Darius Bell and the Crystal Bees (15 page)

‘How?' whispered Cyrus.

‘I showed you! I put them there for you, and I showed you how to find it when you were very little, knowing you'd forget that I did and you'd always think you had a special hiding place for them of your own.'

Cyrus was speechless.

‘Where are the other ones?' asked Darius. ‘Do you still have them?'

‘Certainly.'

‘And could I . . .' Darius hesitated. ‘I don't suppose I could use them?'

‘I've kept them safe for twenty years, Darius.'

Darius nodded. ‘I'm sorry. I don't have the right to ask.'

‘I've always wondered what I was keeping them for.' His mother smiled. ‘Now I know.'

For a moment, Darius frowned. Then he understood. ‘Really?'

‘Can you think of a better use for them than helping the Fishers? Come with me. They're in the west wing. They're well hidden.'

Micheline turned. Darius went with her. After a moment they stopped and looked back. Cyrus was still standing where they had left him, surrounded by the clothes that he had dropped.

‘Oh, come on, Cyrus!' said Darius's mother. ‘Grow up! You were little. You were perfectly happy with what you had.'

‘I'm not happy now!'

‘Do you want to dress up again?'

‘No, but . . .'

‘But what? You had everything you wanted. Coats, dresses. That red dress, you absolutely loved it!'

‘I never . . . I didn't . . .'

Micheline laughed. ‘You did! It may be hard to believe now, but you were once a sweet little boy.' She came back and gave him a hug. ‘My little boy. My baby.' Cyrus squirmed away. Micheline laughed again. ‘Now come on, Cyrus. Darius has done a deal to save the Fishers. Are you going to come with us or not? We'll need help to carry everything.'

‘How many clothes have you got?' asked Darius.

‘How many costumes did you say you need?' replied his mother.

‘Thirty-two. Have you got enough?'

‘Let's go and see.'

The car came up the drive at five o'clock on Friday afternoon. It went past the Bells' old yellow car, turned right, went around the corner of the building and stopped near a small porch where there was a side entrance to the House. Darius was expecting it. He stepped out from the porch.

Mrs Lightman got out of the car. She looked around. ‘Have you got them?' she asked.

Darius nodded.

He went inside and came out with an armful of clothes. Mrs Lightman took them and laid them down on the back seat of her car and examined them quickly.

‘Nice,' she said. ‘I hope the others are just as good.'

Darius went back and returned with a second armful. In and out he went, returning with cloaks, capes, dresses, jackets, trousers, skirts, hats, gloves and boots.

‘That's it,' he said as he brought the last load out. ‘There's enough there for everyone.'

‘Well, this does seem to be—' Mrs Lightman stopped. Darius's mother had come out of the House. So had Cyrus.

Mrs Lightman took the last set of clothes from Darius and laid them down in the car. Then she looked back at Micheline. ‘Mrs Bell,' she said.

‘Mrs Lightman.'

‘And Cyrus.'

‘Hello, Mrs Lightman.'

The principal looked back at Darius's mother. ‘So Darius told you about this, did he?'

‘Of course he did,' said Micheline. ‘Is there any reason he shouldn't have?'

‘Not at all,' replied Mrs Lightman. ‘He's helping his class in the Mayor's Prize. There's nothing wrong with that. It's a very generous act and we're very grateful to him.'

Micheline nodded. The two women gazed at each other, the principal trying to work out whether Darius's mother knew about the other side of the bargain – Darius's mother trying to work out whether it was possible the principal thought she didn't.

‘Darius suggested I come to pick up the clothes,' said Mrs Lightman. ‘I don't think he could have got them all to school by himself. Such a clever boy you have, Mrs Bell. Always thinking of things.'

‘Speaking of which, I have a list here of what we've given you,' replied Darius's mother, holding out a piece of paper, ‘just in case there's any doubt later over what needs to come back.'

‘Of course,' said Mrs Lightman. ‘I was about to ask for one.'

‘I'm going to ask you to sign it.'

‘I'd be very happy to.'

‘Would you like to check it first?'

‘No need, Mrs Bell. I'm sure your list is accurate.'

‘Check the clothes, Mrs Lightman. I wouldn't want any misunderstandings later.'

