The Mennyms

by Sylvia Waugh

  This particular morning, however, was different. Pilbeam looked more intently around her, straining to see better. The pearl screen of the television was blank. The record-player was closed and silent. Suddenly Pilbeam made up her mind. Stiffly, but not as stiffly as she feared, she rose from her rocking chair and went to the door through which she had often heard Vinetta and Soobie enter behind her back. It was a funny little lopsided door, but Pilbeam did not know that. It was the only door she had ever seen. She found the knob and turned it. The door opened towards her. Somehow she knew, one of the things she was to discover she had been born knowing, that electric lights are operated by switches. So when she saw a switch on the wall outside, she pushed it down. And in the attic, suddenly there was light. Till that moment, the light had been a sort of magic trick worked by Vinetta and Soobie. Loving and considerate though they were, neither of them had ever thought of giving Pilbeam any light when she was alone.

  Pilbeam stood in the doorway looking in at the well-lit attic and felt very pleased with herself. It was enough of an achievement for one day. The narrow, uncarpeted stairs did not call her yet. The rest of the house, for the present at least, could remain a mystery.

  Pilbeam went back into her safe haven and shut the door. The electric light shone into every space. Moving more easily now, she began to explore. First, the books on the table. She took the top one and opened it. It was called Pride and Prejudice. Pilbeam, as one would expect of a sixteen-year-old, found that she knew how to read. It was yet another delightful thing that she had been born knowing.

  So, for the next two hours, whilst a drama was quietly developing downstairs, Pilbeam spent her time getting to know the Bennets and their friends and relations. She stopped reading at the end of Chapter thirty-five, in which Darcy’s letter to Elizabeth revealed the treachery of Mr Wickham. Downstairs in his room, at just that moment, Sir Magnus Mennym was pondering on the letter from Cromarty, Varley and Thynne, and coming to the unpleasant conclusion that there had been great treachery in his household and that the perpetrator could have been no-one but his favourite grandchild.

  Pilbeam, unaware of all this, became more aware of herself. She put the book back neatly on the pile and sat on the footstool, looking at her fingers and moving them systematically.

  She got up and walked round the room, looking at this and that among the stacked-up junk. She made a conscious decision not to turn on the television set, although she felt sure she could have done so. The record-player looked more complicated.

  In her rummaging, she came across the mirror. It was an oval mirror with a beaded wooden frame and it hung on a small matching stand. Pilbeam picked it up and went back with it to the rocking chair.

  After one look in the glass, she spoke out loud her very first words.

  “I hope she doesn’t think I’ll wear my hair like that! It looks awful,” she said sharply.

  Being Pilbeam, and not Appleby, she didn’t stamp her foot, or flounce, or throw the mirror across the room. Instead she put it gently on the floor beside her and began methodically to undo the braids that might have been all right forty years ago but most certainly weren’t all right now.

  When Soobie came up after the family hour, he was a little surprised to see the light on. He supposed that Vinetta must have been in and left it. The rocking chair was moving, but there was nothing unusual about that. He went into the attic and his first real intimation that something was different came when he bumped into the mirror on the floor and nearly tripped over. He turned quickly to look at Pilbeam. Her black hair was loose on her shoulders.

  Before he could express any of the surprise and delight that he felt, the satin lips moved and Pilbeam said in a firm voice:

  “I need a brush and comb. Go and get me one before Mother comes.”

  Soobie was amazed. He stared at Pilbeam and didn’t move.

  “A brush and comb,” she repeated.

  Soobie went on staring, speechless.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, Soobie Mennym, I need a brush and comb? And I mean now, not next week.”

  Hearing the tone of voice, Soobie groaned and said, “Not another one!”

  Pilbeam’s black eyes flashed. She clearly had a quick understanding and an inborn knowledge of things and people that went far beyond what her tutors had told her. It was all falling into place at last. Human babies in their world have much less innate data to assemble and use, and much more time to do it in.

