‘I don’t quite like it,’ she had confessed. ‘I hope there’s nothing – blasphemous about it. But she ought to know – being a Vicar’s wife she ought to know. I only hope,’ she went on, shaking her head, ‘that I’m not tampering with the powers of darkness – even for the cause of the church organ.’
Outside was a large placard: ‘Fortune Telling by the Woman of Mystery, 2s. 6d. each.’ Inside the Woman of Mystery sat trembling with nervousness in front of a table on which reposed her little well-worn pack of cards, each with a neat hieroglyphic in the corner to show whether it meant a death or a wedding or a legacy or anything else.
William, surveying this scene from the gateway, became aware of a figure coming slowly down the road. It was a man – a very tall man who stooped slightly as he walked. As he came to William he became suddenly aware in his turn of William’s scowling regard. He lifted his hat.
‘Good afternoon,’ he said courteously.
‘Afternoon,’ said William brusquely.
‘Do you know,’ went on the man, ‘whether a – Miss Croft lives in the village?’
He pointed down the hill to the cluster of roofs.
‘I think,’ said William slowly, ‘I’ve seen your photo – only you wasn’t so old when you had it took.’
‘Where have you seen my photo?’ said the man.
‘In her house – wot I helped her to remove to,’ said William proudly
The man’s kind, rather weak face lit up.
‘Could you show me her house? You see,’ he went on simply, ‘I’m a very unhappy man. I went away, but I’ve carried her in my heart all the time, but it’s taken me a long, long time to find her. I’m a very tired, unhappy man.’
William looked at him with some scorn.
‘You was soft,’ he said. ‘P’raps it was ’cause of her hair not curlin’?’
‘Where is she?’ said the man.
‘In there,’ said William, pointing to the enclosure sacred to the King of Fêtes. ‘I’ll get her if you like.’
‘Thank you,’ said the man.
William, still grudging his entrance money, walked round the enclosure till he found a weak spot in the hedge behind a tent. Through this he scrambled with great difficulty, leaving his cap en route, blackening and scratching his face, tearing his knickers in two places, and his jersey in three. But William, who could not see himself, fingering tenderly the price of admission in his pocket, felt that it had been trouble well expended. He met the Vicar’s wife. She was raffling a tea-cosy highly decorated with red and yellow and purple tulips on a green ground. She wore her Sale of Work smile. William accosted her.
‘He wants her. He’s come back. Could you get her?’ he said. ‘He’s had the right one in his inside all the time. He said so . . .’
But she had no use for William. William did not look as if he was good for a one-and-six raffle ticket for a tea-cosy.
‘Sweet thing!’ she murmured vaguely, and effusively caressed his disordered hair as she passed.
William made his way towards the tent of the Woman of Mystery. But there was an ice-cream stall on his way and William could not pass it. Robert and Ethel, glasses of fashion and moulds of form, passed at the minute. At the sight of William with torn coat and jersey, dirty scratched face, no cap and tousled hair, consuming ice-cream horns among a crowd of his social inferiors, a shudder passed through both of them. They felt that William was a heavy handicap to them in Life’s race.
‘Send him home,’ said Robert.
‘I simply wouldn’t be seen speaking to him,’ replied Ethel.
William, having satisfied his craving for ice-cream with the greater part of his entrance money, wandered on towards the tent of the Woman of Mystery. He entered it by crawling under the canvas at the back. The Woman of Mystery happened to be having a slack time. The tent was empty.
‘He’s come,’ announced William. ‘He’s waiting outside.’
‘Who?’ said the Woman of Mystery
‘The one wot you’ve got a photo of. You know. He’s jus’ by the gate.’
AT THE SIGHT OF WILLIAM A SHUDDER PASSED THROUGH BOTH OF THEM. THEY FELT THAT WILLIAM WAS A HEAVY HANDICAP TO THEM IN LIFE’S RACE.
‘Oh, dear!’ gasped the Woman of Mystery. ‘Does he want me?’
‘ ’Um,’ said William.
‘Oh, dear!’ fluttered the Woman of Mystery. ‘I must go – yet how can I go? People will be coming for their fortunes.’
William waved aside the objection.
‘Oh, I’ll see to that,’ he said.
‘But – can you tell fortunes, dear?’ she asked.
‘I dunno,’ said William. ‘I’ve never tried yet.’
The Woman of Mystery drew off her curious gown.
‘I must go,’ she said.
With that she fled – through the back opening of the tent.
William slowly and deliberately arrayed himself. He put on the gown and arranged it so that his eyes came to the two eye-holes and his hands out of the two armholes. Then he lifted the hassock on which the Woman of Mystery had disposed her feet, on to the chair, and took his seat upon it, carefully hiding it with the gown. At that moment the flap of the tent opened and a client entered. She put half a crown on the table, and sat down on the chair opposite William.
Peering through his eye-holes William recognised Miss Drew.
He spread out a row of the playing cards and began to whisper. William’s whisper was such a little known quantity that it was not recognised.
‘You’ve got a bad temper,’ he whispered.
