William Carries On Page 12

  William turned round in amazement to see Violet Elizabeth’s face peeping over the hedge.

  “You’ve gone and spoilt it all,” he complained when he rejoined her. “What on earth did you want to do that for?”

  “I only wanted to thee what thee looked like when thee thought I’d been run over,” apologised Violet Elizabeth humbly. “I’m thorry, William.”

  “Well, we’ll have to think up somethin’ else now,” said William. “What about you bein’ drowned?”

  Violet Elizabeth paled.

  “I don’t want to be drowned, William,” she objected, then, her indignation increasing and her perception of the issues at stake becoming slightly confused, added with spirit: “Why thould I be drowned juth thoth you can have athid dropth on Thaturdayth? You’re very thelfith, William.”

  “It’s you I’m tryin’ to get acid drops for,” said William impatiently, “an’ you needn’t even get wet. I’ll jus’ put your hat in water an’ make it all drippin’ an’ take it to her an’ say I found it floatin’ on the pond an’ she’ll go flyin’ to your mother an’—an’ kiss her. It won’t matter them findin’ out you’ve not been drowned afterwards, ’cause they’ll have made friends by then an’ everythin’ll be all right.”

  Rather reluctantly Violet Elizabeth agreed. William dipped her hat in the rain tub and took it dripping to Miss Milton’s front door.

  “Please, I found this—” began William, but with a “Go away at once and don’t dare to come here again or I’ll tell your father”, Miss Milton once more slammed the door in his face. Miss Milton was not in a mood to be trifled with. She was feeling harassed and worried. It was one of those days when, as she put it, “everything comes at once”. Her cousin Julia had arranged some weeks ago to run over to spend the afternoon with her. Another more distant cousin, whose husband had been posted to Marleigh Aerodrome from the North of England and who was moving into a small house just outside the village, had rung up to ask if her two children might come to tea this afternoon with Miss Milton in order to get them out of the way while she “settled in”. And—to crown all—the War Working Party which generally took place at the Vicarage on Thursday had been changed to this afternoon. And Miss Milton did not want to miss the War Working Party, because Mrs. Bott would be there, and Miss Milton did not want Mrs. Bott to think that she was frightened of her. She wanted to go to the working party and ignore Mrs. Bott as magnificently as Mrs. Bott ignored her. And, with her cousin and the two children coming to tea, how could she?

  Quite suddenly yesterday evening the solution of the problem had occurred to her. She would ask Julia to entertain the children, so that she could go to the working party. Julia was one of those amiable kind-hearted people who are willing to do anything for anyone, and, moreover, had the reputation of being fond of children, which Miss Milton most emphatically was not. That solved the problem, but still Miss Milton was worried. She had never seen Douglas and Susan, the two children, before and and she didn’t know what they were like. They were probably unruly and destructive, like all other children, and Julia probably wouldn’t have any control over them. People who were fond of children never had. She trembled to think of a couple of unruly destructive children let loose in her spotless little house. Better that, however, than that Mrs. Bott should think she was afraid of her.

  And, as if all these complications weren’t enough, that unspeakable Brown boy had to choose to-day to play his tricks on her.

  “It wasn’t any good,” said William, rejoining Violet Elizabeth in the road. “She didn’t seem to care whether you were drowned or not.”

  “An’ a nithe meth you’ve made of my hat!” said Violet Elizabeth, looking at the dripping object severely. “It wath an ecthpenthive hat.”

  “Well, I did my best,” said William. “I’m only tryin’ to stop the war same as everyone else. Goodness! Fancy you makin’ a fuss about a hat, when you think of all the money Churchill’s spendin’ on it! You don’t deserve to get the war stopped an’ have acid drops.”

  “Yeth, I do,” pleaded Violet Elizabeth. “I only thaid you’d made a meth of it. You have made a meth of it.”

  “Well, never mind the hat,” said William. “We’ve gotter think what to do next.”

  Anyone less determined than William would have abandoned that particular plan of reconciliation, but William did not abandon his plans lightly.

  “I bet she got so mad ’cause she saw me,” he said. “She doesn’t like me. If she jus’ saw you dyin’ or faintin’ or somethin’ without me there I bet she’d run out to help.”

