More William (23 page)

FIRST THE JELLIES AND BLANCMANGES – THEN THE MEAT PIES AND TRIFLES.

The little girl was past speech. The woman looked at them in dumb wonder. Then:

‘Why, you’re the boy she was talkin’ to,’ she said at last. ‘It’s real kind of you. She was gettin’ that upset. It ’ud have broke her heart if
nothin’ had come an’ I couldn’t do nothin’. It’s real kind of yer, sir!’ Her eyes were misty.

Joan placed the last cake on the table, and William, who was rather warm after his exertions, removed his scarf.

The child gave a little sobbing laugh.

‘Oh, isn’t it
lovely?
I’m so happy! You’re the funny boy, aren’t you, dressed up as Father Christmas? Or did Father Christmas send you? Or were you Father
Christmas all the time? May I kiss the fairy? Would she mind? She’s so beautiful!’

Joan came forward and kissed her shyly, and the woman on the bed smiled unsteadily.

‘It’s real kind of you both,’ she murmured again.

Then the door opened, and the lord and master of the house entered after his six months’ absence. He came in no sheepish hangdog fashion. He entered cheerily and boisterously as any parent
might on returning from a hard-earned holiday.

‘’Ello, Missus! ’Ello, Kid! ’Ello! Wot’s all this ’ere?’ His eyes fell upon William. ‘’Ello, young gent!’

‘Happy Christmas,’ William murmured politely.

‘Sime to you an’ many of them. ‘Ow are you, Missus? Kid looked arter you all right? That’s
right.
Oh, I
sye
! Where’s the grub come from? Fair mikes me
mouth water. I ’aven’t seen nuffin’ like
this –
not fer
some
time!’

There was a torrent of explanations, everyone talking at once. He gave a loud guffaw at the end.

‘Well, we’re much obliged to this young gent and this little lady, and now we’ll ’ave a good ole supper. This is all
right,
this is! Now, Missus, you ’ave a
good feed. Now, ’fore we begin, I sye three cheers fer the young gent and little lady. Come on, now, ’Ip, ’ip, ’ip, ’
ooray
! Now, little lady, you come
’ere. That’s fine, that is! Now ’oo’ll ’ave a meat pie? ’Oo’s fer a meat pie? Come on, Missus! That’s right. We’ll
all
’ave meat
pie! This ’ere’s sumfin
like
Christmas, eh? We’ve not ’ad a Christmas like this – not for many a long year. Now, ’urry up, Kid. Don’t spend all yer
time larfin. Now, ladies an’ gents, ’oo’s fer a sausage roll? All of us? Come on, then! I mustn’t eat too ’eavy or I won’t be able to sing to yer arterwards,
will I? I’ve got some fine songs, young gent. And Kid ’ere’ll dance fer yer. She’s a fine little dancer, she is! Now, come on, ladies an’ gents, sandwiches? More pies?
Come on!’

They laughed and chattered merrily. The woman sat up in bed, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed. To William and Joan it was like some strange and wonderful dream.

And at that precise moment Mrs Brown had sunk down upon the nearest dining-room chair on the verge of tears, and twenty pairs of hungry horrified eyes in twenty clean, staring, open-mouthed
little faces surveyed the bare expanse of the dining-room table. And the cry that went up all round was:

‘Where’s William?’

And then:

‘Where’s Joan?’

They searched the house and garden and stable for them in vain. They sent the twenty enraged guests home supperless and aggrieved.

‘Has William eaten
all
our suppers?’ they said.

‘Where
is
he? Is he dead?’

‘People will never forget,’ wailed Mrs Brown. ‘It’s simply dreadful. And where
is
William?’

They rang up police stations for miles around.

‘If they’ve eaten all that food – the two of them,’ said Mrs Brown almost distraught,’-they’ll
die
! They may be dying in some hospital now! And I do
wish Mrs Murford would stop ringing up about Sadie’s cloak. I’ve told her it’s not here!’

Meantime there was dancing, and singing, and games, and cracker-pulling in a small house in a back street not very far away.

‘I’ve never had such a
lovely
time in my life,’ gasped the Kid breathlessly at the end of one of the many games into which William had initiated them. ‘I’ve
never, never,
never
—’

‘We won’t ferget you in a ’urry, young man,’ her father added, ‘nor the little lady neither. We’ll ’ave many talks about this ’ere!’

Joan was sitting on the bed, laughing and panting, her curls all disordered.

