The barbarous babes

THE most astonishing part was its being Violet who was naughty and not me. I forget if I’ve said anything about Violet, but the little ones don’t count very much, for Ted is almost a baby, and Violet sits all day making doll’s clothes. Violet is seven, her birthday was in July, and she has straight, lighty-brown hair; I think her eyes are brown too, but she isn’t particularly dark like me, nor fair like Ted. She isn’t particularly anything, except good-tempered, and that she is tremendously. I expect it’s because she’s rather fat, because all the rest of us are “lean kine,” and we certainly aren’t very good-tempered, although we don’t all have it in the same way. Humphrey gets sulky and doesn’t speak at all, and Ted runs round and round the room slapping the chairs and saying, “Beast, beast, beast, beast,” as quickly as ever he can. As for me, when I get cross, I want to go away alone, and if I can’t, I’d like to slap the others, which is worse than chairs, only I don’t do it because it makes Mother unhappy; I believe it hurts her more than them.

The curiousest part of Violet is that the things she is told to do are always the things she likes, so she must be an “Engel Kind,” as Fräulein says. And when once she is told a thing, she remembers it for ever; she’d make a simply splendid Casabianca. Humphrey and I always think that, however much we’d been told to sit still and not wriggle, when we saw the fire coming, we’d have forgotten all about it, and we’d have jumped up and tried to put it out. It doesn’t seem as if it ought to have been very difficult with all that water around, and I dare say the Father would have been just as pleased really as if we’d all been burnt.

So you can understand now how astonished we were at Violet’s being naughty, though perhaps what she did wasn’t naughtiness exactly, but too much goodness, which seems to be nearly as bad. I’ve been wondering since if goodness isn’t Violet’s besetting sin, but I suppose it can’t be really. It’s something like being too punctual, I think. Father used to tell us that the Duke of Wellington owed his success in life to always being half an hour too early, but all I can say is, it’s lucky he didn’t have our Fräulein. One day we tried it, because there’d been such a lot of fuss about my being late for breakfast, so I got up exactly half an hour before we were called, and of course I made the others get up too. Well, when Fräulein came in, she simply stormed and said I was a “Dummkopf,” and did I want to give Teddy croup playing in a room without a fire? She set me half an hour’s extra practising too; so that just shows.

This all hasn’t anything to do with Violet’s scrape; that wasn’t my fault in the least, no one said it was, not even Fräulein. If it was anybody’s fault, it was Mother’s, because she hates paying calls. I should feel just the same if I were her, because it’s perfectly horrid having on your best clothes; you can’t climb trees, nor hang by your legs nor do anything interesting, but Humphrey says he shall go calling all day when he’s grown up, so as to get scones and things for tea. Humphrey has got an awfully sweet tooth, and he is rather greedy besides. Another thing he says is that he doesn’t mind whom he marries, but he has settled to have a most enormous wedding-cake, and to cut it himself. I like wedding-cake too, but I don’t care about it as much as all that, and I’d sooner be a widow, of course.

Well, to go on about Violet. How it all started was that one evening Father said to Mother, “You’ve never called on those Crespignys who’ve come to live at Boscombe Park. You really must, you know, dear.”

“I don’t feel very attracted by them,” Mother said, and she laughed.

But Father said it was no good being rude to people, and that the Crespignys were new comers, so Mother ought to leave cards this week.

“Very well,” Mother said, “only I shall be glad when Molly and Violet are able to pay my calls for me.”

“Well, it’s to be hoped Molly will discontinue her practice of smashing people’s best crockery and spilling tea over their plush sofas,” but, of course, I rushed at Father for saying that. It is a shame. I only once dropped a plate when I was out calling, and once I upset my cup, but the people happened to be awfully fussy, and Mother said I mustn’t pay visits any more. I’m sure it wasn’t my fault that they had velvet chairs, and no one seems to remember that it isn’t pleasant sitting there with scalding tea trickling down your legs, and never say a word, like the Spartan boy.

In the middle of the commotion, because Father started tickling me when I punched him, Violet said suddenly, “Can’t I go and call on the Crespignys now?” We were most astonished because Violet is so shy she generally cries if she has to see strangers, so I thought it was just to show she’d be allowed to, because she doesn’t upset things like me, and I said very crossly—

“Oh, we all know you are a saint without your telling us.”

