William The Conqueror Page 3

  ‘I don’t yet know which room,’ Mrs Brown said distractedly at breakfast. ‘I wish Mrs Flowerdew would send a message.’

  William was too much intent upon his own thoughts and plans to listen to his mother’s jeremiads. He went out into the garden – moving his arms to and fro with eloquent gestures and murmuring, ‘An’ now, ladies an’ gentlemen, kin’ly allow me to introjuce to you King Charles bein’ hung in the tower by a policeman, like what he was in ole days . . . lifelike on’ nat’ral . . . ladies and gen’l’men, kin’ly notice the policeman tyin’ the string round his neck—’

  He was interrupted by a tall, pale young man who came in at the front gate and said to him:

  ‘Are you Mrs Brown’s little boy?’

  ‘Yes,’ said William ungraciously.

  ‘Well, Mrs Flowerdew says the Parish Room,’ said the young man; and hastily departed.

  Now, the young man did not speak very distinctly, and William’s mind and heart were full of ‘Miss Flowerdew’. As a matter of fact, William rarely thought of Ginger’s mother as ‘Mrs Flowerdew’. She was just ‘Ginger’s mother’. Also William’s thoughts were full of his waxwork show.

  William went off to the barn where the rest of the troupe were assembled.

  ‘I say,’ said William importantly, ‘she must have invited a lot of fr’en’s. I’ve just gotter message from her to say we’re to do it in the Parish Room, not the ole barn. She must’ve got a lot of people to come an’ watch.’

  ‘Crumbs!’ said the Outlaws, deeply gratified.

  Then they fell to rehearsing with renewed energy.

  Four-thirty arrived. The Parish Room was filled with a despondent-looking crowd of villagers whipped up by the energetic members of the New Era Society. The village was less anxious to be educated than the Society was to educate it. The speaker had arrived and had lunch with the Vicar. He and the Vicar were still talking earnestly in the Vicar’s study. They were discussing the morals of the younger generation.

  ‘Terrible,’ sighed Mr Monks, the Vicar. ‘The modern child is utterly devoid of those qualities of sensitiveness and humility and reverence that one used to associate with childhood. There is a boy in this very village – a boy of the name of William Brown—’ he shuddered as at many painful memories.

  ‘I say,’ said Professor Smith, ‘it’s nearly half-past. Ought we to—’

  ‘It only takes a minute across the field,’ said the Vicar, ‘we’ll give them time to settle down. They’re never punctual.’

  And he went on talking with deep feeling about the boy of the name of William Brown . . .

  The Outlaws arrived at the Parish Room and entered by the door behind the platform.

  ‘I say,’ whispered Ginger, impressed, ‘it’s full. She must’ve invited a whole lot ’f ’em.’

  ‘I can’t see her, can you?’ said William.

  ‘No, but there’s such crowds of ’em.’

  ‘Well, we’d better not keep ’em waitin’,’ said William importantly.

  And the Outlaws marched up on the platform.

  A gasp of mingled horror and surprise and excitement went up from the audience.

  The Outlaws were wearing the clothes they would need for the waxwork show. William wore his top hat and Scout’s costume. Douglas was dressed in readiness for his policeman scene in a dressing-gown and a bread basket. Ginger, in readiness for Charles I, wore a tinsel crown and a shirt of his father’s, and Henry, as the highwayman, wore a home-made mask and a paint-smeared overall several sizes too large for him – the property of his father, who fondly imagined it to be still hanging in his studio.

  William looked around his paralysed audience. ‘Ladies an’ gen’l’men,’ he began, ‘this is a waxwork show, ’cause of her birthday, an’ I’m doin’ the talkin’. The first waxwork is me. I’m not dressed for it, but you can imagine me in a long coat an’ I’ve got these things on for Columbus an’ I’ve not got time to go changin’ every time. Ladies an’ gen’l’men, this is the only waxwork show of its kind in the world. We’re just goin’ to begin an’ if you’ll kin’ly watch careful this is General Moult walkin’ along the road – lifelike an’ nat’ral. This is waxwork number one, ladies an’ gen’l’men. This is General Moult walkin’. Kin’ly all watch General Moult walkin’.’

  ‘LADIES AN’ GEN’L’MEN,’ SAID WILLIAM, ‘THIS IS THE ONLY WAXWORK SHOW OF ITS KIND IN THE WORLD.’

