Читать книгу Giant’s Bread - Агата Кристи, Agatha Christie, Detection Club The - Страница 14

Two months after his father sailed for South Africa, Vernon went to school. It had been Walter Deyre’s wish and arrangement, and Myra, at the moment, was disposed to regard any wish of his as law. He was her soldier and her hero, and everything else was forgotten. She was thoroughly happy at this time. Knitting socks for the soldiers, urging on energetic campaigns of ‘white feather’, sympathizing and talking with other women whose husbands had also gone to fight the wicked, ungrateful Boers.

She felt exquisite pangs parting with Vernon. Her darling—her baby—to go so far away from her. What sacrifices mothers had to make! But it had been his father’s wish.

Poor darling, he was sure to be most terribly homesick! She couldn’t bear to think of it.

But Vernon was not homesick. He had no real passionate attachment to his mother. All his life he was to be fondest of her when away from her. His escape from her emotional atmosphere was felt by him as a relief.

He had a good temperament for school life. He had an aptitude for games, a quiet manner and an unusual amount of physical courage. After the dull monotony of life under the reign of Miss Robbins, school was a delightful novelty. Like all the Deyres, he had the knack of getting on with people. He made friends easily.

But the reticence of the child who so often answered ‘Nothing’ clung to him. Except with one or two people, that reticence was to go through life with him. His school friends were people with whom he shared ‘doing things’. His thoughts he was to keep to himself and share with only one person. That person came into his life very soon.

On his very first holidays, he found Josephine.

Vernon was welcomed by his mother with an outburst of demonstrative affection. Already rather self-conscious about such things, he bore it manfully. Myra’s first raptures over, she said:

‘There’s a lovely surprise for you, darling. Who do you think is here? Your cousin Josephine, Aunt Nina’s little girl. She has come to live with us. Now isn’t that nice?’

Vernon wasn’t quite sure. It needed thinking over. To gain time, he said:

‘Why has she come to live with us?’

‘Because her mother has died. It’s terribly sad for her and we must be very, very kind to her to make up.’

‘Is Aunt Nina dead?’

He was sorry Aunt Nina was dead. Pretty Aunt Nina with her curling cigarette smoke.

‘Yes. You can’t remember her, of course, darling.’

He didn’t say that he remembered her perfectly. Why should one say things?

‘She’s in the schoolroom, darling. Go and find her and make friends.’

Vernon went slowly. He didn’t know whether he was pleased or not. A girl! He was at the age to despise girls. Rather a nuisance having a girl about. On the other hand, it would be jolly having someone. It depended what the kid was like. One would have to be decent to her if she’d just lost her mother.

He opened the schoolroom door and went in. Josephine was sitting on the window-sill swinging her legs. She stared at him and Vernon’s attitude of kindly condescension fell from him.

She was a squarely built child of about his own age. She had dead black hair cut very straight across her forehead. Her jaw stuck out a little in a determined way. She had a very white skin and enormous eyelashes. Although she was two months younger than Vernon, she had the sophistication of twice his years—a kind of mixture of weariness and defiance.

‘Hallo,’ she said.

‘Hallo,’ said Vernon rather feebly.

They went on looking at each other, suspiciously, as is the manner of children and dogs.

‘I suppose you’re my cousin Josephine,’ said Vernon.

‘Yes, but you’d better call me Joe. Everyone does.’

‘All right—Joe.’

There was a pause. To bridge it, Vernon whistled.

‘Rather jolly, coming home,’ he observed at last.

‘It’s an awfully jolly place,’ said Joe.

‘Oh! do you like it?’ said Vernon, warming to her.

‘I like it awfully. Better than any of the places I’ve lived.’

‘Have you lived in a lot of places?’

‘Oh, yes. At Coombes first—when we were with Father. And then at Monte Carlo with Colonel Anstey. And then at Toulon with Arthur—and then a lot of Swiss places because of Arthur’s lungs. And then I went to a convent for a bit after Arthur died. Mother couldn’t be bothered with me just then. I didn’t like it much—the nuns were so silly. They made me have a bath in my chemise. And then after Mother died, Aunt Myra came and fetched me here.’

