“Well, I didn’t ask to be. I’m tired of being born first. I wanted to think.”
“You can think when you’re brushing your teeth.”
“Not the same thoughts.”
“Well, nobody wants to think the same thoughts all the time.”
“I do.”
Mary Poppins gave her a quick, black look.
“That’s enough, thank you!” And, from the tone of her voice, Jane knew she meant what she said.
Mary Poppins hurried away to wake Michael.
Jane put down her toothbrush and sat on the edge of the bath.
“It’s not fair,” she grumbled, kicking the linoleum with her toes. “Making me do all the horrid things just because I’m the eldest! I won’t brush my teeth!”
Immediately she felt surprised at herself. She was usually quite glad to be older than Michael and the Twins. It made her feel rather superior and much more important. But today – what was the matter with today that she felt so cross and peevish?
“If Michael had been born first I’d have had time to hatch out my eggs!” she grumbled to herself, feeling that the day had begun badly.
Unfortunately, instead of getting better, it grew worse.
At breakfast, Mary Poppins discovered there was only enough Puffed Rice for three.
“Well, Jane must have Porridge,” she said, setting out the plates and sniffing angrily, for she did not like making Porridge; there were always too many lumps in it.
“But why?” complained Jane. “I want Puffed Rice.”
Mary Poppins darted a fierce look at her.
“Because you’re the eldest!”
There it was again. That hateful word. She kicked the leg of her chair under the table, hoping she was scratching off the varnish, and ate her Porridge as slowly as she dared. She turned it round and round in her mouth, swallowing as little as possible. It would serve everybody right if she starved to death. Then they’d be sorry.
“What is today?” enquired Michael cheerfully, scraping up the last of his Puffed Rice.
“Wednesday,” said Mary Poppins. “Leave the pattern on the plate, please!”
“Then it’s today we’re going to tea with Miss Lark!”
“If you’re good,” said Mary Poppins darkly, as though she did not believe such a thing was possible.
But Michael was in a cheerful mood, and took no notice.
“Wednesday!” he shouted, banging his spoon on the table. “That’s the day Jane was born. Wednesday’s Child is full of Woe. That’s why she has to have Porridge instead of Rice!” he said naughtily.
Jane frowned and kicked at him under the table. But he swung his legs aside and laughed.
“Monday’s Child is Fair of Face, Tuesday’s Child is Full of Grace!” he chanted. “That’s true too. The Twins are full of grace, and they were born on a Tuesday. And I’m Monday – Fair of Face.”
Jane laughed scornfully.
“I am,” he insisted. “I heard Mrs Brill say so. She told Ellen I was as handsome as Half-a-crown.”
“Well, that’s not very handsome,” said Jane. “Besides, your nose turns up.”
Michael looked at her reproachfully. And again Jane felt surprised at herself. At any other time she would have agreed with him, for she thought Michael a very good-looking little boy. But now she said cruelly:
“Yes, and your toes turn in. Bandy-legs! Bandy-legs!”
Michael rushed at her.
“That will be enough from you!” said Mary Poppins, looking angrily at Jane. “And if anybody in this house is a beauty, it’s—” She paused, and glanced with a satisfied smile at her own reflection in the mirror.
“Who?” demanded Michael and Jane together.
“Nobody of the name of Banks!” retorted Mary Poppins. “So there!”
Michael looked across at Jane as he always did when Mary Poppins made one of her curious remarks. But, though she felt his look, she pretended not to notice. She turned away and took her paint-box from the toy cupboard.
“Won’t you play trains?” asked Michael, trying to be friendly.
“No, I won’t. I want to be by myself.”
“Well, darlings, and how are you all this morning?”
Mrs Banks came running into the room and kissed them hurriedly. She was always so busy that she never had time to walk.
“Michael,” she said, “you must have some new slippers – your toes are coming out at the top. Mary Poppins, John’s curls will have to come off, I’m afraid. Barbara, my pet, don’t suck your thumb! Jane, run downstairs and ask Mrs Brill not to ice the Plum Cake, I want a plain one.”