‘No need for that. I trust you, Mrs Bell.' The principal pulled out a pen and signed the bottom of the list. ‘There.'

Micheline took the paper back. ‘Thank you, Mrs Lightman. Of course, I trust you too.' She paused. ‘Do you understand me?'

Mrs Lightman's eyes narrowed. She glanced at Darius for a moment, then back at his mother.

‘I think you have an agreement with my son.' Darius's mother pointed at the clothes in the back of the car. ‘A deal. He's fulfilled his side of the bargain. I expect you to fulfil yours.'

‘Mrs Bell! What are you suggesting?'

‘I'm not suggesting anything. I'm just telling you what I expect. Just in case there's a problem of some sort and Darius's class can't come here, after all. It would be most unfortunate if that happened.'

‘I agree. But teaching is unpredictable, Mrs Bell. Teachers do sometimes get sick. Things get delayed. It does happen.'

Micheline watched her. Cyrus and Darius both thought that Mrs Lightman was capable of going back on her side of the bargain once she had the clothes. Micheline wasn't going to let that happen.

‘This list you've just signed says that these clothes belong to me, Mrs Lightman. It says that if I choose, I can take them back at any time.
At any time
, do you understand? I am prepared to do that, if necessary. The Mayor's Prize is in three weeks, is that correct?'

‘That's correct, Mrs Bell.'

‘Then Darius's class will be here on Monday for the next two weeks.'

‘I'm not sure if all the arrangements are quite made.'

‘Monday, Mrs Lightman. They'll be here for two weeks from Monday.'

‘It's Friday, today. I'm not sure—'

‘I believe you made your deal with my son yesterday. You've had a whole day to make arrangements.'

‘I didn't see the clothes until now.'

‘Now you've seen them.'

‘I'll need to speak with Mr Beale.'

‘You can speak with him on the weekend.'

‘That's highly irregular, Mrs Bell.'

Micheline held up the list.

Mrs Lightman was silent. She glanced for a moment at the clothes piled on the back seat of her car. She nodded. ‘Monday.'

‘And Darius's class is going to pollinate?'

‘Yes,' said Mrs Lightman. ‘They're going to pollinate.'

‘You'll make sure Mr Beale knows?'

Mrs Lightman nodded again. Micheline smiled. Mrs Lightman didn't smile back.

She got in her car. A moment later, the engine started and then the car turned and moved slowly away.

‘Mama, you were great!' said Darius. ‘I've never seen you like that. You really told her. You were like . . . you were as bad as Mrs Lightman!'

Micheline laughed. ‘I'll try to take that as a compliment.'

‘You
were
great, Mama,' said Cyrus.

‘Well, thank you, Cyrus. It's not often I get both my boys giving me compliments.'

Darius grinned. ‘I've got to go to Mr Fisher. He gave me until the end of today. I can't wait to see his face! This time, it's really going to work.'

‘I think it is,' said his mother. ‘And all because of you, Darius. Everyone else gave up.'

‘No one else had a class that could help!'

‘Darius, you know, speaking of your class, do you really want to wear a costume picked from those clothes we gave?'

‘No! I don't want to be part of it at all. I don't want George
Podcock
judging me!'

‘Neither do I.' Micheline paused. ‘Tell me, when you did your deal with Mrs Lightman, did you say anything about whether you would march in the parade?'

Darius shook his head.

‘Think carefully, Darius. If you promised something as part of the deal, you must do it. Did you say you were going to march with the class? Did you say you would wear a costume of Bell clothes?'

Darius frowned. He tried to remember the exact words of the conversation. He had promised the costumes in exchange for his class's help with pollination. He didn't recall anything being said about him marching or not marching.

‘No,' he said. ‘I didn't.'

‘Are you sure. Darius? A Bell always keeps his promises.'

‘I didn't say anything about it. Neither did Mrs Lightman. I suppose . . . she assumed I'd be there.'

‘But you said nothing to give her that impression?'

‘No, Mama. Nothing. Why are you asking me?'

‘I have an idea. There might be a better costume for you, one that George Podcock might find a little more interesting.'

Darius looked at her inquisitively. ‘What are you thinking of, Mama?'

‘A different costume, that's all.'

‘What kind of costume?'

Micheline told him.

Darius grinned.

‘That's perfect!' said Cyrus.