‘I’m awfully sorry—about your mother, I mean,’ said Vernon awkwardly.

‘Yes,’ said Joe, ‘it’s rotten in a way—though much the best thing for her.’

‘Oh!’ said Vernon, rather taken aback.

‘Don’t tell Aunt Myra,’ said Joe. ‘Because I think she’s rather easily shocked by things—rather like the nuns. You have to be careful what you say to her. Mother didn’t care for me an awful lot, you know. She was frightfully kind and all that—but she was always soppy about some man or other. I heard some people say so in the hotel, and it was quite true. She couldn’t help it, of course. But it’s a very bad plan. I shan’t have anything to do with men when I grow up.’

‘Oh!’ said Vernon. He was still feeling very young and awkward beside this amazing person.

‘I liked Colonel Anstey best,’ said Joe reminiscently. ‘But of course Mother only ran away with him to get away from Father. We stayed at much better hotels with Colonel Anstey, Arthur was very poor. If I ever do get soppy about a man when I grow up, I shall take care that he’s rich. It makes things so much easier.’

‘Wasn’t your father nice?’

‘Oh! Father was a devil—Mother said so. He hated us both.’

‘But why?’

Joe wrinkled her straight black brows in perplexity.

‘I don’t quite know. I think—I think it was something to do with me coming. I think he had to marry Mother because she was going to have me—something like that—and it made him angry.’

They looked at each other—solemn and perplexed.

‘Uncle Walter’s in South Africa, isn’t he?’ went on Joe.

‘Yes. I’ve had three letters from him at school. Awfully jolly letters.’

‘Uncle Walter’s a dear. I loved him. He came out to Monte Carlo, you know.’

Some memory stirred in Vernon. Of course, he remembered now. His father had wanted Joe to come to Abbots Puissants then.

‘He arranged for me to go to the convent,’ said Joe. ‘Reverend Mother thought he was lovely—a true type of high-born English gentleman—such a funny way of putting it.’

They both laughed a little.

‘Let’s go out in the garden. Shall we?’ said Vernon.

‘Yes, let’s. I say, I know where there are four different nests—but the birds have all flown away.’

They went out together amicably discussing birds’ eggs.

To Myra, Joe was a perplexing child. She had nice manners, answered promptly and politely when spoken to, and submitted to caresses without returning them. She was very independent and gave the maid told off to attend to her little or nothing to do. She could mend her own clothes and keep herself neat and tidy without any outside urging. She was, in fact, the sophisticated hotel child whom Myra had never happened to come across. The depths of her knowledge would have horrified and shocked her aunt.

But Joe was shrewd and quick-witted, well used to summing up the people with whom she came in contact. She refrained carefully from ‘shocking Aunt Myra’. She had for her something closely akin to a kindly contempt.

‘Your mother,’ she said to Vernon, ‘is very good—but she’s a little stupid too, isn’t she?’

‘She’s very beautiful,’ said Vernon hotly.

‘Yes, she is,’ agreed Joe. ‘All but her hands. Her hair’s lovely. I wish I had red gold hair.’

‘It comes right down below her waist,’ said Vernon.

He found Joe a wonderful companion, quite unlike his previous conception of ‘girls’. She hated dolls, never cried, was as strong if not stronger than he was, and was always ready and willing for any dangerous sport. Together they climbed trees, rode bicycles, fell and cut and bumped themselves, and in the summer holidays took a wasps’ nest together, with a success due more to luck than skill.

To Joe, Vernon could talk and did. She opened up to him a strange new world, a world where people ran away with other people’s husbands and wives, a world of dancing and gambling and cynicism. She had loved her mother with a fierce protective tenderness that almost reversed the roles.

‘She was too soft,’ said Joe. ‘I’m not going to be soft. People are mean to you if you are. Men are beasts anyway, but if you’re a beast to them first, they’re all right. All men are beasts.’

