William

by Richmal Crompton

  As William said, ‘They’re all so fat that they won’t get there till it’s nearly time to go home and they’re frightened of the big roundabout – an’ the pull-out toffee makes them sick so they won’t bother us much.’

  The day of the fair was fine. The Outlaws felt that fate was on their side. A wet fair day is of course enjoyable but not so enjoyable as a fine fair day.

  Somehow or other the Outlaws got through the lessons before ‘rec.’ They did not shine in them but they got through them. Douglas, in giving up the answer to a sum, absently wrote that a woodcutter cutting down three trees a day would cut down twenty-three waxworks in a week; and Ginger, being asked the meaning of ‘circa’, absently replied ‘roundabout,’ which, however, was so nearly right that he escaped reproof. And so things went quite well till ‘rec.’ But at ‘rec.’ the tragedy happened.

  Hubert Lane was passing the open door of William’s form room and, meeting William’s eye, he contorted his pale, fat face into a grimace of ridicule and defiance that William found intolerable. Hubert did this in the comfortable knowledge that the headmaster, who was walking just behind him, would not see his grimace, but would probably be a witness to whatever reprisals William might think fit to take. The result exceeded his wildest hopes. William, infuriated by his enemy’s impudence, seized the weapon nearest to hand, which happened to be his school satchel, and hurled it. It missed Hubert, but caught the headmaster very neatly on the face, completely enveloping it for a second or two before it fell to the ground.

  There was a horrible silence, during which William’s prayers that the end of the world might now take place remained unanswered. Then Ole Markie shot out a furious hand in William’s direction and roared: ‘Did you throw that?’

  William, thinking that he might as well go down with colours flying, assumed a debonair expression as he said gaily, ‘Yes, sir.’

  Ole Markie gazed at him wistfully for a few minutes, but he happened to be suffering from a rather severe attack of arthritis in his right arm, so he only roared, ‘Stay in an hour after school,’ and passed on his majestic way, growling.

  The horror of the Outlaws was indescribable. Without William, their leader, the visit to the fair would lack all savour. There seemed to be nothing to do, however, but to bow to fate, and so the three remaining Outlaws set off disconsolately for the fair after tea, while William, still debonair, took his seat in the headmaster’s room before a page of Latin verbs.

  ‘Doesn’t seem much fun without William,’ said Ginger dejectedly, as they trudged along the country road.

  ‘We can buy him something,’ said Henry.

  ‘What good’s that?’ said Ginger, annoyed by the inadequacy of this proposal. ‘’S not the things you buy at the fair, it’s the fair that’s the fun.’

  ‘We can tell him all about it,’ said Henry, still trying to put a good face on the matter.

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ said Ginger in disgust.

  Ginger had an uncomfortable feeling that, were his and William’s positions reversed, William would have managed somehow to free him. He felt that, as William’s trusted lieutenant, the responsibility of releasing William from durance vile devolved upon him. And yet he couldn’t think of any way of doing it.

  They entered the fair ground. It was as if somehow William’s absence had affected even the fair. There didn’t seem to be any ‘go’ in it at all. They wandered round in silence for a few minutes and Henry tried to enliven the proceedings by buying a pennyworth of pull-out toffee, but somehow it didn’t seem to taste as it had tasted when William was with them.

  ‘Shall we go on the roundabout?’ said Douglas without much enthusiasm.

  Ginger looked at the roundabout. It was a very satisfying roundabout – all noise and glare and colour, but somehow it didn’t satisfy Ginger. When he looked at it he didn’t see the gilt and silver and the coloured life-sized negroes with tambourines and the looking-glass panels. He saw William sitting in old Markie’s room before a page of Latin verbs.

  ‘Oh, no,’ he said dispiritedly, ‘we’ll try it later.’

  ‘Well, let’s go ’n’ look at this waxwork show,’ said Douglas in a voice which was unconvincingly bright and cheerful.

  They wandered round to the waxwork tent. But it was as unsatisfying as everything else. It wasn’t even open yet. A man stood on a platform outside the closed door of the tent, announcing vociferously that the show would be open in half an hour’s time. The closed door whetted the Outlaws’ curiosity.

