Bill Bailey's Lot Page 10

  ‘You…you’re a dreadful man. Don’t you dare threaten me.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Quinn, I wouldn’t dream about threatening you; I’m just saying, should you interfere in our affairs, then, on a friendly basis too, we shall go about interfering in yours and bring to light, I’m sure, certain things that may be embarrassing. You understand me, Mrs Quinn? You see, I have ways and means of garnering information.’

  A gasp came over the phone before it was banged down, and Bill, turning to Fiona, said, ‘Have you noticed, Mrs B, my use of words when I’m on the phone, big words, unusual words? Garnering…that was a good one, eh?…’

  ‘Oh, shut up! I don’t feel like laughing, Bill.’ She turned from him and hurried into the sitting room; and when he followed her she said, ‘I’m worried, really I am. I…I know you like Sammy, and in a way I do too, but he’s no companion for Willie. I told you how Willie’s letting words slip out as naturally as God bless you.’

  ‘I know, I know, love.’ He put his arm about her. ‘But in a way I think Sammy’s going to learn more from Willie than Willie will learn from him. And ask yourself, now ask yourself’—he brought her round to face him—‘have you it in your heart to tell that little chap not to come back here again and to stop seeing Willie? Now have you?’

  Fiona moved her head impatiently; then she said, ‘Well, something’s got to be done. You’ve got to have a talk with him.’

  ‘With which one?’

  When the phone interrupted their discourse, again Fiona gasped, ‘Oh no! I bet she’s phoned my mother.’

  ‘Leave it to me.’

  ‘No, Bill.’

  ‘Look’—he pushed her none too gently—‘you leave this to me.’

  In the hall he grabbed up the phone. ‘Yes? What is it now?’

  When the voice came at him, ‘Is that Bailey?’ Bill held the mouthpiece away from him. He thought he recognised the voice, but he didn’t give himself time to think before he was answering, ‘Yes, yes, this is Bailey, William Bailey.’

  ‘Well, this is Charles Kingdom here.’

  Oh, good God! He did not actually voice this but said it in protest against himself.

  ‘You still there?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Yes, I’m still here; and forgive me for my abruptness when I picked up the phone, I was…well, rather angry with someone.’ He allowed his voice to drop to a confidential whisper and said, ‘Mother-in-law.’

  A slight giggle came over the line; then it rose to a laugh, and the voice came on a long chuckle, ‘Mine’s dead; but I know what you mean. How are you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m very well, sir. And you? I heard you weren’t too good.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t; but I’m back home now, under protest. Nobody wants me: here, they all say I should have stayed in hospital, and there, they were glad to get rid of me.’ The voice dropped now as he went on, ‘Wife’s just walked out of the room.’ Then resuming his ordinary tone, he went on, ‘Like to see you, Bailey. Now, now, don’t get big ideas. It’s not about the margins, or the big business, but I would just like to see you and have a chat about…well, how you’re going on. That all right with you?’

  ‘Yes, sir, yes. I would like to very much.’

  ‘How about Saturday afternoon?’

  ‘That would do splendidly, sir.’

  ‘What do you do usually on Saturdays?’

  ‘Oh, well, it’s usually a family day, shopping, you know.’

  ‘Well, if it’s fine, bring them with you.’

  ‘There’s four of them, sir.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I think I remember there’s four of them. Well, I think the garden’s big enough to take four. If I remember rightly there were five hundred at the last garden party here for some damn charity or other. But that was some time ago now when my wife was young and agile.’ The voice dropped again: ‘She’s back in the room,’ which made Bill smile when he recognised that the voice wasn’t low enough to miss his wife’s ears; and it made him think they must be on very good terms, those two.

  ‘Three o’clock suit you?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thank you very much. We’ll be there at three o’clock and be very pleased to see you.’

  ‘Daffodils are still out. Great sight in the woods…Saturday then?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ He heard the phone click before he put down his own receiver; then he turned and looked at Fiona who was standing a short distance from him and he said, ‘Sir Charles Kingdom. Invited to Brookley Manor on Saturday for three o’clock…and the gang.’

  ‘No!’ She came up to him, her arms about his neck now: ‘You’ve got it?’