‘That’s a silly thing to say, and I don’t think it’s true.’

‘That’s because you’re going to be a man yourself.’

‘No, it isn’t. And anyway I’m not a beast.’

‘No, but I daresay you will be when you’re grown up.’

‘But, look here, Joe, you’ll have to marry someone some day, and you won’t think your husband a beast.’

‘Why should I marry anyone?’

‘Well—girls do. You don’t want to be an old maid like Miss Crabtree.’

Joe wavered. Miss Crabtree was an elderly spinster who was very active in the village and who was very fond of ‘the dear children’.

‘I shouldn’t be the kind of old maid Miss Crabtree is,’ she said weakly. ‘I should—oh! I should do things. Play the violin, or write books, or paint some marvellous pictures.’

‘I hope you won’t play the violin,’ said Vernon.

‘That’s really what I should like to do best. Why do you hate music so, Vernon?’

‘I don’t know. I just do. It makes me feel all horrible inside.’

‘How queer. It gives me a nice feeling. What are you going to do when you grow up?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I’d like to marry someone very beautiful and live at Abbots Puissants and have lots of horses and dogs.’

‘How dull,’ said Joe. ‘I don’t think that would be exciting a bit.’

‘I don’t know that I want things to be very exciting,’ said Vernon.

‘I do,’ said Joe. ‘I want things to be exciting the whole time without ever stopping.’

Joe and Vernon had few other children to play with. The Vicar, whose children Vernon had played with when he was younger, had gone to another living, and his successor was unmarried. Most of the children of families in the same position as the Deyres lived too far away for more than a very occasional visit.

The only exception was Nell Vereker. Her father, Captain Vereker, was agent to Lord Coomberleigh. He was a tall stooping man, with very pale blue eyes and a hesitating manner. He had good connections but was inefficient generally. His wife made up in efficiency for what he lacked. She was a tall commanding woman, still handsome. Her hair was very golden and her eyes were very blue. She had pushed her husband into the position he held, and in the same way she pushed herself into the best houses of the neighbourhood. She had birth, but like her husband, no money. Yet she was determined to make a success of life.

Both Vernon and Joe were bored to death by Nell Vereker. She was a thin pale child with fair straggly hair. Her eyelids and the tip of her nose were faintly tinged with pink. She was no good at anything. She couldn’t run and she couldn’t climb. She was always dressed in starched white muslin and her favourite games were dolls’ tea-parties.

Myra was very fond of Nell. ‘Such a thorough little lady,’ she used to say. Vernon and Joe were kindly and polite when Mrs Vereker brought Nell to tea. They tried to think of games she would like, and they used to give whoops of delight when at last she departed, sitting up very straight beside her mother in the hired carriage.

It was in Vernon’s second holidays, just after the famous episode of the wasps’ nest that the first rumours came about Deerfields.

Deerfields was the property adjoining Abbots Puissants. It belonged to old Sir Charles Alington. Some friends of Mrs Deyre’s came to lunch and the subject came up for discussion.

‘It’s quite true. I had it from an absolutely authentic source. It’s been sold to these people. Yes—Jews. Oh, of course—enormously wealthy. Yes, a fancy price, I believe. Levinne, the name is. No, Russian Jews, so I heard. Oh, of course quite impossible. Too bad of Sir Charles, I say. Yes, of course, there’s the Yorkshire property as well and I hear he’s lost a lot of money lately. No, no one will call. Naturally.’

Joe and Vernon were pleasurably excited. All titbits about Deerfields were carefully stored up. At last the strangers arrived and moved in. There was more talk of the same kind.

‘Oh, absolutely impossible, Mrs Deyre … Just as we thought … One wonders what they think they are doing … What do they expect? … I daresay they’ll sell the place and move away. Yes, there is a family. A boy. About your Vernon’s age, I believe …’

‘I wonder what Jews are like,’ said Vernon to Joe. ‘Why does everyone dislike them? We thought one boy at school was a Jew, but he eats bacon for breakfast, so he can’t be.’