I felt sorry directly afterwards, because Violet got quite red and I ought to have remembered that she’s very little and doesn’t understand much besides dolls, so I got out Aytoun’s Lays and stuffed my fingers into my ears to show I didn’t care at all. All the same I could hear them talking, and Mother said to Violet—

“Never mind, dear, I know it wasn’t that. You shall go to call on the Crespignys if your new dress comes home this week, my good little girl.”

Mother was pleased, because she is always telling Violet she must conquer her shyness, and she thought she was trying to. As for me, I felt horrid.

It was the very next day that Mother got ill, and that made us forget about the Crespignys and everything. Mother isn’t very strong, and she often has to stay in bed, but this was much worse than usual and we weren’t allowed to see her for days. The one nice thing was that Fräulein was in with Mother nearly all the time, so there was nobody to bother us and we could do lots of nice things. We children used even to have tea alone; we did like it. I used to pour out, and there were no fines or anything if we spilt things on the cloth. Certainly it did get into rather a mess, but that was mostly because Humphrey would drink his milk up a bit of macaroni like the gentlemen do at Father’s club, only they use a straw. Cook was so nice too, she used to send us up hot buttered toast, and it was all most lovely, except, of course, Mother’s being ill, which spoilt everything. That was almost too horrid to bear, especially when one went to bed.

It was the night that cook was kindest of all and gave us real tea, that Violet wasn’t there. I remember it quite well, because we were so astonished to see cook bringing up the teapot instead of our just having a jug of milk, but she said a drop would liven us up in a house of trouble. It is a pity cook can’t always live in houses of trouble, it makes her so much nicer. Humphrey was particularly pleased, because he said he’d always been wanting to try an experiment of putting the milk and sugar into the pot and drinking out of the spout in turns. I couldn’t let him do it though until after we’d had first cups, else there wouldn’t have been any honour in my being Pourer Out at all.

We’d been wondering where Violet was ever since tea came, for generally she’s the only one of us who is punctual except Teddy, and Fräulein washes his hands so he can’t help it. I thought she couldn’t know, so at last I sent Humph to tell her, though he was rather cross and would only go after we’d said three times “Certain true, black and blue, lay me down and cut me in two,” that we wouldn’t touch his toast. We didn’t like to shout for Violet, you see, because of Mother.

Well, Humph was gone a long time, because he always takes longer over everything than you’d think a person possibly could, and when he came back he said he couldn’t find Violet. I wasn’t surprised at that and I went myself expecting that I’d see her directly, but I didn’t. I hunted everywhere, but I couldn’t find any sign of her, until at last when I went into our bedroom again, I noticed that the string had been taken off the box in which her new dress had come from the dressmaker’s. I opened it, and her new dress had gone, so had her best hat and coat! We remembered then that we hadn’t seen her all the afternoon. It was most astonishing.

I didn’t know what to do; I really didn’t. It was quite dark outside by now so I thought Violet must have gone out and got lost, and I began to plan about their bringing her home dead, but I didn’t want to tell people and get her into a scrape, besides, Fräulein was in Mother’s room. It didn’t seem either as if Violet could have done anything so dreadfully naughty as to go out alone and get killed, besides wearing her best clothes on a week-day.

We’d finished tea by now, and we put crumbs and things in Violet’s place to pretend she’d been there, but I wouldn’t let Humph upset her cup, because Violet is so tidy it wouldn’t have looked more real at all, and he only wanted to because he thought it would be so lovely to spill things on purpose. About six o’clock Father came in and I was just going to tell him, but the first thing he said was, “Why, where’s little Mrs. Roundabout?” He calls Violet that because she is so fat.

Father was as surprised as any of us when he heard she was lost, but he didn’t think she could have gone out. “Nonsense,” he said, “she must have gone to sleep in some corner,” as if anybody except babies and grown-ups would go to sleep in the daytime. However, we searched the house all over again. It was rather nice at first, only then I thought of the Princes in the Tower and I was afraid I’d find her body mouldering in the boot cupboard or somewhere, but we didn’t see anything at all. Then Father and Stubbins (he is the gardener) searched all over the garden with lanterns like in a book, but they didn’t find anything there either. After that, they came in again and Father told Stubbins to go to the village and make inquiries at every cottage, and he was just getting ready himself to bicycle round to all the people we know, when suddenly the front door opened—and there was Violet.

