by Nina Bawden
“More than anything,” Victoria said in a hard, sad little voice. “More than anything in the whole world.”
John and Mary looked at her, troubled. “Is Mrs Clark horrid to you?” John asked.
Victoria shrugged her shoulders. “Oh—she’s not so bad. Not really. But I have to do such a lot of things. I get up early and do the fires and dress the children and then I have a lot of housework to do when I come home from school.” She bit her lip. “I wouldn’t mind that, but she doesn’t like me. Nor does anyone. I lived with four foster mothers before I came to Mrs Clark and none of them liked me.” She looked at Mary. “I bet you don’t know what that’s like. Always having people not like you.”
Mary thought that it must be very strange and sad. It had been bad enough when they had first come to Henstable and she had thought that Aunt Mabel didn’t like them. And Aunt Mabel had been the only person who had ever not liked her—only one person, in her whole life! She thought that it would be sure to make you cross and unhappy if people didn’t like you.
She said, “We like you. Me and John and Ben.”
“Do you?” Victoria said. “Do you, really?”
“Yes,” John said sturdily. “But you don’t like many people, do you? And it’s jolly hard for people to like you, if you don’t like them.”
“I suppose it is,” Victoria said. She looked very wistful and solemn, as if she was thinking very hard. Then she said, “I suppose if you start to like people, they start to like you. I think, even the idea of liking someone makes me feel nicer inside. And I do like some people now. I like you two, and Ben. And … and I love your Aunt Mabel.”
Her face lit up as she said this and John and Mary were quite surprised. They hadn’t expected anyone else to see that Aunt Mabel was so much nicer than she seemed to be.
Then, suddenly, the door bell rang, very loud and long as if someone very important was standing on the steps and could not bear to be kept waiting, even for a minute. They heard Aunt Mabel come quickly down the stairs and along the passage to open the door. Then they heard a voice. A cracked, high, old man’s voice.
“It’s Mr Reynolds,” Mary whispered. She clutched John’s hand very tight. They listened. They could hear Mr Reynolds saying something and Aunt Mabel answering him, but they couldn’t hear what either of them said. Then their voices died right away—they must have gone into the dining room, John thought—but the children still stood, still and strained and listening.
They stood there for about ten minutes. Then they heard the voices again. And Aunt Mabel called, “Children. John, Mary—come up here.”
John went up the stairs, very slowly and reluctantly, dragging his feet. Mary followed. Her heart was beating so fast that it felt like flapping wings, trapped in her throat.
Mr Reynolds was alone. He was standing in the hall, hunched in his thick, black coat and looking like a very old, fierce bird. He was looking round him with his sharp, bright eyes as if he was reckoning up how much the carpet and the pictures were worth. As the children came into the hall, Aunt Mabel walked down the stairs carrying Ben who was wearing John’s dressing gown and looked a yellowish, greenish colour.
Mr Reynolds was frowning. His nose was purple and there were fat veins standing out on his forehead. He’s found out about the Bust, John thought and stood, frozen, waiting for the terrible outburst of anger that was bound to come.
But to his surprise—to his utter astonishment—Mr Reynolds cleared his throat and said, “I have come to apologise to you all. You had no right—no right at all—to break into my house, but it was wrong of me to jump to the conclusions I did. I wish to apologise for calling you thieves and, by implication, liars, and especially, I want to apologise to this young gentleman here.”
He made a stiff, formal bow towards Ben who was sitting on the stairs, glowering at him.
It was a remarkably handsome apology. The children let out shaky little breaths of relief.
Mr Reynolds took something out of his pocket and held it on his open palm. It was the green horse. “This isn’t mine,” he said. “Though to be fair to myself, I think my mistake understandable. This is a very good piece and I have one almost exactly like it.”
“It’s a lot prettier than any of your’s,” Ben said firmly.
Mr Reynolds went on frowning, but his nose was a lot less flushed and red. “I hope you will look after it, then,” he said. He paused, as if he was thinking of something. “I suppose,” he said slowly, “I suppose you wouldn’t like to ask your Aunt if you could sell it to me?”
