Linnets and Valerians Page 5

  “Good day, my maids, good day, young masters,” she said in a birdlike chirping voice, nodding at them as pleasantly as though their entry into her shop had been a perfectly normal one. “And what would you be want- mg?

  “A picture postcard for our grandmother, please,” said Nan. “And a stamp. And some sweets. We’ve sixpence. Where is it, Robert?”

  There were a few anxious moments while they all stood in a row in front of the counter and Robert

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  searched the pockets of his sailor suit and found nothing, and then the old lady pointed with a knitting needle to a corner of the room. It had fallen out of his pocket during the scrimmage with the cat and rolled away behind a box of potatoes. Robert, as he retrieved it, wondered how she had known it was there. How, amidst all the noise and confusion, could she have seen such a small thing as a sixpence fall out of his pocket and roll away? He felt a bit uncomfortable but he brought it to her and she took it from him, put it into a tin box beside her and smiled at him. She had a small brown wrinkled nutcracker face and beady black eyes like a robin’s. Their bright glance seemed to Robert to pierce right through his eyes and come out at the back of his head. Though she looked old her voice was remarkably clear and she seemed as full of vigor as Betsy. She wore an old-fashioned snow-white mobcap, such as the children had seen in pictures, a voluminous black dress and a little red shawl crossed over her chest.

  “Sixpence is a lot of money, dearie,” she said. “You must spend it to the best advantage.”

  She rolled up her knitting and got down from her stool and she was taller than she had looked sitting down but small-boned, neat and dainty. With quick darting movements she took a cardboard box from under the counter and laid out five postcards for the children’s inspection. They were of the church, the inn, the shop, the dark wood with the great hill behind it, and the gateway with the pillars. Then she took a sheet of

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  green stamps out of a teapot with roses on it and tore one off.

  “Can’t you make your minds up, my dears?” she asked them as they argued over the postcards. “Send your grannie the church.”

  “The one of the inn is nice,” said Nan.

  “Look!” said Robert. “It’s a different sign. Not the horrid bulldog. What is it?”

  “A bird,” said Timothy. “A wonderful bird!”

  He bent to look closer but Emma Cobley quickly took the postcard away and put it back in the cardboard box. “That’s a very old postcard,” she said. “I’d forgotten I had it. Send your grannie the church. That’ll please her, your Uncle Ambrose being Vicar.” Then as she saw their astonished faces she said, “Emma Cobley knows all about you. It was a boy from across the green who took the message to your grannie last night to say you were safe. My door was open and I heard the Vicar give the message. And old Tom Biddle who was a-setting in his doorway opposite the Vicarage dining room window while you were having dinner tells me you’re to stay. Well, my dears, welcome to High Barton, but don’t you never climb to the top of Lion Tor.”

  “Why not?” asked Robert.

  “It’s a dangerous place for children,” said Emma, her bright glance piercing him again. “Something nasty might happen to you there. Now you’ve fourpence- ha’penny to lay out in sweets. There’s a lot of sweets can be bought for fourpence-ha-’penny.” Turning

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  around, she took from the shelves behind her one glass jar after another filled with sweets of every color of the rainbow. They looked wonderful standing in a row on the counter with the light from the window just touching them, far more magical than sweets usually look.

  It was true that in those days a great many sweets could be bought for fourpence-ha’penny. After a heated discussion which lasted a full ten minutes they chose a pennyworth of peppermint lumps that looked like striped brown bees, a pennyworth of boiled lemon sweets the color of pale honey, a penny-ha’pennyworth of satin pralines in colors of pink and mauve, and a pennyworth of licorice. And out of pure goodness of heart Emma Cobley added for nothing a package of sherbet. They did not know what that was and she had to show them how to put a pinch of the powder on their tongues and then stand with their tongues out enjoying the glorious refreshing fizz. If they had felt any fear of her it vanished with the fizz, and when they looked at the black cat peacefully asleep in the window he looked so very ordinary that they no longer believed he had been as big as a tiger. They had just imagined it.