‘If I'm going to wear a different costume, I think it should be more than just me who does it,' said Darius. ‘I'll ask Oliver and Paul if they want to wear it as well. And Marguerite.'

‘She's not in your class,' said Cyrus.

‘Doesn't matter. No one will know. She'll want to join, I bet she will.'

Micheline nodded. ‘See if they want to.'

Darius grinned. ‘We'll show George Podcock! But Mama, these costumes – who'll make them?'

Micheline smiled her mischievous smile. ‘I can sew, you know.'

Hector Bell looked out the window of his writing room and stared in amazement. Children! All over the strawberry field. He watched one of them as she hovered over a plant, moved to the next, then hovered again. He watched another one. Hovering, moving, hovering, moving . . . A swarm of them.

Where had they come from? And what on earth were they doing?

Hector rarely ventured outside onto the estate, and certainly not midway through a Monday morning, when he was just settling down to start work on his short stories for the week. But the invasion of this swarm of children outside his window couldn't be ignored. As owner of the estate, he felt that it was probably his duty to investigate. More importantly, it piqued his interest. He had a feeling that such an unusual event – an unprecedented event, an unheralded event, an unforeseeably and extravagantly incomparable event – had the makings of a short story, and perhaps one of his finest.

He got up from his desk and headed for the stairs. He didn't exactly run – Hector Bell hadn't run since his boyhood – but he did move rather faster than usual, imagining that the swarm of children might somehow disappear by the time he got out of the house. But they didn't. As he approached the strawberry field they were still there, hovering and moving. They seemed to be holding thin wand-like things and to be poking the strawberry flowers with them. Far off on the other side of the field he caught a glimpse of Darius, and he could see Mr and Mrs Fisher hovering over the plants with some of the children, and he thought he recognised a couple of Darius's friends, but he didn't recognise the others, including a man who was crouching beside one of the children at the edge of the field and happened to stand up and look around just as Hector reached them.

‘Hello,' said Hector.

‘Hello,' said the man.

‘I wonder who you might be?'

‘Trevor Beale. Science teacher.'

Darius's father put out his hand. ‘Hector Bell. This is . . . well, this is my estate.'

Mr Beale shook Hector's hand warmly. ‘Mr Bell! I was hoping I'd be able to thank you. Only I didn't want to come to the House in case I disturbed you.'

‘Thank me for what?' asked Hector affably.

‘For letting us use the estate.' Mr Beale paused. ‘Didn't Darius tell you? Didn't he ask your permission?'

‘Permission for what, Mr Beale?'

‘Oh, I'm so sorry! Darius told me it would be all right. Mr Fisher met us this morning when we arrived and told us where to start. But I assumed . . . Oh, this is terrible! I'll have to call the children back. We can't possibly do this if you haven't—'

‘Mr Beale, calm down, please. Darius is a very sensible boy. More sensible than me, more often than not.' Hector laughed. ‘If he said something is all right, then I'm sure it is. As for Fisher, if you want a fruit, Mr Beale, Fisher's your man. Produces the finest fruits you've ever tasted – can't help himself. Now, me, I'm a man of literary sensibilities, and I don't mind admitting it. A man almost of romantic sensibilities.' Hector paused. ‘Did you say you're a science teacher, Mr Beale?'

Mr Beale nodded.

‘There you are! Science! Never could understand it. It's like a closed book to me. Closed, sealed, tied up and wrapped in paper. If you want to bamboozle me, sir, bamboozle me with science and you won't fail in your mission.'

Mr Beale frowned. ‘Darius said you took a strong interest in science.'

‘No, you're mistaken, Mr Beale. I have no interest in science. None. Zero. Is there something less than zero?'

Mr Beale shook his head.

‘Then zero!'

‘Well, you must have had a very bad science teacher when you were at school. It's tragic really. If a child has a bad teacher in a subject at a critical time in their development, they never really recover.'

‘No,' replied Hector cheerfully, ‘I had a wonderful teacher! Mr Mellow. Tried his best, but couldn't get through to me. Told me to look around – science would be everywhere. I did look, Mr Beale. But all I ever saw were literary notions. Romantic notions.' Hector sighed. ‘I don't blame Mr Mellow. It's my sensibilities, Mr Beale. One can't help one's sensibilities.'

