William The Outlaw (15 page)

‘What’s all this?’ he demanded sternly.

The agent mopped his brow with an orange silk handkerchief.

‘I – I – I’ve no idea, sir,’ he gasped weakly.

‘Please put a stop to it,’ said the Member and added hastily, remembering that the tent was packed full of votes, ‘without any unpleasantness, of course.’

I have said that the agent was a capable young man with an Oxford manner, but it would have taken more than a dozen capable young men with Oxford manners to stop Miss Gertie Poll in full flow of
her repertoire. She went on for over an hour. She merely smiled bewitchingly at the agent whenever he tried to stop her without any unpleasantness, and when the Member himself appeared like a
deux ex machina
to take command of the situation, she blew him a kiss and he hastily retired.

Meanwhile William, triumphantly bearing the black coat, made his way up to the Vicar’s wife. He met Ginger and Douglas, also carrying a black coat and on the same mission.

‘Bet you tuppence mine’s the one,’ said Ginger.

‘Bet you tuppence mine is,’ said William, ‘where’d you get yours?’

‘We got it out of her hall,’ said Douglas cheerfully, ‘we jus’ walked in an’ got it an’ no one saw us . . . I bet
ours
is the one.’

‘Well, come on an’ see,’ said William, pushing his way up to the stall presided over by the Vicar’s wife.

‘Here’s your coat, Mrs Marks,’ he said handing it to her, ‘it was sold by mistake off the rubbish stall but we’ve got it back for you – me an’
Henry.’

Before the Vicar’s wife could answer, a frantic messenger came up to her.

‘What
shall
we do?’ she moaned. ‘Miss Poll’s entertaining the tent and the Member can’t speak.’

‘Miss
Poll
!’ gasped the Vicar’s wife, ‘we never asked her.’

‘No, but she’s
come
and she’s singing all her
awful
songs and no one can stop her and the Member can’t speak.’

The Vicar’s wife, still absently nursing the coat that William had thrust into her arm, stared in front of her.

‘But – but how awful!’ she murmured, ‘how
awful
!’

Then Ginger came up and thrust the second coat into her unprotesting arms.

‘Your coat, Mrs Marks,’ he said politely, ‘what we sold by mistake off the rubbish stall. Me an’ Douglas ’v got it back for you.’

He made a grimace at William which William returned with interest.

They waited breathlessly to see which coat the Vicar’s wife should claim as her own.

She looked down at her armful of coats as if she saw them for the first time.

‘B-but,’ she said faintly, ‘I got that coat back. The woman who bought it thought there must be some mistake and brought it to me. These aren’t my coats . . . I
don’t know anything about these coats.’

Shrill strains of some strident music-hall ditty came from the tent. A second messenger came up.

‘She won’t stop,’ she sobbed, ‘and the Member’s foaming at the mouth.’

‘Oh, dear,’ said the Vicar’s wife, clutching her bundle of coats still more tightly to her. ‘Oh, dear, oh,
dear
!’

At that moment a woman pushed her way through the crowds up to the Vicar’s wife. It was Mrs Bute.

‘Brought it here, they did,’ she panted. ‘Where is it?
Thieves!
Came into my hall bold as brass an’
took
it! . . .
There
it is!’ she glared
suspiciously at the Vicar’s wife, ‘what’ve
you
got it for . . .
my
coat . . . I’d like to know. I’d—’ She tore it out of her arms and the
other coat too fell to the ground. ‘My
other
coat!’ she screamed, ‘
both
my coats!
Thieves –
that’s what you all are!
Thieves!
’

‘Where are those boys?’ said the Vicar’s wife very faintly. But ‘those boys’ had gone. William, resisting the strong temptation to go and enjoy the spectacle of the
Member foaming at the mouth, had hastily withdrawn his little band to a safe distance.

They were found, of course, and brought back. They were forced to give explanations. They were forced to apologise to all concerned, even to Miss Poll (who forgave them because
she’d had such a perfectly
ripping
afternoon and her little show gone off so
sweetly
and everyone been so
adorable
). They were sent home in disgrace. . . . William was
despatched to bed on dry bread and water, but being quite tired by the day’s events and the bread happening to be new and unlimited in quantity, William’s manly spirit survived the
indignity.