‘I wish,’ said William wistfully, ‘I wish you’d let me come with you when you go stealin’ some day!’

‘I’m not goin’ stealin’
no
more, young gent,’ said his friend solemnly. ‘I got a job – a real steady job – bricklayin,’ an’
I’m goin’ to stick to it.’

All good things must come to an end, and soon William donned his red dressing gown again and Joan her borrowed cloak, and they helped to store the remnants of the feast in the larder – the
remnants of the feast would provide the ex-burglar and his family with food for many days to come. Then they took the empty handcart and, after many fond farewells, set off homeward through the
dark.

Mr Brown had come home and assumed charge of operations.

Ethel was weeping on the sofa in the library.

‘Oh, dear little William!’ she sobbed. ‘I do
wish
I’d always been kind to him!’

Mrs Brown was reclining, pale and haggard, in the armchair.

‘There’s the Roughborough Canal, John!’ she was saying weakly. ‘And Joan’s mother will always say it was our fault. Oh,
poor
little William!’

‘It’s a good ten miles away,’ said her husband drily. ‘I don’t think even William—’ He rang up fiercely. ‘Confound these brainless police! Hello!
Any news? A boy and girl and supper for twenty can’t disappear off the face of the earth. No, there had been
no
trouble at home. There probably
will
be when he turns up, but
there was none before! If he wanted to run away, why would he burden himself with a supper for twenty? Why – one minute!’

The front door opened and Mrs Brown ran into the hall.

A well-known voice was heard speaking quickly and irritably.

‘I jus’ went away, that’s all! I jus’ thought of something I wanted to do, that’s all! Yes, I
did
take the supper. I jus’ wanted it for something.
It’s a secret what I wanted it for, I—’

‘William!’
said Mr Brown.

Through the scenes that followed William preserved a dignified silence, even to the point of refusing any explanation. Such explanation as there was filtered through from Joan’s mother by
means of the telephone.

‘It was all William’s idea,’ Joan’s mother said plaintively. ‘Joan would never have done
anything
if William hadn’t practically
made
her. I
expect she’s caught her death of cold. She’s in bed now—’

‘Yes, so is William. I can’t
think
what they wanted to take
all
the food for. And he was just a common man straight from prison. It’s dreadful. I do hope they
haven’t picked up any awful language. Have you given Joan some quinine? Oh, Mrs Murford’s just rung up to see if Sadie’s cloak has turned up. Will you send it round? I feel so
upset
by it all. If it wasn’t Christmas Eve—’

‘WASN’T SHE A JOLLY LITTLE KID?’ WILLIAM SAID EAGERLY

The house occupied by William’s and Joan’s families respectively were semi-detached, but William’s and Joan’s bedroom windows faced each other, and there was only about
five yards between them.

There came to William’s ears as he lay drowsily in bed the sound of a gentle rattle at the window. He got up and opened it. At the opposite window a little white-robed figure leant out,
whose dark curls shone in the starlight.

‘William,’ she whispered, ‘I threw some beads to see if you were awake. Were your folks mad?’

‘Awful,’ said William laconically.

‘Mine were too. I di’n’t care, did you?’

‘No, I di’n’t. Not a bit!’

‘William, wasn’t it
fun
? I wish it was just beginning again, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I jus’ do. I say, Joan, wasn’t she a jolly little kid and di’n’t she dance fine?’

‘Yes,’ – a pause – then, ‘William, you don’t like her better’n me, do you?’

William considered.

‘No, I don’t,’ he said at last.

‘YES.’ A PAUSE, THEN – ‘WILLIAM, YOU DON’T LIKE HER BETTER’N ME, DO YOU?’

A soft sigh of relief came through the darkness.

‘I’m so
glad
! Go’night, William.’

‘Go’night,’ said William sleepily, drawing down his window as he spoke.

Richmal Crompton was born in Lancashire in 1890. The first story about William Brown appeared in
Home
magazine in 1919, and the first collection of William stories was
published in book form three years later. In all, thirty-eight William books were published, the last one in 1970, after Richmal Crompton’s death.

‘Probably the funniest, toughest children’s books ever written’

Sunday Times
on the Just William series

‘Richmal Crompton’s creation [has] been famed for his cavalier attitude to life and those who would seek to circumscribe his enjoyment of it ever since he first
appeared’

Guardian

Books available in the Just William series

More William

William Again

William the Fourth

Still William

William the Conqueror

William the Outlaw

William in Trouble

William the Good

William at War