Читать книгу Charles Augustus Fenton - Alana Whiting - Страница 13

Our cook was one of the finest in town, and I had grown to be a strapping young lad of six years. Spending time with Jack in the stables and Mr Walton out on the fields had turned my skin a rich walnut brown. My mother recoiled at every new scratch and scrape I came strutting home with, complete with yet another hole in my breeches for Meg to mend. My father would chuckle thinking of the time when he was a lad hunting down the frogs and scaling up trees. It was a carefree and happy childhood and the excitement I showed at making new friends in the village school gladdened them both. I refused to be kept at home with Meg the nanny and leaned on them until they saw my point of view.

I adamantly banned my mother from taking me there. Jack walked with me on the first day and then I declined his company also. I took to the books with avid ferocity, learning to read and write at a speed that bemused and surprised my teacher. I loved new words, sounding them out on my tongue like an exotic candy and then attempting to place them in a sentence that had no relationship with that word. I didn’t care. If the word was delicious then I felt it deserved a chance to be written in my school book and I was quite affronted when my teacher would scratch it out and provide a more suitable alternative.

My class was made even more delightful with the added inclusion of Lily. She sat three rows in front of me with her twin sister Carla. Her silky long blonde hair seemed to sparkle in the sunlight streaming through the school window and my eye was caught lingering on her more often than not. If I stared long enough I was certain that she even glowed a fuzzy halo that shimmered when she moved. Though I had never been in close proximity I was convinced she would smell like ginger biscuits and lemonade. I adored her. Her unfortunate sister was destined to remain in her shadow and be invisible to me. There could be only one true Lily. Lily of the valley. Lily of the meadow. Glittery tinkly fairy Lily. Dancing and skipping, holding my hand and beaming. And she had absolutely no idea I existed.

Coming from a home that worshipped the ground I stepped on meant that I was perplexed at her indifference. It bewildered me that she didn’t come rushing towards me whenever I entered the classroom. So I determined to make her my friend and show her how wonderful I was.

One Wednesday morning at midday break I summoned the courage to go and say hello. She was alone, her sister having engaged herself in a game of hopscotch. She was holding a little box in her hands and chuckling to herself. I neared her, smiling and tentative, sitting quietly beside her until she noticed my presence.

‘What are you doing, Lily?’ I opened the conversation, somewhat curious about the contents of the box that held her captivated.

Lily looked at me blankly before pasting a secret smile on her face.

‘Nothing.’

‘What’s in the box?’

Lily looked up and scanned the playground before responding. ‘Nothing.’

‘Come on, Lily. Tell me what’s in the box. I won’t tell anyone.’

Lily frowned and looked at me again. She placed the box on her lap, covering it with her tiny white hands. ‘It’s just a box,’ she declared resolutely, her back straightening.

This was starting to bother me. I knew she was lying, I was sure I could hear scuffling coming from inside the mysterious container and I wanted to see it.

‘If you don’t tell me I will tell Mrs Pompour.’

She stared at me aghast. She studied the playground again and searched for her sister. Carla was deeply engrossed in her game and unaware of her sister’s dilemma. She patted the box and glared at me before returning her gaze back to the box. She wriggled her toes in anguish.

‘You wouldn’t dare! It’s none of your business. Go away!’

But I was not so easily dispensed of. ‘Show me what’s in the box or I WILL tell Mrs Pompour. I will!’ I made to stand and find the teacher.

She bit her lip and glowered, considering her options. At that point Mrs Pompour chose to enter the playground and clang the bell for everyone to return to class. She looked at me again and brought the box quickly up towards my face. I held my breath and waited. She carefully lifted the lid a little and I peered eagerly into the darkness. In the corner staring back at me was a little field mouse bristling his whiskers. I gasped and smiled wanting to hold the tiny furry creature but Lily had already slammed the lid shut and placed the box into her satchel. What a surprise. As she trounced towards the classroom I marvelled at her daring. All the other girls in the class would scream and squeal at the sight of such a rodent and here she was cuddling and cooing at her pet as if she were the mother. This made her all the more magical to me and I followed with a more sanguine step close behind her.

I wanted to be her friend. I wanted to share my sandwiches. I wanted her to play in the field with me and for us to catch frogs and mice together. But I didn’t know how to achieve this fine goal. She remained wary of me every time I approached her at lunch. I knew my presence was unwanted but showing great tenacity I continued to sit next to her and talk.

‘What’s his name?’

‘Albert.’

‘Where did you catch him?’

‘Behind my house.’

‘Can I hold him?’

‘No.’

I tried again. ‘Can I PLEASE hold him? I’ll be very careful.’

She pouted. ‘He’s mine, not yours.’

‘I’ll give him straight back. I swear.’

She gently held the mouse in her hands making sure he had a little hole to breathe. Her thumb patted down the mouse’s back and she murmured sweetly to him. She rubbed her cheek against his fur, closing her eyes and smiling beatifically. ‘No.’

Inwardly I fumed. The fact that I could have easily caught any number of mice on my own did not matter. I had to have hers. If I had her mouse then she would belong to me and do as I say. This was my master plan. I plotted during class, trying to think of ways to snatch the box. She kept the satchel close to her at all times, even hanging it on the hook closest to her desk. She would glance occasionally at her bag throughout the lesson with a slight smile on her lips. Her sister Carla appeared uninterested in the furry pet and I wasn’t even sure she knew it existed. I had to think of a way to distract Lily from Albert so I could make the clean getaway.

Finally I had my chance. I decided the best way to get closer was to keep my distance. I pretended to be more interested in playing with my friends. I made sure we kept relatively close to where she always sat so I could keep watch without her realising. I would joke and shout and swagger around just like the other boys but always keep a second eye on her. Occasionally she would leave her satchel for a few moments when Carla insisted she come over and play with her. I had to wait for just the right time as sometimes she lost interest quickly and raced back to her beloved mouse. Carla would stamp and fuss but she knew her sister well enough to realise it was a lost cause. How could twins be so unalike?

Showing a patience I never thought I possessed, I bided my time. I waited and plotted. Finally she stepped away from the satchel and headed over to her sister in a distracted air. Carla had insisted she play a full game of hopscotch with her as her other friends had grown tired. I scuffled up with the stealth of a cat and swooped upon her bag. Quickly rustling through, I grabbed her mouse to hide under my jacket. I raced back to my friends smirking at my temerity. She hadn’t even seen me. So when the bell pealed out the end of play I jostled in with the other boys and snuck the mouse into my bag. Thankfully Lily didn’t check her bag before she hung it up and my first stage was completed.

After school I raced home and fed my acquisition little pieces of bread. I hid him in my room and bounced down the stairs to talk to my mother about my day, withholding my secret mission. We loved our chats; she was fascinated with everything I did, making her my most favourite person in the world. My heart swelled with love for my mother and I would do anything for her, bringing her special posies of wild daisies and when the gardener wasn’t looking, the odd flower from his plot. I’m sure he knew it was me. I wasn’t very gentle when I snapped the stems, but he knew better than to complain to the mistress. She seemed to cherish each gift, clutching it to her bosom with tears welling in her eyes, before calling Meg to fetch her special crystal vase to place them in. They would stay there, with my father praising the wild array as if it were the finest arrangement from London. Only when the petals had dropped and the stems had darkened was the maid allowed to dispose of it.

The following day I ran to school, holding the mouse carefully. I tucked him into my jacket pocket, feeding little crumbs to keep him mollified. I had the upper hand at last.