The Runaways (24 page)

‘Why not?’ asked Uncle Ambrose.

‘These same children,’ said Colonel Linnet, indicating his offspring. ‘The boys must eventually go to boarding school. Possibly Oxford or Cambridge later.’

‘Certainly,’ said Uncle Ambrose sternly. ‘Why do you suppose I am wasting valuable time and strength hammering knowledge into their wooden heads?’

‘I doubt if I could afford it on what I’d make farming,’ said Colonel Linnet gloomily.

‘I share your doubt,’ said Uncle Ambrose. ‘But farm by all means if you wish. Any one of the local farmers will be delighted to instruct you and your total lack of talent will give great pleasure. In time you may develop some slight efficiency in the art and be able to contribute towards the education of these young
blockheads
. But even if you do not, I am happy to inform you that my own financial means will be equal to the strain. In my youth I had me good fortune to escape matrimony. Having never been under any obligation to waste good money on feather bonnets, woolly boots, rattles, and so forth, I have put by a considerable sum. Before making the acquaintance of these children, I had thought to leave it to my old college upon my decease, but have lately changed my mind. These children are the most troublesome I have ever encountered and you yourself as stubborn, unintelligent, and reactionary as any soldier I have ever had the misfortune to meet, but I am nevertheless attached to the lot of you. I should
welcome a joint home and a joint bank balance. And so, I know, would Ezra.’

Ezra, clearing away the beef and kidney pudding and bringing in the apple dumplings, was grinning from ear to ear, Hector was flapping his wings and hooting, Absolom was barking and the children yelling with joy. Their father tried to put before his brother the
disadvantages
of the scheme from Uncle Ambrose’s point of view, before it was too late, but was shouted down. By the time the apple dumplings had imposed their own silence it
was
too late. The thing was as solidly real as the dumplings themselves.

‘A very excellent dinner, Ezra,’ said Uncle Ambrose, laying down his spoon. ‘Only requiring for its ultimate perfection that we partake of some soothing digestive mixture in order that future memory, as well as past participation, may be equally happy. A thimbleful of ginger wine all round, Ezra. You will join with us, I beg, while we drink the toast of happy ever after!’

epilogue

It merely remains to say that they all worked hard to make that toast come true and it did come true. High Barton became the happiest village in the whole of Devonshire, with no more ill-wishing, poaching,
pin-sticking
, quarrelling, or anything at all that anyone could take exception to. Emma Cobley and Frederick remained at the village shop and appeared so
trustworthy
that even Ezra took to buying Windsor soap there, but not anything to eat because he was never quite sure about the inwardness of Emma’s and Frederick’s virtue. He thought it might be merely skin-deep, all right for soap, but not to be relied upon for bacon. But skin-deep or not, it lasted, and when Frederick died at the age of twenty, and eventually Emma herself at the age of a hundred and two, they were much mourned. And so was Tom Biddle, who only lasted till ninety-eight, but then he, it was thought, had been somewhat bewitched by Emma and so when she behaved well so did he. A Devon-born man took over the inn, the Falcon Arms, and it became a gay and happy place. Ezra, coming to the conclusion that he could set a good example to the children just as well by
moderation as by total abstinence, took to going there instead of to the Wheatsheaf and every Saturday night he banged his beer mug on the counter and sang his song. Everyone else joined in and a loud and cheerful noise rolled out through the open window of the inn and across the green, under the crescent of spring or the harvest moon, or the frosty stars of Christmas, and everyone abed in the village would wake up and smile. Sometimes the two Valerians, father and son, joined the merry-making at the inn and when the singing was over they would all listen spellbound to the wonderful tales of his adventures that the squire had to tell.

Hugo Valerian still went abroad sometimes, because he loved travelling, but he did not go alone, he took his wife and son with him because the love between the three of them was now so great that they could not bear to be parted. Moses and Abednego had to go too, of course, because they could not bear to be left behind. And as the years went on and she grew older, they would take Nan with them to be a companion to Lady Alicia when the men and the monkey wanted to go adventuring on their own. And sometimes, because they were the two youngest, Francis Valerian and Nan would go adventuring alone and he taught her to paint nearly as well as he did himself. He loved her very much, so much that on her eighteenth birthday, midsummer day, he married her in High Barton church. Uncle Ambrose married them, blowing his nose a good deal while he did it, and the bells pealed and all the animals were allowed to come into church. Hector and the bees came too. It was a remarkable wedding and made quite a stir in
the countryside. Thereafter Nan lived at the Manor, but as a day never passed without all the people at the Vicarage visiting the Manor, or all the people at the Manor visiting the Vicarage, there was no real parting. Nor was there when Betsy grew up and married the Vicar of Pizzleton, because Robert gave her Rob-Roy, who never grew old, as a wedding present, and Uncle Ambrose gave her the governess-cart and she was always driving over with the little cart stuffed full of her round fat babies. She had six, three boys and three girls, and she was a very bustling mother. Nan only had two children, beautiful lion-hearted Valerian boys, but as she was less busy by nature than Betsy, she required less outlet for her bustle.

Colonel Linnet was a very bad farmer, but a very happy man and everyone loved having him farming badly at High Barton. Uncle Ambrose was able to finish his book once Robert and Timothy had been packed off to boarding school. He was pleased to finish it, heaved sighs of relief and immediately started another. Robert did quite well at school because, though he wasn’t clever, Uncle Ambrose had taught him to work hard, and then, to his father’s delight and Uncle Ambrose’s great annoyance, he went into the army. He was a good soldier and managed both to win medals and honour and to stay alive at the same time, and once he had got over his annoyance, Uncle Ambrose was very proud of him, and of the beautiful wife, four children, and six polo ponies whom he collected in due course.

But it was Timothy who was his uncle’s chief delight, for both at school and at Oxford he won scholarships
and prizes, and was such a brilliant scholar that as the years went on his name was spoken with bated breath wherever learned men were gathered together. He did not get married, but became a Fellow of his college and lived in luxurious rooms looking out on green lawns, and wrote books and poems and was very happy. He was also very nice. His head did not swell at all and he was devoted to his relatives, but especially perhaps to Uncle Ambrose, and he visited High Barton every vacation without fail. Uncle Ambrose also visited him, and the greatest pride and joy of his old age was to walk down the Oxford High Street arm-in-arm with his brilliant nephew, with Hector, who appeared to be gifted with eternal life, sitting proud and erect upon his shoulder.

biographical note

Elizabeth Goudge was born in 1900 in Somerset. She had a long and distinguished literary career writing novels for adults and children, which were bestsellers throughout the world. She was awarded the Carnegie Medal in 1946 for
The Little White Horse,
perhaps her best-known work..

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