  “I don’t want to die,” objected Violet Elizabeth plaintively. “I keep tellin’ you I don’t. You won’t lithen.”

  “An’ I keep tellin’ you you needn’t do it really,” said William. “It’s jus’ pretendin’. Look! You go an’ lie down at the bottom of her garden without movin’, an’ when she comes out to you jus’ go on lyin’ there without movin’ or speakin’”

  “Can’t I thay ‘where am I’?” pleaded Violet Elizabeth.

  “No, you’ll only mess it up if you start speakin’. Jus’ go on lyin’ there with your eyes shut. Then she’ll ring up your mother an’ your mother’ll come an’—an’ they’ll make it up an’ kiss each other.”

  “An’ give me athid dropth,” added Violet Elizabeth happily.

  “Yes,” agreed William, “as soon as this peace gets goin’. I’ll come an’ help you lie down. You’ve not gotter lie straight out. You’ve gotter lie all crumpled up jus’ as if you’d gone faint an’ fell all of a heap. We’ll do it now. It’s all right. She’s round at the other side of the house in the kitchen.”

  There was a certain amount of difficulty in deciding the exact posture which Violet Elizabeth should adopt. Now that the central position in the tableau was to be hers, she assumed the air of a temperamental prima donna and peevishly rejected all William’s suggestions.

  “I can’t lie all thquathed up like that,” she said. “I thall get pinth an’ needleth. I’m goin’ to lie thame ath I lie in bed when I’m athleep. If I’ve got to thtay here hourth an’ hourth till thee theeth me out of the window I’m not goin’ to be all thquathed up an’ uncomfortable.”

  It was while the altercation was going on—William standing up and Violet Elizabeth sitting on the grass, both gesticulating fiercely to prove their points—that Miss Milton went into her sitting-room and saw them through the window. She flung the window open, her face flushed with anger.

  “Go out of my garden at once, you naughty children!” she said. “I shall most certainly complain to your parents.”

  William realised the explanation would be worse than useless.

  “Oh, come on!” he said to Violet Elizabeth. “You’ve messed that up now.”

  “I don’t care,” said Violet Elizabeth. “I’m not goin’ to be all thquathed up—not for anyone. Anyway, ith lunth time an’ I’m hungry. I’m goin’ home.”

  “All right,” said William. “Go home! I don’t want you. You’re a soppy conceited ole girl an’ you’ve jolly well messed the whole thing up an’ I’m sick of you.”

  “An’ you’re a thtupid dithagreeable boy an’ I’m thick of you,” retorted Violet Elizabeth with spirit.

  Despite the interchange of personalities, however, neither really wanted to leave the adventure in this half- finished condition.

  “I’ll try’n’ think somethin’ else out while I’m havin’ lunch,” said William. “You meet me at your gate after lunch an’ I bet I’ll have thought somethin’ else out.”

  “All right,” said Violet Elizabeth, accepting the tacit overture, “an’ I’ll try’n’ think thomething elth out too.”

  Oddly enough, it was Violet Elizabeth who had the idea.

  “I remembered it juth ath I was eating rith pudding an’ pruneth,” she said. “It came to me thuddenly. I gueth you’ll thay ith a good idea. I gueth ith better than yourth.”

  “Yes, but what is it?” said William impatiently.<
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  “It wath a thtory I oneth read,” explained Violet Elizabeth. “It wath a thoppy thtory, but I gueth ith a good idea. There wath a little girl in the thtory an’ thee lotht her memory an’ thee went to a houth an’ thaid to the woman, ‘Pleath, are you my mummy?’ An’ thith woman wath thad an’ lonely an’ the little girl thtayed an’ comforted her till her real mummy found her an’ her mummy an’ thith woman were friendth alwayth afterwardth. It wath a thoppy thtory but—”

  William saw the point. It was a soppy story but . . . Violet Elizabeth arriving at Miss Milton’s cottage and saying: “Pleath, are you my mummy?” Miss Milton and Mrs. Bott friends always afterward . . . Peace . . . Acid drops . . . Bulls’ eyes . . . The other plans had gone wrong, he was convinced, because he had appeared with Violet Elizabeth. In this he need not appear at all . . .

