’ he said.

‘Oh
dear
,’ said Mrs Morrison with concern, ‘nothing serious, I hope?’

William considered. If it wasn’t serious she might expect Ethel to recover by the evening. She’d better have something serious.

‘I’m ’fraid it is,’ he said gloomily.

‘Dear,
dear
!’ said Mrs Morrison. ‘Tch! Tch! What is it?’

William thought over all the complaints he knew. None of them seemed quite serious enough. She might as well have something
really
serious while he was about it. Then he suddenly
remembered hearing the gardener talking to the housemaid the day before. He’d been talking about his brother who’d got – what was it? Epi – epi—

‘Epilepsy!’ said William suddenly.

‘What?’
screamed Mrs Morrison.

William, having committed himself to epilepsy meant to stick to it.

‘Epilepsy, the doctor says,’ he said firmly.

‘Good heavens!’ said Mrs Morrison. ‘When did you find out? Will he be able to cure it? Is the poor girl in bed? How does it affect her? What a dreadful thing!’

William was flattered at the impression he seemed to have made. He wondered whether it were possible to increase it.

‘The doctor thinks she’s got a bit of consumption too,’ he said casually, ‘but he’s not quite sure.’

Mrs Morrison screamed again. ‘
Heavens!
And she always looked so
healthy
. The girls will be so
distressed
. William, do tell me – when did your mother realise
there was something wrong?’

William foresaw that the conversation was becoming complicated. He did not wish to display his ignorance of the symptoms of epilepsy and consumption.

‘Jus’ soon after lunch,’ he said with rising cheerfulness. ‘Now I’d better be goin’, I think. Good afternoon.’

He left Mrs Morrison still gasping upon the sofa and in the act of ringing for her maid to fetch her smelling salts.

William walked down the road with a swagger. He was managing
jolly
well . . . The next visit was easier. He simply told Mrs Helm’s maid at the front door to tell Mrs Helm that Ethel
would be able to come tonight after all, thank you very much.

Then he swung off to the woods with Jumble, his faithful dog. In accordance with his new life of virtue he walked straight along the road without burrowing in the ditches or throwing stones at
telegraph posts. His exhilaration slowly vanished. He wondered where Ginger and Henry and Douglas were and what they were doing. It was
jolly
dull all alone . . . but still the happiness and
gratitude and admiration of his family circle when they found out all he had done for them would repay him for everything. At least he hoped it would. His mother . . . he had done nothing for his
mother yet. He must try to do something for his mother . . .

When he returned home it was almost dinner time. His mother and Ethel and Robert were still out. The Cook met him with a lugubrious face.

‘Now, Master William,’ she said, ‘can I trust you to give a message to your ma?’

‘Yes, Cook,’ said William virtuously.

‘Me cold in me ’ead’s that bad I can’t stand on me feet no longer. That ’ussy Ellen wouldn’t give up ’er night hout to ’elp me – not she,
and yer ma said if I’d leave things orl ready to dish hup I might go and rest afore dinner ’f I felt bad. Well, she’ll be hin hany minute now and just tell ’er it’s
hall ready to dish up. Tell ’er I ’aven’t made no pudd’n but I’ve hopened a bottle of stewed pears.’

‘All right, Cook,’ said William.

Cook took the paperback copy of
A Mill Girl’s Romance
from the kitchen dresser and slowly sneezed her way up the back stairs.

William was to all intents and purposes alone in the house. He wandered into the kitchen. There was a pleasant smell of cooking. Several saucepans simmered on the gas stove. On the table was a
glass dish containing the stewed pears. His father hated cold stewed fruit. He often said so. Suddenly William had yet another brilliant idea. He’d make a proper pudding for his father. It
wouldn’t take long. The cookery book was on the dresser. You just did what the book told you. It was quite easy.

He went over to the gas stove. All the gas rings were being used. He’d better get one clear for his pudding. He supposed his pudding would need a gas ring same as all the other things.
There were two small saucepans each containing dark brown stuff. They might as well be together, thought William, with a business-like frown. He poured the contents of one of the saucepans into the
other. He had a moment’s misgiving as the mingled smell of gravy and coffee arose from the mixture. Then he turned to his pudding. He opened the book at random at the puddings. Any would do.
‘Beat three eggs together.’ He fetched a bowl of eggs from the larder and got down a clean basin from the shelf. He’d seen Cook doing it, just cracking the eggs, and the egg
slithered into the basin and she threw the shells away. It looked quite easy. He broke an egg. The shell fell neatly on to the table and the egg slithered down William on to the floor. He tried
another and the same thing happened. William was not easily baulked. He was of a persevering nature. He went on breaking eggs till not another egg remained to be broken, and then and then only did
he relinquish his hopes of making a pudding. Then and then only did he step out of the pool of a dozen broken eggs in which he was standing and, literally soaked in egg from the waist downward, go
to replace the basin on the shelf.

WILLIAM WENT ON BREAKING EGGS TILL NOT ANOTHER EGG REMAINED TO BE BROKEN.

His thirst for practical virtue was not yet sated. Surely there was
something
he could do, even if he couldn’t make a pudding. Yes, he could carry the things into the dining-room so
that they could have dinner as soon as they came in. He opened the oven door. A chicken on a large dish was there. Good! Burning his fingers severely in the process William took it out. He’d
put it on the dining-room table all ready for them to begin. Just as he stood with the dish in his hands he heard his mother and Robert come in. He’d go and give Robert Miss Dexter’s
letter first. He looked round for somewhere to put the chicken. The table seemed to be full. He put the dish and the chicken on to the floor and went into the hall closing the door behind him.
Robert and his mother had gone into the drawing-room. William followed.

‘Well, William,’ said Mrs Brown pleasantly, ‘had a nice day?’

Without a word William handed the note to Robert.

Robert read it.

He went first red, then pale, then a wild look came into his eyes.

‘Marion
Dexter
!’ he said.

‘You’re in love with her, aren’t you?’ said William. ‘You’ve been writing pomes to her.’

‘Not to Marion
Dexter
,’ screamed Robert. ‘She’s an old woman. She’s nearly twenty-five . . . It’s – Marion Hatherley I—’

‘Well, how was I to
know
?’ said William in a voice of irritation. ‘You should put their surnames in the pomes. I thought you wanted to be engaged to her. I’ve took
a lot of trouble over it gettin’ her to write that.’

Robert was reading and re-reading the note.

‘My God!’ he said in a hushed voice of horror. ‘I’m engaged to Marion Dexter!’

‘Robert,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘I don’t think you ought to use expressions like that before your little brother, whoever you’re engaged to.’

‘I’m engaged to Marion Dexter,’ repeated Robert in a tone of frenzy, ‘
Me!
. . . chained to her for life when I love another . . .’

‘Robert dear,’ said Mrs Brown, ‘if there’s been any mistake I’m sure that all you have to do is to go to Miss Dexter and explain.’

‘Explain!’
said Robert wildly. ‘How can I explain? She’s
accepted
me . . . How can any man of chivalry refuse to marry a woman who? . . . Oh, it’s too
much.’ He sat down on the sofa and held his head in his hands. ‘It’s the ruin of all my hopes . . . he’s simply spoilt my life . . . he’s always spoiling my life . . .
I shall
have
to marry her now . . . and she’s an old woman . . . she was twenty-four last birthday, I know.’

‘Well, I was trying to
help
,’ said William.

‘I’ll teach you to help,’ said Robert darkly, advancing upon him.