Mr Beale shook his head in confusion. ‘I'm sure Darius told me your sensibilities were scientific.'

‘No, sir,' said Hector. ‘Let's not quibble. A man knows his own sensibilities, don't you think? It's a closed book, science. To me, that's what it is.'

‘But you don't mind if we're learning science here?'

‘Why should I mind? I don't speak Spanish, but I've got nothing against anyone learning it. Is that what you're doing here? Teaching science?'

Mr Beale nodded. ‘Your science teacher, the one who said that science is all around you . . .'

‘Mr Mellow.'

‘He was right. It is all around us. The way the sun rises, the way it sets. The reason an apple falls. The reason the wind blows.'

‘Careful, Mr Beale! You'll bamboozle me. You'll bamboozle me before you know it.'

‘Well, the thing is, I wanted to bring the children out to show them. And somehow, Mrs Lightman – that's the principal of our school – agreed! If you want something to bamboozle you, Mr Bell, you could start with that. It bamboozled me! But anyway, she rang me up on the weekend and told me she wanted me to bring the children here, and so we're here for two weeks to see science close up, in reality, not in books, but in the world!' Mr Beale paused to allow the other man to appreciate the full meaning of this remarkable opportunity.

Hector stared at him, smiling slightly, wondering how two weeks could possibly be spent in a more discombobulating manner. The mere thought of it was enough to make his head spin.

‘Only we're to focus on pollination,' said Mr Beale. ‘I still don't understand why, but Mrs Lightman insisted on it. When Mrs Lightman insists, Mr Bell, you do what she says. As part of the teaching process, we're supposed to pollinate all the fields Mr Fisher shows us. I do find that rather confusing.'

‘Don't worry about it!' replied Hector brightly. ‘I keep hearing that word and I don't understand it at all!'

‘Pollination? It's the way flowers—'

‘Mr Beale, save your breath! It's a closed book. Closed, sealed and wrapped up with paper. How long did you say you'll be here?'

‘Two weeks.'

‘Excellent! We're much alike, Mr Beale, you and I.'

The science teacher looked at him in surprise, wondering how on earth Darius's father had reached that conclusion. He didn't think he had ever met anyone more different than himself.

‘Haven't you noticed? Beale . . . Bell. Drop one letter, change another, and we could be cousins.' Hector winked. ‘I bet you hadn't thought of that, had you?'

‘But there's no relationship between our families that I know of,' protested the science teacher.

‘Spoken like a man of scientific sensibilities, Mr Beale! My sensibilities are literary. Perhaps you were a Bell once. Perhaps a slip of the pen, a mis-written birth certificate or marriage deed, and you turned into a Beale. How did it happen? A mystery. An enigma.'

‘I doubt it.'

‘Doubt it you may.' Hector Bell raised an eyebrow and gazed at him thoughtfully. A short story about a science teacher who turned up only to discover that he was a long-lost relative of a man who had no scientific sensibilities whatsoever? Why not? It was rich with possibilities. ‘Doubt it you may, Mr Beale, but stranger things have happened.'

Mr Beale stared at Hector. ‘So . . . it's all right for us to use the estate for a couple of weeks?'

‘Certainly. If Darius would like you to.'

‘Would you like to stay and see what we're doing?'

‘No, I don't think that will be nec—' Hector stopped, glimpsing Mrs Simpson heading towards them with two huge baskets. ‘Actually, I might just stay a little while longer.'

‘I'll show you what we're up to. Let's go over there.'

‘No, I'll just wait here, if you don't mind.'

A couple of minutes later Mrs Simpson arrived. Hector introduced her to Mr Beale.

‘Have you come to learn some science with us?' asked the teacher enthusiastically.

Mrs Simpson looked at him as if he were some kind of idiot. ‘I know all the science I need, thank you very much! I've come with morning tea.'

Mrs Simpson opened the baskets and began pulling out cakes which she cut into huge, generous slices. One of the children saw her, and then another, and a moment later they all came running out of the field, holding the cottonwool-tipped wands they had been using to pollin- ate the flowers.

Hector spread his arms. ‘Welcome!' he boomed. ‘Welcome to the Bell estate! There's cake for all. Form a queue. Form a queue, children! There's enough for everyone!'

