William the Fourth (8 page)

The Zoo was suggested to Great-Aunt Jane, but she shuddered slightly. ‘I don’t think I
could,
’ she said. ‘It’s so
dangerous,
I always feel. Those bars
look so fragile. I should never forgive myself if little William were mangled by wild beasts when in my care.’

William sighed and called his friends together again.

‘She won’t go to the Zoo,’ said William. ‘Somethin’ or other about bars an’ mangles.’

‘Well, what about Maskelyne’s and Devant’s?’ said Henry. ‘My uncle took me once. It’s all magic’

William, much cheered at the prospect, suggested Maskelyne’s that evening. Aunt Jane thought it over for some time, then shook her head.

‘No, dear,’ she said. ‘I feel that these illusions aren’t quite honest. They pretend to do something they really couldn’t do, and it practically amounts to
falsehood. They deceive the eye, and all deceit is wrong.’

William groaned and returned to his advisory council.

‘She’s awful,’ he said gloomily. ‘She’s cracky, I think.’

They discussed the matter again. Douglas had seen a notice of a fair as he came along.

‘Try that,’ he said. ‘There’s merry-go-rounds an’ shows an’ coconut-shies an’ all sorts. It oughter be all right.’

That evening William suggested a fair. Aunt Jane looked frightened. ‘What exactly
happens
in a fair?’ she said earnestly.

William had learnt tact.

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘you just walk around and look at things.’

‘What
sort
of things do you look at?’ said Aunt Jane.

‘Oh, just stalls of gingerbreads an’ lemonade.’

It sounded harmless. Aunt Jane’s face cleared.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Of course, I could stand outside while you walked round . . .’

But upon investigation it appeared that William’s parents had not that perfect trust in William that William seemed to think was his due, and objected strongly to William’s walking
round by himself. So Aunt Jane steeled herself to dally openly with the evil power of Pleasure-making.

‘We can be quite quick,’ she said, ‘and it doesn’t sound very bad.’

William reported progress to his council.

‘It’s all right,’ he said cheerfully. ‘The ole luny’s going to the fair.’

Then his cheerfulness departed.

‘Though, when you come to think of it,’ he said, ‘it jolly well won’t be much fun for
me.’

‘Well,’ said Ginger, ‘s’pose we all try to go there the same time. We can leave your ole Aunt Jane somewhere an’ go off, can’t we?’

William brightened.

‘That sounds better,’ he said. ‘I guess she’ll be quite easy to leave.’

Aunt Jane was so nervous that she did not sleep at all on the night before the day arranged for the treat. Never before in her blameless life had Aunt Jane deliberately entered
a place of entertainment.

‘I do hope,’ she murmured on the threshold, holding William firmly by the hand, ‘that there’s nothing really
wrong
in it.’

She was dressed in a long and voluminous black skirt, a long and voluminous black coat, and a small black hat, adorned with black ears of wheat, perched upon her prim little head.

Inside she stopped, bewildered. The glaring lights, the noise, the shouting, seemed to be drawing Aunt Jane’s eyes out of her sockets and through her large, round spectacles.

‘It isn’t a bit what I thought, William,’ she said. ‘I imagined just stalls – just quiet, plain stalls. Why are they throwing balls about, William?’

‘It’s a coconut-shy,’ said William.

‘Can – can anyone do it?’ said Aunt Jane.

Anyone can try,’ said William, ‘if they pay twopence.’

And what happens if they knock it off?’

‘They get the coconut,’ explained William loftily.

‘I – I wonder if it’s very difficult,’ mused Aunt Jane.

At this moment a well-aimed ball sent a coconut rolling in the sawdust. Aunt Jane gave a little scream.

‘Oh, he
did
it! He
did
it!’ she cried. ‘I – I’d love to try. There – there can’t be anything
wrong
in it.’

With trembling fingers she handed the man twopence and took the three wooden balls. A sudden hush of astonishment fell on the crowd when Aunt Jane’s curious figure came to the fore. At the
first throw she shook her hat crooked, at the second she shook a tail of hair down, at the third she shook off her spectacles. The third ball went wider of the mark than all the others, and hit a
young man on the shoulder. Seeing Aunt Jane, however, he only smiled. She demanded another twopenny-worth. The bystanders cheered her loudly. The crowd round the coconut-shy stall grew. People from
afar thought it was an accident, and crowded up to watch. Then they saw Aunt Jane and stayed.

At last, after her sixth shot, Aunt Jane, flushed and panting and dishevelled, turned to William.

‘It’s much more difficult than it looks, William,’ she said regretfully, as she straightened her hat and hair. ‘I would have liked to have knocked one off.’

‘What about me?’ said William coldly.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘You must try, too.’ So she paid another twopence, and William tried, too. But the crowd began to melt away at once, and even the proprietor began to
look bored. William realised that he was an anticlimax and felt dispirited.

‘You should use more
force,
I think, William,’ said Aunt Jane, ‘and more directness of aim.’

William growled.

‘Well, you didn’t do it,’ he said aggressively.

‘No,’ said Aunt Jane, ‘but I think with practice—’

Here William was cheered by the sight of Henry
and Douglas and Ginger, who had all managed to evade lawful authority, and come to the help of William. They had decided to hide from Aunt Jane and then abscond with William. But Aunt Jane hardly
saw them. She hurried on ahead, her cheeks flushed, her eyes alight, and her prim little hat awry.

‘It has,’ she said, ‘a decidedly
inspiriting
effect, the light and music and crowds – decidedly inspiriting.’

She halted before a roundabout.

‘I wonder if it’s enjoyable,’ she said musingly. ‘The circular motion, of course, might be monotonous.’