  ‘No. Apparently it’s not about that. I don’t know why he wants to see me but he made it quite plain it wasn’t about the contract.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Well, I told you, didn’t I, he’s not alone in this. There’s quite a board. He might have a big say but, after all, he’s only one.’

  ‘But a very important one I should think.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ He now walked her towards the sitting room, saying nothing more until they were seated opposite the fire, when, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands dropped between them, he said, ‘I wonder what he wants to see me about if not about that? It must be something important to ask me over there. He’s a queer old card, with a mind like a rapier, for all his age. But you know what he said? He said, “The daffodils are still out. Great sight in the woods.”’

  ‘Did he really! The daffodils are out. Great sight in the wood. Sounds so nice. What is Brookley Manor like?’

  ‘Beautiful, not all that big. I told you, I did a job over there, gutting one wing, and making it like another self-contained house. I really think he had it done for his tribe when they descend on him. By what he said he’s not very fond of family gatherings, but perhaps that’s only a front he puts on.’

  Fiona caught hold of his hands now, saying, ‘I feel excited already. And oh, won’t the children enjoy it! Do you think I should go and tell them? They won’t be asleep.’

  ‘Can’t see any harm in it. You can use it as a bribe to make them behave.’

  ‘That’s an idea.’ She pushed herself up quickly and almost ran from the room; and Bill lay back on the couch, his mind again questioning: I wonder what he wants? He hasn’t asked me over there just to say hello or to see the bairns. There’s something in the wind. Ah well, I’ll have to wait till Saturday afternoon, won’t I?

  It was as if the two words had brought him to the edge of the couch again and he repeated, Saturday afternoon. That’s when little Sammy’s going to bring Fiona her present. So what are we going to do about that?

  Well, he told himself, the only thing to do would be to get Willie on the quiet and tell him to tell Sammy to get here before two o’clock, for if he was to arrive at Brookley at three o’clock, they would have to leave here by a quarter past two, and if not forewarned about time Mr Samuel Love might arrive just as they were leaving. And what would happen then? Oh, he knew what would happen: Master William would see no reason why his pal could not join the afternoon outing. And that would be just too much for Fiona. So he must see that that emergency did not arise.

  It should happen that Bill could do nothing about that particular emergency, for Willie was sick in the night; whether it was from excitement about the proposed visit or something that he had eaten, Fiona didn’t know, but she kept him off school on the Friday.

  Saturday came and Fiona took the children shopping in the morning while Bill continued to work with figures in the study. But he certainly knew that they had all returned home when Katie dashed into the study, crying, ‘I’ve got a new dress, Dad. It’s blue with a flared skirt and a white lace collar.’

  ‘My! My!’

  ‘And Willie’s got new pants. He doesn’t like them. They’re long pants and he wanted short ones like Sammy. And he started to play up in the shop and Mam said she would leave him behind and he said that was all right with him.’

  ‘Don’t tell tales!’
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br />   Katie turned to Fiona who was now coming into the room and answered her:

  ‘Well, you did. I mean, he did. He’s always causing a fuss.’

  ‘And, of course, you don’t?’

  The voice came from Mark who was behind his mother: ‘Blessed Saint Katie of the enlarged mouth.’

  ‘I’ll hit you, our Mark.’ But as she made a dive for him Bill, who had come round the desk, caught her by the collar of her coat and, swinging her about, he bent over her and said, ‘D’you want to come with us this afternoon?’

  She wagged her head, turned it slightly to the side, pursed her lips but said nothing.

  ‘That means you do. So behave yourself, miss. Where’s Mamie?’

  ‘She’s followed Willie upstairs,’ said Mark. ‘She’s bought a dummy for her dolls. How she’s going to get it into their mouths I don’t know because her dolls are china ones.’

  ‘Did you get anything new?’ Bill looked at Mark.

  ‘No, not a thing; I’m the last to be thought of in this house.’

  ‘Poor soul.’ Bill pulled a face as Mark grinned at him. Then Fiona, dropping down into the leather chair at the side of the desk, said, ‘It would be very nice if somebody made me a cup of tea.’

  ‘I’ll do it, Mam.’

