The Fairy Doll (4 page)

Something was the matter in Elizabeth too; the bell did not say, ‘Ting’ any more in her head. ‘Dull, dull, dull,’ it said.

‘Dull?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘Dull. Dull. Dull.’ It was more like a drum than a bell.

‘Does it mean Fairy Doll is dull with me?’ asked Elizabeth.

She felt sad; then she felt ashamed.

A fairy likes flying. Naturally. If you had wings you would like flying too. Sometimes Elizabeth would hold Fairy Doll up in the air and run with her; then the wings would lift, the wand would
wave, the gauze dress fly back, but Elizabeth was too plump to run for long.

‘I’ll put her on my bicycle and fly her,’ Godfrey offered.

‘You mustn’t touch her,’ cried Elizabeth.

‘Well, fly her yourself,’ said Godfrey, offended, and he rode off.

‘Fly her yourself.’ ‘Ting’ went the bell, and it was a bell, not a drum. ‘Ting. Ting. Fly. Fly.’ So that was what Fairy Doll was wishing!
Elizabeth went slowly into the garage and looked at the pale blue, still brand-new bicycle.

‘It doesn’t hurt so much to fall off in summer as in winter,’ said Elizabeth, but her voice trembled. Her fingers trembled too, as she tied Fairy Doll onto
the handlebars.

Then Elizabeth put her foot on the pedal. ‘Push. Pedal, pedal,’ she said and shut her eyes, but you cannot ride even the smallest bicycle with your eyes shut.

She had to open them, but it was too late to stop. The drive from the garage led down a slope to the gate, and ‘Ting,’ away went the bicycle with Elizabeth on it. For a moment she
wobbled; then she saw the silver wings filling and thrilling as they rushed through the air, and the wand blew round and round. ‘Pedal. Pedal, pedal.’ It might have been Christabel
talking, but it was not. ‘Pedal.’ Elizabeth’s hair was blown back, the wind rushed past her; she felt she was flying too; she came to the gate and fell off. ‘Ow!’
groaned Elizabeth, but she had flown. She knew what Fairy Doll wanted. Her leg was bleeding, but she turned the bicycle round to start off down the drive again.

Elizabeth was late for tea.

‘What
have
you been doing?’ asked Christabel. ‘There’s no jam left.’ But Elizabeth did not care.

‘You’ve torn your frock. All the buns are gone,’ said Godfrey, but Elizabeth did not care.

‘You’re all over scratches and dust,’ said Josie. ‘We’ve eaten the cake.’ But Elizabeth still did not care.

‘Well, where have you been?’ asked Mother.

Elizabeth answered, ‘Riding my bicycle.’

Christabel was pleased. Godfrey was very pleased, but Josie said, ‘Pooh! It isn’t Elizabeth who does things, it’s Fairy Doll.’

‘Is it?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘Try without her and you’ll see,’ said Josie.

Elizabeth looked at Fairy Doll, who was sitting by her on the table. ‘But I’m not without her,’ said Elizabeth.

Autumn came and brought the fruit; briony berries were fairy plums and greengages; a single blackberry pip was a grape. A hazel nut was pork with crackling. In every garden
people were making bonfires, and Elizabeth made one in the fairy garden; it was of pine needles and twigs, and she watched it carefully; its smoke went up no bigger than a feather. It was
altogether a fairy time. In the wood she found toadstools so close together that they looked like chairs put ready for a concert; she gave a fairy concert, but, ‘It ought to be crickets and
nightingales,’ said Elizabeth. There were silver trails over the leaves and grass. ‘Fairy paths,’ she said.

‘Snails,’ snapped Josie. No doubt about it, Josie was jealous.

School began, and Elizabeth was moved up; she was learning the twelve-times table, reading to herself, and knitting a scarf. She was allowed to ride her bicycle on the main road, and to stay up
till half-past seven every night.

Then, on a late October day when the first frost was on the grass, Fairy Doll was lost.

‘You must have dropped her on the road,’ said Mother.

‘But I didn’t.’

‘Perhaps you left her at school.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘In your satchel.’ ‘In your pocket . . .’ ‘On the counter in the shop.’ ‘In the bathroom.’ ‘On the bookshelf.’ ‘Behind the
clock.’ ‘Up in the apple tree.’