“No,” Ben said. “It was given to me by my friend, Miss Pin.” He stood up shakily, his legs feeling very wobbly beneath him, came down the stairs and held out his hand.
Mr Reynolds sighed. He looked at Ben closely and then gave him the horse—but reluctantly, as if he were sorry to part with it. Then he sighed again and said, “Well, that’s settled, I hope. No hard feelings.” He smiled at them all, looking almost benign. “I shall speak to the Police and tell them to drop the charge against you. You have been very naughty children, but as far as I can see, you have done no damage….”
Mary gasped. It was such a loud gasp that Mr Reynolds stopped speaking and everyone turned to look at her.
“What’s the matter, Mary?” Aunt Mabel asked.
“I expect she’s going to be sick too,” Ben said hopefully.
Mary shook her head. She looked straight at Mr Reynolds and said in a faint voice, “It’s very kind of you, to apologise and that. But … but we did break something. I’m sorry. It was an accident. I … I knocked into it and it fell over.” When she had got it out, she felt horribly frightened, but relieved underneath.
“What fell over?” Mr Reynolds said in an awful voice. He wasn’t looking benign anymore.
“Come and see,” Ben said. He took hold of Mr Reynolds’ coat sleeve—just as if he was an ordinary old man and not terrifying at all—and tugged at it. He said, over his shoulder, “I shan’t catch cold, Aunt Mabel. I’ve got my slippers on.”
Aunt Mabel seemed too stunned to protest. She just shook her head in a bewildered way and opened the front door. The curious little procession, Ben in his dressing gown, Aunt Mabel in her apron, Mr Reynolds and John and Mary, went down the steps of The Haven and along the pavement.
Victoria followed them. But when they went into the House of Secrets, she stayed outside. She was quivering and her eyes were wide and dark; suddenly a sly look came into them and she took to her heels and ran.
*
“See?” Ben said proudly. “We put another one in its place. I think this one is nicer. It’s mine, but you can have it because we broke your one.”
“And who gave you this, may I ask?” Mr Reynolds said in a sarcastic tone. “If I may say so, young man, you seem to have some extraordinary benefactors.” He took out a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and looked up at the head of the African boy.
“Well,” he said after a minute. “Well ….” His sharp, angry old face seemed to soften; he looked surprised and almost awed. “This is a remarkably fine piece of work.” He looked at Ben and said, not sarcastically at all, but quite humbly, “Would you mind telling me who gave it to you?”
“Nobody. I bought it,” Ben said. “I put a deposit down on it. Uncle Abe made it—he’s a sculptor. But he’s not very good at selling the things he makes, so he said as I was a friend I could have it, cheap.”
“How much?” Mr Reynolds snapped—not angrily, but eagerly.
“Seventy-five pounds,” Ben said promptly. “I put down a deposit of one and three halfpence.”
“Indeed?” Mr Reynolds took his spectacles off and polished them on a beautiful, white handkerchief. “And he’s not selling very much at the moment, you say?” His eyes had a new, sharp glint in them. “I think I’d like to have a talk to your Uncle Abe….”
“He’s …” Aunt Mabel began but she got no further because the front door, which had been left ajar, burst open suddenly and Victoria marched
into the hall.
She was breathing very fast as if she had been running hard and there were bright spots of colour in her cheeks. She said, quickly, “You mustn’t be angry with Mary because she didn’t do it. She said she did because I was so scared, but she didn’t. I did. I was going to run away but then I thought about what they said about liking people, so I came back.” She flung her head back and stood, very proud and straight. “You can do what you like to me,” she said.
Mr Reynolds stammered, “What do you mean? Who—who is this?”
He turned helplessly to Aunt Mabel, who was smiling.
“This is Victoria Clark,” she said in a curiously cheerful voice. “I told you about her.”
“Oh. Oh—yes.” As he looked at Victoria, Mr Reynolds’ eyes were sharp but kind. “So you’re the girl who likes to play the piano,” he said at last.
