William's Television Show (Just William, Book 31) Page 5

  “Gosh!” said William again faintly.

  His friends could only gaze blankly at him.

  “You’ll have to give him back the badge,” said Douglas at last.

  “I jolly well won’t,” said William with a spark of his old spirit. “I won’t till I have to, till I’m drove by fate to. Five o’clock . . . anythin’ can happen before five o’clock. We’ll try a rescue party first.”

  “It won’t be any good,” said Henry. “They won’t have put him anywhere where we can find him, they’re too jolly cunnin’.”

  “We’ll try, anyway,” said William, his face pale with resolve. “We’ll jolly well try, an’ if we don’t find him I’ll think out somethin’.” His unquenchable optimism was coming to his aid. “I bet I’ll think out somethin’. I’ve been in some pretty big jaws of danger before now an’ I’ve gen’rally been able to think out somethin’.” He paused, frowned and drew a deep sigh. “Gosh!” he said as his mind went over the events of the day. It seemed centuries since this morning when he had lightheartedly cooked his “feast” over the smoking fire in the wood. “Isn’t it funny the way things go on happenin’? Seems sometimes as if they couldn’t stop.” This philosophical reflection seemed to give him comfort. “Come on. Let’s start the rescue party.”

  But Henry’s gloomy forebodings were justified. No one answered their knock at the Lane front door. A cautious search of the Lane back premises and even of the old quarry revealed no signs of the missing Jumble. Disconsolately they returned to the old barn.

  “Well, I thought you said you could think somethin’ out,” said Ginger. “You’ll have to think jolly quick. There’s not much time.”

  William stared in front of him . . . and over his homely grimy features a light slowly dawned. It was the familiar light that heralded one of his Ideas. The others watched him with respect tempered by apprehension.

  “I’ve got it,” he said. “It’s a jolly good one, too. I bet it’s one of the best ideas I’ve ever had. It’s a smashing one.”

  “What is it?” said Henry.

  “Gosh, I told you,” said William. “It’s a smashing idea. It came quite sudden same as they do sometimes. My best ones always come sudden. They sort of spring out at me. I bet that’s how ideas come to all great people like that man that saw a kettle boilin’ over an’ it set him off driving trains.”

  “Yes, but what is it?” said Ginger, trying to bring William down to earth before he was carried away beyond recall, by the theme of his own cleverness.

  “Well, listen,” said William. “It’s this.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial note. “You know Henry heard Mrs Lane say that this ole aunt of theirs that’d never been to their house before was comin’ to Hadley station by the three-fifty an’ that she couldn’t meet her an’ neither could Hubert? Well, we’ll meet her an’ we’ll pretend to be takin’ ter to Hubert’s house an’ we’ll bring her here an’ keep her for a hostage an’ I bet Hubert’ll have to come an’ fetch her an’ bring Jumble back. Gosh, it’s a wizard plan. It couldn’t go wrong.”

  They stared at him, impressed, dimly aware that it could go wrong but unable for the moment to see how.

  “It’s not a bad one,” admitted Ginger.

  “It’s a smashin’ one,” said William. “Come on. Let’s go’n’ meet the train.”

  Only one woman descended from the train at Hadley station. The four boys who stood in a row on the platform inspected her anxiously. But she was a reassuring sight—short and untidy, with mild eyes that peered from behind large dark-rimmed spectacles, a thin kind earnest face and unruly grey hair that had the appearance of having been blown about in a high wind. She looked wild and woolly and beautifully vague.

  William stepped forward. He wore his most glassy-eyed wooden expression.

  “We’ve come to meet you,” he said.

  The lady smiled at them.

  “What a charming idea!” she said.

  “Hubert couldn’t come,” said William.

  “What a pity!” said the lady, “but how kind of the rest of you to come! What’s your name?”

  “William.”

  “Mine’s Miss Taverton. And are these your friends?”

  “Yes,” said William, “they’re my friends. We’ve come to take you to—well, to show you the way to it.”

  “This is delightful,” said Miss Taverton. “Quite delightful. Well, now let’s set out, shall we?”