She didn’t look a bit naughty, that was what surprised me most. She was just smiling to herself like she does sometimes in church, and she’d got on her best things, like I thought, and Mother’s black moiré parasol in one hand and her ivory card case in the other and the plush case with the opera glasses over her arm. I think Father was all the crosser because she looked so pleased. Anyway he almost shouted out, “Where on earth have you been, turning the whole house upside down? Upon my word it’s perfectly intolerable!”

Well, after that it wasn’t any good talking any more, for Violet began to cry, and when she once starts she goes on and on for hours and can’t understand anything. Father asked her where she’d been about a hundred times but she wouldn’t answer, so at last he marched off, telling her to go upstairs and that she wasn’t to come down until she’d apologised.

I did wish Mother was there; she’d have made it all nice at once. I remembered though about being the eldest, and I tried to think of the kind of things Mother would have done, so I took Violet’s hand and we went upstairs together. When we got to the schoolroom I sat down in the big armchair and I managed to drag Violet on to my lap, and I took off her boots and hugged her and told Humph to try and get some bread and jam out of cook because that makes you feel a lot less miserable. Violet was still crying, but I sat there, though my arms began to feel as if they’d drop off, when at last she sobbed out, “I thought everybody would be so pleased, and Mother said I was to.” She wouldn’t say anything else but just that over and over again, crying all the time, so, of course, I couldn’t understand, but I just went on kissing her and didn’t talk, like Mother does. It had never been so easy to be nice to Violet before.

It seemed a long time before Humph brought the bread and jam, but when he did it was strawberry jam, which was particularly lucky because it’s Violet’s favourite. I told Humph he’d better go away again, and then at last Violet stopped crying, and so I said to her, “But what was it Mother said you were to do?”

Violet looked quite surprised, “Why go and call on the Crespignys, of course. She partic’ly said I was to, if my new dress came home.”

I nearly let her roll off my lap. She’d almost been doing it the whole time because she’s so fat, but now she nearly went quite because I was so astonished. I’d have thought she was making it up, if it had been one of the others, but Violet never pretends. “How ever did you get there?” I said.

I could hardly believe it when she said she’d walked; it’s more than three miles each way, and I don’t think even I have ever walked as far as that. “Weren’t you very frightened?” I asked.

I don’t know if I ought to put the next bit, but it truthfully isn’t bragging because it is what Violet answered: “I thought I’d try and be brave like you,” she said.

Of course, after that I hugged her again and she went on telling me more.

“I was dreadfully frightened when I got to the house and went up the big steps. So I shut my eyes and said, ‘Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,’ and at the Amen I jumped and pulled the bell. It made a dreadfully loud ring and almost at once the door opened and there were two gentlemen with white hair but quite young-looking faces and such pretty clothes. Oh Molly, I shall dress Rhoderigo William Wallace like that with beautiful red plush knickerbockers and——”

“Go on,” I said, because I was most interested; it seemed just like in a story.

“Well, I said to one of the gentlemen, ‘Please is Mrs. Crespigny indoors because I’ve come to pay a call on her?’ So he said, ‘Yes, her ladyship is at home, but who might you be, Miss?’ I told him my name was Violet, and that my Mother didn’t want to come, besides being ill, and then I handed him Mother’s card case that I’d filled with visiting cards of my own, like those you wrote for the guinea-pig. He took one out and gave it to the other gentleman, saying, ‘John, go and ask her ladyship.’ That is what they called Mrs. Crespigny, so I knew she must be really a princess and that that was why she had such beautiful servants.

“There was a lot of laughing somewhere, but presently Mr. John came back and said, ‘Walk this way, Miss,’ so I followed him into a big room, where there were lots of people, but, oh Molly, they didn’t have crowns on or satin dresses, or anything, they had partic’ly ugly clothes, and all the ladies wore things just like gentlemen, only not trousers; Mr. John was the only beautiful one there.

