‘How old is he?’ asked Sophy.
‘About six or seven,’ said Patsy.
‘Course ’e ain’t,’ said Betsy. ‘Jimmy’s sixteen,’ she added proudly. Well, small girls were proud when they had a sixteen-year-old brother who could flabbergast posh girls like this one.
‘I’m thirteen.’ Sophy made an impressive declaration of her years, as if at that age she was already superior to the rest of civilization. ‘I’ll help your brother when he comes to work for my father.’
‘I think your mum said you’re not to,’ remarked Patsy.
‘Oh, I shan’t tell her,’ said Sophy. ‘She gets the wind up as soon as I put my foot outside the door. I can’t do anything with her sometimes. Is your mother like that?’
‘Well, sometimes she’s a bit like it,’ said Patsy cautiously.
‘Girls have awful problems with mothers,’ said Sophy.
‘I heard that,’ said Mrs Gibbs.
‘Well, that’s jolly well not fair,’ said Sophy, ‘you’re not supposed to be listening when we’re talking privately about parents.’
‘Oh, dear me, I am sorry,’ said Mrs Gibbs drily.
‘I bet Jimmy’s mother doesn’t listen to private conversations,’ said Sophy, ‘does she, Jimmy?’
‘Oh, we don’t ’ave private conversations in our house,’ said Jimmy. ‘You can’t when you’ve got sisters that like to listen to everything.’
‘I like listenin’,’ said Betsy. ‘Dad says funny fings, don’t you, Dad?’
‘Never mind what Dad says,’ said Patsy, ‘listen to what that Jimmy’s sayin’, he’s ’aving a go at us, Betsy.’
‘Shall we kick ’im?’ asked Betsy ingenuously.
‘We can’t, not now,’ said Patsy, ‘we’re in company.’
‘Don’t mind us,’ said Mr Gibbs, ‘go ahead.’
That aroused laughter. More conversation followed before the two families went their separate ways, Jimmy with the address of Sophy’s parents tucked into his pocket and an animated goodbye from Sophy ringing in his ears.
‘That girl likes you, Jimmy,’ said Patsy, as they made their way to the bus stop.
‘Not too much, I hope,’ said Jimmy. ‘I’ve got a feelin’ it could mean an early death. Well, from what her mum said it could.’
‘I think you’ll win, Jimmy,’ said Aunt Edie.
‘Made a conquest, ’ave you, Jimmy?’ smiled Dad.
‘I never heard of any feller my age makin’ a conquest,’ said Jimmy. ‘And I don’t know it would make sense to chase after a rich girl, anyway.’
‘I suppose there’s other ways of makin’ your fortune,’ said Dad, ‘like findin’ a goldmine.’
‘A rich girl’s a goldmine,’ said Aunt Edie, ‘and nicer to cuddle, I should think.’ And she laughed.
Patsy thought, ain’t it lovely having our Aunt Edie with us?
Aunt Edie served up a supper of fried eggs, bacon and tomatoes with bread and butter. And afterwards, she played the piano again and sang again. And she practised the duets with Jimmy again. It all added up to a lovely Bank Holiday weekend.
Mother had been absent throughout, but Aunt Edie had come up trumps. Jimmy had said nothing about Mother being at Speakers Corner supporting a dark-looking large bloke who was even barmier about religion than she was. He didn’t think it would help if Dad knew she had set about hecklers with her umbrella.
Last thing, just before Aunt Edie went up to bed, Dad said, ‘You’ve been a champ, Edie old girl, thanks.’
‘Yes, well,’ said Aunt Edie, and seemed stuck for words for once.
‘Jimmy an’ the girls enjoyed ’aving you here,’ said Dad.
‘They’re not ’elpless kids, I’ll say that, Jack,’ said Aunt Edie. ‘You’ve done a good job with them.’
‘Yes, Maudie’s always—’
‘Not her,’ said Aunt Edie, ‘you. I haven’t been blind all these years, ’specially not since you come ’ome from the war. I’ll be goin’ straight to work in the mornin’ after I’ve got breakfast, and I’ll be ’ere again next Friday evenin’, unless you let me know that Maud’s come back.’
‘I’ll be gone early meself, I’ve got to be in by eight,’ said Dad.
‘I’ll get your breakfast,’ said Aunt Edie, lighting the candle that was to see her up to bed.