  As Katie made to dash from the room Mark said pompously, ‘There’s good in the child yet,’ which stopped her in her tracks, whereupon once again Bill had to say, ‘Ah-ah. Now, now.’

  And to Fiona, ‘Tea you said?’ And to Katie, ‘Tea you would make; so, away woman!’

  Then turning to Mark, he added, ‘Stop teasing her so much. And I mean that, mind.’

  ‘OK but she can’t have all her own way, you know.’

  ‘I know that, so does your mother.’

  ‘Am I being told off?’

  ‘Consider yourself so.’

  As Mark went out shaking his head, Fiona muttered, ‘Did somebody say the other night that this trip might blackmail them into being little angels or something similar? It’s the worst Saturday morning that I can remember having with them. You should have heard Willie in that shop. I could have boxed his ears. I nearly did. And Mamie didn’t want a small dummy; no, she wanted one of those great big monsters that clowns or drunks delight in sticking in their mouths.’

  As Bill laughed, Fiona said, ‘This has been a very funny week, in fact a very funny two or three weeks. Do you know, I was just thinking that nothing seems to have gone right since Mr Samuel Love showed himself in the garden; everything’s gone topsy-turvy. People don’t act somehow as you expect them to. For instance, Nell not phoning us; then coming in yesterday morning as cool as a cucumber and saying, “Oh, what? Yes, yes, he popped the question.” And, “Oh, yes, I accepted him.” It was like a damp squib. You say that Bert looked as if he had lost a ten pence piece and found a new sovereign, and he was even singing. And you tell me the fellows were chipping him all day. Well, there was no such merriment here. You know, Bill, I feel that there’s something not quite right there.’

  ‘You mean between Nell and Bert?’

  ‘No, next door. I just can’t put my finger on it. Nell seems odd. She tried to be her usual self but somehow it seemed difficult for her…Oh, thanks, Katie. That’s lovely. And a biscuit too. And two cups!’

  ‘I brought you tea, Dad, because I can never make the coffee properly. I know you don’t like tea, but there it is.’

  ‘You’re not the only one who can’t make coffee properly. You take after your mother. But thanks all the same, pet.’

  Ignoring the remark, Fiona looked at Katie and said quietly, ‘Go on up and get ready. But see to Mamie, first, will you? Wash her face and hands and put on her pink dress. Then you get ready. And in between times’—she leant forward now and touched her daughter on the cheek—‘say a kind word to Mark. I’m not asking you to apologise, just speak nicely.’

  ‘Well, if I do that, Mam, he’ll say, “What you after?”’

  ‘Well, if he says that just you tell him, all you’re after is civility.’

  ‘Oh, Mam!’ Katie turned away as if in disgust; and Bill said to Fiona, ‘You do ask the impossible, don’t you: a sister to say to her brother, all I ask is a little civility. Come on, woman, drink that tea up. And then you get upstairs an’ all, an’ plaster your face an’ put your best bib an’ tucker on.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Well, from the moment I take the razor in me hand until I knot me tie the whole process takes me ten minutes, not an hour and ten minutes. So get yourself away.’

  They were all ready and waiting, although it was only five minutes to two: Katie and Mamie were sitting on the couch; Mark was lounging in an armchair; Willie stood at the window looking down the garden; and Nell, coming into the room, put her hand over her eyes as if cutting out the glare as she said, ‘My! My! I must have come into the wrong house or wandered into a BBC studio, the next programme will be fashions for children from five to fifteen,’ and turned to Fiona, who was behind her, saying, ‘Who’s this lot?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen them before, at least not like this; and not so quiet.’

  Changing her tone now, Nell smiled and said, ‘By! But you do all look lovely, smart. What time are you leaving?’ Nell had turned to Fiona again.

  ‘Quarter past two on the dot we are informed; that’s when we’re all seated and strapped in. The journey takes forty-five minutes, five minutes of which I am told covers the drive, and it’s pretty rough in parts, it’ll be like a military exercise.’

  ‘And what are we going for? We haven’t been invited to tea.’ Willie had turned from the window for a moment.

  ‘You haven’t?’ Nell showed her surprise.

