Still William Page 5

  ‘Please, sir, Mrs Bott says is there any news?’

  ‘No,’ said Mr Bott desperately. ‘Tell her I’ve rung up the police every minute since she sent last. How is she?’

  ‘Please, sir, she’s in hysterics again.’

  Mr Bott groaned.

  Ever since Violet Elizabeth’s disappearance Mrs Bott had been indulging in hysterics in her bedroom and taking it out on Violet Elizabeth’s nurse. In return Violet Elizabeth’s nurse had hysterics in the nursery and took it out on the nursery maid. In return the nursery maid had hysterics in the kitchen and took it out on the kitchen maid. The kitchen maid had no time for hysterics but she took it out on the cat.

  ‘Please, sir, she says she’s too ill to speak now. She told me to tell you so, sir.’

  Mr Bott groaned again. Suddenly he turned to the four children and their keepers.

  ‘You’ve got their names and addresses, haven’t you? Well, see here, children. Go out and see if you can find my little gal for me. She’s lost. Look in the woods and round the village and – everywhere. And if you find her I’ll let you off. See?’

  They murmured perfunctory thanks and retired, followed by Violet Elizabeth who had not uttered one word within her paternal mansion.

  In the woods they turned on her sternly.

  ‘It’s you he wants. You’re her.’

  ‘Yeth,’ agreed the tousled ragamuffin who was Violet Elizabeth, sweetly, ‘ith me.’

  ‘Well, we’re going to find you an’ take you back.’

  ‘Oh, pleath, I don’t want to be found and tooken back. I like being with you.’

  ‘Well, we can’t keep you about with us all day, can we?’ argued William sternly. ‘You’ve gotter go home sometime same as we’ve gotter go home sometime. Well, we jolly well want our dinner now and we’re jolly well going home an’ we’re jolly well goin’ to take you home. He might give us something and—’

  ‘All right,’ agreed Violet Elizabeth holding up her face, ‘if you’ll all kith me I’ll be found an’ tooken back.’

  The four of them stood again before Mr Bott’s desk. William and Ginger and Douglas took a step back and Violet Elizabeth took a step forward.

  ‘We’ve found her,’ said William.

  ‘Where?’ said Mr Bott looking round.

  ‘Ith me,’ piped Violet Elizabeth.

  Mr Bott started.

  ‘You?’ he repeated in amazement.

  ‘Yeth, Father, ith me.’

  ‘But, but – God bless my soul—’ he ejaculated peering at the unfamiliar apparition. ‘It’s impossible.’

  Then he rang for Violet Elizabeth’s nurse.

  ‘Is this Violet Elizabeth?’ he said.

  ‘Yeth, ith me,’ said Violet Elizabeth again.

  Violet Elizabeth’s nurse pushed back the tangle of hair.

  ‘Oh, the poor poor child!’ she cried. ‘The poor child!’

  ‘God bless my soul,’ said Mr Bott again. ‘Take her away. I don’t know what you do to her, but do it and don’t let her mother see her till it’s done, and you boys stay here.’

  ‘Oh, my lamb!’ sobbed Violet Elizabeth’s nurse as she led her away. ‘My poor lamb!’

  In an incredibly short time they returned. The mysterious something had been done. Violet Elizabeth’s head was a mass of curls. Her face shone with cleanliness. Dainty lace-trimmed skirts stuck out ballet-dancer-wise beneath the pale blue waistband. Mr Bott took a deep breath.

  ‘GOD BLESS MY SOUL!’ EXCLAIMED MR BOTT, PEERING AT THE APPARITION. ‘IT’S IMPOSSIBLE.’

  ‘Now fetch her mother,’ he said.

  ‘WE’VE FOUND HER,’ ANNOUNCED WILLIAM, AND VIOLET ELIZABETH TOOK A STEP FORWARD. ‘ITH ME,’ SHE PIPED.

