‘Poor king!’ cried Nan, in nearly tears. ‘Why must it be like that?’
‘How should I know, maid? ’Tis the way o’ it.’
‘And the queen?’ asked Timothy.
‘She comes lonely down from the sky, an’ lonely she goes to ’er palace in the middle o’ the city. Unless she leaves the ’ive with a swarm she will never see the sun again.’ Ezra stepped back. ‘Our reverence to you, madam queens an’ noble bees,’ he said, and the children bowed and curtsied.
Strawberry picking began in an awed silence, until Timothy asked, ‘Why do the bees swarm, Ezra?’
‘If not frightened away by quarrellin’ children, ’tis ’ard to tell,’ said Ezra. ‘It seems that when they’ve brought the city to perfection they grows restless an’ leaves it. Some o’ the workers stay be’ind to look after the children, but the rest flies away after the queen to find a new ’ome. ’Tis a sort of adventure, this seekin’ for a new city. When the bee-master catches up with ’em, with ’is skep in ’is ’and, ’e’ll find ’em all ’angin’ from some tree in a cluster together an’ they be singin’ for joy. They don’t mind when ’e shakes ’em into the new ’ive. They settle down there an’ they build a new city as contented as can be. That’s enough for now, children, but there ain’t no end to the wonder o’ the bees an’ I’ll tell ee more another day.’
When the others were absorbed in their strawberry picking, chattering and singing, Nan said to Ezra, ‘I’ve a lot to tell you.’
‘You ’ave indeed, maid,’ said Ezra severely. ‘You’ve left a lot to yourself that you should ’ave told me.’ He straightened himself. ‘Robert, Timothy, an’ Betsy,’ he said loudly above their uproar, ‘I can’t stoop well with this ’ere wooden leg, so I be goin’ to sit outside the kitchen door an’ ’ull the berries as you bring ’em to me. An’ I shall need Nan to ’elp me. Keep at it, children, keep at it.’
He stumped off down the garden path and he and Nan settled themselves on two chairs outside the kitchen door. ‘Now, maid,’ he said, ‘what’s worryin’ ee.’
‘A book I found hidden in the cupboard in my parlour,’ said Nan. ‘Uncle Ambrose said he’d found Lady Alicia’s books there, so it must have been with them. But it isn’t one of hers. It’s Emma Cobley’s. It’s a horrid book, Ezra, it’s full of spells and they are nearly all nasty.’
‘Fetch it out ’ere,’ said Ezra and Nan fetched it. But Ezra, it appeared, had never learnt to read and he asked her to read the spells aloud to him.
Nan began to tremble. ‘I can’t read them out loud, Ezra,’ she said. ‘They’re too nasty.’
‘’Ow be I to know what they be if ee don’t read,’ asked Ezra. ‘They won’t seem so bad read out loud in sunshine.’
So Nan read them, and with Ezra sitting beside her and the smell of warm strawberries in her nose, they did not seem so bad.
‘Ah,’ said Ezra when she had finished. ‘Two can play at that there game.’
‘How do you mean, Ezra?’
‘I mean, maid, that I know a spell or two myself. Now read again that spell for makin’ a person dumb, an’ the one for causin’ a man to get lost in a far place.’
Nan read them again and when he had heard them twice Ezra repeated them word for word. ‘How you remember things, Ezra!’ she said admiringly.
‘Ah!’ said Ezra. ‘I ain’t never wanted to learn to read. Book learnin’ destroys the memory.’
‘Ezra, how do you think Lady Alicia got hold of Emma’s book?’ asked Nan.
‘’Ow should I know, maid? Better ask Lady Alicia.’
‘Ezra, the day I found the book I thought I saw Lady Alicia in the little mirror. And then I thought I saw Emma. First one and then the other and they both looked young. Could I have seen them, Ezra?’
‘Likely,’ said Ezra. ‘Both after the same man, they was, an’ ’ating one another like poison. Now don’t worrit no more, maid. Leave Emma to me.’
‘What are you going to do, Ezra?’
‘Tomorrow I be takin’ you children in the pony-trap to Pizzleton. There be a nice little shop at Pizzleton an’ I mean to do a bit o’ shoppin’.’
‘But why, Ezra?’
‘I said, maid, leave it to me.’
‘Pizzleton,’ said Nan. ‘Isn’t that where Daft Davie lived when he was a little boy?’