‘I didn’t. I didn’t. I didn’t,’ sobbed Elizabeth.

Everyone was very kind. They all looked everywhere, high and low, up and down, in and out. Godfrey said he looked under every leaf in the whole garden that was big enough. It was no good. Fairy
Doll was lost.

Elizabeth went and lay down on the floor behind the cedar chest; she only came out to have a cup of milk and go to bed.

Next morning she went behind the chest and lay down again.

‘Make her come out,’ said Josie, who seemed curiously worried.

‘Leave her alone,’ said Mother.

‘She must come out. She has to go to school.’ But Elizabeth would not go to school. How could she? She could not say her tables now, or spell or read or sew, and she had not brushed
her teeth. The tears made a wet place in the dust on the floor. ‘And I can’t ride my bicycle,’ she said.

It was Christabel’s birthday. Christabel was twelve. Elizabeth had a present done up in yellow paper; it was a peppermint lollipop, but she did not give it to Christabel.

She stayed most of the day behind the cedar chest, and a day can feel like weeks when you are seven years old.

‘Make her come out,’ said Josie.

At four o’clock Mother came up. ‘Great-Grandmother has come for the birthday tea,’ she said.

‘Great-Grandmother?’ Elizabeth lay very still.

‘I should come down if I were you,’ said Mother.

Last time Great-Grandmother came she had sent for Elizabeth and Elizabeth had come with a tearstained face. It was tearstained now, but, ‘I could wash it,’ said Elizabeth and from
somewhere she thought she heard a ‘ting’. Her dress had been dirty; it was dirty now, but, ‘I could change it,’ said Elizabeth, and she heard another ‘ting’. It
was faint and faraway; it could not have been a ‘ting’ because the chest was empty, the fairy doll was gone, but it sounded like a ‘ting’. Very slowly Elizabeth sat up.

‘Good afternoon, Elizabeth,’ said Great-Grandmother. No one else took any notice as Elizabeth, brushed and clean, in a clean dress, put the present by Christabel and slid into her
own place.

She was stiff from lying on the floor, her head ached and her throat was sore from crying, and she was hungry.

Mother gave her a cup of tea; the tea was sweet and hot, and there were minced chicken sandwiches with lettuce, shortcake biscuits, chocolate tarts, sponge fingers, and meringues, besides the
birthday cake. Mother passed the sandwiches to Elizabeth and gave her another cup of tea. Elizabeth began to feel much better.

Christabel’s cake was pink and white. It had CHRISTABEL, HAPPY BIRTHDAY written on it, and twelve candles.

‘And I,’ said Great-Grandmother, ‘am eight times twelve.’ A dewdrop slid down her nose and twinkled. ‘Eight times twelve. Who can tell me what that is?’ asked
Great-Grandmother.

With her eyes on the dewdrop, before any of the others could answer – ‘Ting.’ ‘Ninety-six,’ said Elizabeth.

After tea they had races. One was The Button, the Thread, and the Needle. ‘I can race that,’ said Great-Grandmother. ‘I’ll have Elizabeth for my partner.’

Great-Grandmother threaded the needle as she sat in a chair. Elizabeth had to run with the button, sew it to a patch of cloth, and run back. ‘I can’t . . .’ she began, but,
‘Nimble fingers,’ said Great-Grandmother; the stitches flew in and out, the button was on, Elizabeth ran back, and she and Great-Grandmother won the double prize, magic pencils that
wrote in four colours.

‘Dear me, how annoying!’ said Great-Grandmother. ‘I had meant to stop at the shop and get a few things – some silver polish, a packet of Lux, a one-and-sixpenny duster,
and a nutmeg – and I forgot. Elizabeth, hop on your bicycle and get them for me.’

‘But I can’t . . .’

‘Here’s five shillings,’ said Great-Grandmother. ‘Bring me the change.’

‘Ting.’ Before Elizabeth knew where she was, she was out on the road, riding her bicycle and perfectly steady. Soon she was back with all the things and one-and-fourpence change for
Great-Grandmother.

‘Then were the “tings” me?’ asked Elizabeth, puzzled. She could not believe it. ‘I thought they were Fairy Doll.’