  ‘I bet that if we go round to the back and look under the tent we could see it all,’ said Henry, his spirits rising.

  So they went round to the back, lay down on the grass, and cautiously raised the flap of the tent. And Henry had been right. They could see it all beautifully. The inside of the tent was fortunately empty of human beings, so they could feast their eyes on the dazzling array of historical figures that met their gaze. There was Henry the Eighth in red tights and a spangled cloak. There was Guy Fawkes wearing a black mask and holding a barrel of gunpowder. There was Mary Queen of Scots in a very elaborately anachronistic crinoline with an executioner who carried a real axe. There was Perkin Warbeck in a suit of armour. There was Rufus wearing a red beard and an arrow through his heart. And there were the little princes in the Tower in black velvet suits and much befeathered hats.

  ‘Crumbs!’ gasped Douglas, ‘they’re fine, aren’t they? I bet they’re exactly like what the real ones were. They look jus’ as if they were, anyway. I say, William would like to see ’em, wouldn’t he?’

  He addressed this remark to Ginger. Ginger was staring at the nearest little prince in the Tower, open-mouthed, open-eyed. An idea had come to Ginger – an idea so daring that for a minute it took away his breath. Then:

  ‘I – I’ve got it!’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘What?’ said the other Outlaws and gathered round while he told them. Then they said ‘Crumbs!’ in awestricken whispers.

  Very, very cautiously they approached one of the little princes in the Tower. Then they stopped and looked around. The tent was still empty. The voice of the showman could be heard outside, still vociferously informing the world that the show would be open in half an hour’s time. Very gently, very cautiously, they lifted the little prince, Ginger holding his head and Douglas his feet, and carried him under the flap of the tent. Still no one was about. They laid him on the grass.

  ‘He’s about William’s size, isn’t he?’ said Ginger.

  They all considered him carefully and agreed that he was.

  Then they rolled him up in their overcoats and carried him through the hedge and along the road towards the school. Fortune favoured them. They met only a few people and those few people took little or no interest in them. The identity of the little prince was completely concealed by his covering.

  When they reached the school, Ginger left Douglas and Henry and, going round to the front door, rang the bell as loudly as he could. Cramps, a depressed-looking individual with long whiskers, came to answer it.

  Meanwhile Douglas and Henry were tapping gently at the window of the headmaster’s form room where William was sitting before a Latin grammar (upside down) and imagining himself at the fair with such vividness that when their signal roused him it seemed almost incredible to him that he was still in school.

  He came to the window, and with a cautious glance at the glass panel in the door said:

  ‘Well, what’s it like?’

  ‘’S all right,’ said Douglas.

  ‘What’ve you got there?’ said William, leaning further out and looking with interest at their overcoat-shrouded burden.

  Without a word they unwrapped the little prince. The little prince smirked his waxen smirk at William. William glared his freckled and ferocious glare at the little prince.

  ‘What ever—?’ he gasped.

  ‘It’s Ginger’s idea,’ said Douglas with apprehension and admiration mingled in his voice. ‘It’s all Ginger’s idea. We didn’t stop
to think. We jus’ did it. It oughter turn out all right but—’ Evidently the sheer daring of the idea was beginning to weigh on Douglas. It was Douglas who possessed the least share of that glorious optimism for which the Outlaws were famous.

  ‘But what is it?’ said William.

  They revealed Ginger’s daring plan to him. William’s eyes gleamed. It was a plan after William’s own heart.

  In a few minutes the little prince, garbed now in William’s tweed suit, was propped up at a desk before a Latin grammar, his elbows resting on the desk, his head on his hands, while William was hastily drawing Henry’s overcoat over a rather skimpy black velvet suit with a lace collar, and crushing the black velvet feathered cap into his pocket. They crept down to the road and Henry gave the whistle that was to inform Ginger that the coast was clear. Ginger, who had been leading the grumbling but conscientious caretaker round cloak-rooms and class-rooms in a search for an alleged lost purse, heard the signal with relief. It had been rather a strain drawing out the search to the required length, going from room to room and gazing intently at empty spaces of floor and cupboard as if he thought that if he stared long enough the purse would materialise before his eyes.