  William assumed the pompous strut well known to all the village, and slowly and jerkily progressed across the stage.

  The spell was broken. The hall was full of murmurs of mixed consternation and delight, the delight predominating. In the second row sat Mrs Brown, her eyes full of helpless horror, fixed upon her son. In the third row sat General Moult, his face purple with fury, his eyes bulging. A group of village youths at the back of the hall, reluctantly dragged in to listen to the lecture on Egyptology, began to cheer. William bowed, gratified.

  IN THE SECOND ROW SAT MRS BROWN HER EYES, FULL OF HELPLESS HORROR, WERE FIXED UPON HER SON.

  ‘Ladies an gen’l’men,’ he continued, ‘our second waxwork is—’

  ‘Crumbs!’ whispered Ginger, looking at the open door behind the stage. ‘The Vicar’s coming with a man . . . he’s goin’ to come right up on to the stage. He’s goin’ to spoil it all.’

  ‘No, he’s not,’ said William firmly. ‘It’s our show an’—’

  Certainly the Vicar and the other man were coming up on to the stage. William, with admirable presence of mind, threw himself into the breach.

  ‘Ladies an’ gen’l’men, our nex’ waxwork is Mr Monks comin’ up on to the stage. Kin’ly notice Mr Monks walking up on to the stage.’

  The hall was full of excited murmurs. The figure of the Vicar was seen to appear on the stage, as though in obedience to William’s stage directions, and speak to William.

  The murmurs in the hall were too loud to admit of anyone’s hearing what the Vicar was saying to William. Everyone was talking excitedly. General Moult had found his voice, and was shouting: ‘Impudence! Damned impudence! I’ll tell his father. Confound his impudence! I say, confound—’

  Mrs Brown was past all power of interference. She merely watched William with a helpless, fascinated look. Above the babel rose William’s strident voice.

  ‘Waxwork number three, ladies an’ gen’l’men. Mr Monks talkin’. Mr Monks talkin’ to me. Kin’ly notice Mr Monks talkin’ to me, ladies an’ gen’l’men – nat’ral an’ lifelike.’

  The youths at the back of the stage applauded frenziedly. William bowed. The Vicar began to lose his self-control. He hit the palm of his left hand with his right clenched fist as he expostulated. William imitated the gesture.

  ‘Waxwork number four, ladies an’ gen’l’men,’ he shouted. ‘Mr Monks doin’ this. Kin’ly notice Mr Monks doin’ this – lifelike an’ nat’ral.’

  Mr Monks caught hold of William’s collar.

  ‘Waxwork number five,’ shouted William hoarsely. ‘Mr Monks an’ me goin’ to have a fight.’

  The audience had decided how to take the situation. It rocked with laughter. The youths at the back clapped and stamped. The Vicar, who was deeply attached to his sense of dignity, retired hastily.

  ‘Now,’ said William, who was slightly put out by the contretemps, ‘we have King Charles discoverin’ America. I mean the other way round. Ladies an’ gen’l’men, if you’ll kin’ly notice—’

  The Vicar and Professor Smith were interrupting him again. William turned upon them sternly, no longer trying to save the situation.

  ‘We’d all be glad,’ he said indignantly, ‘’f you’d kin’ly stop keep comin’ up here ’n int’ruptin’. This is a birthday party an’ all these people’ve come special to see the waxworks an’ you keep comin’ spoilin’ things. ’F you want to watch we’d be glad ’f you’d go down to where the others is watchin’ ’stead of comin’ up here int’ruptin’—’

  The Vicar was speechless with fury. Professor Smith was star
ing at William’s strange attire with bewildered horror.

  ‘But I’ve come here—’ he began.

  ‘You’ve come here to a birthday party,’ said William sternly, ‘if you’ve been invited, an’ if you’ve not been invited we’d be kin’ly glad ’f you’d kin’ly go home ’stead of stayin’ here int’ruptin’. Ladies an’ gen’l’men, will you kin’ly notice—’

  Mrs Brown had decided to relieve the tension by having hysterics, and the spell that bound the members of the committee of the New Era Society was broken suddenly. They surged upon the platform and surrounded William explaining, expostulating, scolding . . .

  ‘But she said to come here,’ protested William, ‘it’s her birthday party. All these is her fr’en’s. It’s a party. An’ you’ve all gone ’n spoilt it int’ruptin’.’