  “Don’t you dare say I’m like Appleby!” she cried. “I don’t spend my days making things up and pretending.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it, Pilbeam,” said Soobie, “but you could try being a bit more polite. Like say please.”

  “All right! Please bring me a brush and comb. And don’t tell Mother anything yet. I want to give her a surprise.”

  “You’ll do that, and no mistake!” said Soobie.

  “The brush and comb,” insisted Pilbeam.

  “Take it easy,” said Soobie. “I’m going. I’m going. Don’t be so impatient!”

  As he went, Soobie’s emotions were very mixed. He was staggered at what had happened. He was pleased. He was excited. But that did not stop him from feeling irritated by the rudeness of his new sister. And yet – he had to admit it to himself – if Pilbeam had been perfect, considerate and good-mannered, she would not have been a very convincing member of the Mennym menagerie.

  And I suppose I’m no better than the rest of them, thought Soobie with his usual honesty, I sulk too much.

  24

  * * *

  The Showdown

  JOSHUA SPENT TWO hours talking earnestly to his father. On Tuesdays and Saturdays, a part-timer called Ernie Chubb looked after the welfare of Sydenham’s property and premises. Like Joshua, he had been made redundant but later reinstated.

  “Good job it’s Saturday night,” Joshua mumbled. It was not exactly what he meant – he would really have much preferred to stay out of any family crisis, and this one seemed as if it might be unpleasant.

  Sir Magnus, knowing his son’s love of peace at any price, raised his bushy eyebrows and said sternly, “You are her father. No matter what night it was you would have had to be here.”

  “Not if it meant losing my job,” insisted Joshua. “Remember what happened last time.”

  And the last time, Appleby had written the note about his fictional illness. Appleby again! It always came back to Appleby.

  “What matters more?” asked Sir Magnus grimly. “Your job or your family?”

  Joshua shrugged his shoulders.

  “After all,” he said, “no real harm’s been done. We have the house. There is no Albert Pond. Appleby is what we have always known she was – a romancer.”

  Sir Magnus looked exasperated.

  “We have never known before that she was not just, as you put it, a ‘romancer’, but a heartless, dangerous liar. I love her probably more than you do. I would rather forget about it. But she must be made to face up to what she’s done for her own sake as well as ours. Until she does, unless she does, we’ll never be able to trust her. We’ll never know what she’ll do next.”

  They talked and talked, on and on. Joshua pretended to smoke his pipe. Sir Magnus pretended to sip his whisky.

  “It’s a strange world,” said the older man at length. “We pretend to live and we live to pretend. The rules are so complicated. Appleby just doesn’t seem to know them.”

  At seven o’clock prompt, the twins bounced into the silent bedroom. Joshua and Granpa had talked themselves to a standstill.

  “What’s the meeting about, Dad?” asked Poopie. It was exciting to be invited to another meeting. It was Granpa’s meeting, in Granpa’s room, but asking the head of the family was more than Poopie dared to do. “Wait and see,” was Joshua’s unsatisfactory reply.

  So Poopie and Wimpey had to be content to go and sit down in their usual places on the ottoman. Wimpey, not to be outdone by Granny at the last meeting, had brought tw
o large wooden knitting needles and a skein of red wool. Poopie had his double-jointed Action Man to play with.

  Tulip came in next, carrying her workbasket. She made her way to the armchair and smiled affectionately at Wimpey. Then Soobie arrived with Miss Quigley, whom he had politely escorted from the cupboard. Appleby came in looking bright and breezy and totally innocent. Only Vinetta was missing.

  “Where’s your mother?” asked Sir Magnus, looking directly at Appleby who, as the latest arrival, might be expected to know.

  “How should I know?” she said. Granpa looked furious and gripped his stick fiercely.

  Soobie was surprised to see his grandfather looking so annoyed with Appleby, considering how often the old man had tolerated much worse cheek than that from his favourite grandchild. To smooth things over, the blue Mennym said carefully, “I think Mother is in the attic. Shall I go and remind her?”

  “She shouldn’t need reminding,” growled Granpa. “What’s she doing in the attic anyway?”