And William’s mother said the next day: ‘I
knew
what would happen.’ (William’s mother always said that she knew it would happen after it had safely – or
dangerously – happened.) ‘I
knew
that if I let William come and help everything would go wrong. It always does. Selling people’s coats and stealing people’s coats and
getting that awful woman to come that we’d
sworn
we’d never have again and stopping the Member speaking when he’d taken
ages
over preparing his speech, and upsetting
the whole thing – well, if anyone had told me beforehand that one boy William’s size could upset a whole afternoon like that I simply shouldn’t have believed them.’

And William’s father said: ‘Well, I warned you, William. I told you they were difficult beasts to manage. Of course, if you lose control of a whole herd of white elephants like that
they’re bound to do some damage.’

And William said disgustedly: ‘I’m just
sick
of white elephants and black coats. I’m going out to play Red Indians.’

CHAPTER 6

W
ILLIAM’S suspicions were first aroused by the atmosphere of secrecy that enveloped the visit of Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough. Mr
Cranthorpe-Cranborough was a very distant cousin of William’s father (so many times removed as to be almost out of sight) and was coming to stay for a weekend with the Browns. William
gathered that his father had not met Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough before in spite of the relationship, that the visitor was self-invited, and that the visit was in some way connected with himself. He
gathered this last fact from whispered confabulations between his family during which they watched him in that way in which whispering confabulators always watch those who are the subject of the
whispered confabulations.

William, while keeping eyes and ears alert, pretended to be sublimely unaware of all this. He went his way with an air of unsuspecting innocence that lured his family into a false security.
‘Fortunately,’ his mother whispered very audibly to Ethel once as he was just going out of the room, ‘William hasn’t the slightest idea what he’s coming
for.’

Meanwhile beneath William’s exaggerated air of guilelessness William’s mind worked fast. Whenever he came upon any scattered twos he put them together to make four. These fours he
stored up in mind as he went his way, apparently absorbed in his games, the well-being of his mongrel Jumble, the progress of his tamed caterpillars and earwigs, the shooting properties of his new
bow and arrows, and the activities of his friends the Outlaws. But there was no look or sign or whisper from the grown-up world around him that the seemingly unconscious William did not intercept
and store up for future reference. William, as some people had been known to put it, was ‘deep’.

‘Yes, dear,’ said Mrs Brown to Ethel, her nineteen-year-old daughter, ‘he’s going to arrive before tea and your father’s going to try to get home
for tea, and they’re going to talk it over together quietly after tea in the morning-room.’

‘Oh, well, I shall be busy,’ said Ethel, ‘I shall be helping Moyna Greene with her dress for the fancy dress ball, so I shan’t be in their way. She’s going as a
lady of Elizabethan times and she’s going to look
sweet.
’

‘I expect they’d like to be left alone to talk things over. . . . Sh!’ as she perceived William who had heard every word lolling negligently in the doorway cracking nuts.

‘Well, William,’ brightly, ‘had a nice afternoon?’

‘Yes, thanks,’ said William.

‘We were just talking about Ethel’s friend, Miss Greene, who’s going to a fancy dress ball.’

‘Yes, I heard you,’ said William.

‘She’s going as a lady of the fourteenth century,’ proceeded Mrs Brown still brightly.

‘Uh-huh,’ said William without interest as he cracked another nut.

Some of Mrs Brown’s brightness faded.

‘
William!
’ she said indignantly, ‘
do
stop dropping shells on to the carpet.’

‘A’right – sorry,’ said William, stolidly turning to go away and cracking another nut.

‘His
manners
!’ said Ethel, elevating her small and pretty nose in disgust.

‘Yes, dear,’ said Mrs Brown soothingly, ‘but
we
needn’t bother about them
now.
’

William wandered out into the garden. Though he did not for a minute cease his consumption of nuts he grew yet more thoughtful. He was beginning to look forward to the projected visit of Mr
Cranthorpe-Cranborough with distinct apprehension. Whatever it boded, William felt sure that it boded no good to him. Still cracking nuts with undiminished energy and leaving a little trail of
broken shells to mark his track over the immaculate lawn (and incidentally to make the gardener rise to dazzling heights of eloquence when he tried to mow it the next morning) William withdrew to
the strip of untended shrubbery at the bottom of the garden, and, sitting down upon a laurel bush, began thoughtfully to throw pebbles at the next door cat who was its only other occupant. The next
door cat, who looked upon William’s pebble-throwing as a sign of his affection, began to purr loudly. . . .