  He was finally convinced of the absence of Miss Flowerdew and of the mistake. But he was still pained and aggrieved.

  ‘Ladies an’ gen’l’men,’ he said to his audience with great dignity. ‘This waxwork show what you’ve seen the beginnin’ of is goin’ on in the ole barn across the field.’ He had a sudden inspiration. ‘The other part’s jolly good – better than the bit what you’ve seen, an’ is free an’ open to all on payment of one halfpenny.’

  Then with great dignity he led his troupe across the field to the barn where Miss Flowerdew sat in solitary patience.

  The Parish Room settled down with an audible gasp and sigh. Mrs Brown, seeing that all was over, came out of her hysterics. General Moult ceased to shout and settled down to a fierce and sustained muttering. The Committee of the New Era Society came down from the platform to their places. The Vicar, pale and tense, took the chair. Professor Smith smoothed back his hair, took a deep draught of water, and began:

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the earliest mention of Egypt in the Bible is under the name of Mizraim, which word, probably, is a plural form, testifying to the fact that Lower and Upper Egypt were regarded as distinct. The chief objects of cultivation in Egypt are millet, wheat, barley, dhurra, maize, peas, beans, lentils, clover, rice, sugar, etc. The philologist, D. I. Taylor, is of the opinion that the Egyptian alphabet, although incomplete, is one of the oldest known. Even at the time of the Eleventh and Twelfth Dynasties the hieroglyphic writing was a venerable system of vast antiquity—’

  The hall was very dimly lighted, but Professor Smith began to have a vague suspicion that his audience was mysteriously thinning.

  It was. Shadowy forms were creeping from the room and making their way in a furtive procession across the field to the old barn . . .

  CHAPTER 3

  THE LEOPARD HUNTER

  MR Falkner had been staying at the Browns’ house for a very long time.

  He had written to Mr Brown to remind him of the fact that they had been at school together and to ask if he might pay him a short visit. Mr Falkner was like that. Also his idea of a short visit was not Mr Brown’s.

  Not that Mr Falkner needed much entertaining. He entertained himself. He talked. William had never met anyone who talked quite as much as his father’s guest. Mr Falkner talked perpetually, and the subject of all his conversation was Mr Falkner. Mr Falkner was a never ending source of interest to Mr Falkner.

  He talked about his exalted social position, his many and varied talents, his marvellous exploits, his ingenuity, his aristocratic friends.

  ‘Oh, yes, the Duke and I are the greatest of pals. Always have been. The way the man pesters me to go and stay with him! But all my friends are the same. There’s the Honourable Percy Wakefield – you’ve heard of him, of course? – I ran into him again last week. He simply wouldn’t take “No”. I managed to put him off at last. Quite a nuisance, these people. Simply won’t let one alone.’

  Politeness prevented Mr Brown from remarking that he did not grudge Mr Falkner to the Duke or to the Honourable Percy. Instead, Mr Brown sat, silent and oppressed, trying to read the evening paper which lay carelessly on the arm of his chair and to look as if he weren’t doing so.

  And Mr Falkner talked on.

  Mr Falkner was small and rather stout, with a round face, a small blighted moustache, a glassy stare and a very squeaky voice.

  During term time Mr Falkner did not trouble William much. William merely watched him curiously in his brief respites from school.

  William practised diligently and acquired a very good imitation of Mr Falkner’s squeaky voice and glassy stare. He practised them alone every evening in his bedroom.

  At meals he rather welcomed the presence of Mr Falkner than otherwise. Mr Falkner’s accounts of his varied exploits of dauntless bravery and dazzling cleverness seemed to induce in William’s family a certain apathy of hopelessness which William thought a very proper attitude on the part of a family.

  No one told him to go and wash his hands and brush his hair again. No one made sarcastic remarks about his table manners. They simply had not the spirit. In fact, such is the humanising effect of a common misfortune, they almost felt drawn to him. They had thought that no family could be afflicted with an affliction worse than William. They had discovered their mistake. They had discovered Mr Falkner . . .

  Then came the end of the term. The end of the term was a time of mixed feelings for William. On the one hand, there was the glorious prospect of the holidays. On the other hand, there was his report.

  William’s best friends could not assert that he was intellectual or industrious. He was a daring and capable leader. He was, at different times and in different moods, robber chief, pirate, Red Indian, explorer, castaway, desperado – but he was not at any time, or in any mood, a student. William’s attitude towards the question was one of humility and self-effacement. He’d do without them. There were enough swots in the world without him.