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ he said to the grumbling but conscientious caretaker. ‘Now I come to think of it I jus’ may’ve lost it at home. I’d better go ’n’ see before I trouble you any more.’

  ‘WHAT ON EARTH HAVE YOU GOT THERE?’ WILLIAM GASPED.

  ‘That’s just like you boys,’ said the caretaker, ‘always losing your things and saying you left them in school and in the end finding them at home all the time. Seems to me you boys never will learn sense. Giving such a lot of trouble all round. I’ve got one of you now upstairs in Mr Markson’s room and it’s time I went up again to see he wasn’t up to any of his tricks. Full of tricks you boys are. It’s one person’s work looking after each one of you. Amazing to me that you don’t learn more sense.’

  ‘IT’S GINGER’S IDEA,’ SAID DOUGLAS; ‘IT’S ALL GINGER’S IDEA. WE DIDN’T STOP TO THINK! WE JUS’ DID IT!’

  Ginger murmured perfunctory apology and took a hasty departure.

  The caretaker went round to Mr Markson’s classroom and glanced anxiously through the glass panel. Then he nodded to himself, reassured. It was all right. The little devil was still there, sitting at his desk and learning his Latin verbs. The caretaker had been rather anxious at being left in charge of this particular little devil because he knew that he was a more devilish little devil than most of the little devils, but he seemed to be turning out quite harmless on this occasion. Satisfied, the caretaker took himself back to his own quarters.

  Meanwhile, William, clutching Henry’s overcoat tightly round him to hide his black velvet suit and lace collar, was walking down the road with his followers. Ginger was jauntily elaborating his plan. Its success so far had gone to his head.

  ‘An’ you know ole Markie never goes back, so it’ll be all right. You can have a good look round an’ we’ll be back by the end of the hour an’ it’ll be all right an’ it looks jus’ like you from the door.’

  ‘I think it was jolly clever of you to think of it,’ said William generously, giving honour where honour was due, then, opening the overcoat to glance down at his costume, added dispassionately, ‘Queer sort of clothes it wears.’

  ‘We got in by a hole in the tent,’ said Ginger. ‘They’re jolly fine, the others. You’ll like ’em. There’s Guy Fawkes.’

  ‘P’raps William’d better not go in,’ said Douglas cautiously. ‘If anyone happened to see his suit there’d be an awful fuss. They might take us to prison for stealing.’

  ‘We didn’t steal anything,’ said Ginger hotly, ‘we only borrowed it. Well, there’s no law against borrowing, is there?’

  ‘No, but I think William’d better not go into the waxworks,’ persisted Douglas. ‘There’d be a fuss if they saw he was wearing their clothes. He can go round the stalls and go on the roundabout.’

  ‘Oh, can I?’ said William with heavy sarcasm. ‘Thanks. Thanks awfully. Well, let me tell you, I’m jolly well going to go to the waxworks.’ Suddenly he stopped and drew in his breath. An inspiration had just visited him. ‘Tell you what?’ he said breathlessly. ‘I’ll go an’ be a waxwork. What about that? I bet I’d make a fine one. I bet it would be fun. I’ll go an’ be a waxwork. Then I’ll see ’em all right with no one saying I stole anything. An’ it’ll be fun standing there with all the people lookin’ at me an’ listenin’ to what they say. I bet I can do it all right. I’ve got its hat here.’

  The suggestion rather took the Outlaws’ breath away. William, having started on the path of adventure, never seemed to know when to stop.

  ‘I bet I make a jolly good waxwork,’ he went on self-admiringly. ‘I bet that no one spots I’m not a real one. I’m wearing its clothes so it seems silly not to have a try at what I can do at being a waxwork. And then we can have a waxwork show of our own . . .’

  Douglas murmured disapprovingly, ‘Well, I bet you’ll go an’ make a mess of it,’ but Ginger and Henry, fired by William’s enthusiasm, said: ‘All right. Go on and have a try. I bet they spot you’re not a real one. We’ll come in and watch you. It’ll be fun.’