There they were again, Jane said to herself, breaking into her day! As soon as she began to do anything they made her stop and do something else.
“Oh, Mother, must I? Why can’t Michael?”
Mrs Banks looked surprised.
“But I thought you liked helping! And Michael always forgets the message. Besides, you’re the eldest. Run along!”
She went downstairs as slowly as she could. She hoped she would be so late with the message that Mrs Brill would have already iced the cake.
And all the time she felt astonished at the way she was behaving. It was as if there was another person inside her – somebody with a very bad temper and an ugly face – who was making her feel cross.
She gave the message to Mrs Brill, and was disappointed to find that she was in plenty of time.
“Well, that’ll save a penn’orth of trouble, anyway,” Mrs Brill remarked.
“And, Dearie,” she went on, “you might just slip out into the garden and tell that Robertson he hasn’t done the knives. My legs are bad, and they’re my only pair.”
“I can’t. I’m busy.”
It was Mrs Brill’s turn to look surprised.
“Ah, be a kind girl, then – it’s all I can do to stand, let alone walk!”
Jane sighed. Why couldn’t they leave her alone? She kicked the kitchen door shut and dawdled out into the garden.
Robertson Ay was asleep on the path with his head on the watering-can. His lank hair rose and fell as he snored. It was Robertson Ay’s special gift that he could sleep anywhere, and at any time. In fact, he preferred sleeping to waking. And usually, whenever they could, Jane and Michael prevented him from being found out. But today it was different. The bad-tempered person inside her didn’t care a bit what happened to Robertson Ay.
“I hate everybody!” she said, and rapped sharply on the watering-can.
Robertson Ay sat up with a start.
“Help! Murder! Fire!” he cried, waving his arms wildly.
Then he rubbed his eyes and saw Jane.
“Oh, it’s only you!” he said, in a disappointed voice, as though he had hoped for something more exciting.
“You’re to go and do the knives, at once,” she ordered.
Robertson Ay got slowly to his feet and shook himself.
“Ah,” he said sadly, “it’s always something. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. I ought to be resting. I never get a moment’s peace.”
“Yes, you do!” said Jane cruelly. “You get nothing but peace. You’re always asleep.”
A hurt, reproachful look came over Robertson Ay’s face and at any other time it would have made her feel ashamed. But today she wasn’t a bit sorry.
“Saying such things!” said Robertson Ay sadly. “And you the eldest and all. I wouldn’t have thought it – not if I’d done nothing but think for the rest of my life.”
And he gave her a sorrowful glance and shuffled slowly away to the kitchen.
She wondered if he would ever forgive her. And, as if in reply, the sulky creature inside her said, “I don’t care if he doesn’t!”
She tossed her head and went slowly back to the Nursery, dragging her sticky hands along the fresh, clean, white wall because she had always been told not to.
Mary Poppins was flicking her feather-duster round the furniture.
“Off to a funeral?” s
he enquired, as Jane appeared.
Jane looked sulky and did not answer.
“I know somebody who’s looking for Trouble. And he that seeks shall find!”
“I don’t care!”
“Don’t Care was made to care! Don’t Care was hung!” jeered Mary Poppins, putting the duster away.
“And now –” she looked warningly at Jane – “I am going to have my dinner. You are to look after the little ones, and if I hear One Word –” She did not finish the sentence, but she gave a long, threatening sniff as she went out of the room.
John and Barbara ran to Jane and caught her hands. But she uncurled their fingers and crossly pushed them away.
“I wish I were an only child!” she said bitterly.
“Why don’t you run away?” suggested Michael. “Somebody might adopt you.”
Jane looked up, startled and surprised.
“But you’d miss me!”
“No, I wouldn’t,” he said stoutly. “Not if you’re always going to be cross. Besides, then I could have your paint-box.”
“No, you couldn’t,” she said jealously. “I’d take it with me.”