  “Frederick,” said Emma, following the direction of their eyes. “A sweet cat. A dear, pretty, loving, gentle cat.”

  Though the scratches on his chest were still smarting, Timothy kept silent during this eulogy, but something made him glance at Absolom and he was standing by

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  the door with his tail between his legs, tucked down and in so very firmly it could scarcely be seen, and when Robert opened the door he vanished like a streak of lightning.

  They said good-bye to Emma and went out into the sunshine sucking pralines. They were crisp and crackling on the outside and soft and gooey inside. The moment when the teeth crashed through from the outside was sheer heaven.

  “Not too many,” said Nan. “Remember the muffins and strawberry jam. We must leave room.”

  “The food’s good here,” said Robert.

  “Everything’s good here,” said Nan.

  Timothy forbore to mention the cat Frederick. Instead he said, “Fancy Uncle Ambrose being Vicar. He’s not dressed right. Grandmama’s vicar had a stiff white piece of cardboard around his neck. Uncle Ambrose has that folded white thing.”

  “Uncle Ambrose would never dress like all the other vicars,” said Nan with a touch of pride. “Uncle Ambrose would always be different.”

  “He said he’d been a schoolmaster,” said Timothy. “How can he be a parson too?”

  “Very clever men can be both,” said Nan. “Uncle Ambrose is both. Look. There’s the delivery cart.”

  From where they stood munching they could look down the hill toward the Vicarage, and drawn up outside the porch was a covered wagon drawn by a big gray horse. The delivery man and Ezra were lifting out

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  their trunks. Betsy’s doll Gertrude and Nan’s sewing basket, Timothy’s box of soldiers and Robert’s water pistol, all they possessed was in those boxes. Now they knew they had really arrived. Now they knew without any doubt that they were here for good. They stuffed their sweets into their pockets, Robert took Betsy on his back, and yelling hurrah they raced down the hill.

  The rest of that day passed like a happy dream. Tea came up to their fullest expectations, with no scrimping of butter on the muffins and the strawberries in the jam large and juicy. It was great fun unpacking their belongings and putting them away in their rooms. For they had two rooms now. Ezra had put sheets on the four-poster in the spare room for Nan and Betsy and the boys were to sleep in the dressing room opening out of it. At present they had only blankets and pillows on the floor but they did not mind this because Uncle Ambrose said that presently they would borrow a couple of beds from Lady Alicia, and her name had such a soft silky sound that they were sure they would be comfortable.

  After the unpacking, Betsy suddenly said she felt sick, so she was given a cup of warm milk to settle her and put to bed and very soon she was comfortable and asleep. Her digestion was really very good for her age but it had been a bit strained that day. The others did not feel sick but they did feel disinclined for anything

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  solid for supper, so they had milk and biscuits in the kitchen with Ezra, and Absolom had boiled cabbage and some scraps left over from dinner.

  “Since you’ve come to stay,” said Ezra when they had finished, “we must tell the bees.”

  “Tell the bees?” ejaculated Robert. “But bees
don’t understand when you talk to them.”

  “Never let me hear you say that again,” said Ezra sternly. “Bees understand every word you say. They be the most wonderful creatures God ever made. If men were to have one-quarter of the wisdom of the bees this wicked world would be a better place, and so I be telling

  yy

  you.

  “We did see the hives this morning,” said Nan, “but we didn’t dare go near.”

  “That’s right,” said Ezra. “They don’t like you near till they’ve been told about you. Now come along with me. Step quiet and keep civil tongues in your heads and behave yourselves seemly.”