“I was just looking round because there seemed to be such lots and lots of people, when a lady came up, I think it was Mrs. Crespigny, and she said in rather a cross way, ‘So you’ve come to call on me because your Mother doesn’t care to,’ and so I said ‘Yes,’ and every one laughed, I don’t know why. I stood there and I didn’t know what to do until I remembered Mother telling some one that at calls the ladies talked about the weather and babies from the time she went into the room to the time she came out, so I said ‘Good morning, your ladyship. It is a lovely day. Have you got any babies?’

“Well, I don’t see how I could help it, because I couldn’t talk about her babies without knowing if she’d got any, but everybody looked as if I’d said something naughty, and Mrs. Crespigny went right away very angrily, and just at that minute Mother’s parasol dropped with a great clatter, so I thought Mrs. Crespigny would be really cross, and when I picked it up, the opera glasses dropped too. It was dreadful. One gentleman said, ‘Allow me,’ and he put them over my arm again just as if I’d been grown up, and I began to feel a little better, only then he said, ‘Won’t you give me a kiss?’ I said, ‘No, thank you,’ and they all laughed again.

“There’d been a lady standing near, a very funny lady with a whip in her hand, and quite a short skirt, and short hair too, and gaiters like Father’s; and she said all at once, ‘Dash it all! leave the kid alone and give it some grub.’ She truthfully did, and she was quite grown up; but perhaps her mother had never told her she oughtn’t to use bad words like that.

“This lady was kind, though she was so funny. She got me some milk, because Mother never said I might have tea when I went calling, though I did want it, ’specially as lots of people were having it so funnily in teeny-weeny little glasses without any milk or sugar; and the lady got me a nice little pink cake too. Then she sat down beside me and asked me why I’d come, and she hardly seemed to believe it when I told her Mother had said I could go and pay calls instead of her now. She asked me about the opera glasses too, so I said I knew people took them when they went out, but I hadn’t been sure about calls, only I thought it was a good thing always to be on the safe side, like Jane says. The funny lady asked me who Jane was, and I said, ‘Our housemaid,’ and the funny lady said it was a wise rule, although perhaps opera glasses were not very customary when calling.

“Just at this minute I looked up, and I saw a most ’stonishing thing. A lady was holding a cigarette, and a gentleman was striking a match to light it. The gentleman saw me looking and he began to laugh, and he called out, ‘Take care, or that little girl’s eyes will drop out of her head with fright.’ Then he said, ‘Haven’t you ever seen a lady smoke before?’ and I said, ‘No ladies ever do smoke,’ and they all laughed again, I don’t know why. They seemed to be always laughing.

“The clock struck then, and that made me think of the time, so I asked them if I’d been there twenty minutes yet, because I’d forgotten to look when I came in. I’d asked Father yesterday how long people ought to stay at calls, and he told me he believed twenty minutes was the correct time. One gentleman said I’d been in the room twenty-one minutes, fifteen seconds and three-quarters, so I went out quickly. I didn’t know if I ought to shake hands with Mr. John and the other beautiful one at the door, but I had such a lot of things to carry I thought they’d excuse me, so I just said goodbye. That’s all. It was such a long way home I thought it would never come. It was such a very long way.”

Wasn’t that astonishing? I hadn’t interrupted Violet, because I wanted to hear it all, though of course I knew that she’d made a mistake, and that Mother had never meant that she should go and call on the Crespignys alone. It was no good saying anything when she’d finished because she was nearly asleep, so I just went and helped her to go to bed.

Then I went down and told Father. I tried to tell him exactly what Violet had said, and he simply roared with laughter. I didn’t think it was funny myself, but just like a story; and I do think Violet was very brave. Father went up at once to forgive her and say good-night, but she was too sleepy to understand anything except that it was all right.

Violet didn’t go calling any more, but the very next Christmas a most lovely mother-of-pearl card case came for her, with her initials on, which just shows that if you really try to be good it is nice in the end. When Mother saw it, she said she thought the funny lady must have sent it, the one who talked bad words, but Violet always believes it was a present from Mr. John. She has made Rhoderigo William Wallace a pair of red velvet knickerbockers out of a bit from Fräulein’s old bonnet, and they are most beautiful, except that he can’t sit down. Perhaps that is why Mr. John never did either.