  “It’s not bad,” he said, carefully tempering his enthusiasm lest Violet Elizabeth should get above herself, as she was inclined to. “No, it’s not bad. We might manage it all right. It’s not bad . . .”

  “Ith good,” said Violet Elizabeth with calm conviction. “Ith very good. An’ ith eathy.”

  “It’s not as easy as you think”, said William. “You can’t jus’ walk in an’ say that. You’ve gotter act like someone what’s lost their mem’ry. Can you act like someone what’s lost their mem’ry?”

  “No,” admitted Violet Elizabeth. “Thith thtory didn’t thay anythin’ about that.”

  “Well, you’ll have to have a bit of practice first, then,” said William, who by this time had completely adopted the idea as his own. “People what’ve lost their mem’ries carry on in a special sort of way. Like this . . .”

  He assumed an imbecile expression, allowed his head to drop forward, his mouth to drop open and lurched unsteadily across the road. “You’ll need a bit of practice,” he repeated. “Let’s practise down this road a bit first. You watch me and do everything I do.”

  He reassumed his imbecile expression, dropped his head forward, his mouth open, and began to lurch down the road. Violet Elizabeth imitated him as best she could with earnest concentration. So intent were they on the proceeding that they did not see two children coming from the opposite direction—a boy of about William’s size and a girl about Violet Elizabeth’s—till they had nearly collided with them. The four of them stood and stared at each other.

  “What’s your name?” said the boy.

  William, throwing an admonitory glance at Violet Elizabeth as if to call her attention to the object lesson, gaped at the boy with open mouth and said:

  “Dunno.”

  “Gosh!” said the boy, taken aback. He turned to Violet Elizabeth.

  “What’s yours?” he said.

  “Dunno,” said Violet Elizabeth, giving a faithful imitation of William’s performance.

  “Crumbs!” said the boy.

  “How old are you?” he said to William.

  “Dunno,” said William.

  “Well, how old are you?” he said to Violet Elizabeth.

  “Dunno,” said Violet Elizabeth, improving on William’s performance by letting her tongue loll out of her mouth too.

  “Corks!” said the boy with growing amazement. “Don’t you know your name or how old you are?”

  “I’ve lost my memory,” said William.

  “I’ve lotht mine, too,” said Violet Elizabeth.

  The boy had worn a dejected expression when they first met him, but now he brightened suddenly.

  “I say, Susan,” he said, drawing the girl aside. “I’ve got an idea.”

  They whispered together, while William and Violet Elizabeth, warming to their task, gaped and lolled and lurched about the road. At last the boy approached them.

  “Look here!” he said kindly. “It’s lucky for you you met us because we know who you are. You’re a brother and sister and you’re called Douglas and Susan Keith, and you’re going to tea with a lady called Miss Milton. We know where she lives, too, so we’ll take you to her. You’re jolly lucky to have met us. You’ll be all right now.”

  William was too much taken aback to resist. Moreover, having sustained the character of a boy who had lost his memory so effectively, he was reluctant to abandon it. After all, they were going to Miss Milton’s, and it was there that the next step in the proceedings was due to take place, anyway. He’d manage somehow to slip away when they arrived at Miss Milton’s, so that Violet Elizabeth could go in alone, repeat her little piece and lead on to the great reconciliation scene. The other two wore a jubilant air as they walked on either side like a bodyguard. The appearance of these two children, of about the same age as themselves, who had so conveniently lost their memories, was a godsend. The prospect of having to waste the glorious hours of the first day in a new home going to tea with an elderly and unknown relative, when they might be roaming the countryside and exploring the woods that stretched so temptingly on all sides, had weighed heavily on their spirits. Now they were saved. This odd couple without memories would take their place, and Miss Milton, who had never seen them before, would be satisfied. Later complications they were content to leave to fate. At least they would have had this wonderful first day for exploring. No other day is quite like the first . . .

  They coached their substitutes assiduously as they shepherded them along the road.

  “Your father’s a Flight Lieutenant at Marleigh Aerodrome.”

  “You’ve only just moved there. You’ve gone to a furnished house near the aerodrome and your mother’s busy settling in to-day.”