‘Take your turns, ladies and gentlemen,' said Mr Beale. ‘No one's going to miss out.'

The children stared at them, then kept pushing in around Mrs Simpson, who was handing out the cake.

‘Hello, Papa,' said Darius when he came over. ‘Are you going to join us?'

‘I don't see why not,' said Hector. ‘At least for the moment.'

Darius grinned. He stood with his father as they waited their chance to get some cake. ‘We're going to pollinate the crops, Papa,' he said when Mr Beale stepped away to get his own piece. ‘Mr Fisher isn't going to have to leave.'

Hector looked at the gardener, who had come to join them. ‘Is that true, Mr Fisher?'

Mr Fisher nodded. ‘Apparently it is!'

‘Excellent! And we get cake as well!'

Mrs Simpson handed them each a big slice of iced carrot cake.

‘Superb, Mrs Simpson, if I may say so,' said Hector.

Mrs Simpson smiled. ‘You may, Mr Bell.'

‘What do you think, Mr Beale?' he called out to the science teacher.

‘Very good! Thank you, Mrs Simpson.' Mr Beale came back to them. ‘Darius, did you ask your father if we could come here?'

‘I think I . . . asked my mother.'

‘Fair enough!' said Hector. ‘Do you realise, Darius, that Mr Beale and I could easily have been cousins. Take away one letter, change another . . . and there you have it!'

‘I still don't really understand what you mean by that,' said Mr Beale.

Darius smiled. He did.

After morning tea, they went back into the strawberry field. Mr Fisher continued to move from child to child, showing them how to select the best flowers for pollin- ation, how to use the wands, how to get to flowers that were positioned at a difficult angle, how to do the job that bees did naturally as they buzzed from flower to flower. There was a skill and deftness to it and Mr Fisher had a wonderful knack of giving people confi- dence and helping them feel that they would succeed if only they kept trying. He would spend as long as you needed to help you do it, and with every patient word and each careful demonstration of the technique he managed to convey the love he felt for the work he did each day in the fields.

As they worked, Mr Beale wandered among them like a butterfly, stopping here or there before fluttering on, pointing out a beetle or a slug that he happened to notice under the plant that someone was pollinating and describing how it lived, talking about soil and how it was formed, explaining the structure of leaves and why the top surface of a leaf is different from the bottom and getting whoever was listening to look and feel and understand the reason for the difference. When a breeze sprang up he would use the opportunity to talk with whoever was closest about the reasons that winds blow, and as clouds rolled past he talked about different cloud structures and why one develops on one occasion and others on another – in short, anything that came to mind when looking around the fields and earth and sky that surrounded them. Later there was a picnic lunch from Mrs Simpson, and afternoon tea at three o'clock.

It went on over the next two warm, sunny, springtime weeks. One afternoon it rained, and Darius took everyone to the glitter pool and they stayed underground until the rain stopped, gazing at the glittering display and listening to Mr Beale explain about the way minerals formed and crystals developed. Darius looked around at his class as Mr Beale spoke. He remembered the moment he had first had the idea about doing the pollination, when he wished he could turn the crystals into bees. In a way he had! These were his crystal bees, all thirty-two of them, and he was one as well.

The rest of the time they were in the fields. Each day there was morning tea, and lunch, and afternoon tea, and they would sit in the sun – each day in a different field or orchard – and eat the food Mrs Simpson had prepared for them. After each break they picked up their pollinating wands and went back to the flowers. Some of the kids were interested in science, and called out to Mr Beale when they saw something they wanted him to explain. Others didn't, but he gave them explanations anyway, and they discovered that things made a lot more sense when you could see whatever it was that was being explained right in front of you. Some of the kids became expert pollinators and prided themselves on the speed and consistency of their work. They competed with each other to excel. Paul Klasky and Evelina Williams, of all people, turned out to be the best of the class, and could do a whole row of beans in the time it took the slowest people to do only half as much. And some of the kids grumbled, of course, like Stephen Pintel, who wondered why he had to come to the Bell estate for two weeks when all he wanted to do was practise marching for the Mayor's Prize. But someone started a rumour that Darius had supplied costumes for everyone and that even now they were in the process of being modified to fit the children, and when Stephen confronted Darius in the pumpkin field and demanded to know if it was true, Darius said it was, and that kept Stephen quiet.