The Pearly Queen (16 page)

‘I just pulled her out of the way,' said Jimmy.

‘She's got nine lives, the young madam,' said Ivy.

‘Madam says she needs them all,' said Ada.

‘I'll keep out of her way,' said Jimmy. ‘I don't want to 'elp her use one of them up.'

‘You'll be lucky,' said Ada.

‘Lucky?' said Jimmy.

‘If you can keep out of young madam's way,' said Ada.

‘Poor young feller,' said Ivy. ‘What with things that might fall on 'im, an' what the young madam might do to 'im, 'is fate don't bear thinkin' about.'

‘I think it's bein' so cheerful that keeps Ivy goin', don't you, Mr 'Odges?' said Ada.

‘I am in fits,' said Mr Hodges. He rose from the table. A buzzer chirruped. He looked at the indicator box mounted on the wall. ‘Madam's finished breakfast. Clear the breakfast room, Ada. Come along, my boy, and I will take you to the outer world and to the master, Mr Gibbs.'

‘Good luck, Jimmy,' said Ada. A bright little smile surfaced. ‘At least you got a nice sunny day for things to fall on you.'

‘Yes, what a blessin',' said Jimmy, and followed Mr Hodges out of the main kitchen into a smaller one with a large sink and storage bins.

Mr Hodges led the way along a corridor to a side door of the house. He turned right along a path and came round to a large conservatory at the rear of the mansion-like residence. The conservatory looked as if it contained its own jungle. From a magnificent paved terrace, Jimmy saw the main jungle. Just beyond the terrace overgrown ground had been cleared to a depth of thirty yards. The clearance was some sixty yards wide, and on either side were huge piles of brambles, twigs, leaves and small tree branches. Beyond the clearing was the jungle. Lofty beeches and huge spreading oaks reached for the sky, and in between slender saplings fought to reach the light. The trees looked as if they were bedded in a tangled mass of hawthorn, bramble, wild roses and the like, and these were sprouting high in their battle to escape enveloping weeds and tall grasses. Above the jungle, Jimmy glimpsed sunlight flashing on the vast curved glass roof of the Crystal Palace, nearly a mile away. The terrace was bounded by stone balusters supporting a stone coping. A central opening led to six shallow paved steps, balustrated on either side, and the steps took one down to the clearing. In the quietness of the morning, Jimmy heard the sounds of axes and saws away to the left.

Mr Hodges blew a whistle and waited. ‘Might I hask if you have brought an apron, young man?' he enquired.

‘Me? An apron? I hope you're jokin', Mr Hodges.'

‘A workman's apron. Protection for your jersey and trousers. Mr Gibbs won't want to send you 'ome looking ruined. Ah, here he is.'

Mr Gibbs emerged from the left of the jungle and walked over the clearing. He was wearing old corduroy trousers and an open-necked brown shirt. His head was bare, his face brown from the sun. He reached the steps and smiled up at Jimmy.

‘So there you are, young 'un. Good.' It wasn't yet nine o'clock, but Mr Gibbs looked as if he'd been at work for hours. ‘Come on.'

‘Might I suggest he needs an apron, sir?' said Mr Hodges.

‘So he does. One of the calico ones, Hodges. D'you mind?'

‘I will hadvance back to the kitchen, sir,' said Hodges, and did so. He returned with a light brown calico apron and gave it to Jimmy, who put it on and tied it. It was a thick, coarse protective garment.

‘Right, this way, Jimmy,' said Mr Gibbs, and Jimmy went down the steps and followed him across the clearing. Mr Gibbs bore left. A line of beeches appeared, the ground between them cleared. ‘I'm working myself, I'm taking a week off from my business. I like this kind of work, it's preparation for another kind of work, creating something.'

‘A garden?' said Jimmy.

‘I've twelve acres here, Jimmy, enough to create a large garden and a park.' Mr Gibbs broke through the line of beeches. Jimmy followed and saw another clearing. Mr Gibbs stopped. ‘I'm a Brixton man, Jimmy, born and bred in the smoke, so I like parks and green grass. How do you feel about that?'

‘Well, I like Ruskin Park and Hyde Park, Mr Gibbs.'

‘Don't we all. Right, this is your starting pitch, Jimmy.'

The large clearing was littered, not only with hacked undergrowth but with felled bush and shrub. In the middle a large bonfire had been constructed. Felled saplings and the trunks of dead trees were piled to one side. Close to the pile were sawn-off branches. In the jungle beyond the sounds of axes and saws came clearer to Jimmy's ears.