Victoria looked back at him. It had taken a lot of courage to come back and say she had broken the Bust but she was not a naturally brave person, and was beginning to feel very weak and trembly. She whispered, so low he could hardly hear, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t doing any harm. It’s a lovely piano. I didn’t bang at the keys or anything …”
John broke in, “She had to play with the soft pedal down all the time so she couldn’t do the bit with trumpets blowing.”
“Trumpets blowing?” Mr Reynolds said. He looked interested. He said gently to Victoria, “Perhaps you’d like to come and play it to me now. Loud as you like….”
Victoria was white to the lips. “No … no, I couldn’t,” she murmured.
Aunt Mabel said briskly, “Nonsense, child. It’s only fair. You’ve been using Mr Reynolds’ paino without his permission. He’s got a right to hear how well you played on it.”
Victoria gave a little, gasping sigh. “Now?”
“No time like the present,” Aunt Mabel said. “John—take Ben home. He should be in bed.”
“I feel all right,” Ben said. “Just empty but that’s natural. I lost my bread-and-dripping and my breakfast and yesterday’s supper too, I should think….”
“That’ll do,” Aunt Mabel said. “Clear off—the pair of you.”
She turned to Victoria and her voice was quite different—gentle and coaxing. “Come along, dear,” she said.
She put her hand on Victoria’s shoulder and Victoria walked towards the piano room, like a girl in a dream.
*
The big room looked quite different with the heavy curtains drawn back and the window open letting in the garden smells of earth and wet grass. The sunlight slanted across the piano where Victoria sat, playing for Mr Reynolds. She played some of the pieces of music she had played for the Mallory children and then some others that Mary had not heard. Her face was grave, but relaxed and calm.
After a little, Mr Reynolds who was sitting on the sofa with Aunt Mabel, began to whisper. Mary, standing behind them so Aunt Mabel shouldn’t see her and send her home with John and Ben, could hear what he said.
“It’s incredible—do you really mean she hasn’t been properly taught?”
“Only a local music teacher,” Aunt Mabel murmured. “And that has stopped. Apparently she’s not allowed lessons anymore.”
“Scandalous,” Mr Reynolds said. As he turned sideways, Mary could see that his thin nose had flushed purple again. “Disgraceful. I shall speak to Mrs Clark. It’s wicked to neglect a talent like this.”
Aunt Mabel sighed a little. “I don’t think it will be easy to make Mrs Clark understand,” she said. “She’s a very good sort of woman and I’m sure she does her best, but I’ve heard in the town that the girl’s not easy.”
“Brilliant people never are,” Mr Reynolds said. “D’you mean the girl’s not cared for properly?”
His voice had risen. Victoria played a loud chord on the piano and then sat still and scowling. She said, “I can’t play if you talk.”
“Vicky,” Aunt Mabel said reproachfully, but Mr Reynolds laughed, his cackly laugh, and stood up.
“Quite right,” he said. “She needs a bit of temperament if she’s to get on,” He went over to the piano and stood looking down at Victoria and stroking his chin. She went on scowling at him but he did not seem to mind. He said abruptly, “What school do you go to?”
Victoria said, “It doesn’t matter, does it? I’m leaving at the end of next term when I’m fifteen. I’m going into a shop.”
“A shop.” The veins bulged out on Mr Reynolds’ forehead until they looked as if they might burst through the skin. He glared at Victoria and then walked to the far end of the room, mumbling fiercely to himself. He swung round on his heel. “Nonsense,” he said loudly. “Utter nonsense.” He glared at Victoria again. “Tell me—how would you like to have lessons—go to a proper music school?”
Victoria looked at him, her lips parted. Her eyes were big and glowing. Then she closed her mouth into an ugly, hard line and looked down at her lap. “Mrs Clark wouldn’t let me.”
“Mrs Clark. Mrs Clark? What right has she to stop you?”
“She looks after me,” Victoria said.
“That’s no reason, no reason at all. I’ll speak to her—make some financial arrangement.” He frowned severely, thinking aloud. “A bit of local tuition first, then the Royal Academy—perhaps Berlin. I know an excellent man …”
“Mr Reynolds,” Aunt Mabel said in a warning voice. He started and looked at her as if he had forgotten she was there. “You can’t collect people like … like pictures,” Aunt Mabel went on. “Victoria has a lot of talent, but you can’t just buy her and put her in your collection.”