The Levinnes proved to be a very Christian brand of Jew. They appeared in church on Sunday, having taken a whole pew. The interest of the congregation was breathless. First came Mr Levinne—very round and stout, tightly frock-coated—an enormous nose and a shining face. Then Mrs—an amazing sight. Colossal sleeves! Hour glass figure! Chains of diamonds! An immense hat decorated with feathers and black tightly curling ringlets underneath it. With them was a boy rather taller than Vernon with a long yellow face, and protruding ears.

A carriage and pair was waiting for them when service was over. They got into it and drove away.

‘Well!’ said Miss Crabtree.

Little groups formed, talking busily.

‘I think it’s rotten,’ said Joe.

She and Vernon were in the garden together.

‘What’s rotten?’

‘Those people.’

‘Do you mean the Levinnes?’

‘Yes. Why should everyone be so horrid about them?’

‘Well,’ said Vernon, trying to be strictly impartial, ‘they did look queer, you know.’

‘Well, I think people are beasts.’

Vernon was silent. Joe, a rebel by force of circumstances, was always putting a new point of view before him.

‘That boy,’ continued Joe. ‘I daresay he’s awfully jolly, even though his ears do stick out.’

‘I wonder,’ said Vernon. ‘It would be jolly to have someone else. Kate says they’re making a swimming pool at Deerfields.’

‘They must be frightfully, frightfully rich,’ said Joe.

Riches meant little to Vernon. He had never thought about them.

The Levinnes were the great topic of conversation for some time. The improvements they were making at Deerfields! The workmen they had had down from London!

Mrs Vereker brought Nell to tea one day. As soon as she was in the garden with the children, she imparted news of fascinating importance.

‘They’ve got a motor car.’

‘A motor car?’

Motor cars were almost unheard of then. One had never been seen in the Forest. Storms of envy shook Vernon. A motor car!

‘A motor car and a swimming pool,’ he murmured.

It was too much.

‘It’s not a swimming pool,’ said Nell. ‘It’s a sunk garden.’

‘Kate says it’s a swimming pool.’

‘Our gardener says it’s a sunk garden.’

‘What is a sunk garden?’

‘I don’t know,’ confessed Nell. ‘But it is one.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Joe. ‘Who’d want a silly sort of thing like that when they could have a swimming pool?’

‘Well, that’s what our gardener says.’

‘I know,’ said Joe. A wicked look came into her eyes. ‘Let’s go and see.’

‘What?’

‘Let’s go and see for ourselves.’

‘Oh, but we couldn’t,’ said Nell.

‘Why not? We can creep up through the woods.’

‘Jolly good idea,’ said Vernon. ‘Let’s.’

‘I don’t want to,’ said Nell. ‘Mother wouldn’t like it, I know.’

‘Oh, don’t be a spoilsport, Nell. Come on.’

‘Mother wouldn’t like it,’ repeated Nell.

‘All right. Wait here, then. We won’t be long.’

Tears gathered slowly in Nell’s eyes. She hated being left. She stood there sullenly, twisting her frock between her fingers.

‘We won’t be long,’ Vernon repeated.

He and Joe ran off. Nell felt she couldn’t bear it.

‘Vernon!’

‘Yes?’

‘Wait for me. I’m coming too.’

She felt heroic as she made the announcement. Joe and Vernon did not seem particularly impressed by it. They waited with obvious impatience for her to come up with them.

‘Now then,’ said Vernon, ‘I’m leader. Everyone to do as I say.’

They climbed over the Park palings and reached the shelter of the trees. Speaking in whispers under their breath they flitted through the undergrowth, drawing nearer and nearer towards the house. Now it rose before them, some way ahead to the right.

‘We’ll have to get farther still and keep a bit more uphill.’

They followed him obediently. And then suddenly a voice broke on their ears, speaking from a little behind them to the left.

‘You’re trethpassing,’ it said.