‘No, I’ll manage—’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Aunt Edie, ‘someone’s got to remember you spent all those years fightin’ in the war and gettin’ yourself wounded.’ And she went up to the bedroom before Dad could say any more. But he grinned. Aunt Edie was a woman and a half.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The house in Anerley was called The Beeches. It stood almost alone, for the immediate houses on either side were both a long stone’s throw away. The wide front garden was all lawn except for two giant beech trees that soared massively upwards. Double wrought-iron gates set into a high brick wall opened on to a gravel drive and a spacious forecourt fronting the handsome house. On the forecourt stood a horse-drawn van on which was painted the name of a firm of landscape gardeners in flowery script. There was also an open motorcar, a 6 hp De Dion Bouton, a gleaming yellow two-seater, with black fenders and huge brass lamps.
Jimmy, entering through the open gates, stared at the motorcar, a sign of real riches. Crikey, what a machine! He walked up the drive to the forecourt. The shafts of the van rested on the ground, and he supposed the horse was cropping away somewhere. He approached the large front door set inside an arched stone frame. He pulled on a metal bell handle and heard the bell jangle.
A young maid, dressed in dark blue with a white lacy front and a white cap, opened the door. Crikey, what a corker, thought Jimmy. She had shining black hair, bright eyes and vivacious looks.
‘Well, you’re early,’ she said.
‘You knew I was comin’?’ asked Jimmy.
‘I was told by madam that a boy was. Are you a boy?’
‘Well, yes, as far as I know,’ said Jimmy. ‘I think you’re a girl.’
‘Oh, you’re a clever boy as well?’
‘No, I’m just Jimmy Andrews.’
‘I think you’re cheeky,’ she said, looking him over. ‘’Specially usin’ the front door and not the side. Well, madam and young madam’s still at breakfast. The master’s out and about, though, givin’ orders to the workmen. D’you want a cup of tea and a bit of toast before Mr ’Odges takes you to report to Mr Gibbs? Come on, this way.’
She led Jimmy through a hall larger than his Dad’s house in Manor Place, then down a passage to the main kitchen. It was hung with pots and pans, and a huge range was slowly burning coal. At a large table sat a dignified-looking man, a woman and another maid.
‘Here’s the boy, Mr ’Odges, he’d like a cup of tea and a slice of that toast. That’s Mr ’Odges, that’s Mrs Redfern, the cook, and that’s Ivy, who does the dusting, lights the fires and ’elps Mrs Redfern.’
Mr Hodges, the butler, was stout as well as dignified, Mrs Redfern was a widow but plump and jolly for all that, and Ivy was a bit skinny.
‘Hullo, I’m Jimmy Andrews, I’ve come to help Mr Gibbs.’
‘I’m Ada,’ said the young maid.
‘Bet your dad likes you,’ said Jimmy.
‘I think we’ve got a cheeky one ’ere, Mr ’Odges,’ said Ada. ‘Still, you can sit down, Jimmy.’
Jimmy sat down, all eyes on him, and Mrs Redfern poured him a cup of tea and Ada gave him a slice of toast from a dish. Ivy pushed butter and marmalade across. Jimmy thanked her.
‘Might I henquire as to your age, young man?’ asked Mr Hodges.
‘Sixteen,’ said Jimmy, buttering his toast.
‘Poor young feller, what a shame,’ said Ivy, ‘it don’t seem right, anyone your age perishin’.’
‘Beg your pardon?’ said Jimmy.
‘Ain’t you seen outside, ain’t you seen what it’s like?’ said Ivy. ‘Talk about jungles, everything’s bigger than you are, and you ain’t little. It’s nearly bigger t
han Mr ’Odges and even the master. You only want some of it to fall on you an’ you won’t ever be seen again, will ’e, Mr ’Odges?’
‘I am in ’ope that the lad is sharp,’ said Mr Hodges.
‘Some of it nearly done Mr ’Odges last week, nearly done ’im for good,’ said Ivy, ‘and I just don’t know ’ow the young madam ain’t disappeared for ever.’
‘Take no notice, Jimmy,’ said Ada, who was just sixteen. She’d been in service with the Gibbs since she was fourteen. ‘Ivy’s always the life an’ soul, ’specially at funerals.’
‘Well, I’m not keen on lettin’ things fall on me,’ said Jimmy, enjoying the toast and marmalade. ‘In fact, I made up my mind yesterday that at my age I’d like to stay alive. I’ve ’ardly done any real livin’ yet.’
‘I hadmire a boy that can think about things,’ said Mr Hodges.
‘Some people wander about like they was blind to what might fall on them,’ said Mrs Redfern. ‘I’m that pleased this boy looks as if he can see what’s comin’. Can you see like that, young man?’