  “You’ve got an Aunt Lucy and an Uncle Herbert and they’re both quite well if this Miss Milton asks after ’em.”

  “You’re all quite well if Miss Milton asks after them.”

  “Uncle Herbert had an operation last year, but he’s quite all right again.”

  “An’ you had measles in the spring, but you’re quite all right again.”

  “An’ don’t forget your names. You’re Douglas an’ Susan Keith.”

  “Jolly good thing for you you met someone that knows you!”

  “An’ your mother told you to give Miss Milton her love. Don’t forget that.”

  They had reached Miss Milton’s cottage now.

  “This must be it,” said the boy. “Third on the right past the church. Yes, this must be it. Well, go straight up an’ knock at the door an’ say you’re Douglas and Susan, an’ I hope you have a good time.”

  With that the couple turned and ran back as fast as they could down the road, giving kangaroo-like leaps of exultation as they went.

  William and Violet Elizabeth stood at the gate of the cottage, bewildered by this unexpected turn of events. William was the first to recover.

  “Never mind them,” he said. “They’re batty. You go in same as you were going to an’ carry on same as we’ve been practisin’ an’ say ‘Please, are you my’—”

  But it was too late. Already a strange lady—not Miss Milton but with an elusive likeness to her—was bearing down on them from the front door.

  “There you are!” she said with an all-embracing smile of welcome. “It’s Douglas and Susan, isn’t it? Come along in. I’m Miss Milton’s cousin, so I’m a sort of relation, too. You must call me Aunt Julia. Miss Milton’s gone to her working party and left me to entertain you. Come along.”

  Events were moving too quickly for William. Before he could recover his forces, he found himself swept up to the cottage door and into the cottage. And there he stood and stared in amazement. For spread on the table was a tea such as he had not seen for months. Miss Julia Milton, informed the day before that she was to entertain the children to tea and aware that her cousin’s preparations would be on a niggardly scale, had determined to supply deficiencies and give the “poor little souls” a real treat. She had used all her precious store of pre-war icing sugar and made a large and luscious-looking chocolate cake. She had bought chocolate biscuits and a bottle of orange squash. She had made jellies.

  “I thought I�
�d contribute my share,” she explained apologetically to Miss Milton when she arrived, her little car loaded up with dainties.

  Miss Milton had looked at her cargo sourly.

  “Well, of course,” she had said distantly, “if you want to waste time and money on a couple of ungrateful, badly-behaved children—”

  “How do you know they’re ungrateful and badly behaved?” said Miss Julia. “You’ve never met them.”

  “All children are ungrateful and badly behaved,” said Miss Milton simply.

  “I’m sure Douglas and Susan aren’t,” said Miss Julia confidently.

  She had spent a happy half-hour since Miss Milton’s departure to her working party, arranging the table and setting out cake, biscuits and jellies.

  “Oh!” said Violet Elizabeth as her eyes fell on it, and “Corks!” said William.

  By tacit consent they decided to put off explanations till after tea.

  They remembered that tea afterwards as one of the few bright spots of the war. It wasn’t only the cakes and biscuits and jellies, delicious as they were. It was Miss Julia Milton, who turned out to be unlike her cousin in every way. In order to put them at their ease she told them stories of her own childhood and that of her brothers and sisters, describing their pranks and adventures so vividly and humorously that William and Violet Elizabeth chuckled with delight. Tea-time passed without a hitch. No awkward questions were asked, no awkward references made. Occasionally William and Violet Elizabeth were slow to respond to the names of Douglas and Susan, but no other demands were made on them beyond eating the cakes and biscuits and jellies.

  “And you’ll help me clear away and wash up, won’t you?” said Miss Julia when her guests could eat no more, “then everything will be nice and clean and straight when Miss Milton comes home.”

  They helped her clear away and wash up, and Miss Julia told them more stories about her childhood. She had evidently been an adventurous child, and even William mentally pigeon-holed a few ideas from her exploits for future use. Once, when Miss Julia had gone outside to shake the cloth and they were alone in the sitting-room, Violet Elizabeth, suddenly remembering the point from which the strange situation had developed, said: “Thall I athk her if thee’th my mummy now, William?”