Late, Late in the Evening

'I hear you have been very kind to Lionel.' She then told us to sit on a sofa. A bit later on she said,

'Well, Lionel, you may run along now. You must bring your little friends back here when they are ready to go home at six and they will say goodbye to me.'

So it was schoolroom tea after all, or, rather, it was tea in the housekeeper's room. It was a very good tea, too. There was bloater paste as well as jam, chocolate biscuits and little buns as well as a big plum cake. The housekeeper was an intimidating, unsmiling, elderly little woman, but, having poured out tea and re-filled the pot, she left us to ourselves.

During the meal there was almost no conversation. After a preliminary period during which Kenneth and I ate in our most genteel way, stiffness and formality were abandoned and, without wasting time in talking, we stuffed ourselves with the riches of the loaded table. The housekeeper looked in once or twice, but she said nothing and went away again immediately.

'Well, that's that, then,' said Lionel when, regretfully, we had to admit that we could not manage to eat any more. 'There isn't time to do much, so would you rather come outside or go up and see my playroom?'

'What would we do outside?' asked my brother.

'Nothing, really. There's never anything to do here. We could skate stones on the pond, if you like.'

We opted for the playroom, hoping that he had some good toys and also mindful (at least, I was) that we were wearing our best clothes and that these and a pond might not harmonise. The playroom was at the very top of the house; in fact, it was one of the attics. Lionel's bedroom was next door and opened out of it.

He had not much in the way of toys, but there was a tin roundabout which worked when you wound it up, although the musical-box on it was broken. We played with this and with a few other things such as a humming-top and a small game of skittles. The roundabout, however, reminded me of St Swithin's Fair. I asked Lionel whether he would be going to it.

'When is it?'

'Saturday.'

'Then I won't be able to. It's my sister's birthday party. I don't suppose they'd let me go, anyway.'

'We shan't be going, either,' said Kenneth. 'We go home on Saturday afternoon because our London school starts on Monday, worse luck.'

We had told lies to Our Sarah and the other children about the amount of money we would spend at the fair because we knew the truth would never come out. Of course we had nothing to spend, or so we thought.

'You're going home?' said Lionel. 'Oh, you can't do that! Who shall I have to play with? I'm stuck here for another three weeks.'

'There's your sister's birthday party,' said Kenneth.

'That's no good to me. She's inviting a lot of idiotic girls she used to be at school with, and their brothers, and Nigel's friends. It will be nothing but dancing and charades and all that sort of rot. In fact, I believe there's even some talk of fancy dress.'

'You'll look nice as Little Lord Fauntleroy,' said Kenneth unwisely. I separated them before any damage was done. At six o'clock we went home. Mrs Kempson said we must come again, but I did not think she meant it.

'I feel sorry for Lionel,' said Kenneth, as we walked down the drive and out past the lodge where nobody had lived since the old lodgekeeper died. 'It will be rotten for him when we've gone. Tell you what. Let's leave him the hermit's cottage.'

'Well, don't tell him yet. He blabs, you know, to that uncle. The uncle knew all about us, didn't he?'

'Well, we shan't need the cottage any more after Saturday. When we see him next time, let's swear him to keep it a secret and take him there. After all, that was a jolly decent tea he gave us, better than ours to him.'

'Oh, I don't know. I don't suppose he has kippers for tea up at the house. I believe rich people only eat them for breakfast and rich children wouldn't have them even then, I don't suppose. They only get porridge, I think.'

'Well, we've got to leave the cottage to someone. Even Our Sarah and Our Ern don't go there any more, so they don't know how exciting it's become. Besides, they wouldn't think as much of that grave as Lionel would.'

'All right, then,' I said doubtfully, 'but I expect he'll get into an awful row if he gets his clothes mucked up or takes back fleas or bugs or anything, and then he'd be sure to split and say we took him there.'

'We have never taken home bugs.'

'Only because we're careful never to go near the walls.'

'We could warn him.'

'All right, then, we'll tell him all about it, but only just before we go home.'

* * *

My father was to have come down on Saturday morning to take us back, but there was a surprise because we did not go. It turned out that my mother had had a fall and was in hospital, so on the Thursday there came a letter to ask whether we could stay on for a bit, as my father could not stay away from work to look after us and our little brother Bruce. A neighbour would take on Bruce, but no arrangements could be made about us because no one wanted to look after school-age children, even well-behaved ones.

I suppose we were sorry that mother had to go to hospital, but my first emotion, I am ashamed to say, was one of elation to think that we would be staying on in the village and might even be able to persuade Uncle Arthur to take us to the fair on Saturday after all.

'We still haven't got any money, though,' Kenneth said sadly, 'and a fair isn't any fun at all without money.' It turned out, however, that father had enclosed a postal order with his letter. It was for the princely sum of five shillings (old money) and to us it seemed a fortune. 'There are plenty of things you can have a ride on for twopence,' said Kenneth, 'and Our Ern told me about "a penn'orth on the mat" and that there are two roundabouts, one a penny a go and a little one, with only horses, not cocks and ostriches and things, for only a ha'penny.'

The next thing was to get Uncle Arthur to take us. This he proved willing to do.

'I used to be a devil among the coconuts,' he said, 'and I once got a prize at the shooting gallery. Remember when I laid four coconuts and a china doll in your lap, Kirstie?'

'I remember when you went into that wrestling booth to win five pounds and nearly got your neck broken,' said Aunt Kirstie. 'You were a fool in those days, Arthur.'

'Ah. Pity it wasn't boxing. I'd have won at that,' said Uncle Arthur, not at all put out by her candid criticism.

* * *

'What did you make of Lionel's people?' I asked. It was the morning of the fair, the day we had expected to be going home, so we had to discuss mundane matters in order to cope with our inward excitement. It was like Christmas Eve, but even more so, because we had never been to a fair before.

'Well, we didn't see much of them. I suppose they were all right,' said Kenneth. 'I didn't think much of Lionel's toys. Ours are better.'

'I expect he has others at home. His mother looked rather stuck up. Perhaps she thought we weren't good enough for Lionel. I didn't care for his sister much, either.'

'Was she the one who giggled with the uncle or whatever he is, and didn't take any notice of us? Lionel doesn't like her. He says he wishes she was a brother and would take him fishing. I wonder what her birthday party will be like?'

'Lionel told us. Dancing, and all that, and perhaps fancy dress. Do you really think he'll have to dress up? I bet they'll have jolly good things to eat, anyway,' I said enviously.

'That was a very decent tea that old woman gave us. She looked a bit strict, though. And the servant who took my cap! He picked hold of it as though I'd got nits in my hair.'

'Wonder what Lionel's doing this morning?'

'I expect,' said Kenneth, giggling, 'he's having a special bath and his hair shampooed, ready for the party tonight. Let's go down to the sheepwash and see if Mr Ward's there again. He's a lunatic, must be.'