  ‘No, so Dad says; it’s just a visit.’

  ‘That’s stingy, I’d say, after a journey like that.’

  Nell had her back to the door when she asked, ‘Where’s your lord and master?’ And when the voice came from behind her, saying, ‘Her lord and master is here,’ she turned and said, ‘Oh, another one got up like a dog’s dinner.’

  Whatever response Bill might have made was checked by a cry from Willie, saying, ‘Here’s Sammy with your present. Mam, here’s Sammy with your present.’

  ‘Oh no. Oh no.’ Not a startled response but a kind of whimper from Fiona. ‘I’d…I’d forgotten,’ and she put her hand to her brow, disarranging the veil that was attached to her small hat. ‘Well, we’ve still got fifteen minutes. Don’t get in a stew. Let him in, Mark.’

  ‘No! I will.’

  ‘You’ll stay where you are, Willie.’ Bill’s finger was pointing down into the eager face; and Willie stayed where he was. They all stayed where they were and awaited Mark’s entry into the room, accompanied by the visitor.

  Sammy was carrying an unwieldy brown paper parcel. He was holding it in both hands and tightly pressed against his narrow chest, and it remained there as he looked around the company.

  It was Bill who spoke to him first, saying, ‘Hello there, Sammy. You’ve just caught us in time; we are all about to go out visiting.’

  ‘Aye, I can see that, I’m not blind.’

  Bill brought his lips tight together for a moment, whether with vexation or amusement couldn’t be told. And now Sammy, looking at Willie, said somewhat accusingly, ‘I told you I was comin’ on Saturday with the present. I told you to tell her.’

  Fiona now forced herself to say, ‘Willie hasn’t been well, Sammy. I had to keep him in bed yesterday…He was sick in the night.’

  Sammy made no comment; instead, moving the parcel from his chest, he held it out towards her, saying, ‘This’s for you.’

  ‘For me?’ Fiona made a good pretence of being utterly surprised, and she repeated, ‘A present for me? That’s…that’s very kind of you.’

  She took the parcel from the outstretched hands, then stood hesitating a moment until the presenter of it said, ‘Well, aren’t you gona open it?’

  Walking to a small table, she pushed a gla
ss dish aside and slowly unfolded the brown paper. Then there, exposed to her surprised gaze and not hers alone, was what had once been a silver-plated teapot. What little silver was left on it was bright; the rest of it was still bright but shining with a dull lustre. It had a beautifully curved spout and an ornamental lid; the handle too was ornamental. The whole could, at one time, have graced a Victorian teatable; it still retained its beautiful shape except that the spout seemed to be leaning at a slight angle.

  ‘Oh, it’s…it’s very nice, really lovely.’ She glanced from the boy to Bill and the rest of the company who were now gathered round the table. Then remembering how Sammy had come into possession of her spoon, she asked him tentatively, ‘Did…did your father give it to you, or…or your gran?’

  That was as far as she got before Sammy told her in no polite tones that neither his father nor his granny had given him the teapot. ‘No! Me da didn’t give it me, ’cos we’ve got nowt like this in the house; nor ‘as me granny. I got it from the tip.’

  Fiona glanced at Bill as if for help. And he came to her aid, saying, ‘You go totting on the tip?’

  ‘Aye. Aye, I do.’

  ‘Which tip is that, Sammy?’

  ‘The quarry where they’re fillin’ it in. Belmont Road. All the town’s muck goes there.’

  ‘Oh! Yes; yes, that’s a big tip.’

  ‘Aye, it is. An’ you can get some good things off it an’ all. They bring barrows an’ carts, some with ponies, the ragmen do. Beds ya get, an’ chests of drawers, just with a leg off.’ He was talking to Bill now as to someone who understood these things. ‘Not long ago somebody found a tin box an’ it was full of money. But somebody claimed it. It had been thrown out by mistake, they said. There was a fight over it. Ya get all things. An’ I found that last week.’ He pointed to the teapot. ‘I had to fight for it. Another lad wanted it an’ he was bigger’n me, but I got it. An’ I’ve cleaned it up proper. I washed it inside an’ out. There’s no dirt on it. Ya can look.’