‘There doesn't seem any end to the jungle, Mr Gibbs.'

‘It's like this over most of the acres, Jimmy.'

‘You goin' to saw everything down except this line of trees, Mr Gibbs?'

‘Not on your life, Jimmy. Most of the saplings, yes. They don't belong, except in a few places. They're trying to pinch air from established trees. Getting rid of them is like a pruning operation, and you need to do it to keep the established trees healthy and vigorous. As it is, some trees have died. They'll have to come down too. Now, over there are wheelbarrows, rakes, pitchforks, saws, the lot. Your job is to clear up, first to saw those branches up, to rid all major branches of smaller branches. Everything's going to be burned. Tons of stuff. See that bonfire over there? That's ready for lighting. I want you to build others just like it. But we shan't be putting a torch to them by day, we'll smoke out the whole of Anerley if we do. We'll light them at night. In one of those wheelbarrows is a thick pair of industrial gloves that'll protect your hands, otherwise you'll tear your fingers to pieces when you're gathering up all this hacked bramble. Can you make bonfires, Jimmy, building a cradle first so that there's air to help the fire get started?'

‘Layers of twigs, Mr Gibbs?'

‘That's the stuff, Jimmy. Can I leave you to it? Oh, there'll be some lemonade for you about mid-morning. Go up to the terrace for it, one of the servants will call you. How's that?'

‘I'm followin' you, Mr Gibbs.'

‘Leave any timber that's too heavy. I'll get the men to throw it on when the bonfires are going tonight. Now I'm off to supervise them. That's the advantage of being the gaffer, they work and you supervise.' Mr Gibbs smiled and left Jimmy to it. Jimmy decided on clearing work first, on building bonfires of all the hacked stuff and sawing up branches later. He found the gloves, pulled them on, took hold of a rake and began to clear an area for the building of the first bonfire. The day was warm, the air sweet with the scent of scythed grass and chopped blackthorn. Jimmy whistled. It exhilarated him to be working out of doors and in country-like surroundings such as these. He raked away, using his gloved hands to move large tangles of hacked bramble.

Eyes watched him, eyes full of mischief. She appeared, summery in an apple green frock, her hair ribboned. Jimmy sensed trouble.

‘Hullo, Jimmy.'

‘Yes, good morning,' said Jimmy. ‘I won't keep you and I'm a bit busy.'

‘You're all over bits,' said Sophy.

‘Can't stop,' said Jimmy, raking away.

‘I'll help,' said Sophy.

‘You're not supposed to.'

‘Oh, Mummy said it's all right, she said I ought to come and say hullo to you, she said she'd feel ashamed if I didn't. I suppose any mother would feel ashamed if her only daughter didn't come and say hullo to someone who saved her life. I'll go and get another rake.'

‘You're on school holidays, I suppose, are you?' said Jimmy, pulling a heap of bramble free of the ground. ‘Don't you have some dolls you can go and play with?'

‘Dolls? Dolls? Me?' Sophy split her sides. ‘I'm not seven years old, you know, you impertinent beast. I'll get a rake.' Off she went, treading a path through the debris. Back she came, bearing a rake. ‘Now, I'll help you.'

‘Excuse me, but you can't,' said Jimmy, now at work in the middle of his cleared area. He had an armful of leafy twigs and was making a cradle.

‘I'm going to,' declared Sophy.

‘Not in your frock,' said Jimmy.

‘Oh, it's just an old thing. What are you doing?'

‘Buildin' a bonfire.'

‘Oh, I'll bring more sticks and stuff,' said Sophy, dropping the rake.

‘Look, you sure your mum said it'll be all right?'

‘Of course I'm sure,' said Sophy, pulling twigs free of debris.

‘Wouldn't you like to go and say hullo to your dad?' asked Jimmy hopefully.

‘I said hullo to him before breakfast. Oh, do wake up, Jimmy. Here.' She showered twigs on to the cradle.

‘I think I've got trouble,' said Jimmy under his breath.

Sophy was insistent, and they worked together building the bonfire, Jimmy using his gloved hands to cope with thorn and bramble, Sophy pulling at less harmful stuff. The bonfire began to mount. Jimmy went for a pitchfork at that stage. Sophy called to him to bring her one too. Resigned, he did so. They used the pitchforks to dig into the raked mounds of debris and to add them to the growing mountain. Jimmy was quick and efficient, Sophy exuberant and careless.

‘Up she goes!' she cried, showering debris.

