Striding Folly (14 page)

    ‘Tisn’
tadders
,’ replied his son, with dawning hope. ‘Only very nearly. An’ I don’t know what it lives on. I say, if you will let me keep it, d’you mind coming in quick, ’cos I ’spect it’s creeped out of the bucket.’

    ‘In that case,’ said his lordship, ‘I think we’d better conduct a search of the premises instantly. My nerves are fairly good; but if it were to go up the flue and come out in the kitchen—’

    He followed his offspring hastily into the furnace-room.

‘I wish,’ said Harriet, a little irritably, for she strongly disliked being lectured about her duties and being thus prevented from attending to them, ‘you wouldn’t always talk about “a” child, as if all children were alike. Even my three are all quite different.’

    ‘Mothers always think their own children are different,’ said Miss Quirk. ‘But the fundamental principles of child-psychology are the same in all, I have studied the subject. Take this question of punishment. When you punish a child—’

    ‘
Which
child?’

    ‘Any child – you harm the delicate mechanism of its reaction to life. Some become hardened, some become cowed, but in either case you set up a feeling of inferiority.’

    ‘It’s not so simple. Don’t take any child – take mine. If you reason with Bredon, he gets obstinate. He knows perfectly well when he’s been naughty, and sometimes he prefers to be naughty and take the consequences. Roger’s another matter. I don’t think we shall ever whip Roger, because he’s sensitive and easily frightened and rather likes having his feelings appealed to. But he’s already beginning to feel a little inferior to Bredon, because he isn’t allowed to be whipped. I suppose we shall have to persuade him that whipping is part of the eldest son’s prerogative. Which will be all right provided we don’t have to whip Paul.’

    There were so many dreadful errors in this speech, that Miss Quirk scarcely knew where to begin.

    ‘I think it’s such a mistake to let the younger ones fancy that there is anything superior in being the eldest. My little nephews and nieces—’

    ‘Yes,’ said Harriet. ‘But one’s got to prepare people for life, hasn’t one? The day is bound to come when they realise that all Peter’s real property is entailed.’

    Miss Quirk said she so much preferred the French custom of dividing all property equally. ‘It’s
so
much better for the children.’

    ‘Yes; but it’s very bad for the property.’

    ‘But Peter wouldn’t put his property before his children!’

    Harriet smiled.

    ‘My dear Miss Quirk! Peter’s fifty-two, and he’s reverting to type.’

Peter at that moment was not looking or behaving like fifty-two, but he was rapidly reverting to a much more ancient and early type than the English landed gentleman. He had, with some difficulty, retrieved the serpent from the ash-hole, and now sat on a heap of clinker, watching it as it squirmed at the bottom of the bucket.

    ‘Golly, what a whopper!’ he said, reverently. ‘How did you catch him, old man?’

    ‘Well, we went to get minnows, and he came swimming along, and Joey Maggs caught him in his net. And he wanted to kill him along of biting, but I said he couldn’t bite, ’cos you told us the difference between snakes. And Joe bet me I wouldn’t let him bite me, an’ I said I didn’ mind and he said, is it a dare? an’ I said, Yes, if I can have him afterwards, so I let him bite me, only of course he didn’ bite an’ George helped me bring him back in the bucket.’

    ‘So Joey Maggs caught him in his net, did he?’

    ‘Yes, but
I
knew he wasn’t a nadder. And please, sir, will you give me a net, ’cos Joe’s got a lovely big one, only he was awfully late this morning and we thought he wasn’t coming, and he said somebody had hidden his net.’

    ‘Did he? That’s very interesting.’

    ‘Yes. May I have a net, please?’

    ‘You may.’

    ‘Oh, thank-you, Father. May I keep him, please, and what does he live on?’

    ‘Beetles, I think.’ Peter plunged his hand into the bucket, and the snake wound itself about his wrist and slithered along his arm. ‘Come on, Cuthbert. You remind me of when I was at my prep. school, and we put one the dead spit of you into—’ He caught himself up, too late.