‘Yes, maid. Now don’t ee ask no more questions. You get on with ’ulling them berries.’
At dinner time Uncle Ambrose adjusted his spectacles and regarded the hard-boiled eggs with disfavour. ‘Ezra, you know my personal abhorrence of hard-boiled eggs. Have you nothing more palatable to offer me?’
‘No, sir,’ said Ezra, and moving to the dining-room window, which he always kept shut now because of Tom Biddle opposite hearing what they said, he opened it wide. ‘There be nothin’ in the larder,’ he said loudly. ‘These children eat us out of ’ouse an’ ’ome. ’Ave I your permission to go shoppin’ in town tomorrow? I could take the trap, sir, an’ the children. Get ’em out o’ your way. An’ maybe, sir, for one more day they could be excused their preparation? They will ’ave worked in the mornin’ an’ they be still peaky-lookin’. Also, sir, we be that low in victuals that the shoppin’ is likely to take some time.’
‘Very well,’ said Uncle Ambrose testily. ‘I shall never get these children educated, but anything to deliver me from a diet of hard-boiled eggs. And shut that window, Ezra. If there’s one thing I dislike more than hard-boiled eggs it is a draught down the back of my neck.’
Ezra complied with the request, left the room and returned with one sardine on a plate which he placed before Uncle Ambrose. ‘’Ector’s, sir,’ he said, ‘an’ the last.’
‘I do not wish to deprive Hector,’ said Uncle Ambrose. But actually he did not get the chance, for Hector on his shoulder said, ‘Hick!’ very loudly, shot out a pellet in Ezra’s face, leaned over and grabbed the sardine.
‘Pass me the lettuce,’ said Uncle Ambrose. ‘I doubt if Diogenes ever ate anything but grass and who am I that I should fare better than one of the greatest philosophers of all time?’
‘Was Diogenes a Greek?’ asked Timothy.
‘He was,’ said Uncle Ambrose. ‘Please pass me the salad dressing.’
‘I’ve heard of him,’ said Robert. ‘Didn’t he live in a tub?’
‘He did.’
‘Why, Uncle Ambrose?’
‘He desired peace and quiet,’ said Uncle Ambrose. ‘Possibly he had nephews and nieces. Pepper and salt, please.’
He seemed put out and after dinner disappeared into the library, but after tea he and Hector entered the kitchen, where Ezra, watched by the children, was stirring the jam. ‘I shall be obliged, Ezra,’ he said, holding out a letter, ‘if you will take this to the Manor. I shall continue stirring the jam in your place. Be so good as to lend me your apron.’
It was Ezra’s turn to be put out. ‘Could I take your letter later, sir?’ he asked.
‘Why later?’ asked Uncle Ambrose.
‘The strawberries, sir. At any moment now they will become jam.’
‘And do you think I have not sufficient intelligence to know when strawberries become jam?’ asked Uncle Ambrose haughtily. ‘My eyesight and my olfactory organ are as yet unaffected by old age. I shall be obliged, Ezra, if you will hand me your apron.’
Reluctantly Ezra took off his apron and Nan tied it round Uncle Ambrose.
‘You try it on a saucer, sir,’ said Ezra.
‘Try what on a saucer?’
‘The jam, sir. When the jam jells ’tis jam.’
‘I am obliged to you for the information,’ said Uncle Ambrose. ‘The fresh air, Ezra, will do you good.’
Ezra left looking rather worried. Uncle Ambrose straightened his shoulders, adjusted his glasses and gripped the wooden spoon. Hector, in attendance, leaned over to regard the bubbling jam. The children gathered round. ‘Don’t let it stick to the bottom,’ whispered Nan.
‘Is your letter to Lady Alicia, Uncle Ambrose??
?? asked Robert.
‘Is there anyone else at the Manor with whom I should be likely to communicate?’ asked Uncle Ambrose shortly. ‘Nan, should you say there is a subtle change in the aroma of this mixture?’
‘Not yet,’ said Nan.
‘Then oblige me by telling me once again of this likeness which the boys fancied they observed between the tapestry in Lady Alicia’s boudoir and the wall-painting in the cave of – what was the unfortunate gentleman’s name?’
‘Daft Davie,’ said Nan. ‘And they didn’t fancy the likeness. I saw the painting too and it’s the same picture.’
‘A most remarkable coincidence,’ said Uncle Ambrose. ‘Thank you.’
