Late, Late in the Evening

CHAPTER TWO

MR WARD

As usual we enjoyed ourselves down at the sheepwash. Lionel asked how deep it was.

'Deep enough to drownd two loike you, you young Oi say,' replied Our Sarah. Lionel went over to the hedge which bordered Lye Hill and broke off a long stick. He lay on his stomach and tested the depth of the water at the deepest part, but the stick did not reach the bottom.

'Oh, good!' he said. 'If you girls would go away, we boys could have a good dip.'

'That ud be rude,' said Our Sarah. 'You ent got your bathers weth ee.'

'Oh, no, it wouldn't be rude. Of course it wouldn't. We always bathe naked at school.'

'Oi tell ee et's rude.'

'Then you're an ignorant peasant.'

'No, she isn't,' said Kenneth. 'It depends on the point of view. And it's very ignorant of you to talk about peasants when you only mean villagers.'

'Can you swim?' asked Lionel. We had noticed that he always retreated in some way or other when he was contradicted or challenged. We also soon found out that he blabbed, so we did not tell him much.

'He's a bit of a coward, isn't he?' said Kenneth to me, later. 'I mean, I'm a year younger than him and not nearly as tall. He ought to have busted me one. I quite expected it.'

'I expect he's been bullied at school,' I replied. In the boys' books we got from the library when we were at home there was always bullying at boarding-schools. 'It would make anybody a coward if they were always being bullied.'

'Father gave me sixpence last year for punching Tom Speery when he tried it on.'

'Because Tom was older and bigger than you. I wish I could earn sixpence that way.'

'I split it with you, didn't I?'

'It's not the same as earning it.'

'Do you suppose Lionel gets much pocket-money?'

'We've never been with him when he spent any.'

'Perhaps he's a miser as well as a coward, and I know he blabs about things you'd think ought to be a secret.'

'Some people say the old man who died-that tramp who had the tumble-down place at the bottom of the hill-some people say he was a miser.'

'I wonder! If he was, he could have left a hidden treasure-money, you know, or jewels.'

'In that cottage?'

'Well, he might have done. Such things have been known. Maybe he left a code message to say where he buried it.'

'Or a map, like Treasure Island.'

'We might go and see.'

'Would we take Lionel?'

'Why? It's our idea, not his. Besides, he's been to tea with us twice, but he's never asked us back.'

'Perhaps he can't. Besides, what would we do in a big house like his? There might be all sorts of difficulties. Suppose we spilt our tea or knocked something over?'

'It wouldn't matter. Rich children always have tea in the schoolroom or the nursery. They never have meals with their parents downstairs.'

'Anyway, what about the old man's treasure?'

We decided to try our luck at the cottage without Lionel's assistance. Breakfast for us was at eight and we always had it without Mr Ward, who did not often come downstairs until ten. Aunt Kirstie was never known to grumble at having to cook a separate breakfast for him. He seldom appeared at lunch, either. Our Sarah told us that she reckoned he got his mid-day meal at the pub and added the further information that he was a dirty old man.

'I wouldn't call him dirty, would you?' Kenneth said.

'He takes snuff and blows his nose rather a lot,' I replied. 'Perhaps that's what she meant.' It was eight o'clock on a fine Saturday morning. We were surprised to find a used cup and saucer and a greasy plate in Mr Ward's place at table when we came down.

'He came early for his breakfast,' Aunt Kirstie explained. 'Got to go out and do a bit more digging, he told me. Well, what's it to be? Bacon and egg and a bit of black-pudding?'

'And fried bread,' said Kenneth. We never took long to eat our meals, but that Saturday morning we were even quicker than usual. We had exchanged glances when we heard that Mr Ward had had his breakfast at least two hours earlier than usual and had announced that he was going out to dig, and the same thought was in both our minds. Mr Ward must have had the same idea as we had. He must have got wind of treasure buried under the floor of the hermit's cottage. There could be no other explanation.

We cleared our plates, thanked God for our good breakfast, Amen, and rushed out of doors. Breakfast was always in Aunt Kirstie's big basement kitchen, so the quickest way out was through the scullery into the back garden and up the sloping side-walk.

Mr Ward was not at the hermit's cottage. He was shovelling away among Uncle Arthur's gladioli. We were delighted to see him there, although we thought Uncle Arthur would be less pleased.

'We'll go to the cottage,' said Kenneth, 'and have a good look round for any clues to the treasure before he gets there.'

'I believe we ought to tell Aunt Kirstie what Mr Ward is up to,' I said. 'It's a pity Uncle Arthur isn't at home.'

'She may not like to interfere. He pays for his board and lodging, you know.'

We debated the point as we walked towards the road and by the time we got round to the front of the house I had gained my way, so we went back again to tell Aunt Kirstie that Mr Ward was digging up the gladioli, but, when we turned in at grandfather's big gates, Mr Ward had found a new place to dig.

He was in the middle of grandfather's big chicken run and was busy there scooping away with his spade, while the hens were squawking and fluttering and the Rhode Island Red cock, always the bravest bird, was making little, abortive rushes at Mr Ward's elastic-sided boots.

'A good thing we did come back,' said Kenneth, as Mr Ward took a swipe at the cock with his spade. 'Come on, quick!' We ran towards him and Kenneth bravely shouted out: 'Mr Ward! Mr Ward! Aunt Kirstie wants you!' Then we went in at the garden gate to find Aunt Kirstie for ourselves. When she came with us, however, having waited to take off her apron and tidy her hair-but really, I think, to pluck up courage before she tackled Mr Ward, of whom we knew she was somewhat in awe because of his superior social status-he was no longer in the chicken run, so off we went towards the cottage.

At that time we had to go down the village street to get there, although we found a better way later. However, just as we were opposite Mrs Grant's house-she was seated on her doorstep as usual, rocking herself and moaning about her ague-a man on horseback caught up with us and reined in. We recognised him as Doctor Matters' assistant. His name was Doctor Tassall.

'You youngsters want to earn a penny?' he asked.

'Each?' asked Kenneth. The young doctor laughed.

'All right, Shylock my son, a penny each,' he said.

'To do what?' I asked.

'To post a letter in the box on Mrs Honour's wall. I've got to go in and have a look at this patient, and I don't want to miss the post.'

We noticed then that Mrs Grant had retreated into her cottage. The doctor dismounted, handed Kenneth the letter and a penny, gave me a penny, tied his horse up to Mrs Grant's railings and went into the cottage. We walked on down the hill to post the letter in Old Mother Honour's pillar-box. It was not really a pillar-box, just a post-office opening in the shop wall with the times of collection on it. Of course we read the envelope before we posted it.

'Miss A. Kempson-Conyers,' I said. 'Hill Manor House, Hill, Oxon. It must be to one of Lionel's relations.'

'He said he'd got an older sister,' said Kenneth. We put the letter in the box and then had a short discussion on how best to lay out the pennies we had been given. We had our usual Saturday pennies with us as well, and such riches merited careful thought in the spending. In the end we agreed to tackle the treasure-hunt first and lay out our augmented income on the way home.