  He led the way up the garden, and Robert, Nan, Timothy and Absolom followed him in single file. The sun had set and the sky was a deep blue with one star shining above the tall dark church tower. The wallflowers by the beehives smelled wonderful but in the dim light their deep red had turned to a mysterious velvety darkness. It was very quiet, for the birds and the lambs had gone to bed. The hives were quiet too with only a few late bees coming home with the last load

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  of honey. When they were all in, Ezra brought the children quite close to the hives and touched his forehead in salutation, and Nan curtsied and Robert and Timothy bowed. Absolom lowered his tail and touched the ground with his nose. It came quite naturally to do this. It is what they would have done if they had found themselves suddenly in the presence of royalty.

  “Madam queens and noble bees,” said Ezra, “there be four children come to bide in this house, nephews and nieces of the Master. Their names be Robert, Nan, Timothy and Betsy. The three eldest, they are here with old Ezra and they’ve made their reverence to thee. The little ’un, she be poorly, but in the morning I’ll bring her to make her curtsy. There be a dog, Absolom, a good dog. They be good children. Have a care of ’em and let no harm come to ’em. Have a care of ’em in the wood and on the hill. Good night to you, madam queens and noble bees, good night to you from the Master, from Hector and Andromache and her four kittens, from Jason now called Rob-Roy, from Nan, Robert, Timothy and the little un that’s poorly. From Absolom and from Ezra. Good night from all that lives and breathes in house and garden, the mice in the wainscot and the spiders round about and all that wears fur or feather in your dominion. Good night from all your subjects, madam queens and noble bees.”

  He touched his forehead again and the children bowed and curtsied and said good night, and then they went solemnly back to the house again in single file.

  “Can bees take care of you?” asked Timothy won- deringly, when they were back in the kitchen and Ezra had lit the oil lamp that hung from the central beam and they were sitting around the fire.

  “The Vicarage bees, I reckon they saved my life,” said Ezra. “There's always been bees at the Vicarage and from a boy I’ve loved ’em, and so they saved my life. I were a shepherd once and one spring I was up on the moor with my sheep and a lamb strayed. It was evening when I found it, caught in a thorn tree and bleating something pitiful. I ran towards it and sudden I felt the ground give way beneath I and I fell. It was one of the workings of an old tin mine, all overgrown with brambles so that running quick I didn’t see it. I fell a long ways down and I knew when I got to the bottom as I’d hurt meself real bad for I couldn’t get up, not nohow. I was scared as I’d never be found, and I never would have been but for the Vicarage bees. They swarmed that morning and your uncle he ran after with a spare skep in his hand, and they led him on till they brought him where the lamb and I was, and then they settled theirselves hanging from the bough of a tree just on the near side of the pit, bringing the Vicar up sharp. I was near a goner but I hollered and he heard me. He fetched help from the village and I was took to horspital. They took me leg off but they saved me life and when I come back to the village again the Vicar he took me to be his man for I be too lame now to be a shepherd. I was that grateful to the bees that I

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  carved a bee on me wooden leg and painted it ever so pretty. Do you say now, young uns, as bees don’t take care of you? If you’re good to the bees the bees they’ll be good to you. But you must mind your manners with ’em. They like a bit of courtesy.”

  “Is it dangerous in the wood and on the hill that you asked the bees to take care of us there?” asked Nan.

  “There’s dangers if you don’t keep your wits about you,” said Ezra. “But if you want to go there you won’t come to no real harm now I’ve told the bees to look after you.”

  Timothy’s head was already nodding, and the others were feeling sleepy too, but Robert had enough wits left to put his hand in his pocket and bring out one of the bags of sweets that they had bought from Emma Cobley. He peeped inside. It was what was left of the pennyworth of bee-striped round peppermints and feeling them to be appropriate to the occasion, he offered them to Ezra. He did not want to, for he liked them himself, but courtesy had been stressed and he felt he should. The effect on Ezra was alarming. He shot up out of his chair like a Jack-in-the-box and roared out, “Where did you get them sweets?”

  “From the shop on the green,” said Robert.

  “Emma Cobley’s?”

  “Yes,” said Robert.