“What … what …” Mr Reynolds was staring at Aunt Mabel as if no one had ever spoken to him like that before.
Aunt Mabel’s colour heightened a little and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “She’s young,” she said. “She has to be looked after. It would be very kind of you to pay for her to have lessons, but there are other things to be considered….”
“Mrs Clark wouldn’t let me,” Victoria said in a loud, dull voice. “And even if she did, there’s just the kitchen and one living room with all the kids banging about and shouting. So even if I could have lessons, there’s nowhere for me to practise. And if I can’t practise I won’t be good, and if I can’t be good—famous like Myra Hess—I’d rather not play at all.”
Mr Reynolds chuckled in an approving sort of way. “That’s the right attitude.” He looked thoughtfully at Victoria, “Are you happy with Mrs Clark—fond of her, that sort of thing?”
Victoria said nothing.
“I want the truth,” Mr Reynolds said impatiently. “Don’t say ‘yes’ just because you think it’s unkind to say ‘no’.”
Mary thought this was very sensible of him; it showed that he understood how someone might feel.
Victoria took a deep breath. “No,” she said. “I’m not fond of her and she doesn’t like me and I’m not happy there.”
“Then I see no reason why you should remain there,” Mr Reynolds said. “Do you, Mrs Haggard?” And he shot Aunt Mabel a sly, twinkling glance.
Mary could keep silent no longer. The most wonderful idea had been churning round and round inside her all the time she had been standing quiet, and out of sight and listening. She ran up to Aunt Mabel, scarlet with excitement, and said, “She could come and live with us and she could come and practise here and you’d be able to afford it now because Miss Pin is rich after all and Uncle Abe may be able to sell his statues so he’ll be rich and you will, too, won’t you, with two lodgers who pay….”
Aunt Mabel raised her eyebrows. “Who told you they didn’t?” She started to smile but then seemed to remember something, and stopped. “It seems to me that you know more than is good for you,” she said.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE BEST THING OF ALL
“BUT WHAT DID Uncle Abe say?” John asked, almost irritably.
It had been a most exciting day but too much excitement is like over-eating; it leaves you feeling
liverish. Besides, John had missed some of the things that had happened towards the end—the best things, it seemed to him. While Victoria played to Mr Reynolds he had been sent home with Ben, and Ben had been sick again. And then, when Aunt Mabel took Victoria home and left John and Mary to eat supper alone with strict instructions to go to bed immediately afterwards, Uncle Abe had lumbered upstairs to have what he called a Very private conversation with my Agent and Benefactor. That was Ben. So it was no wonder John was feeling left out and a little cross.
Ben was sitting up in bed, his face the ivory colour of piano keys, but his eyes were bright and dancing with excitement.
“Mr Reynolds went to see him in his workshop—he’s going to buy all the statues. Fat Woman Kneeling and all. Uncle” Abe said it was a lucky break….”
Mary said, “The House of Secrets has been awfully lucky, hasn’t it? We ought to call it the Lucky House. Because if we hadn’t broken that Bust we’d never have put Uncle Abe’s thing there and Mr Reynolds would never have seen it and bought it.”
“He’s not going to buy that one,” Ben said quickly. “That one’s mine.”
“But you can’t keep it,” John said. “Not if it’s worth a lot of money.”
“Yes, I can,” Ben said in a lordly way. “You know what Mr Green said. I can have anything I like.”
This was really insufferably cocky. John thought: he’ll turn into a horrible person if he goes on like this.
But Ben wasn’t as bad as he had sounded. “I don’t suppose I’ll have enough to buy the African boy,” he said. “But Uncle Abe said I can keep him. He said it was Commission—that’s what Agents get. Because I sort of told Mr Reynolds about him—that’s what Agents do.”
Downstairs, the front door banged. It was Aunt Mabel, coming home. She came upstairs and into their attic bedroom.
“What happened?” Mary asked, bouncing up and down on her bed in her vest arid knickers, her face on fire with excitement. “What did Mrs Clark say? Was she cross?”