‘True!’ sighed Miss Drew.
‘You’ve got a cat and hens,’ went on William.
‘True.’
‘You’ve been hard on a boy jus’ lately. He – he may not live very long. You’ve time to make up to him.’
Miss Drew started.
‘That’s all.’
‘YOU’VE BEEN HARD ON A BOY JUS’ LATELY HE – HE MAY NOT LIVE VERY LONG. YOU’VE TIME TO MAKE UP TO HIM.’
Miss Drew, looking bewildered and troubled, withdrew from the tent.
William was surprised on peering through his eyeholes to recognise Ethel in his next visitor. He spread out the cards and began to whisper again.
‘You’ve got two brothers,’ he whispered.
Ethel nodded
‘The small one won’t live long prob’ly. You better be kinder to him while he lives. Give in to him more. That’s all.’
Ethel withdrew in an awed silence.
Robert entered next. William was beginning to enjoy himself.
‘You’ve gotter brother,’ he whispered. ‘Well, he’s not strong an’ he may die soon. This is a warning for you. You’d better make him happy while he’s alive. That’s all.’
Robert went slowly from the tent. At that moment the little Woman of Mystery fluttered in from the back.
‘Oh, thank you so much, dear. Such a wonderful thing has happened. But I must return to my post. He’ll wait till the end, he says.’
Still talking breathlessly, she drew the robe of mystery from William and put it on herself.
William wandered out again into the Fête ground. He visited the ice-cream stall again, then wandered aimlessly around. The first person to accost him was Miss Drew.
‘Hello, William,’ she said, gazing at him anxiously ‘I’ve been looking for you. Would you like some icecream?’
William graciously condescended to be fed with icecream.
‘Would you like a box of chocolates?’ went on Miss Drew. ‘Do you feel all right, William, dear? You’ve been a bit pale lately’
William accepted from her a large box of chocolates and three donkey rides. He admitted that perhaps he hadn’t been feeling very strong lately. When she departed he found Robert and Ethel looking for him. They treated him to a large and very satisfying tea and several more donkey rides. Both used an unusually tender tone of voice when addressing him. Ethel bought him a pineapple and another box of chocolates, and Robert bought
him a bottle of sweets and apologised for his unreasonable behaviour about the shoe polish. When they went home William walked between them and they carried his chocolates and sweets and pineapple for him. Feeling that too much could not be made of the present state of affairs, he made Robert do his homework before he went to bed. Up in his room he gave his famous imitation of a churchyard cough that he had made perfect by practice and which had proved a great asset to him on many occasions. Ethel crept softly upstairs. She held a paper bag in her hand.
‘William, darling,’ she said, ‘I’ve brought this toffee for your throat. It might do it good.’
William added it to his store of presents.
‘Thank you,’ he said with an air of patient suffering.
‘And I’ll give you something to make your wigwam with tomorrow, dear,’ she went on.
‘Thank you,’ said William.
‘And if you want to practise your mouth-organ in the mornings it doesn’t matter a bit.’
‘Thank you,’ said William in a small, martyred voice.
The next evening William walked happily down the road. It had been a very pleasant day. Miss Drew had done most of his work for him at school. He had been treated at lunch by his family with a consideration that was quite unusual. He had been entreated to have all that was left of the trifle while the rest of the family had stewed prunes.
In the garden of the little cottage was Miss Tabitha Croft and the tall, stooping man.
‘Oh, this is William,’ said Miss Tabitha. ‘William is a great friend of mine!’
‘I saw William yesterday,’ said the man. ‘William must certainly come to the wedding.’
‘William,’ said Miss Croft, ‘it was kind of you to take my place yesterday. Did you manage all right?’
‘Yes,’ said William, after a moment’s consideration, ‘I managed all right, thank you.’
CHAPTER 4
WILLIAM ALL THE TIME
William was walking down the road, his hands in his pockets, his mind wholly occupied with the Christmas pantomime. He was going to the Christmas pantomime next week. His thoughts dwelt on rapturous memories of previous Christmas pantomimes – of Puss in Boots, of Dick Whittington, of Red Riding Hood. His mouth curved into a blissful smile as he thought of the funny man – inimitable funny man with his red nose and enormous girth. How William had roared every time he appeared! With what joy he had listened to his uproarious songs! But it was not the funny man to whom William had given his heart. It was to the animals. It was to the cat in Puss in Boots, the robins in The Babes in the Wood, and the wolf in Red Riding Hood. He wanted to be an animal in a pantomime. He was quite willing to relinquish his beloved future career of pirate in favour of that of animal in a pantomime. He wondered . . .
It was at this point that Fate, who often had a special eye on William, performed one of her lightning tricks.
A man in shirt-sleeves stepped out of the wood and looked anxiously up and down the road. Then he took out his watch and muttered to himself. William stood still and stared at him with frank interest. Then the man began to stare at William, first as if he didn’t see him, and then as if he saw him.
‘Would you like to be a bear for a bit,’ he said.
William pinched himself. He seemed to be awake.