And just to show him that the paint-box was hers and not his, she got out the brushes and the painting book and spread them on the floor.
“Paint the clock,” said Michael helpfully.
“No.”
“Well, the Royal Doulton Bowl.”
Jane glanced up.
The three little boys were racing over the field inside the green rim of the bowl. At any other time she would have liked to paint them, but today she was not going to be pleasant or obliging.
“I won’t. I will paint what I want.”
And she began to make a picture of herself, quite alone, brooding over her eggs.
Michael and John and Barbara sat on the floor, watching.
Jane was so interested in her eggs that she almost forgot her bad temper.
Michael leant forward. “Why not put in a hen – just there!”
He pointed to a spare white patch, brushing against John with his arm. Over went John, falling sideways and upsetting the cup with his foot. The coloured water splashed out and flooded the picture.
With a cry, Jane sprang to her feet.
“Oh, I can’t bear it. You great Clumsy! You’ve spoilt everything!”
And, rushing at Michael, she punched him so violently that he, too, toppled over and crashed down on top of John. A squeal of pain and terror broke from the Twins, and above their cries rose Michael’s voice wailing, “My head is broken! What shall I do? My head is broken!” over and over again.
“I don’t care! I don’t care!” shouted Jane. “You wouldn’t leave me alone and you’ve spoilt my picture. I hate you, I hate—”
The door burst open.
Mary Poppins surveyed the scene with furious eyes.
“What did I say to you?” she enquired of Jane in a voice so quiet that it was terrible. “That if I heard One Word – and now look what I find! A nice party you’ll have at Miss Lark’s, I don’t think. Not one step will you go out of this room this afternoon, or I’m a Chinaman.”
“I don’t want to go. I’d rather stay here.” Jane put her hands behind her back and sauntered away. She did not feel a bit sorry.
“Very good.”
Mary Poppins’ voice was gentle, but there was something very frightening in it.
Jane watched her dressing the others for the party. And, when they were ready, Mary Poppins took her best hat out of a brown-paper bag and set it on her head at a very smart angle. She clipped her old locket round her neck, and over it she wound the red-and-white checked scarf Mrs Banks had given her. At one end was stitched a white label marked with a large M.P., and Mary Poppins smiled at her reflection in the mirror as she tucked the label out of sight.
Then she took her parrot-handled umbrella from the cupboard, popped it under her arm, and hurried the little ones down the stairs.
“Now you’ll have time to think!” she remarked tartly, and, with a loud sniff, shut the door behind her.
For a long time Jane sat staring in front of her. She tried to think about her seven eggs. But somehow they didn’t interest her any more.
What were they doing now, at Miss Lark’s, she wondered? Playing with Miss Lark’s dogs, perhaps, and listening to Miss Lark telling them that Andrew had a wonderful pedigree, but that Willoughby was half an Airedale and half a Retriever, and the worst half of both. And presently they would all, even the dogs, have Chocolate Biscuits and Walnut Cake for tea.
“Oh, dear!”
The thought of all she was missing stirred angrily inside Jane, and when she remembered it was all her own fault she felt crosser than ever.
Tick-tack! Tick-tock! said the clock loudly.
“Oh, be quiet!” cried Jane furiously, and picking up her paint-box, she hurled it across the room.
It crashed against the glass face of the clock and, glancing off, clattered down upon the Royal Doulton Bowl.
Crrrrrrrack! The Bowl toppled sideways against the clock.
Oh! Oh! What had she done?
Jane shut her eyes, not daring to look and see.
“I say – that hurt!”
A clear, reproachful voice sounded in the room.
“Jane!” said the voice. “That was my knee!”
She turned her head quickly. There was nobody in the room.
She ran to the door and opened it. Still nobody!
Then somebody laughed.
“Here, Silly!” said the voice again. “Up here!”