  “Then don’t you never go there no more,” thundered Ezra. “I don’t buy nothing at Emma Cobley’s. The Vicar, he buys his stamps from Emma, that being his

  duty being Vicar, but I wouldn’t get so much as a bootlace there not to save me life. I gets our groceries in the town. When you want sweets you tell me and I’ll buy ’em in town for yee. But don’t yee get ’em from Emma.”

  He was so angry that for a few moments no one dared speak and then Nan said gently, “But she seems a very nice old lady.”

  “Handsome is as handsome does,” said Ezra.

  “But what does she do?” asked Timothy.

  “Never you mind,” said Ezra. “And as for that cat of hers, that Frederick, you can ask Hector and Andromache about Frederick. They’ll tell ye.”

  His mouth set like a trap and it was obvious that he was not going to tell them any more, and since they did not know how to converse intelligibly with Hector or Andromache there seemed no way of acquiring further information. Discouraged, they went to bed. But they did not stay discouraged for when they slept they dreamed of bees, thousands of bees rustling all about them in a murmurous, musical, protecting cloud.

  4

  Lady Alicia

  Breakfast was at eight o’clock in the kitchen, and Ezra told them that at nine o’clock punctually they were to go to the library to be educated. Nan had feared as much and had put them into clean clothes and seen to it that their hands were clean and their hair well brushed.

  “Come in,” said Uncle Ambrose in a terrible voice when they knocked at the library door. They entered timidly and found him standing with his back to the

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  fireplace, that was without a fire this morning because it was so warm. His hands were clasped under his coattails and his eyebrows beetled. Hector was perched on the clock behind him. The writing table had been cleared and was out in the middle of the room, with the big high-backed chair at one end and four smaller chairs, two on each side of the table. There was one cushion on Timothy’s and two on Betsy’s.

  “Girls to the right, boys to the left,” thundered Uncle Ambrose and when they had taken their places he stalked forward and seated himself in his chair. Hector spread his wings and glided from the clock to its high back where he drew himself up to his fullest height and winked at the children over Uncle Ambrose’s head. His wink was wonderfully reassuring. Evidently he liked them now and in this business of education was on their side.

  “I observe that you are slightly more prepossessing in appearance than I had previously supposed,” said Uncle Ambrose, his glance resting with stern pleasure on their clean clothes and sleek heads. “You
are not bad-looking children. If I can succeed in inserting a little knowledge into your vacant heads you may yet bring honor to the name of Linnet. An old and honored name and a charming bird. Linnets and nightingales sang in the enchanted groves that clothed the lower slopes of Mount Hymettus, that sacred mountain above Athens that in the summer season is as purple with heather and as

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  musical with bees as our own Lion Tor above Linden Wood. Where’s Athens?”

  The question shot out at Robert as though from a pistol and Uncle Ambrose’s terrible bright glance seemed to reach right down into his head like a hook. It groped about there and came up with something.

  “In Greece, sir,” gasped Robert.

  “Where’s Greece?” Uncle Ambrose shot at Timothy.

  “In the Mediterranean,” was hooked out of Timothy. He stumbled over the long word but he remembered Father using it on the ship that brought them home.

  “Do you, child, know anything whatever about Greece?” Uncle Ambrose asked Nan.

  “It has a wine-dark sea,” said Nan. It was a phrase she had heard once and forgotten. It had needed Uncle Ambrose’s brilliant hooking glance to make her remember it again.

  “Good,” said Uncle Ambrose and passed on to Betsy. “You, child? What do you know of Greece?”

  Betsy had not understood much of what had passed but she remembered her nursery nightlight burning in a little pan of grease and she said, “It is a bright light.”

  Uncle Ambrose leaned back in his chair and stared at her and his jaw dropped. Then an expression of great tenderness came over his face and he said, “Child, you are right. A bright light. One of the brightest the world has known. But that you should know that, a child of your age. I am astonished. Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings.”