  “I think she’s sorting out some material she found up there,” answered Soobie, not lying but slightly stretching the truth.

  Just at that moment, Vinetta came in.

  “I’m not late, am I?” she said, smiling apologetically at Granpa. “I had to put the iron away.”

  “In the attic?” asked her father-in-law in a sarcastic voice.

  Vinetta flashed a look of annoyance at Soobie, but contented herself with saying, “No. In the kitchen, of course. Now let us get on with this meeting.”

  Nobody there had any doubt that a formal meeting was the right way of dealing with the problem. Whatever Granpa Mennym decreed was bound to be right because he was born old and very wise. All eyes turned to him as they waited for him to begin.

  “This meeting,” he said portentously, “is called to consider the behaviour of my grand-daughter, Appleby.”

  Appleby gasped and looked amazed and angry at the same time.

  “My behaviour? What about my behaviour?” she snapped.

  Granpa audibly cleared his throat. It was one of his most skilful pretends.

  “We know all about Albert Pond,” he said, looking straight at Appleby. “We know that he does not exist, has never existed, and that you, Appleby Mennym, made him up.”

  Soobie gasped.

  “Are you sure?” he said.

  “Of course we’re sure,” said Granpa, waving the solicitor’s letter in the air. “This proves it.”

  Before Sir Magnus could explain everything to the younger members of the family, Appleby stood up. She had been sitting on a low stool at the bottom of Granpa’s bed.

  She gave them all a look of hatred.

  “I’m not staying here to listen to this,” she shouted, and headed for the door.

  Joshua put his hand out to bar her way.

  “Let me go,” she screamed. “I’m not staying here.”

  She pushed her father’s arm aside and bolted out of the room. They heard her run pell mell down the stairs and then out of the front door, crashing it behind her.

  In Granpa’s room, two floors above the street, there was silence for some seconds. Then Soobie said bitterly, “Now you see where pretends can lead!”

  “Shall I go after her?” asked Joshua doubtfully. Appleby had pushed him aside. He felt in duty bound to follow his angry daughter, but he was not sure what he would be able to say or do if he caught up with her.

  It was Poopie who answered him. His yellow hair was all askew, his round eyes full of indignation.

  “Let her go,” he said. “She’s just plain wicked. I don’t care if I never see her again. She’s horrible.”

  Wimpey looked frightened. She loved her older sister. What is more, being a child herself, she thought Poopie meant the awful words he’d spoken. She worked herself up into a frenzy of worry.

  “She will come back, won’t she? She’s not bad really,” she said, nearly sobbing. “She’s just naughty. I’m naughty sometimes. She gets mixed up, you see. Like me. I used to think there was a witch in the attic and I made up all sorts of stories about her, and I got really scared, but I never told anyone. And once I hid Soobie’s shoes when he was in bed waiting for his suit to dry, ’cos I thought it would be funny to have him looking all over for them. Please, please, don’t call Appleby wicked, Poopie. We need her back. She’s our sister.”

  The grown-ups let Wimpey ramble on. They all looked worried.

  Miss Quigley summoned up courage at last to say awkwardly, but by way of comforting Vinetta, “She’ll come quietly in the back door and go to her room. It’s the usual way. It will be better if nobody takes any notice.”

  Vinetta gave her a grateful smile.

  “Of course she will. And I think you should all let me sort things out more quietly with her when she does. Tell them about the house, Magnus, and how it is ours now. Then I think Poopie and Wimpey should go to bed. It is getting late.”

  “I’ll have to be going too,” said Miss Quigley. Returning to her pretend was the only way Miss Quigley felt she could be helpful. “My little cat will be waiting for her supper.”

  Vinetta understood at once and put her arm around Miss Quigley’s shoulders. “Everything all right in Trevethick Street, Hortensia?”

  “Yes, thank you, Vinetta,” answered Miss Quigley bravely. “You have no need to worry about me. Goodness knows, you have enough worries.”