Hector, who had been all this while peering into the jam, suddenly reared up and flapped his wings. ‘Whoo!’ he shouted warningly.
‘The jam’s jammed!’ yelled Robert.
Uncle Ambrose hastily pulled the saucepan off the heat and Timothy leapt for a saucer. They dropped a little liquid into it and it set like glue.
‘A little overcooked?’ asked Uncle Ambrose anxiously.
‘That’s a fault on the right side,’ said Nan soothingly. ‘Let’s pour it into the pots quickly while it will still pour.’
They did so and then because it was a whole holiday today they went into the library and Uncle Ambrose read to them and told them stories until they heard Ezra come back. The others went out to welcome him, but Timothy lingered behind, laying a hand on Uncle Ambrose’s knee. ‘I saw him,’ he said.
‘Saw whom?’ asked Uncle Ambrose.
‘Pan,’ said Timothy, and he told Uncle Ambrose about the marvellous music, and the man he had seen sitting under the beech tree in the moonlight. When he had finished he trembled because he was so afraid that Uncle Ambrose would say ‘nonsense’. He was taking a risk which Robert last night had not dared to take. But then Uncle Ambrose was not like other grown-ups. He rumpled Timothy’s hair and then most surprisingly he kissed him. ‘Now go along and have your supper,’ he said.
They all had their supper in bed, so that they should get to sleep early, and it was a very good supper, but Ezra seemed a bit glum when he brought it up.
‘I’m sorry I said this morning that Uncle Ambrose wouldn’t help us with the jam,’ said Nan. ‘He did, and he looked wonderful while he was doing it.’
‘Huh,’ said Ezra. ‘’Andsome is as ’andsome does an’ come the mornin’ there’ll be no way o’ gettin’ that jam out o’ them pots without takin’ an ’atchet to ’em. Be there anythin’ more that you fancy?’
chapter twelve
the little figures
Next day after dinner Ezra left the children to do the washing-up by themselves while he went, he said, to tog himself up. This they thought was mean of him. Hadn’t they got to tog themselves up? They did a very sketchy wash up, changed into clean frocks and sailor suits, brushed Absolom and then found to their astonishment that Ezra, Rob-Roy, and the trap were already waiting for them outside the front door. Ezra was wearing his bunchy coat and the mustard waistcoat, but a little awry as though he had got into them in a hurry, and carrying on quite a friendly conversation with Tom Biddle, who was sitting on his Windsor chair as usual, just as though there had been no unpleasant occurrence in the wood two days ago.
‘Goin’ to town?’ asked Tom Biddle. But it sounded a rhetorical question, as though he knew the answer already.
‘Aye,’ said Ezra. ‘Us’ll be back late I shouldn’t wonder, shoppin’ an’ that.’
‘The children will want to see their granny,’ said Tom.
‘Aye,’ said Ezra.
‘Pretty little dears!’ said Tom, as the children and Absolom took their places in the trap. ‘Nice little dog that be.’
Absolom growled and the little dears, with the exception of Nan, glared in silence, and Nan’s smile, bestowed upon Tom Biddle because if he was wicked he was also old, was not as friendly as usual. Ezra said, ‘Come up, lad,’ to Rob-Roy and they went off down the hill at a spanking pace.
‘I was going to harness Rob-Roy,’ said Robert crossly to Ezra. ‘And why did you bring him up the hill to the front door? We always start off from the yard.’
They crossed the bridge and were out of sight of the village, and then suddenly Ezra turned off the road and swerved to the left along a cart track that led across the moor.
‘This isn’t the way to town, Ezra,’ said Robert.
‘No need to teach your grandmother to suck eggs,’ said Ezra. ‘We ain’t goin’ to town. Us be goin’ to Pizzleton.’
‘But, Ezra, you told Uncle Ambrose we were going to town,’ said Timothy, and he looked very grave because he had not thought that Ezra would tell a lie.
‘Pizzleton means pixies’ town,’ said Ezra. ‘An’ it weren’t only your Uncle Ambrose I were tellin’. What for did ee think I opened that window so wide?’
‘So that Tom Biddle should hear,’ said Nan. ‘Ezra, you’re very clever. They won’t be keeping watch at Lion Tor today. Are we going there?’
‘Pizzleton is below Lion Tor on t’other side from Barton,’ said Ezra.
‘I needn’t have put on my clean sailor suit,’ said Timothy, who hated being clean.