  Like a tornado entered Mrs Bott. She still heaved with hysterics. She enfolded Violet Elizabeth to her visibly palpitating bosom.

  ‘My child,’ she sobbed. ‘Oh my darling child.’

  ‘I wath a thquaw,’ said Violet Elizabeth. ‘It dothn’t make any thort of a noith. Ith a lady.’

  ‘How did you—?’ began Mrs Bott still straining Violet Elizabeth to her.

  ‘These boys found her—’ said Mr Bott.

  ‘Oh, how kind – how noble,’ said Mrs Bott. ‘And one’s that nice little boy who played with her so sweetly yesterday. Give them ten shillings each, Botty.’

  ‘Well, but—’ hesitated Mr Bott remembering the circumstances in which they had been brought to him.

  ‘Botty!’ screamed Mrs Bott tearfully, ‘don’t you value your darling child’s life at even thirty shillings?’

  Hastily Mr Bott handed them each a ten-shilling note.

  They tramped homewards by the road.

  ‘Well, it’s turned out all right,’ said Ginger lugubriously, but fingering the ten-shilling note in his pocket, ‘but it might not have. ’Cept for the money it jolly well spoilt the morning.’

  ‘Girls always do,’ said William. ‘I’m not going to have anything to do with any ole girl ever again.’

  ‘ ’S all very well sayin’ that,’ said Douglas who had been deeply impressed that morning by the inevitableness and deadly persistence of the sex, ‘ ’s all very well sayin’ that. It’s them what has to do with you.’

  ‘An’ I’m never goin’ to marry any ole girl,’ said William.

  ‘ ’S all very well sayin’ that,’ said Douglas again gloomily, ‘but some ole girl’ll probably marry you.’

  CHAPTER 4

  WILLIAM TURNS OVER A NEW LEAF

  William had often been told how much happier he would be if he would follow the straight and narrow path of virtue, but so far the thought of that happiness had left him cold. He preferred the happiness that he knew by experience to be the result of his normal wicked life to that mythical happiness that was prophesied as the result of a quite unalluring life of righteousness. Suddenly, however, he was stirred. An ‘old boy’ had come to visit the school and had given an inspiring address to the boys in which he spoke of the beauty and usefulness of a life of Self-denial and Service. William, for the first time, began to consider the question seriously. He realised that his life so far had not been, strictly speaking, a life of Self-denial and Service. The ‘old boy’ said many things that impressed William. He pictured the liver of the life of Self-denial and Service surrounded by a happy, grateful and admiring family circle. He said that everyone would love such a character. William tried to imagine his own family circle as a happy, grateful and admiring family circle. It was not an easy task even to such a vivid imagination as William’s but it was not altogether impossible. After all, nothing was altogether impossible . . .

  While the headmaster was proposing a vote of thanks to the eloquent and perspiring ‘old boy’, William was deciding that there might be something in the idea after all. When the bell rang for the end of school, William had decided that it was worth trying at any rate. He decided to start first thing next morning – not before. William was a good organiser. He liked things cut and dried. A new day for a new life. It was no use beginning to be self-denying and self-sacrificing in the middle of a day that had started quite differently. If you were going to have a beautiful character and a grateful family circle you might as well start the day fresh with it, not drag it over from the day before. It would be jolly nice to have a happy, grateful and admiring family circle, and William only hoped that if he took the trouble to be self-denying and self-sacrificing his family circle would take the trouble to be happy and grateful and admiring. There were dark doubts about this in William’s mind. His family circle rarely did anything that was expected of them. Still, William was an optimist and – anything might happen. And tomorrow was a whole holiday. He could give all his attention to it all day . . .

  He looked forward to the new experience with feelings of pleasant anticipation. It would be interesting and jolly – meantime there was a whole half of today left and it was no use beginning the life of self-denial and service before the scheduled time.