They turned—startled. The yellow-faced boy with the large ears stood there. He had his hands in his pockets, and was surveying them superciliously.

‘You’re trethpassing,’ he said again.

There was something in his manner that awoke immediate antagonism. Instead of saying, as he had meant to say, ‘I’m sorry,’ Vernon said, ‘Oh!’

He and the other boy looked at each other—the cool measuring glance of two adversaries in a duel.

‘We come from next door,’ said Joe.

‘Do you?’ said the boy. ‘Well, you’d better go back there. My father and mother don’t want you in here.’

He managed to be unbearably offensive as he said this. Vernon, unpleasantly conscious of being in the wrong, flushed angrily.

‘You might manage to speak politely,’ he said.

‘Why should I?’ said the boy.

He turned as a footstep sounded coming through the undergrowth.

‘Is that you, Sam?’ he said. ‘Just turn these trespassing kids off the place, will you?’

The keeper who had stepped out beside him grinned and touched his forehead. The boy strolled away, as though he had lost all interest. The keeper turned to the children and put on a ferocious scowl.

‘Out of it, you young varmints! I’ll turn the dogs loose on you unless you’re out of here in double quick time.’

‘We’re not afraid of dogs,’ said Vernon haughtily, as he turned to depart.

‘Ho, you’re not, h’aren’t you? Well, then, I’ve got a rhinoHoceras here and I’m-a going to loose that this minute.’

He stalked off. Nell gave a terrified pull at Vernon’s arm.

‘He’s gone to get it,’ she cried. ‘Oh! hurry—hurry—’

Her alarm was contagious. So much had been retailed about the Levinnes that the keeper’s threat seemed a perfectly likely one to the children. With one accord they ran for home. They plunged in a bee-line, pushing their way through the undergrowth. Vernon and Joe led. A piteous cry arose from Nell.

‘Vernon—Vernon—Oh! do wait. I’ve got stuck—’

What a nuisance Nell was! She couldn’t run or do anything. He turned back—gave her frock a vigorous pull to free it from the brambles with which it was entangled (a good deal to the frock’s detriment) and hauled her to her feet.

‘Come on, do.’

‘I’m so out of breath. I can’t run any more. Oh! Vernon, I’m so frightened.’

‘Come on.’

Hand in hand he pulled her along. They reached the Park palings, scrambled over …

‘We-ell,’ said Joe, fanning herself with a very dirty linen hat. ‘That was an adventure.’

‘My frock’s all torn,’ said Nell. ‘What shall I do?’

‘I hate that boy,’ said Vernon. ‘He’s a beast.’

‘He’s a beastly beast,’ agreed Joe. ‘We’ll declare war on him. Shall we?’

‘Rather!’

‘What shall I do about my frock?’

‘It’s very awkward their having a rhinoceros,’ said Joe thoughtfully. ‘Do you think Tom Boy would go for it if we trained him to?’

‘I shouldn’t like Tom Boy to be hurt,’ said Vernon.

Tom Boy was the stable dog—a great favourite of his. His mother had always vetoed a dog in the house, so Tom Boy was the nearest Vernon had got to having a dog of his own.

‘I don’t know what Mother will say about my frock.’

‘Oh, bother your frock, Nell. It’s not the sort of frock for playing in the garden, anyway.’

‘I’ll tell your mother it’s my fault,’ said Vernon impatiently. ‘Don’t be so like a girl.’

‘I am a girl,’ said Nell.

‘Well, so is Joe a girl. But she doesn’t go on like you do. She’s as good as a boy any day.’

Nell looked ready to cry, but at that minute they were called from the house.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Vereker,’ said Vernon. ‘I’m afraid I’ve torn Nell’s frock.’

There were reproaches from Myra, civil disclaimers from Mrs Vereker. When Nell and her mother had gone, Myra said:

‘You must not be so rough, Vernon, darling. When a little girl friend comes to tea, you must take great care of her.’

‘Why have we got to have her to tea? We don’t like her. She spoils everything.’