‘I’ve not had much trouble so far,’ said Jimmy.
‘That’s good,’ said cook. ‘Well, he seems a sensible boy, Mr Hodges.’
‘Granted, Mrs Redfern,’ said the butler.
‘I heard something about him savin’ the young madam from being run over by a horse. Did you do that, young man?’
‘I just pulled her out of the way,’ said Jimmy.
‘She’s got nine lives, the young madam,’ said Ivy.
‘Madam says she needs them all,’ said Ada.
‘I’ll keep out of her way,’ said Jimmy. ‘I don’t want to ’elp her use one of them up.’
‘You’ll be lucky,’ said Ada.
‘Lucky?’ said Jimmy.
‘If you can keep out of young madam’s way,’ said Ada.
‘Poor young feller,’ said Ivy. ‘What with things that might fall on ’im, an’ what the young madam might do to ’im, ’is fate don’t bear thinkin’ about.’
‘I think it’s bein’ so cheerful that keeps Ivy goin’, don’t you, Mr ’Odges?’ said Ada.
‘I am in fits,’ said Mr Hodges. He rose from the table. A buzzer chirruped. He looked at the indicator box mounted on the wall. ‘Madam’s finished breakfast. Clear the breakfast room, Ada. Come along, my boy, and I will take you to the outer world and to the master, Mr Gibbs.’
‘Good luck, Jimmy,’ said Ada. A bright little smile surfaced. ‘At least you got a nice sunny day for things to fall on you.’
‘Yes, what a blessin’,’ said Jimmy, and followed Mr Hodges out of the main kitchen into a smaller one with a large sink and storage bins.
Mr Hodges led the way along a corridor to a side door of the house. He turned right along a path and came round to a large conservatory at the rear of the mansion-like residence. The conservatory looked as if it contained its own jungle. From a magnificent paved terrace, Jimmy saw the main jungle. Just beyond the terrace overgrown ground had been cleared to a depth of thirty yards. The clearance was some sixty yards wide, and on either side were huge piles of brambles, twigs, leaves and small tree branches. Beyond the clearing was the jungle. Lofty beeches and huge spreading oaks reached for the sky, and in between slender saplings fought to reach the light. The trees looked as if they were bedded in a tangled mass of hawthorn, bramble, wild roses and the like, and these were sprouting high in their battle to escape enveloping weeds and tall grasses. Above the jungle, Jimmy glimpsed sunlight flashing on the vast curved glass roof of the Crystal Palace, nearly a mile away. The terrace was bounded by stone balusters supporting a stone coping. A central opening led to six shallow paved steps, balustrated on either side, and the steps took one down to the clearing. In the quietness of the morning, Jimmy heard the sounds of axes and saws away to the left.
Mr Hodges blew a whistle and waited. ‘Might I hask if you have brought an apron, young man?’ he enquired.
‘Me? An apron? I hope you’re jokin’, Mr Hodges.’
‘A workman’s apron. Protection for your jersey and trousers. Mr Gibbs won’t want to send you ’ome looking ruined. Ah, here he is.’
Mr Gibbs emerged from the left of the jungle and walked over the clearing. He was wearing old corduroy trousers and an open-necked brown shirt. His head was bare, his face brown from the sun. He reached the steps and smiled up at Jimmy.
‘So there you are, young ’un. Good.’ It wasn’t yet nine o’clock, but Mr Gibbs looked as if he’d been at work for hours. ‘Come on.’
‘Might I suggest he needs an apron, sir?’ said Mr Hodges.
‘So he does. One of the calico ones, Hodges. D’you mind?’
‘I will hadvance back to the kitchen, sir,’ said Hodges, and did so. He returned with a light brown calico apron and gave it to Jimmy, who put it on and tied it. It was a thick, coarse protective garment.
‘Right, this way, Jimmy,’ said Mr Gibbs, and Jimmy went down the steps and followed him across the clearing. Mr Gibbs bore left. A line of beeches appeared, the ground between them cleared. ‘I’m working myself, I’m taking a week off from my business. I like this kind of work, it’s preparation for another kind of work, creating something.’
‘A garden?’ said Jimmy.
‘I’ve twelve acres here, Jimmy, enough to create a large garden and a park.’ Mr Gibbs broke through the line of beeches. Jimmy followed and saw another clearing. Mr Gibbs stopped. ‘I’m a Brixton man, Jimmy, born and bred in the smoke, so I like parks and green grass. How do you feel about that?’
‘Well, I like Ruskin Park and Hyde Park, Mr Gibbs.’