  The little procession set out—Miss Taverton in front with William on one side and Ginger on the other, Douglas and Henry behind. The Outlaws were silent Miss Taverton prattled brightly. She prattled about the weather and the countryside, commenting on the trees and flowers they passed, admiring a cow that gazed vacantly at them over a hedge.

  “Such nice faces they have, I always think. Not intelligent, of course, but so kind and friendly.”

  William had been afraid that she might have some idea of where the Lanes lived, but she raised no question or protest as they went through the village, still prattling gaily about the country sights and sounds.

  “It’s across this field,” said William as they reached the stile that led into the field where the old barn was. “It’s a sort of short cut to it.”

  “Delightful,” said Miss Taverton, scrambling over the stile with unexpected agility, “and which way do we go now?”

  “This way,” said William, leading the way to the old barn. Buoyantly their victim stepped over the threshold.

  “Quite a roomy place,” she said, looking round.

  William stood in the doorway, fixing her with his most ferocious scowl.

  “You’re kidnapped,” he said.

  “You’re a hostage,” said Henry.

  “If he doesn’t bring the other hostage back you’ll be hung and drawn,” said Ginger.

  “And quartered,” said Douglas.

  “We’re sorry about it,” said William, “but our enemy’s played a dastardly trick on us so we’ve got to play one back.”

  “He’s a villain of the deepest dye,” said Henry.

  “An’ it’s no use tryin’ to escape,” said William.

  “Your doom’ll be sealed if you try escapin’,” said Henry.

  “The whole place is s’rounded,” said Ginger. “You can’t see ’em ’cause they’re hidden but they’re jolly savage.”

  “Gangsters,” said Douglas.

  “Cut-throats,” said Henry.

  “Fiends in yuman shape,” said William. “They’d murder you soon as look at you if you tried to escape.”

  “An’ all the hedges an’ ditches round are electrocuted,” said Ginger, “so you’ll be goin’ into the jaws of death if you try gettin’ out that way.”

  “An’ it’s no good pleadin’ for mercy,” said William, baring his teeth in a ferocious grimace, “’cause we’ve got hearts of stone same as all kidnappers.”

  Their victim was not pleading for mercy. She was smiling at them in a pleasant, absent-minded fashion and investigating the interior of the old barn.

  “She’s tryin’ to find a loophole of escape,” said William to Ginger, “an’ she jolly well won’t find one.” He turned to his captive. “Well, we’re goin’ now, we’re leavin’ this one”—he pointed at Douglas—“to guard you. He’s the most cut-throat of the lot” (Douglas smiled sheepishly) “so you’d better not try gettin’ past him. Come on.”

  The three walked slowly across the field towards Hubert’s house.

  “Queer sort of aunt,” said William thoughtfully.

  “Some of ’em are pretty queer,” said Ginger.

  “I’ve got one that makes soup out of nettles,” said Henry.

  “Well, we’ve got this one kidnapped all right, anyway,” said William. He took a grubby envelope from his pocket. “I bet ole Hubert’ll shake in his shoes when he reads this.”

  Their minds dwelt with sombre satisfaction on the document enclosed in the grubby envelope: “We’ve kidnapped your arnt for a hostidge. She will
be hung drorn and kwortered if you dont giv bak jumble at once.”

  William uttered a sinister snort.

  “Huh! I bet he’ll bring old Jumble out quick as quick. If ole Jumble hasn’t chewed him up first.” He chuckled. “I say! That’d be a jolly good joke, wouldn’t it, if ole Jumble’s chewed him up. He’s jolly cunnin’, is ole Jumble. I shouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t got taken prisoner on purpose jus’ to get a chance to chew Hubert up.”

  “Here we are,” said Ginger.

  They stood for a moment or two at the Lane front gate, then, with grimly resolute expressions on their faces, walked up to the door and beat a tattoo on the knocker.

  The door was opened by a tall stout woman with a beaked nose and majestic manner.

  “Yes?” she said.

  William stared at the stranger, a little nonplussed.

  “Is Hubert in?” he said.

  “No,” said the woman. “Do you want him?”

  “Yes,” said William.

  “Are you friends of his?”

  “No,” said William.

  The woman looked nonplussed in her turn.