    ‘Where, Father?’

    ‘Well, there was a master we all hated, and we put a snake in his bed. It’s rather frequently done. In fact, I believe it’s what grass-snakes are for.’

    ‘Is it very naughty to put snakes in people you don’t like’s beds?’

    ‘Yes. Exceedingly naughty. No nice boy would ever think of doing such a thing. . . . I say,
Bredon
—’

Harriet Wimsey sometimes found her eldest son disconcerting. ‘You know, Peter, he’s a most unconvincing-looking child.
I
know he’s yours, because there is nobody else’s he could be. And the colour’s more or less right. But where on earth did he get that square, stolid appearance, and that incredible snub nose?’

    But at that instant, in the furnace-room, over the body of the writhing Cuthbert, square-face and hatchet-face stared at one another and grew into an awful, impish likeness.

    ‘Oh, Father!’

    ‘I don’t know what your mother will say. We shall get into most frightful trouble. You’d better leave it to me. Cut along now, and ask Bunter if he’s got such a thing as a strong flour-bag and a stout piece of string, because you’ll never make Cuthbert stay in this bucket. And for God’s sake, don’t go about looking like Guy Fawkes and Gunpowder Treason. When you’ve brought the bag, go and wash yourself. I want you to run down with a note to Mr Puffett.’

Mr Puffett made his final appearance just after dinner, explaining that he had not been able to come earlier, ‘along of a job out Lopsley way.’ He was both grateful and astonished.

    ‘To think of it being old Billy Maggs and that brother of his, and all along o’ them perishin ’old vegetable marrers. You wouldn’t think a chap cud ’arbour a grievance that way, would yer? ’Tain’t even as though ’e wor a’showin’ peaches of his own. It beat me. Said’e did it for a joke. “Joke?” I says to ’im. “I’d like to ’ear wot the magistrate ud say to that there kinder joke.” Owsumdever, I got me peaches back, and the Show being ter-morrer, mebbe they won’t ’ave took no ’arm. Good thing ’im and they boys ’adn’t ’ave ate the lot.’

    The household congratulated Mr Puffett on this happy termination to the incident, Mr Puffett chuckled.

    ‘Ter think o’ Billy Maggs an’ that good-fer-nothin’ brother of ’is a-standin’ on that there ladder a-fishin’ for any peaches with young Joey’s stickle-back net. A proper silly sight they’d a-bin if anybody’d come that way. “Think yerselves clever,” I says to Bill. “W’y, ’is lordship didn’t only cast one eye over the place afore ’e says, ‘W’y, Puffett,’ e’ says, ‘’ere’s Billy Maggs an’ that there brother of ’is been a-wallerin’ all over your wall like a ’erd of elephants.’” Ah! An’ a proper fool ’e looked. ’Course, I see now it couldn’t only a’been a net, knockin’ the leaves about that way. But that there unripe ’un got away from ’im all right “Bill,” I says, “you’ll never make no fisherman, lettin’ ’em get away from you like that.” Pulled ’is leg proper, I did. But see ’ere, me lord, ’ow did you come ter know it was Billy Maggs’s Joey’s net? ’E ain’t the only one.’

    ‘A little judicious inquiry in the proper quarter,’ replied his lordship. ‘Billy Maggs’s Joe gave the show away, unbeknownst. But see here, Puffett, don’t blame Joe. He knew nothing about it, nor did my boy. Only from something Joe said to Bredon I put two and two together.’

    ‘Ah!’ said Mr Puffett, ‘an’ that reminds me. I’ve got more peaches back nor I wants for the Show, so I made bold to bring ’arf-a-dozen round for Master Bredon. I don’t mind tellin’ you, I did think for about ’arf a minute it might a’ bin ’im. Only ’arf a minute, mind you – but knowin’ wot boys is, I did jest think it might be.’