‘Don’t we all. Right, this is your starting pitch, Jimmy.’
The large clearing was littered, not only with hacked undergrowth but with felled bush and shrub. In the middle a large bonfire had been constructed. Felled saplings and the trunks of dead trees were piled to one side. Close to the pile were sawn-off branches. In the jungle beyond the sounds of axes and saws came clearer to Jimmy’s ears.
‘There doesn’t seem any end to the jungle, Mr Gibbs.’
‘It’s like this over most of the acres, Jimmy.’
‘You goin’ to saw everything down except this line of trees, Mr Gibbs?’
‘Not on your life, Jimmy. Most of the saplings, yes. They don’t belong, except in a few places. They’re trying to pinch air from established trees. Getting rid of them is like a pruning operation, and you need to do it to keep the established trees healthy and vigorous. As it is, some trees have died. They’ll have to come down too. Now, over there are wheelbarrows, rakes, pitchforks, saws, the lot. Your job is to clear up, first to saw those branches up, to rid all major branches of smaller branches. Everything’s going to be burned. Tons of stuff. See that bonfire over there? That’s ready for lighting. I want you to build others just like it. But we shan’t be putting a torch to them by day, we’ll smoke out the whole of Anerley if we do. We’ll light them at night. In one of those wheelbarrows is a thick pair of industrial gloves that’ll protect your hands, otherwise you’ll tear your fingers to pieces when you’re gathering up all this hacked bramble. Can you make bonfires, Jimmy, building a cradle first so that there’s air to help the fire get started?’
‘Layers of twigs, Mr Gibbs?’
‘That’s the stuff, Jimmy. Can I leave you to it? Oh, there’ll be some lemonade for you about mid-morning. Go up to the terrace for it, one of the servants will call you. How’s that?’
‘I’m followin’ you, Mr Gibbs.’
‘Leave any timber that’s too heavy. I’ll get the men to throw it on when the bonfires are going tonight. Now I’m off to supervise them. That’s the advantage of being the gaffer, they work and you supervise.’ Mr Gibbs smiled and left Jimmy to it. Jimmy decided on clearing work first, on building bonfires of all the hacked stuff and sawing up branches later. He found the gloves, pulled them on, took hold of a rake and began to clear an area for the building of the first bonfire. The day was warm, the air sweet with the scent of scythed gr
ass and chopped blackthorn. Jimmy whistled. It exhilarated him to be working out of doors and in country-like surroundings such as these. He raked away, using his gloved hands to move large tangles of hacked bramble.
Eyes watched him, eyes full of mischief. She appeared, summery in an apple green frock, her hair ribboned. Jimmy sensed trouble.
‘Hullo, Jimmy.’
‘Yes, good morning,’ said Jimmy. ‘I won’t keep you and I’m a bit busy.’
‘You’re all over bits,’ said Sophy.
‘Can’t stop,’ said Jimmy, raking away.
‘I’ll help,’ said Sophy.
‘You’re not supposed to.’
‘Oh, Mummy said it’s all right, she said I ought to come and say hullo to you, she said she’d feel ashamed if I didn’t. I suppose any mother would feel ashamed if her only daughter didn’t come and say hullo to someone who saved her life. I’ll go and get another rake.’
‘You’re on school holidays, I suppose, are you?’ said Jimmy, pulling a heap of bramble free of the ground. ‘Don’t you have some dolls you can go and play with?’
‘Dolls? Dolls? Me?’ Sophy split her sides. ‘I’m not seven years old, you know, you impertinent beast. I’ll get a rake.’ Off she went, treading a path through the debris. Back she came, bearing a rake. ‘Now, I’ll help you.’
‘Excuse me, but you can’t,’ said Jimmy, now at work in the middle of his cleared area. He had an armful of leafy twigs and was making a cradle.
‘I’m going to,’ declared Sophy.
‘Not in your frock,’ said Jimmy.
‘Oh, it’s just an old thing. What are you doing?’
‘Buildin’ a bonfire.’
‘Oh, I’ll bring more sticks and stuff,’ said Sophy, dropping the rake.
‘Look, you sure your mum said it’ll be all right?’
‘Of course I’m sure,’ said Sophy, pulling twigs free of debris.
‘Wouldn’t you like to go and say hullo to your dad?’ asked Jimmy hopefully.
‘I said hullo to him before breakfast. Oh, do wake up, Jimmy. Here.’ She showered twigs on to the cradle.
‘I think I’ve got trouble,’ said Jimmy under his breath.
The Pearly Queen Page 12