  “Well, he’s out and so is his mother. I’m his aunt”

  William’s mouth dropped open.

  “His—”

  “His aunt,” repeated the woman. “I only arrived this afternoon. Actually I came by an earlier train than I’d meant to, but in any case both Hubert and his mother had engagements this afternoon. If you’d care to leave a message . . .”

  William moistened his dry lips.

  ”No, ’s all right,” he said hoarsely, crushing the envelope back into his pocket.

  The woman gazed at him with dispassionate interest for a few moments, then closed the door.

  The three walked slowly down to the gate.

  “Gosh!” said William. “His aunt. Who’s the one we’ve got in the old barn, then?”

  “I dunno,” said Ginger, adding with the air of one who has given deep thought to a weighty problem, “come to that, she might be anyone.”

  “Gosh!” said William again. “An’—an there’s ole Jumble—” Anxiety for Jumble laid icy fingers on William’s heart. Till now he had felt certain of countering Hubert’s move and retrieving Jumble with honour and glory. But now . . . “Gosh! If anythin’ happens to ole Jumble!”

  “It never has yet,” said Ginger, though Ginger’s heart, too, had sunk at this new turn of affairs. “You’ve often thought he was lost an’ he’s always come back.”

  “Yes, but he’s never been kidnapped an hostaged before,” said William. “He’s been nearly everything else—police dog an’ husky an’ St Bernard dog in the snow an’ acrobat dog an’ space dog but he’s never been kidnapped an’ hostaged before. He hasn’t had any trainin’ for it.”

  “I bet Hubert doesn’t know how to quarter anyone, anyhow,” said Henry reassuringly. “Or even, draw ’em. I bet it takes a lot of practice.”

  “Shouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t Jumble that does the quartering,” said Ginger.

  “Yes,” agreed William, his volatile spirits rising again. “I bet he makes ole Hubert sorry he ever started this drawin’ an’ quarterin’ idea. Come on. Let’s go an’ have another look for him.”

  “What about this woman that isn’t Hubert’s aunt?” said Henry. “The one we’ve got imprisoned.”

  “Oh, yes,” said William. “Well, we left Douglas guardin’ her, so—”

  “Gosh! There’s Douglas,” said Ginger.

  Douglas was coming towards them down the road.

  “Hi! What’s happened to the prisoner?” said William.

  “I thought I heard Jumble barking, so I went to look,” said Douglas, “but it wasn’t Jumble. It was that brown dog at the farm. Then I thought I’d come an’ see how you were gettin’ on. Hubert’s aunt’ll be all right. I bet we scared her with all those things we said to her.”

  “Well, she’s not Hubert’s aunt,” said William, “so we can let her go.”

  “I bet she’s gone already,” said Ginger.

  “Well, we’ll go’n’ see an’ then we’ll jolly well find ole Jumble an’ rescue him,” said William. “Come on! Let’s hurry. It mus’ be gettin’ on for five.”

  They ran back across the field to the old barn. And there an amazing sight met their eyes. Miss Taverton, looking wilder and woollier than ever, was seated on the ground eating sandwiches out of a paper bag, and, seated by her side, sharing the sandwiches, was a black and white mongrel from whose collar trailed a piece of broken rope.

  “Jumble!” yelled William.

  “This delightful stray dog has joined me,” said Miss Taverton. “He’s sharing my lunch. I meant to eat it on the train but quite forgot about it.”

  Jumble was leaping up at William, greeting him exuberantly.

  “Good ole boy!” said William with an unconvincing attempt at nonchalance. “Good ole boy!”

  “He’s your dog, is he?” said Miss Taverton with mild interest.

  “Yes, he’s my dog,” said William, his whole face shining with pride despite his efforts to appear unmoved.

  “He’s a nice fellow.”

  “Oh, yes,” said William in as casual a voice as he could summon. “Oh, yes, he’s—”

  “Look!” shouted Ginger. “The Hubert Laneites!”

  They turned and looked across the field. And there they saw the Hubert Laneites making their way furtively along the road, examining the ditches and hedges on either side. Hubert whistled beneath his breath. Bertie Franks called “Hi, boy!” in a nauseatingly persuasive voice. It was clear that they were searching for their missing hostage.