William considered the situation. This Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough was coming for some sinister purpose tomorrow. That sinister purpose must at all costs be frustrated. But first of all he must
find out what that sinister purpose was. . . . He threw another handful of pebbles at the next door cat. The next door cat purred still more loudly. . . . The visitor was going to have a quiet
little talk with his father after tea tomorrow. . . . By hook or by crook William decided to hear that quiet little talk. The only drawback to the plan was that the morning-room contained no
possible place of concealment for eavesdroppers. . . .

‘William dear, this is Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough, a relation of ours who has come to pay us a little visit,’ said Mrs Brown.

William looked up.

The first thing that struck you about Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough was his bigness, and the second was his smile. Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough’s smile was as large and full as himself. His teeth
were so over-crowded that when he smiled it almost seemed as if some were in danger of dropping out. He placed a large hand upon William’s head.

‘So
this
is the little man,’ he said.

‘Uh-huh?’ said William.

‘Oh, his
manners
,’ groaned Ethel turning her eyes towards the sky.

‘A-ha,’ said Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough, smiling like a playful ogre, ‘you may safely leave his manners to
me.
I’m used to teaching little boys their
manners.’

William took a nut out of his pocket and cracked it.

‘William!’ groaned Mrs Brown.

William took out a handful of nuts and handed it to Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough.

‘Have one?’ he said politely.

‘Er – no, I thank you,’ said Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough. Then he smiled the very full smile again, ‘But I’d like a talk with you, my little man.’

His little man turned a sphinx-like countenance to him and cracked another nut.

‘How far have you got in Arithmetic?’ asked Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough.

‘Uh-huh?’ said William.

Ethel groaned.

‘Fractions?’ suggested Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough.

William’s whole attention was given to the inside of the nut that he had just cracked.

‘Bad!’ he said indignantly, ‘an’ I paid twopence for ’em. . . . I’ll take it back to the shop.’

‘Decimals?’ said Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough.

‘No, Brazils,’ said William succinctly.

‘I think perhaps it would be better if we left them,’ murmured Mrs Brown faintly, and she and Ethel departed, Ethel murmuring wildly, ‘His
manners
!’

‘And what about History?’ said Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough.

William, investigating another nut, seemed to have no views on history.

Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough cleared his throat, smiled his large fat smile and said, ‘Ha!’ to attract William’s attention. He failed, however. William’s whole attention was
given to throwing bits of his bad nut at the next door cat who had disappeared at the first intrusion of the grown-ups, but had now returned and was again purring loudly.

‘What are the dates of Queen Elizabeth?’ said Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough.

‘Uh?’ said William absently, ‘here’s another of ’em bad an’ chargin’
twopence
for ’em! Haven’t they gotta
nerve!
’

Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough gave up the attempt.

‘I’m going to have a nice little talk with your father after tea, my little man,’ he said.

William cracked a nut in (partial) silence and threw the shells at the cat. Then he said casually, ‘I s’pose they’ve told you he’s deaf? He gets awful mad if people
don’t shout loud enough. You’ve gotta shout
awful
loud to make him hear.’

‘Er – your mother never mentioned it,’ said Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough taken aback.

‘No,’ said William mysteriously, ‘an’ don’t say anythin’ about it to her or to any of them. They don’ like folks mentionin’ it. They’re
– they’re – sort of sens’tive about it.’

‘Oh!’ said Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough still more taken aback. Then he recovered himself. ‘Now let’s have a few dates,’ he said briskly.

‘Yes, dates is more sense,’ said William with interest, ‘you can look at ’em before you buy ’em to see if they’re bad. That’s the worst of nuts. You
can’t see ’em through the shells.’

Viciously he threw the defaulting nut at the cat who remembered suddenly a previous engagement on the other side of the fence and disappeared.