  He joined his fri
ends Ginger, Henry and Douglas after school and together they trespassed on the lands of the most irascible farmer they knew in the hopes of a pleasant chase. The farmer happened to be in the market town so their hopes were disappointed as far as he was concerned. They paddled in his pond and climbed his trees and uttered defiant shouts to his infuriated dog, and were finally chased away by his wife with a fire of hard and knobbly potatoes. One got William very nicely on the side of his head but, his head being as hard and knobbly as the potato, little damage was done. Next they ‘scouted’ each other through the village and finally went into Ginger’s house and performed military manoeuvres in Ginger’s bedroom, till Ginger’s mother sent them away because the room just below happened to be the drawing-room and the force of the military manoeuvres was disintegrating the ceiling and sending it down in picturesque white flakes into Ginger’s mother’s hair.

  They went next to Henry’s garden and there with much labour made a bonfire. Ginger and Douglas plied the fire with fuel; and William and Henry, with a wheelbarrow and the garden hose, wearing old tins on their heads, impersonated the fire brigade. During the exciting scuffles that followed, the garden hose became slightly involved and finally four dripping boys fled from the scene and from possible detection, leaving only the now swimming bonfire, the wheelbarrow and hose to mark the scene of action. A long rest in a neighbouring field in the still blazing sunshine soon partially dried them. While reclining at ease they discussed the latest Red Indian stories which they had read, and the possibility of there being any wild animals left in England.

  ‘I bet there is,’ said Ginger earnestly. ‘They hide in the day time so’s no one’ll see ’em, an’ they come out at nights. No one goes into the woods at night so no one knows if there is or if there isn’t, an’ I bet there is. Anyway, let’s get up some night ’n take our bows ’n arrows an’ look for ’em. I bet we’d find some.’

  ‘Let’s tonight,’ said Douglas eagerly.

  William remembered suddenly the life of virtue to which he had mentally devoted himself. He felt that the nocturnal hunting for wild animals was incompatible with it.

  ‘I can’t tonight,’ he said with an air of virtue.

  ‘Yah – you’re ’fraid!’ taunted Henry, not because he had the least doubt of William’s courage but simply to introduce an element of excitement into the proceedings.

  He succeeded.

  When finally Henry and William arose breathless and bruised from the ditch where the fight had ended, Douglas and Ginger surveyed them with dispassionate interest.

  ‘William won an’ you’re both in a jolly old mess!’

  Henry removed some leaves and bits of grass from his mouth.

  ‘All right, you’re not afraid,’ he said pacifically to William, ‘when will you come huntin’ wild animals?’

  William considered. He was going to give the life of virtue, of self-denial and service a fair day’s trial, but there was just the possibility that from William’s point of view it might not be a success. It would be as well to leave the door to the old life open.

  ‘I’ll tell you tomorrow,’ he said guardedly.

  ‘All right. I say, let’s race to the end of the field on only one leg . . . Come on! Ready . . . One, two, three . . . GO!’

  II

  William awoke. It was morning. It was the morning on which he was to begin his life of self-denial and service. He raised his voice in one of his penetrating and tuneless morning songs, then stopped abruptly, ‘case I disturb anyone’ he remarked virtuously to his brush and comb . . . His father frequently remarked that William’s early morning songs were enough to drive a man to drink . . . He brushed his hair with unusual vigour and descended to breakfast looking (for William) unusually sleek and virtuous. His father was reading the paper in front of the fire.

  ‘Good mornin’, Father,’ said William in a voice of suave politeness.

  His father grunted.

  ‘Did you hear me not singin’ this mornin’, Father?’ said William pleasantly. It was as well that his self-denials should not be missed by the family circle.

  His father did not answer. William sighed. Some family circles were different from others. It was hard to imagine his father happy and grateful and admiring. But still, he was going to have a jolly good try . . .

  His mother and sister and brother came down. William said ‘Good mornin’!’ to them all with unctuous affability. His brother looked at him suspiciously.

  ‘What mischief are you up to?’ he said ungraciously.

  William merely gave him a long, silent and reproachful glance.