  When the meeting ended Miss Quigley went out of the front door, first retrieving her grey umbrella from the hallstand and putting it up as she stood on the doorstep.

  “Try not to get upset, Vinetta,” she said gently. “Appleby won’t stay out long in this rain. If I see her, I’ll tell her to hurry home.”

  Miss Quigley took over an hour to make the journey for which she usually allowed herself no more than ten minutes. Braving the rain and the darkness, she went right to the gate and looked up and down the front street before going to check the whole of the garden and try, not very successfully, to see into the little window of the garden shed.

  “The door’s still padlocked anyway,” she said to herself. “She cannot be in there.”

  She walked round to the front of the house again and once more she looked up and down the empty street.

  “I can’t do any more,” she said at last. “They really couldn’t expect me to.”

  So she went back to her cupboard feeling damp and downcast and disappointed. It would have been such a triumph to have brought the miscreant home. Though, in fairness to Miss Quigley, it must be said that her motives were not quite as simple as that. She was genuinely worried about Appleby, and really concerned at the anxiety Vinetta would be suffering.

  25

  * * *

  Vinetta and Pilbeam

  BEFORE THE MEETING, Vinetta had, of course, been in the attic.

  After Soobie had taken Pilbeam the brush and comb she so badly wanted, he had gone straight downstairs to find his mother. Vinetta, fortunately, was alone in the lounge, busy with a duster and spray can polishing the furniture. She was putting an unwarranted amount of energy into this activity because she was upset and angry. The object of her anger was sitting in her own room, two floors up, listening to pop music and fixing photographs in her album.

  “Mother,” said Soobie, breaking into her thoughts and startling her, “something very nice has happened.”

  “That’ll make a change,” said Vinetta drily.

  Soobie knew that his mother had no love of surprises. That was why he kept his news as low key as he could. Pilbeam, Vinetta was told, had begun to talk. Pilbeam was moving round the attic better than ever. She had opened the attic door and switched on the light all by herself. Soobie did not mention his new sister’s bad manners, nor did he tell her that Pilbeam had undone the braids in her hair. This bit of news he withheld so that Pilbeam could ‘surprise’ Vinetta in a less sensational way.

  “I’ll go up and see her now,” said Vinetta, glancing at the wooden clock on the mantelpiece. “The meeti
ng’s not for another two hours.”

  “Shall I come with you?” asked Soobie.

  “No,” said his mother, “I would rather go alone. If I am not down here in time, you could be kind enough to knock at the cupboard door and take Miss Quigley to the meeting. I think she would appreciate it.”

  It was an unusual request. Soobie, not knowing about their visitor’s decision to abandon Trevethick Street, was puzzled. But, being Soobie, he did not ask any questions and promised to do what his mother wished.

  Vinetta put the polish and the duster away and then went straight upstairs. As she passed Granpa’s room she heard him deep in conversation with her husband. Even in these trying circumstances, she felt pleased, for it wasn’t often that the two men really talked to each other. She went very quietly up the final flight of stairs so as not to disturb them.

  The attic door was ajar. Inside, Pilbeam was rocking her chair back and forward rhythmically, kicking the footstool with each foot alternately. She was singing:

  “One two, the sky is blue,

  Three four five, I’m alive,

  Six seven, life is heaven,

  Eight nine ten, start again.”

  And she did:

  “One two, the sky is blue,

  Three four five . . .”

  “Hello, Pilbeam,” Vinetta interrupted. “You are doing well.”

  Pilbeam stopped rocking and singing. She glared at Vinetta. Her black button eyes were well-adapted to glaring.

  “No prizes for who told you,” she said crossly. “You would have been a lot more surprised if he hadn’t. And I specially told him to say nothing. Just wait till he comes up here again. Some friend he is!”

  In a way reminiscent of the grandfather she had not met yet, she kicked a small, round cushion with her left foot so that it spun across to the empty side of the attic.

  Vinetta recognised this adolescent anger immediately. Forty years of Appleby was enough experience to turn anyone into a specialist.