  So there was a certain monotony about William’s reports. Masters who had a delicate shrinking from the crude and brutal truth wrote, ‘Fair’. Those who had the courage of their convictions wrote, ‘Poor’. The mathematical master, who was very literal, wrote, ‘Uniformly bad’.

  The horror and disgust of William’s father at these statements was generally as simulated as William’s penitence. They knew their respective roles and played them, but they had gone through the scene too many times to be able to put much spirit into the parts.

  But this time Mr Falkner was there. Before Mr Brown could begin his set speech expressive of horror and disgust, he took the paper from him and began to comment on it squeakily.

  ‘By jove, very different from the things I used to get. “Excellent” and all that sort of thing all over them. Some of them simply couldn’t say enough. “Remarkable talent” and “Very industrious” and “Splendid work”, and all that sort of thing. I remember the headmaster saying to my father one speech day, “Brilliant boy of yours, that!” Very keen-sighted man he was, too. Never made a mistake. I believe I was a great favourite at school. I’ve no doubt I’m still remembered there.’

  ‘No, neither have I,’ said Mr Brown.

  ‘Yes,’ bleated Mr Falkner, ‘it’s extraordinary how anyone at all above the average makes himself felt through life. So often I find that people who’ve only met me once remember me when I’ve quite forgotten them.’

  Again Mr Brown had no doubt of it.

  ‘Now, this boy of yours,’ went on Mr Falkner, ‘quite a good fellow, no doubt – well meaning and all that. But –’ he tapped his hand upon the damning report – ‘if anything below the average in intellect. I hope I don’t annoy you by saying that.’

  Mr Brown hastened to assure him that he didn’t.

  ‘We can’t all be above the average, of course. But a boy like this wants a little friendly advice, that’s all. I’ve no doubt that I shall be able to help him a good deal during the holidays. I always get on well with children. I could tell you most interesting stories about young friends of mind. A marked difference in them from the minute they know me.’

  Again Mr Brown didn’t doubt it.

  ‘I’m sure that
if I stayed here through the next term, you’d find a very different report at the end of it.’

  Mr Brown thought that on the whole he’d prefer the same report and the absence of Mr Falkner, but with great exercise of self-control he remained silent.

  ‘Very different indeed,’ went on Mr Falkner. ‘I wish I’d got some of my old school reports to show you. Really remarkable. I remember my form master saying when I left that the school would be a very different place without me.’

  For the fourth time Mr Brown remarked that he’d no doubt of it.

  During this interview William sat with his most inscrutable expression and stared at the guest unblinkingly.

  The next day was the first day of the holidays. William wandered out into the garden after breakfast, and to his horror saw that the guest was accompanying him.

  ‘Now, my boy,’ squeaked Mr Falkner, ‘tell me how many names of flowers you know.’

  William cleared his throat sternly and threateningly and went on as though he had neither seen nor heard Mr Falkner.

  ‘None?’ bleated his companion. ‘Come, come! Tut, tut! That’s sad for a boy of your age! Where are you going? Out into the road? Very well. I’m at your service. I can join in all your little activities, you know. What do you like to do in the holidays? Stamp collecting, I’ve no doubt. Most instructive – and a little school work every day so as not to forget all you learnt last term? And a nice quiet walk sometimes for exercise. That’s what you like, I’ve no doubt. That’s what I liked when I was a boy. What were we talking about? Ah, flowers! Now, here in this hedge, you will see the Arum or Cuckoo Pint. Notice the large hood which is botanically termed a spathe. Notice also the spadix and the stamens—’

  At the end of the road stood Ginger, Douglas and Henry. Their faces dropped as they saw William’s companion.

  ‘Ha!’ he said. ‘These your friends, Willy? They’re going to join us for the morning? Very well, little boys. Come along with us quietly. And what are we all going to do this morning, eh? I propose a nice little walk along the road, and you can all listen to what I’m telling Willy about the Arum or Cuckoo Pint. Notice, as I said the spathe and the spadix and the stamens. Don’t drag your toes in the dust, little boy. Think of your kind father who pays for them. And don’t whisper to each other when I’m talking. It’s not polite; I like my little friends to be polite. Now, would you like me to tell you about the habits of the busy little ant?’