William The Conqueror (28 page)

The Outlaws had made no definite plans. They had simply decided that somehow or other they must gain admittance to the Hubert Lane mansion on the night of the party and then let things take
their own course. William, the head of the Outlaws, like all the best generals, preferred not to draw up his own plan of action till he had ascertained the enemy’s.

The party was to begin at seven. At half-past six, ten boys in single file might have been observed creeping through a hole in the fence that bordered the Lane garden. At the head crept William,
his freckled face contorted into a scowl expressive of determination to do or die. Behind him came Ginger, behind him Henry and behind him Douglas, and behind Douglas came six anti-Lanites and
supporters of the Outlaws.

A pear tree grew conveniently up the side of the Lane mansion, and it was possible with a certain amount of danger to life and limb (which it was beneath the Outlaws’ dignity to consider)
to climb up the pear tree and in at an attic window.

William led the way. The others followed with a puffing and panting and a rustling and a cracking of twigs and muttered imprecations such as ‘Coo!’ and ‘Crumbs!’ and
‘Golly!’ which on a more normal night might have attracted the attention of the whole household. But tonight was not a normal night.

Hubert was in his bedroom at the other side of the house anxiously arraying himself in an Eton suit and shining pumps. The maids were in the kitchen giving the final touches to mountains of
sandwiches and trifles and creams and cakes and jellies and blancmanges. Mr and Mrs Lane, whose bedroom was on the direct path of the pear tree, were at the bedside of the exasperatingly
recuperative aunt, and Aunt Emmy was in the kitchen with the maids driving them to distraction by her well-meant efforts to ‘help’.

She had already sprinkled salt over a trifle under the impression that it was sugar, and made a jug of ‘coffee’ out of knife powder, because she was too shortsighted to read the
labels on the tins.

So there was no one to oppose or even notice the Outlaws as one by one they climbed up the perilous branches of the pear tree and in at the open attic window. There were a few minor casualties
of the march, of course. Ginger, whose foot became firmly wedged in a fork of the branches, with great presence of mind undid his shoe and performed the rest of his journey without it. A small boy
christened ‘Marmaduke’ by his parents and re-named ‘Jam’ by his contemporaries, who had insisted on joining the expedition, lost his footing and nerve just as he was about
to leave the pear tree and clamber into the attic window, and uttered a yell that might have been heard a mile away, but William grabbed the youthful climber by his ear, Ginger grabbed him by the
hair, and together they hauled him into safety.

Then they sat on the floor and looked at each other – collars and ties awry, jackets torn, knees scratched and dirty, trousers plentifully adorned with some white material that had
evidently been used in a vain endeavour to beautify the Lane attic window-sills. Then William drew a deep breath and said: ‘Coo!
That
was a climb and a half.’

‘Yes,’ panted Douglas, ‘I went to a film thing on Mount Everest, and it jolly well wasn’t
half as
steep as this ole pear tree.’

‘Jam’ was glowering at his rescuers. ‘You needn’t ’ve tore my ear’n hair out by the roots,’ he muttered malevolently, nursing the injured organs with
both hands. But no one listened to his lamentation. The army of bravos was busy by this time inspecting their eyrie. The Lane attics proved to consist of three fair-sized rooms packed with boxes of
rubbish of all kinds, water cisterns, spiders’ webs, and mysterious pipes. On the tiny landing outside was a small window leading straight out on to the roof. It was a boyhood’s
paradise.

The eyes of the Outlaws gleamed as they explored it. It said much for the general futility of Hubert Lane and his satellites that they never utilised this heavensent playground, but regarded it
merely as an ordinary room in an ordinary house.

‘I say, let’s play robbers!’ said Ginger in a hoarse whisper.

‘No, let’s be shipwrecked on a desert island,’ said Henry, his eye roving about the scene and already picking out the outstanding features of the scene – the sea, the
shore, the rock, the octopus, the log hut, the lagoon, the—

But William called the attention of his band to the immediate object of the expedition.

‘We’ve not come here to play!’ he hissed fiercely.