    ‘It’s very kind of you,’ said Harriet. ‘Bredon’s in bed now, but we’ll give them to him in the morning. He’ll enjoy them so much and be so pleased to know you’ve quite forgiven him for those other two.’

    ‘Oh,
them
!’ replied Mr Puffett. ‘Don’t you say nothing more about them. Jest a bit o’ fun, that wos. Well, goodnight all, and many thanks to your lordship. Coo!’ said Mr Puffett, as Peter escorted him to the door,
‘
ter think. o’ Billy Maggs and that there spindle-shanked brother of ’is a-fishin’ for peaches with a kid’s net a-top o’ my wall. I didden ’arf make ’em all laugh round at the Crown.’

    Miss Quirk had said nothing, Peter slipped upstairs by the back way, through Harriet’s bedroom into his own. In the big four-poster, one boy was asleep, but the other sat up at his cautious approach.

    ‘Have you done the deed, Mr Scatterblood?’

    ‘No, Cap’n Teach, but your orders shall be carried out in one twirl of a marlin spike. In the meantime, the bold Mr Puffett has recovered his lost treasure and has haled the criminals up before him and had them hanged at the yardarm after a drum-head court-martial. He has sent you a share of the loot.’

    ‘Oh, good egg! what did
she
say?’

    ‘Nothing. Mind you, Bredon, if she apologises, we’ll have to call Cuthbert off. A guest is a guest, so long as she behaves like a gentleman.’

    ‘Yes, I see. Oh, I do hope she won’t apologise!’

    ‘That’s a very immoral thing to hope. If you bounce like that, you’ll wake your brother.’

    ‘Father! Do you think she’ll fall down in a fit an’ foam at the mouth?’

    ‘I sincerely hope not. As it is, I’m taking my life in my hands. If I perish in the attempt, remember I was true to the Jolly Roger. Good night, Cap’n Teach.’

    ‘Good-night, Mr Scatterblood. I
do
love you.’

    Lord Peter Wimsey embraced his son, assumed the personality of Mr Scatterblood and crept softly down the back way to the furnace-room. Cuthbert, safe in his bag, was drowsing upon a hot-water bottle, and made no demonstration as he was borne upstairs.

Miss Quirk did not apologise, and the subject of peaches was not mentioned again. But she may have sensed a certain constraint in the atmosphere, for she rose rather earlier than usual, saying she was tired and thought she would go to bed.

    ‘Peter,’ said Harriet, when they were alone: ‘what
are
you and Bredon up to? You have both been so unnaturally quiet since lunch. You must be in some sort of mischief.’

    ‘To a Teach or a Scatterblood,’ said Peter with dignity, ‘There is no such word as mischief. We call it piracy on the high seas.’

    ‘I knew it,’ replied Harriet, resignedly. ‘If I’d realised the disastrous effect sons would have on your character, I’d never have trusted you with any. Oh, dear! I’m thankful that woman’s gone to bed; she’s
so
in the way.’

    ‘Isn’t she? I think she must have picked up her infant psychology from the Woman’s page in the
Morning Mercury
. Harriet, absolve me now from all my sins of the future, so that I may enjoy them without remorse.’

    His wife was not unmoved by this appeal, only observing after an interval, ‘There’s something deplorably frivolous about making love to one’s wife after seven years of marriage. Is it my lord’s pleasure to come to bed?’

    ‘It is your lord’s very great pleasure.’

    My lord, who in the uncanonical process of obtaining absolution without confession or penitence, had almost lost sight of the sin, was recalled to himself by his wife’s exclamation as they passed through the outer bedroom:

    ‘Peter! Where is Bredon?’

    He was saved from having to reply by a succession of long and blood-curdling shrieks, followed by a confused outcry.

    ‘Heavens!’ said Harriet. ‘Something’s happened to Paul!’ She shot through her own room on to the Privy Stair, which, by a subsidiary flight, communicated with the back bedrooms. Peter followed more slowly.