She looked up at the mantelpiece. Beside the clock lay the Royal Doulton Bowl with a large crack running right across it and, to her surprise, Jane saw that one of the painted boys had dropped the reins and was bending down, holding his knee with both hands. The other two had turned and were looking at him sympathetically.
“But—” began Jane, half to herself and half to the unknown voice, “I don’t understand.” The boy in the Bowl lifted his head and smiled at her.
“Don’t you? No, I suppose you don’t. I’ve noticed that you and Michael often don’t understand the simplest things – do they?”
He turned, laughing, to his brothers.
“No,” said one of them, “not even how to keep the Twins quiet!”
“Nor the proper way to draw birds’ eggs – she’s made them all wriggly,” said the other.
“How do you know about the Twins – and the eggs?” said Jane, flushing.
“Gracious!” said the first boy. “You don’t think we could have watched you all this time without knowing everything that happens in this room! We can’t see into the night nursery, of course, or the bathroom. What coloured tiles has it?”
“Pink,” said Jane.
“Ours has blue-and-white. Would you like to see it?”
Jane hesitated. She hardly knew what to reply, she was so astonished.
“Do come! William and Everard will be your horses, if you like, and I’ll carry the whip and run alongside. I’m Valentine, in case you don’t know. We’re Triplets. And, of course, there’s Christina.”
“Where’s Christina?” Jane searched the Bowl. But she saw only the green meadow and a little wood of alders, and Valentine, William and Everard standing together.
“Come and see!” said Valentine persuasively, holding out his hand. “Why should the others have all the fun? You come with us – into the Bowl!”
That decided her. She would show Michael that he and the Twins were not the only ones who could go to a party. She would make them jealous and sorry for treating her so badly.
“All right,” she said, putting out her hand,” I’ll come!”
Valentine’s hand closed round her wrist and pulled her towards the Bowl. And suddenly, she was no longer in the cool Day Nursery, but out in a wide, sunlit meadow, and instead of the ragged nursery carpet, a springing turf of grass and daisies was spread beneath her feet.
“Hooray!” cried Valentine, William
and Everard, dancing round her. She noticed that Valentine was limping.
“Oh,” said Jane,” I forgot! Your knee!”
He smiled at her. “Never mind. It was the crack that did it. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me!”
Jane took out her handkerchief and bound it round his knee.
“That’s better!” he said politely, and put the reins into her hand.
William and Everard, tossing their heads and snorting, flew across the meadow with Jane jingling the reins behind them.
Beside her, one foot heavy and one foot light, because of his knee, ran Valentine.
And, as he ran, he sang:
“My love, thou art a nosegay sweet,
My sweetest flower I prove thee;
And pleased I pin thee to my breast,
And dearly I do love thee!”
William and Everard’s voices came in with the chorus:
“And deeeee – arly I do lo-o-ve thee!”
Jane thought it was rather an old-fashioned song, but then, everything about the Triplets was old-fashioned – their long hair, their strange clothes, and their polite way of speaking.
“It is odd!” she thought to herself, but she also thought that this was better than being at Miss Lark’s, and that Michael would envy her when she told him all about it.
On ran the horses, tugging Jane after them, drawing her away from the Nursery.
Presently she pulled up, panting, and looked back over the tracks they had made in the grass. Behind her, at the other side of the meadow, she could see the outer rim of the Bowl. It seemed small and very far away. And something inside her warned her that it was time to turn back.
“I must go now,” she said, dropping the jingling reins.
“Oh, no, no!” cried the Triplets, closing round her.
And now something in their voices made her feel uneasy.
“They’ll miss me at home. I’m afraid I must go,” she said quickly.
“It’s quite early!” protested Valentine. “They’ll still be at Miss Lark’s. Come on. I’ll show you my paint-box.”
Jane was tempted.
“Has it got Chinese White?” she enquired, for Chinese White was just what her own paint-box lacked.
“Yes, in a silver tube. Come!”
Against her will Jane allowed him to draw her onwards. She thought she would just have one look at the paint-box and then hurry back. She would not even ask to be allowed to use it.