Half-Past Bedtime Part 11

"See that wood there," he said, "the Haunted Wood? Well, last night one of these here dogs, he bolted into it, and I couldn't get him out, so I went in to hunt for him. I was only in there for about five minutes, but just as I was coming out I met his lords.h.i.+p. He stared at me as if I was a criminal in the dock, and give me a month's notice to leave his service.

"'You know my rules,' he says, 'and you've broken them. It's no good arguing,' he says, 'you've got to go.'"

Marian and Gwendolen felt very angry, angrier than they had ever felt before.

"What a beast!" they said. "But p'raps he'll think better of it."

Mr Williams shook his head.

"Not he," he said. "I've seen him this morning. 'I'll give you a pension,' he says, 'and I'll give you a good character. But that wood's forbidden ground,' he says, 'and I'll have n.o.body going into it.'"

Mr Williams rose and began to collect the young partridges, and put them away into the various hen-coops.

"Well, I must be getting along," he said, "and next month you'll have to make friends with a new keeper."

After he had gone, Marian and Gwendolen sat thinking of all the good times that they had had with him, and of poor Mrs Williams, who would have to turn out of her cottage--the gay little cottage that she was so proud of. Their cheeks were quite red, and there was a hot sort of p.r.i.c.kly feeling at the backs of their noses, and they felt as if they would like to go to the great house and shoot Lord Barrington dead.

"Dog in the manger," said Gwendolen, "that's what he is, with that great big house and no wife or children. And he's always going into his old wood himself. I know he is, because Percy told me."

"Yes, I know," said Marian, "and half his time he never lives at the Park at all. He's judging people and sending them to prison, or travelling about and enjoying himself."

"P'raps he doesn't know," said Gwendolen, "what a nice man Mr Williams really is."

Then she suddenly thought of something.

"Suppose we go and find him," she said, "and ask him to let Mr Williams off."

Marian was a little frightened. She had never seen Lord Barrington, but she had once seen his picture in a magazine; and she remembered the grim look of his eyes and his high-bridged, hawk-like nose. But the thought of Mr Williams and his sad face soon gave her fresh courage; and as they drew near the Park wall she was much too excited to feel afraid.

Gwendolen was excited too, but they both knew how important it was to keep cool; and before they climbed the wall they looked carefully round to see that n.o.body was watching them. Then they found a couple of niches to put their toes in, and they hoisted themselves up till they could see over the wall; and there they stopped for a moment, holding on to the spikes, and studying the lie of the land. Just to their right was the corner of the Haunted Wood, but spreading in front of them was the open park-land, with its great trees casting their blue shadows, and the delicate-limbed deer nibbling the gra.s.s tips. Beyond these were the gardens, and the broad terrace in front of the house; and the only person in sight was a distant gardener with a watering-can.

Then they almost fell down, for round the corner of the wood came the tall figure of Lord Barrington himself. Marian recognized him at once, though he was not wearing a wig as he had been in the magazine picture, and was dressed in a grey flannel suit, carefully pressed, and russet-brown boots. Luckily he didn't see them, and they crouched behind the wall, holding on to the edge with their finger-tips; and when they next peeped over they could see him unlocking the padlock of the little gate that led into the wood. He went inside and locked it again behind him, and they saw him begin to push his way between the branches of the trees.

"Come along," whispered Gwendolen, "let's follow him"; so they climbed over the wall and dropped into the park. Then they ran across the gra.s.s to the little gate, where they stooped down for a moment and listened.

They could hear Lord Barrington still moving through the wood. And then very quietly they squeezed through the fence. They both tore their frocks on the barbed wire, and Marian scratched her arm, but she didn't mind. And then they began to glide, as softly as possible, deeper and deeper into the forbidden wood.

Soon it was so dark, owing to the thick-spreading branches and the overgrown weeds and bushes, that they found themselves creeping through a sort of twilight, smelling of pine-resin and crushed herbage. But always, just in front of them, they could hear Lord Barrington's footsteps, and sometimes they caught a glimpse of his side or back.

Tripping over roots, and stung by nettles, they followed in the track that he had beaten down; and presently the brushwood began to grow thinner and the trunks of the trees farther apart.

He was walking more quickly now, and in another three or four minutes they saw him come out into a sort of clearing, where the ground was smooth, with a thin growth of gra.s.s, and the sun pouring down upon it as upon a little circus. Here he stopped, and they bent down, each behind the trunk of a great pine tree; and then, to their surprise, they saw him take his coat off and fold it carefully and put it on the ground.

Then from under a bush he drew out three wickets, and set them up on the other side of the clearing, and put the bails on them, and laid down a bat beside them, and came back tossing a cricket-ball. They could see his face, still rather stern-looking, but not so stern as it had been before; and then they heard him say "Ready?" and saw him bowl the ball, which bounced over the wickets and hit a tree behind. They crept nearer, until they were almost on the edge of the clearing.

"You ought to have stopped that one," they heard him say; and still the bat lay in front of the wickets, and there wasn't a sound but the murmur of the trees.

For a long time--almost ten minutes, they thought--he went on bowling and fetching back the ball; and every now and then he spoke a few words as if there were somebody really batting. And then a strange thing happened, for slowly, as they watched, they saw the bat rise from the ground; and then they saw the figure of a little boy taking guard with it in front of the wickets.

He was about fourteen, with short fair hair, and he was dressed in a flannel s.h.i.+rt and trousers; and the s.h.i.+rt was unb.u.t.toned, showing the upper part of his chest, and its sleeves were rolled back over his st.u.r.dy arms. They looked at the judge and saw that his whole face had altered, as if the sun had come down and were s.h.i.+ning through it; and the boy smiled at him, and then tucked his lips in, as the judge bowled him a difficult ball.

"Well played," said the judge, and they saw the boy look up and begin to colour a little at the words of praise; and then Gwendolen got a cramp in her foot and couldn't help moving and making a sound.

Lord Barrington turned sharply toward her.

"Who's there?" he asked in a terrible voice.

Gwendolen stood up, and so did Marian. It was no good hiding. They were both too frightened to speak.

When he saw them, he stood quite still. A wood-pigeon flew across the clearing. The little boy was no longer there.

"Come here," he said, and they had to obey him.

He stood looking at them. His face was like marble, and his eyes searched them through and through.

"Well," he said, "what have you got to say for yourselves?"

They hung their heads and said nothing.

Then Marian tried to speak, though her voice sounded funny.

"Please, sir," she said, "we wanted to ask you something, but you were playing with the boy."

"The boy?" he said: "did you see the boy?"

They lifted their eyes to him.

"Why, of course," they answered.

For a moment he was silent. Then his voice changed a little.

"Come and sit down," he said, "and tell me what you saw."

When they had told him, he just nodded, and sat, as Mr Williams had done, staring in front of him.

"Well, now you know," he said, "why this wood is private, and why I never allow anybody to come into it."

"Because of the boy?" asked Marian.

"Because of the boy," he said. "I'll try to explain to you, but I doubt if you'll understand. You see, I had a notion that if we human beings could only imagine anything hard enough, the thing that we imagined might become actually real, if only just for a minute or two."

He moved his hand, with its heavy gold signet-ring.

"This is the place," he said, "where I come to imagine."

"I see," said Marian. "But why do you imagine the boy?"

He reached for his coat and took something out of a pocket-book.

"This is his photograph," he said. "He was my only son."