‘Vernon! Nell is such a dear little girl.’

‘She isn’t, Mother. She’s awful.’

‘Vernon!’

‘Well, she is. I don’t like her mother either.’

‘I don’t like Mrs Vereker much,’ said Myra. ‘I always think she’s a very hard woman. But I can’t think why you children don’t like Nell. Mrs Vereker tells me she’s absolutely devoted to you, Vernon.’

‘Well, I don’t want her to be.’

He escaped with Joe.

‘War,’ he said. ‘That’s what it is—war! I daresay that Levinne boy is really a Boer in disguise. We must plan out our campaign. Why should he come and live next door to us, and spoil everything?’

The kind of guerilla warfare that followed occupied Vernon and Joe in a most pleasurable fashion. They invented all kinds of methods of harassing the enemy. Concealed in trees, they pelted him with chestnuts. They stalked him with pea-shooters. They outlined a hand in red paint and crept secretly up to the house one night after dark, and left it on the doorstep with the word ‘Revenge’ printed at the bottom of the sheet of paper.

Sometimes their enemy retaliated in kind. He, too, had a pea-shooter and it was he who laid in wait for them one day with a garden hose.

Hostilities had been going on for nearly ten days when Vernon came upon Joe sitting on a tree stump looking unusually despondent.

‘Hallo, what’s up? I thought you were going to stalk the enemy with those squashy tomatoes Cook gave us.’

‘I was. I mean I did.’

‘What’s the matter, Joe?’

‘I was up a tree and he came right by underneath. I could have got him beautifully.’

‘Do you mean to say you didn’t?’

‘No.’

‘Why ever not?’

Joe’s face became very red, and she began to speak very fast.

‘I couldn’t. You see, he didn’t know I was there, and he looked—oh, Vernon! he looked so awfully lonely—as though he were simply hating things. You know, it must be pretty beastly having no one to do things with.’

‘Yes, but—’

Vernon paused to adjust his ideas.

‘Don’t you remember how we said it was all rotten?’ went on Joe. ‘People being so beastly about the Levinnes, and now we’re being as beastly as anyone.’

‘Yes, but he was beastly to us!’

‘Perhaps he didn’t mean to be.’

‘That’s nonsense.’

‘No, it isn’t. Look at the way dogs bite you if they’re afraid or suspicious. I expect he just expected us to be beastly to him, and wanted to start first. Let’s be friends.’

‘You can’t be in the middle of a war.’

‘Yes, you can. We’ll make a white flag, and then you march with it and demand a parley, and see if you can’t agree upon honourable terms of peace.’

‘Well,’ said Vernon, ‘I don’t mind if we do. It would be a change, anyway. What shall we use for a flag of truce—my handkerchief or your pinafore?’

Marching with the flag of truce was rather exciting. It was not long before they encountered the enemy. He stared in complete surprise.

‘What’s up?’ he said.

‘We want a parley,’ said Vernon.

‘Well, I’m agreeable,’ said the other boy, after a moment’s pause.

‘What we want to say is this,’ said Joe. ‘If you’ll agree, we’d like to be friends.’

They looked from one to the other.

‘Why do you want to be friends?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘It seems a bit silly,’ said Vernon. ‘Living next door and not being friends, doesn’t it?’

‘Which of you thought of that first?’

‘I did,’ said Joe.

She felt those small jet black eyes boring into her. What a queer boy he was. His ears seemed to stick out more than ever.

‘All right,’ said the boy. ‘I’d like to.’

There was a minute’s embarrassed pause.

‘What’s your name?’ said Joe.

‘Sebastian.’

There was just the faintest lisp, so little as hardly to be noticed.

‘What a funny name. Mine’s Joe and this is Vernon. He’s at school. Do you go to school?’

‘Yes. I’m going to Eton later.’

‘So am I,’ said Vernon.

Again a faint tide of hostility rose between them. Then it ebbed away—never to return.

‘Come and see our swimming pool,’ said Sebastian. ‘It’s rather jolly.’