However, she decided to try it. She paid for William and Douglas, and Henry, and Ginger, and herself, and mounted a giant cock. It began. She clung on for dear life. It went faster and faster.
There came a gleam into her eyes, a smile of rapture to her lips. Again the crowd gathered to watch her. She looked at the people as the roundabout slowed down.

‘How happy they all look,’ she said innocently. ‘It’s – it’s quite a pleasant motion, isn’t it? It seems a pity to get off.’

She stayed on, clinging convulsively to the pole, with one elastic-sided boot waving wildly. She stayed on yet again. She seemed to find the circular motion anything but monotonous. It seemed to
give her a joy that all her blameless life had so far failed to produce.

William and Ginger had to climb down, pale and rather unsteady. Henry and Douglas followed their example the next time it stopped. But still Aunt Jane stayed on, smiling blissfully, her hat
dangling over one ear. And still the crowd at the roundabout grew. The rest of the fair ground was comparatively empty. All the fun of the fair was centred on Aunt Jane.

At last she descended from her mount and joined the rather depressed-looking group of boys who were her escort.

‘It’s curious,’ she said, ‘how much pleasanter is a circular motion than a straight one. This is much more exhilarating than, say, a train journey. And, of course, the
music adds to the pleasantness.’

‘Well,’ said William, ‘you jolly well stayed on.’

‘It seemed,’ she said, ‘such a pity to get off.’

The little party moved from the roundabout
followed by most of the crowd. The crowd liked Aunt Jane. They wouldn’t have lost sight of her for anything. Aunt Jane, for the first time in her life, appealed to the British Public. William
and his friends felt themselves to be in a curious position. They had meant to leave Aunt Jane to her fate and go off to their own devices. But it did not seem possible to leave Aunt Jane, because
everything seemed to centre round Aunt Jane, and they would only have been at the back of the crowd instead of at the front. But they felt that their position as escort of Aunt Jane was not a
dignified one. Moreover, their feats drew forth none of the applause which Aunt Jane’s feats drew forth. They felt neglected by the world in general.

Aunt Jane was next attracted by the poster of the Fat Woman outside one of the tents. She fixed her spectacles sternly, and approached the man who was crying the charms of the damsel.

‘Surely that picture is a gross exaggeration, my good man?’ she said.

‘Hexaggeration?’ he repeated. ‘It isn’t ’arf the truth. That’s wot it isn’t. It isn’t ’arf the truth. We – we couldn’t get
’er on the picture if we made ’er as big as wot she is. Hexaggeration? Why – she’s a walkin’ mountain, that’s wot she is. A reg’lar walkin’ mountain.
Come in and see ’er. Come in and judge for yerselves. Jus’ come in and see if wot I’m tellin’ yer isn’t gospel.’

Somehow or other they were swept in. Aunt Jane sat on the front seat. She gazed intently upon the Fat Woman, who sat at her ease upon a small platform.

‘She seems,’ said Aunt Jane, ‘unnaturally large, certainly’

The showman discoursed upon the size of the Fat Woman, and then invited the audience to draw near.

‘Touch ’er if yer want,’ he said. ‘Touch ’er and see she’s reel. No decepshun.’

Aunt Jane drew near with the rest and accosted the showman.

‘Has she ever tried any of those fat-reducing foods?’ she said.

The man looked at William.

‘Is she batty?’ he said simply.

‘If you’ll give me her address I’ll talk to my doctor about her. I think something might be done to make her less abnormal.’

At this the walking mountain rose threateningly from her gilded couch.

‘ ’Ere,’ she said, ‘’oo yer a-callin’ nimes of? You tell me that. ’Oo yer a-giving of yer sauce to? You talk ter me strite art if yer wants to an’
I’ll talk ter yer back – not ’arf. Don’t go a ’urlin’ of yer hinsults at me through
’im.
My young man – ’e’ll talk ter yer, nah,
if yer wants.’

‘ ’Er young man, he’s the Strong Man in the next tent,’ explained the man. ‘They’re fiancies, they are. An’ ’e’s the divil an’ all to
tackle, ’e is. I’d advise yer, as friend to friend, to clear, afore she calls of ’im.’

But Aunt Jane, the imitation wheat in her hat trembling with emotion was already ‘clearing’.

‘They quite misunderstood,’ she said, as soon as she had ‘cleared’. ‘The word “abnormal” conveys no insult, surely. I think I’ll return and
explain. I’ll refer them to the dictionary and the derivation of the word. It simply means something outside the usual rule. If—’

She was returning eagerly to the tent to explain, but found the entrance blocked by a crowd, so she was persuaded to postpone her explanation. Moreover, she had caught sight of the Hoop-la, and
was anxious to have the system explained to her. William wearily explained it.

‘Oh, I see,’ said Aunt Jane, ‘a test of dexterity and accuracy of aim. Shall we – shall we try?’

They tried. They tried till William was tired. She had determined to ‘get something’ or die. The crowd was gathering again. They applauded her efforts. Aunt Jane was too
short-sighted to notice the crowd, but she heard its shouts.

‘Isn’t everyone
encouraging
?’ she murmured to William. ‘It’s most gratifying. It’s really a very pleasant place.’

She actually did get something. One of her wildly-flung hoops fell over a tie-pin of the extremely flashy variety, which she received with glowing pride and handed to William. The crowd cheered,
but Aunt Jane was quite oblivious of the crowd.

‘Come along,’ she said. ‘Let’s do something else.’

Ginger disconsolately announced his intention of going home. Henry and Douglas followed his example, and William was left alone to escort Aunt Jane through the mazes of the Land of Pleasure. It
was at this point that things really seemed to go to Aunt Jane’s head. She went down the Helter Skelter four or five times – sailing down on her little mat with squeaks of joy. She
forgot now to straighten her hat or her hair. Her eyes gleamed with a strange light, her cheeks were flushed.