‘A b-b-bear?’ he queried, his eyes almost starting out of his head.
‘Yes,’ said the man irritably, ‘a bear. B.E.A.R. bear, Animal – Zoo. Never heard of a bear?’
William pinched himself again. He seemed to be still awake.
‘Yes,’ he agreed as though unwilling to commit himself entirely. ‘I’ve heard of a bear all right.’
‘Come on, then,’ said the man, looking once more at his watch, once more up the road, once more down the road, then turning on his heel and walking quickly into the wood.
William followed, both mouth and eyes wide open. The man did not speak as he walked down the path. Then suddenly down a bend in the path they came upon a strange sight. There was a hut in a little clearing, and round the hut was clustered a group of curious people – a Father Christmas, holding his beard in one hand and a glass of ale in the other; a rather fat Goldilocks, in the act of having yellow powder lavishly applied to her face, several fairies and elves, sucking large and redolent peppermints; a ferocious, but depressed-looking giant, rubbing his hands together and complaining of the cold; and several other strange and incongruous figures. In front of the hut was a large species of camera with a handle, and behind stood a man smoking a pipe.
SUDDENLY DOWN A BEND IN THE PATH THEY CAME UPON A STRANGE SIGHT.
‘Kid turned up?’ he said.
William’s guide shook his head.
‘No,’ he said, ‘they’ve missed their train or lost their way, or evaporated, or got kidnapped or something, but this happened to be passing, and it looked the same size pretty near. What do you think?’
The man took his pipe from his mouth in order the better to concentrate his whole attention on William. He looked at William from his muddy boots to his untidy head. Then he reversed the operation, and looked from his untidy head to his muddy boots. Then he scratched his head.
‘Seems on the big side for the middle one,’ he said.
At this point a hullabaloo arose from behind the shed and a small bear appeared, howling loudly
‘He tooken my bit of toffee,’ yelled the bear in a very human voice.
‘Aw, shut up!’ said the man in his shirt-sleeves.
The small bear was followed by a large bear, protesting loudly.
‘I gave him half’n mine ’n’e promised to give me half’n his’ ’n’ then he tried to eat it all’n’—’
Aw, shut up!’ repeated the man. Then he turned to William.
All you gotter do,’ he said, ‘is to fix on the middle bear’s suit an’ do exactly what you’re told, an’ I’ll give you five shillings at the end. See?’
‘These roural places are a butiful chinge,’ murmured Goldilocks’s mother, darkening her eyebrows as she spoke. ‘So calm and quart.’
‘These Christmas shows,’ grumbled the giant, flapping his arms vigorously, ‘are the very devil.’
Here William found his voice. ‘Crumbs!’ he ejaculated. Then, feeling the expletive to be altogether inadequate to the occasion, quickly added: ‘Gosh!’
‘Take the kid round, someone,’ said the shirt-sleeve man wearily, ‘and fix on his togs, and let’s get on with the show’
Here a Fairy Queen appeared from behind the hut.
‘I don’t see how I’m possibly to go through with this here performance,’ she said in a voice of plaintive suffering. ‘I had toothache all last night—’
‘If you think,’ said the shirt-sleeve man, ‘that you can hold up this blessed show for a twopenny-halfpenny toothache—’
‘If you’re going to be insulting—’ said the Fairy Queen in shrill indignation.
‘Aw, shut up!’ said the shirt-sleeve man.
Here Father Christmas, who had finished his ale, led William into the hut. A bear’s suit lay on a chair.
‘The kid wot was to wear this not having turned up,’ he said by way of explanation, ‘and you by all accounts bein’ willin’ to oblige for a small consideration, we shall have to see what can be done. I suppose,’ he added, ‘you have no objection?’
‘Me?’ said William, whose eyes and mouth had grown more and more circular every minute. ‘Me – objection? Golly! I should think not.’
The little bear and the big bear surveyed him critically.
‘He’s too big,’ said the little bear contemptuously.
‘His hair’s too long,’ contributed the big bear.
‘His face is too dirty’
‘His ears is too long.’
‘His nose is too flat.’
‘His head’s too big.’
‘His—’
William speedily and joyfully put an end to the duet and Father Christmas wearily disentangled the struggling mass.
&nbs
p; ‘It may be a bit on the small side,’ he conceded as he deposited the small bear upside down beneath the table, ‘but we’ll do what we can.’
Here the shirt-sleeve man appeared at the window.
‘That’s right,’ he said kindly. ‘Take all day about it. Don’t hurry! We all enjoy hanging about and waiting for you.’
Father Christmas offered to retire from his post in favour of the shirt-sleeve man, and the shirt-sleeve man hastily retreated.
Then came the task of fitting William into the skin. It was not an easy task.
‘You’re bigger,’ said Father Christmas, ‘than what you look in the distance. Considerable.’
William could not stand quite upright in the skin, but by stooping slightly he could see and speak through the open mouth of the head. In an ecstasy of joy he pummelled the big bear, the little bear gladly joined in the fray and a furry ball of three struggling bears rolled out of the door of the hut.
William the Fourth Page 4