  “Come on!” said William shortly. “Let’s show ’em.”

  “They’ve got sticks,” said Ginger.

  “Where’s our sticks, then?” said William.

  Lying about the old barn were the sticks that the Outlaws had salvaged at various times from hedges or the woods—stout business-like sticks which they used as alpenstocks or jumping poles, as weapons of offence or defence, or merely for investigating ditches, fishing in streams or stirring up muddy ponds.

  Their war cry rose in fierce challenge as they charged down the field. Again the battle was short and sharp. A crescendo of yells, a scrimmage of sticks . . . and the Hubert Laneites turned in headlong flight to the safety of Hubert’s home. Jumble came rollicking back with the victors, barking his triumph, waving his plume-like tail, dragging his broken rope as if it were a trophy of battle.

  The Outlaws slackened pace as they saw their hostage standing at the door of the old barn, watching them with her pleasant dreamy smile.

  “We’ve got to get rid of her,” said William. “We don’t want her stayin’ in the old barn for the rest of her life same as she seems like doin’.”

  “How’ll we get rid of her?” said Ginger.

  “I’ll get rid of her,” said William shortly.

  He approached Miss Taverton with an air of resolution.

  “Well, you’d better be getting back now, hadn’t you?” he said.

  She turned her benign smile on him.

  “Back where, dear?”

  “Back where you came from,” said William. “Well, you want to go back there, don’t you? They’re prob’ly expecting you back there where you came from. We’ll take you to the station. There’s lots of trains goin’ from the station. You’re sure to find one goin’ back to where you came from.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” said Miss Taverton. “Yes, perhaps it’s time I made a move. It’s all been so interesting. I’ve had a most enjoyable time.”

  William gaped at her, bereft, strangely for him, of the power of speech.

  The procession wended its way down the hill and towards the village. Jumble, his rope removed, was at the head of it, William and Miss Taverton followed. Ginger, Henry and Douglas straggled behind.

  The confused events of the day were sorting themselves out in William’s mind, bringing a vague sense of depression. He’d r
escued Jumble, he’d beaten the Hubert Laneites, but still Hubert Lane was to take the part in Robert’s play. Despite the stress and strain, the battle and the turmoil, he was back where he’d started.

  They were passing William’s house now and William’s expression grew strained and a little nervous as he noticed Robert approaching from the opposite direction. He was aware that his wild and woolly companion would arouse his family’s curiosity, and William avoided, as far as possible, arousing his family’s curiosity.

  “Let’s get on quick to the station,” he urged. “You don’t want to miss that train goin’ back to where you came from.”

  “Oh, but I can’t go before I’ve done the piece of business I came about, you know,” said Miss Taverton. “That would never do. I’m afraid I’ve lost the letter with the particulars in it, but perhaps this gentleman could help me.” To William’s horror she was approaching Robert.

  “Excuse me, but could you tell me where the secretary of the local Dramatic Society lives?”

  “Here,” said Robert indicating the Browns’ front gate and adding simply, “I’m him.”

  “Well, may I have a word with you,” said Miss Taverton, “if you could spare the time?”

  “Certainly,” said Robert, throwing a harassed and bewildered glance at her companions. “Come in.”

  He ushered her up the path and in at the front door. The Outlaws held a hasty consultation by the gate.

  “I told you we were goin’ to get in a muddle,” said Douglas. “I jus’ don’t know what’s happenin’.”

  “Neither do I,” said William helplessly. “It’s gettin’ complicateder an’ complicateder . . .”

  “She’s crackers,” said Henry. “I bet she’s escaped from somewhere.”

  “Yes,” agreed Ginger, “an’ she’s likely as not to turn dangerous any minute. They’ve got the strength of ten men, have lunatics.” He gazed with gloomy relish at the closed front door, “I bet she’s finished Robert off by now an’ started on the others.”

  “Crumbs!” said William. “I’d better go an’ see—an’ the rest of you’d better go home. No use all of us goin’ into the jaws of danger. Anyway, I don’t suppose my mother’s forgot about that vegetable sieve yet. I’ll come round afterwards an’ tell you what’s happened.”