  ‘What are you going to do this morning, William dear?’ said his mother.

  ‘I don’ mind what I do,’ said William. ‘I jus’ want to help you. I’ll do anything you like, Mother.’

  She looked at him anxiously.

  ‘Are you feeling quite well, dear?’ she said with concern.

  ‘If you want to help,’ said his sister sternly, ‘you might dig up that piece of my garden you and those other boys trampled down yesterday.’

  William decided that a life of self-denial and service need not include fagging for sisters who spoke to one in that tone of voice. He pretended not to hear.

  ‘Can I do anything at all for you this morning, Mother dear?’ he said earnestly.

  His mother looked too taken aback to reply. His father rose and folded up his newspaper.

  ‘Take my advice,’ he said, ‘and beware of that boy this morning. He’s up to something!’

  William sighed again. Some family circles simply didn’t seem able to recognise a life of self-denial and service when they met it . . .

  After breakfast he wandered into the garden. Before long Ginger, Douglas and Henry came down the road.

  ‘Come on, William!’ they called over the gate.

  For a moment William was tempted. Somehow it seemed a terrible waste of a holiday to spend it in self-denial and service instead of in search of adventures with Ginger, Douglas and Henry. But he put the temptation away. When he made up his mind to do a thing he did it . . .

  ‘Can’t come today,’ he said sternly, ‘I’m busy.’

  ‘Oh, go on!’

  ‘Well, I am an’ I’m just not comin’ an’ kin’ly stop throwin’ stones at our cat.’

  ‘Call it a cat! Thought it was an ole fur glove what someone’d thrown away!’

  In furious defence of his household’s cat (whose life William in private made a misery) William leapt to the gate. The trio fled down the road. William returned to his meditations. His father had gone to business and Ethel and Robert had gone to golf. His mother drew up the morning-room window.

  ‘William, darling, aren’t you going to play with your friends this morning?’

  William turned to her with an expression of solemnity and earnestness.

  ‘I want to help you, Mother. I don’t wanter play with my friends.’

  He felt a great satisfaction with this speech. It breathed the very spirit of self-denial and service.

  ‘I’ll try to find that bottle of tonic you didn’t finish after whooping cough,’ said his mother helplessly as she drew down the window.

  William stared around him disconsolately. It was hard to be full of self-sacrifices and service and to find no outlet for it . . . nobody seemed to want his help. Then a brilliant idea occurred to him. He would do something for each of his family – something that would be a pleasant surprise when they found out . . .

  He went up to his bedroom. There in a drawer was a poem that he had found in Robert’s blotter the week before. It began:

  O Marion

  So young and fair

  With silken hair . . .

  It must be Marion Dexter. She was fair and, well, more or less young, William supposed. William didn’t know about her hair being silken. It looked just like ordinary hair to him. But you never knew with girls. He had kept the poem in order to use it as a weapon of offence against Robert when occasion demanded. But that episod
e belonged to his old evil past. In his new life of self-denial and service he wanted to help Robert. The poem ended:

  I should be happy, I aver

  If thou my suit wouldst but prefer.

  That meant that Robert wanted to be engaged to her. Poor Robert! Perhaps he was too shy to ask her, or perhaps he’d asked her and she’d refused . . . well, it was here that Robert needed some help. William, with a determined expression, set off down the road.

  III

  He knocked loudly at the door. By a lucky chance Marion Dexter came to the door herself.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ she said.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ said William in a business-like fashion. ‘Has Robert ever asked you to marry him?’

  ‘No. What a peculiar question to ask on the front doorstep. Do come in.’

  William followed her into the drawing-room. She shut the door. They both sat down. William’s face was set and frowning.

  ‘He’s deep in love with you,’ he said in a conspiratorial whisper.

  Marion’s eyes danced.

  ‘Did he send you to tell me?’

  William ignored the question.

  ‘He’s deep in love with you and wants you to marry him.’