Henry had opened the little window and ventured out upon the roof. Two other daring explorers had climbed up to the water cistern. Others were balancing themselves upon pipes or clambering upon
packing cases or rummaging inquisitively through huge boxes of rubbish.

‘You’ll have ’em
all
up,’ said William angrily, ‘an’
then
what’ll you do?’

‘Fight ’em,’ responded ‘Jam’, who had by this time recovered his nerve and warlike spirit, and had fixed an old wicker plant pot upon his head in lieu of a helmet
and was brandishing a bamboo curtain pole that he had found lying on the floor. ‘
Fight
’em!’ he repeated, drunk with valour.

But William’s words had recalled his followers to a sense of the realities of life. They descended from pipes and packing cases and water cisterns and clustered round him.

William dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

‘We’ve gotter creep out an’ see what’s happ’nin’ first of all,’ he said hoarsely, ‘an’ then – an’ then we’ll think what to
do.’

Very creakingly on tiptoe the Outlaws crept out after him and hung over the banisters of the attic staircase.

Aunt Emmy’s voice, dear and flute-like, arose from the hall.

‘
That’s
right, Hubert, darling. You look
very
nice, my cherub, very nice indeed.
Quite
a little man. Now I’m sure you know how to be a little host,
don’t you darling, and look after your little guests? You must think always of
their
pleasure and not your own.’

‘Your hair’s coming down, auntie,’ said Hubert.

‘Little boys mustn’t make personal remarks, darling,’ said Aunt Emmy.

The Outlaws were listening with silent rapture to this. William, with frowning concentration, was storing up every word of the conversation in his mind for future use.

There came the sound of wheels on the gravel outside the front door, and the sound of the front door bell.

‘The first guest, darling,’ said Aunt Emmy. ‘I’ll open the door and you’d better stand just there to receive them – smile a little, darling, and remember to
say “How d’you do?” nicely.’

Then came the sound of the arrival of fat Bertie Franks, the most odious of the Hubert Lanites next to Hubert himself. Arrivals followed fast and furious after that. The Hubert Lanites all bore
a curious physical resemblance to Hubert, their leader. They were all pale and they were all fat. They rallied round Hubert chiefly because of his unlimited pocket-money, and, like Hubert, when
anyone annoyed them, they told their fathers and their fathers wrote notes about it to the fathers of those who had annoyed them. The guests hung up coats and hats in the hall and changed into
pumps and drifted into the drawing-room. A dismal, very-first-beginning-of-the-party silence reigned.

‘Now, what shall we play at first?’ said Aunt Emmy, with overdone brightness. ‘Puss in the Corner?’

This suggestion was met with chilly silence.

‘Postman’s Knock?’ went on Aunt Emmy, her brightness, becoming almost hysterical.

Silence again – something almost ominous in it this time.

‘Hunt the Slipper?’ quavered Aunt Emmy.

The silence this time was suggestive of fury.

‘S-s-s-supper?’ said Aunt Emmy, striving vainly after her first fine careless rapture of brightness.

She hadn’t meant to have supper till much later, but she’d come to the end of all her other suggestions.

A murmur signified qualified approval.

One of the guests took the matter into his own hands.

‘What about a game of Hide and Seek an’ then supper?’

‘Hide and Seek—’ quavered Aunt Emmy; ‘that’s rather a
rough
game, isn’t it?’

They assured her that it wasn’t, and drew lots for who should be ‘It’. The Outlaws, craning necks and ears over the attic staircase, gathered that Hubert was ‘It’.
The guests, led by Bertie Franks, swarmed upstairs in search of hiding places. They swarmed up the first floor and the second floor and began to swarm up to the attic. Meekly and devoid of
initiative they simply followed Bertie Franks. The Outlaws withdrew hastily to their lair.

‘Here’s a little window,’ squeaked a Hubert Lanite, ‘goin’ out on the roof. Let’s go’n hide on the roof.’

‘No,’ said Bertie Franks earnestly. ‘’S dangerous. We don’t want to go anywhere dangerous. We might hurt ourselves.’