‘Look, d'you mind not chuckin' it over me?' said Jimmy, brushing stuff from his hair.

‘Don't be cheeky,' said Sophy, ‘and don't stand in my way.' She brought more tangled debris on her pitchfork. A girl of the outdoors, the sun had turned her face golden. She jerked upwards with the pitchfork. Twigs, grass and other stuff went up into the air and fell back over her.

‘That's clever, that is,' said Jimmy.

‘Oh, blimey,' said Sophy, and brushed bits and pieces from her hair and frock leaving dust marks on both. ‘Oh, well, never mind, all in a day's work.'

Jimmy brought a large forkful and neatly deposited it. Sophy chucked her next load all over the place and yelled with laughter as scythed hay landed on Jimmy's head.

‘Well, thanks for your help,' he said. ‘Now go and have a nice time somewhere and I'll carry on.'

‘I'm having a nice time here,' she said. She wouldn't go, she stayed with him, worked with him, bossed him about, ran around picking up light broken branches, tossed them on to the mountain of debris, talked all the time and got in his way. There was grass in her hair, dust on her face and a tear in her frock.

‘Oh, crikey,' said Jimmy, taking a look at her.

Her eyes bright, she said, ‘It's jolly blissful, messing about. I like messing about, don't you?'

‘I'm not messin' about,' said Jimmy. ‘I'm workin'.'

‘Sophy?' A voice called. ‘Are you down there, doing your sketching?'

‘Oh, corks,' said Sophy, and ran towards the line of beeches. Coming to a stop, she called, ‘Is that you, Mummy?'

‘Oh, you are there. Are you doing your sketching?'

‘Pardon, Mummy?'

‘Come up here, where I can seer you.'

‘I'm all right, Mummy.'

‘Are you with your father?'

‘Daddy's with the men sawing, I don't want to get in the way and get sawn up.'

‘Thank God for that. What are you sketching?'

‘Pardon, Mummy?'

‘What are you sketching?'

‘Well, there's lot of things, wild flowers and everything.'

‘If you see the boy Jimmy, keep out of his way.'

‘Yes, he's ever so busy, Mummy. I don't mind helping him, if you like.'

‘God help him if you do. Just get on with your sketching.'

‘Yes, Mummy, I'll go and look for my sketch book, I put it down somewhere. Can I have some lemonade later?'

‘When the whistle blows. Behave yourself now, and don't get your frock grubby.'

‘No, Mummy.'

When she rejoined Jimmy she had a thick sketch book and a box of crayons with her. She put them down on the ground. Jimmy looked at her. The ribbon in her hair was loose and dangling, her hair itself all over the place, her frock covered with bits and pieces.

‘I think you'd better do some sketchin', like your mum says.'

‘Yes, in a minute.' Sophy was quick to engage herself again with a rake.

‘It sorrows me that you're a fibber,' said Jimmy, working on a new area.

‘Blessed impudence,' said Sophy. ‘I didn't fib to Mummy.'

‘You did to me. You told me your mum said it was all right for you to 'elp me.'

‘Oh, that,' said Sophy. ‘Well, I can always tell Mummy you made me.'

‘Oh, crikey,' said Jimmy, ‘I knew I'd got trouble. Listen, you'd better do a bit of sketchin', your mum's bound to ask to see some.'

‘All right,' said Sophy, and sat down on the ground. She opened up the sketch book and the box of crayons, looked up at Jimmy, saw him start work again, and began to sketch.

Jimmy enjoyed a quiet fifteen minutes. Then, at ten-thirty, a whistle blew.

‘Is that for the lemonade?' he asked.

‘Yes,' said Sophy, head bent over her sketching. ‘Jimmy, could you bring mine, I don't think I'll go up, in case – yes, you bring mine. There'll be biscuits as well. Ask for a tray.'

‘Don't fall down a hole while I'm gone,' said Jimmy, and he heard her giggle as he went up through the paths to the terrace. It wasn't Mr Hodges who was there with the lemonade, it was Mrs Gibbs, looking corking, he thought, in a lovely lilac summer dress.

‘So there you are, Jimmy,' she said, smiling down at him as he came up the steps.

‘Hullo, Mrs Gibbs,' he said. There was a tray on an ornamental garden table. He saw two glasses of home-made lemonade and a plate of biscuits.

‘You look very workman-like, young man,' said Mrs Gibbs.

‘Yes, I've only tripped over the apron once, Mrs Gibbs, I think it must've been made for a six-feet-six bloke, don't you?'