  They went round to the back of the tent, lay on the ground and cautiously lifted up the back flap. The inside was still empty of human beings. A little prince in the Tower stood solitary with an empty space beside him. Evidently no one had noticed his brother’s disappearance. From outside came the raucous voice of the showman informing the world that the show would open in four minutes honly from now.

  William dropped his overcoat and, holding his feathered head-dress in his hand, slipped under the tent flap into the tent. There he put on his feathered velvet hat and took his place in the empty space next to the solitary prince, faithfully copying its attitude, one leg slightly forward, hands down by his side. He was only just in time. As he took his stand with a last wink at Ginger’s face, just visible under the flap of the tent, the showman announced the show open and a gaping crowd surged in the wake of a bored-looking youth with a straw in his mouth. The bored-looking youth had been hired by the showman to introduce the exhibits to the public while the showman remained outside and tried to draw the public in by sheer lung power.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, walk hup and see the finest show of waxworks in the world. Here for one night only, ladies and gentlemen. Shown before hall the crowned ’eads of Europe. Wonderful historical panorama. Hentertaining and hinstructive. Best sixpennyworth of hentertainment and hinstruction of its kind to be found hanywhere. Walk hup, ladies and gentlemen. Walk hup! Walk hup! WALK HUP.’

  The bored-looking youth did not know much about the waxworks and cared less. He had been merely told to announce their names. He was a local youth and had not seen them before. His eye flickered over William with the same careless contempt with which it flickered over Perkin Warbeck and Rufus and Mary Queen of Scots.

  William stood rather in a fortunately dark corner. His velvet-feathered hat threw a shadow over his face. The rope that kept the spectators from approaching too near was about five feet away from him. Both the bored-looking youth and the spectators accepted him without suspicion.

  ‘Li’l’ princes crulely murdered in the Tahr,’ announced the bored-looking youth monotonously through his straw.

  The crowd of spectators inspected William and his companion with interest.

  ‘Why do they have one pretty one and one ugly one, mother?’ piped the youngest spectator. ‘I like that one,’ pointing to the waxwork, ‘but,’ pointing to William, ‘I don’t like that one. Why did they get such a nugly one?’

  ‘Perhaps they couldn’t afford two pretty ones, dear,’ said the youngest spectator’s mother, ‘and they got this one cheap.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the youngest spectator, satisfied. ‘I expect they got it very cheap.’

  And they passed on to Mary Queen of Scots.

  A negligent youth in plus-fours now approa
ched. He had brought with him a party of which he was evidently the admired centre, and spoke languidly with the accent that is generally supposed to hail from Oxford. He took up his stand just in front of William and began to hold forth to the admiring group.

  ‘Of carse,’ he said, ‘to anyone who knows anything about anatomy these things are frightfully amusing. Doing medicine, of carse, one knows anatomy from A to Z. These models are made without any regard to anatomy at all. Look at that one, for instance.’ He pointed languidly at William. ‘It’s quite absurd to anyone who knows anything about anatomy. Legs and arms entirely wrong. Out of proportion, set at wrong angles, and – well, the muscles that are represented are quite wrong ones. For instance,’ he pointed to William’s leg, so nearly touching it that it was all William could do not to flinch, ‘you can see that they’ve made an attempt to reproduce a muscle just heah in the moulding of the figure, but the amusin’ thing is that there is no muscle just heah in a human being’s leg. Ha, ha! Most amusin’, by Jove!’

  And he passed on to Perkin Warbeck.

  William was already tired of being a waxwork. The lace collar tickled his neck and the feather in his hat tickled his ear and he was fighting against an almost irresistible temptation to scratch both. Also he’d got pins and needles in his arm and something was crawling up his leg. More than that, it was galling to anyone of William’s proud spirit to have to listen meekly to personal abuse without retaliating.

  He breathed hard when two women stood and stared at him for some minutes in silence and then one of them said dispassionately, ‘No wonder they murdered ’im if ’e looked like that.’

  It was just after that that Hubert Lane and his friends entered the tent. They glanced round at the other waxworks without much interest, but when they came to the little princes in the Tower their interest seemed to quicken.