‘Nor I needn’t ’ave put on me mustard weskit,’ said Ezra. ‘But ’tis all in a good cause.’
The drive was long and bumpy but glorious. The heather and ling were beginning to colour and the gorse smelt like peaches in the hot sun. They saw the moorland birds, falcons and snipe and curlews with their wonderful curved beaks, and heard the larks singing and sometimes the rush of a moorland stream. The way they followed circled round the great sweep of Linden Wood and they never lost sight of the towering mass of Lion Tor, though as they came round behind it they no longer saw the Lion, but only the crags of the Castle Rock. Presently the track entered a lane which turned and twisted between windblown hawthorn trees until it brought them out into Pizzleton. It was a bigger village than theirs, but it had the same cottages of cob and thatch grouped round another church on a hill, with a tower so tall that the cottages looked like mushrooms about its feet.
The shop was bigger than Emma Cobley’s and was kept by a very respectable-looking lady, apple-cheeked and wearing a blue print dress sprigged with roses. But even so the children had a good look through the window before they followed Ezra into the shop in case she kept a cat, but all they could see was a canary, so they trooped in to give Ezra the benefit of their suggestions and advice. They were in the shop for half an hour, and there wasn’t anything left out of the golden guinea that Uncle Ambrose had given Ezra by the time they’d finished, even though food was cheap in those days, and the big shopping basket was nearly overflowing with parcels. The respectable lady was looking very happy when they left the shop. After that they went to the forge where Daft Davie had worked when he was a boy. The man who had been cruel to him was, of course, dead long ago and the present blacksmith was a distant cousin of Ezra’s, a very charming man, Jake Barley by name. Rob-Roy had a shoe loose and Jake allowed Robert to help him put it on again. It was marvellous in the forge with the clang of iron, the roaring fire and the flying sparks. If they hadn’t had an adventure on their hands the children would have liked to stay there till bedtime.
‘Right,’ said the blacksmith. ‘Where be goin’?’
‘A picnic,’ said Ezra.
‘What about a picnic tea?’ asked Robert.
‘Take what you like from the basket.’
Robert took ham and ginger biscuits from the basket and stowed them away in Ezra’s capacious pockets and they set off. Beyond the village a stony road climbed up towards the tor. It was creepy here on the north side of the great hill, dark and strange. The larks did not sing here and the cry of the curlews was sad and wild. It was such a long climb that Ezra made Nan and Timothy as well as Betsy take turns on Rob-Roy’s back. The pony picked his way up bravely and nimbly and so did Ezra on his wooden leg, with his crook to help him, and so did Absolom though his tongue hung out nearly
to the ground. In the face of their perseverance Robert could not for very shame ask to take a turn on Rob-Roy’s back too, though he felt very sorry for himself until he suddenly remembered that he was leading his band of heroes in the summit of Everest, and then he strode ahead with no fatigue at all.
The road ended on a grassy plateau beneath the great pile of rocks and Ezra called a halt. They flung themselves down on the sweet-smelling turf, gazing out over the great and glorious view, and when they were rested they drank water from a stream and ate ham and ginger biscuits, which contrary to what you might expect are excellent when eaten together. Then Ezra loosely hobbled Rob-Roy, so that he could go on cropping the turf, and led the way up on the rocks, up and around to the left, and very soon they were on the other side and could see the Lion’s head and Linden Woods down below them.
‘Now where be this cave?’ asked Ezra.
It was so well hidden that it took a while to find it, but presently they saw the big rock upon which Frederick had leapt. ‘You children stay ’ere,’ said Ezra. ‘When you ’ear me call “’i there!” come an’ join me, but if I should yell like a screech owl, then you take to your ’eels an’ run back to Rob-Roy and get along ’ome as quick as you can.’
He left them standing together in an apprehensive bunch, climbed doggedly up to the big rock and disappeared round it. After a pause which seemed long to the children they heard a hail of ‘’i there!’ and scrambled to join him.
There was the width of a doorway between the rock and the narrow entrance to the cave, hardly more than a long crack through which a big man could squeeze with difficulty. Ezra was standing in the entrance. ‘All except one, come in,’ he said. ‘But one o’ you must keep watch. You, Robert, for a start. Don’t ee climb to the top of the rock where you’d be seen. Stand at the side an’ look round an’ call if you see anythin’ you don’t like the looks on. Keep Absolom with ee. Don’t fret, lad, you shall take your turn inside later.’