‘And we don’t want to do anythin’ to get our best clothes dirty,’ said another Lanite.

They entered the attic opposite to the one where the Outlaws were concealed.

‘We could all hide here,’ said a Lanite, ‘behind boxes an’ things,’

The Lanites always followed meekly anyone who would take the lead.

‘It’s rather dusty,’ said another Lanite with distaste.

‘Never mind,’ said a third, ‘it’s not for long.’

‘Ugh! There’s spiders an’ things,’ said a fourth disgustedly.

This conversation tells you all you need (and, I hope, want) to know about the Hubert Lanites.

‘Let’s shut the door so’s he won’t see us,’ said Bertie Franks.

Someone shut the door and from within came sounds of Hubert Lanites settling into hiding places, moving boxes, clambering over obstacles and uttering exclamations of disgust as they did so.

Very quietly William slipped across and turned the key in the lock. Evidently no one heard him.

‘Coming!’ yelled Hubert Lane from downstairs.

‘Don’t shout so, darling,’ said Aunt Emmy’s flutelike voice. ‘Say it quietly. Little gentlemen never raise their voices.’

Hubert Lane came slowly upstairs. He paused at each landing, but did not explore. Some instinct seemed to lead him straight up to the attic. He stopped at the open window that led out on to the
roof. His orderly mind knew that that should be shut. And it was open. They must have gone out on to the roof.

After a moment’s hesitation he got out of the window and began to explore the recesses of the chimney pots. Like a flash William, who was watching behind the door, streaked to the window,
shut it and bolted it. Hubert turned in dismay and William had a vision of Hubert’s fat pale face staring open-mouthed through the pane before, with admirable presence of mind, he moved two
large table leaves that stood near, to shut out the sight. That disposed of Hubert. There was no real danger. The window gave on to a stretch of flat roof, bounded by a parapet and there was no
fear of the cautious Hubert venturing even near the parapet.

The Outlaws streamed out of their hiding place to join their leader. It was evident that William had some plan.

‘Come along,’ he said tersely, ‘an’ do jus’ what I do.’

They followed him trustfully on his bold course downstairs – right down to the hall where Aunt Emmy stood smiling painfully and pinning up her ever descending hair.

Very faintly from upstairs from behind the barrier of window pane and table leaves there came to them an indignant protesting ‘Hi!’ It was only just audible and fortunately Aunt
Emmy, as well as being nearsighted, was what she called a ‘
leetle
short of hearing – not really
deaf
, you know’.

As to most of us, hens are just hens – though we realise that they must have distinguishing marks of feature and expression invisible to us whereby their nearest and dearest know them
– so to Aunt Emmy boys were just boys.

About ten boys had ascended the stairs and now about ten boys descended. It did not occur to her that they might not be the same boys. Even had she been less short-sighted that possibility would
not have occurred to her. She certainly did notice that their former spick and span appearance was sadly blurred, but she knew that there is no power on earth that can keep a boy tidy longer than
five minutes. She knew that there is a powerful Law of Attraction between Boys and Dirt and that you cannot with impunity interfere with the Laws of Nature.

She threw a glance of distaste at the Outlaws’ ruffled hair, crooked collars and suits covered with whiting and cobwebs. She closed her eyes for a minute at the sight as though enduring
untold agony. Then she mastered her feelings and inquired faintly:

WILLIAM HAD A VISION OF HUBERT’S FAT FACE STARING OPEN-MOUTHED THROUGH THE WINDOW.

William, his freckled face as expressionless as a mummy’s, spoke in a mincingly polite tone of voice: ‘Hubert said he was coming down in a minute and would we begin supper without
him, please.’

Aunt Emmy was taken aback.

She went to the bottom of the staircase.

‘Hubert, darling!’ she called. Very, very faintly from the far away came the indignant protesting ‘Hi!’ of Hubert locked out upon the tiles. The real guests were still
crouching behind packing cases in the attic waiting to be ‘found’.