me. But we can look on, can’t we? Will the swords be out on the Wednesday after the 21st, Grandfather?’
‘Certain sure they’ll be out.’
‘I be Whiffler,’ Ernie said very loudly. ‘Bean’t I, chaps?’
‘Hold your noise then. Us all knows you be Whiffler,’ said his father irritably, ‘and going in mortal dread of our lives on account of it.’
‘And the Wing-Commander’s “Crack”,’ Ernie said monotonously pursuing his theme. ‘Wing-Commander Begg, that is. Old ’Oss, that is. ’E commanded my crowd ’e did: I was ’is servant, I was. Wing-Commander Simon Begg, only we called ’im Simmy-Dick, we did. ’E’ll be Old ’Oss, ’e will.’
‘Ya-a-as, ya-a-as,’ said his four brothers soothingly in unison. Ernie’s dog came out from behind the door and gloomily contemplated its master.
‘We can’t have that poor stinking beast in here,’ Trixie remarked.
‘Not healthy,’ Tom Plowman said. ‘Sorry, Ern, but there you are. Not healthy.’
‘No more ’tis,’ Andy agreed. ‘Send it back home, Ern.’
His father loudly ordered the dog to be removed, going so far as to say that it ought to be put out of its misery, in which opinion his sons heartily concurred. The effect of this pronouncement upon Ernie was disturbing. He turned sheet-white, snatched up the dog and, looking from one to the other of his relations, backed towards the door.
‘I’ll be the cold death of any one of you that tries,’ he said violently.
A stillness fell upon the company. Ernie blundered out into the dark, carrying his dog.
His brothers scraped their boots on the floor and cleared their throats. His father said: ‘Damned young fool, when all’s said.’ Trixie explained that she was as fond of animals as anybody but you had to draw the line.
Presently Ernie returned, alone, and after eyeing his father for some moments, began to complain like a child.
‘A chap bean’t let ’ave nothin’ he sets his fancy to,’ Ernie whined. ‘Nor let do nothin’ he’s a notion to do. Take my case. Can’t ’ave me dog. Can’t do Fool’s act in the Five Sons. I’m the best lepper and caperer of the lot of you. I’d be a proper good Fool, I would.’ He pointed to his father. ‘You’re altogether beyond it, as the doctor in ’is wisdom ’as laid down. Why can’t you heed ’im and let me take over?’
His father rejoined with some heat: ‘You’re lucky to whiffle. Hold your tongue and don’t meddle in what you don’t understand. Which reminds me,’ he added, advancing upon Trixie. ‘There was a foreign wumman up along to Copse Forge. Proper old nosey besom. If so be – Ar?’
Camilla had tugged at his coat and was gesturing in the direction of the hidden Mrs Bünz. Trixie mouthed distractedly. The four senior brothers made unhappy noises in their throats.
‘In parlour, is she?’ William bawled. ‘Is she biding?’
‘A few days,’ Trixie murmured. Her father said firmly: ‘Don’t talk so loud, Guiser.’
‘I’ll talk as loud as I’m minded. Us doan’t want no furreignesses hereabouts –’
‘Doan’t, then Dad,’ his sons urged him.
But greatly inflamed, the Guiser roared on. Camilla looked through into the Private and saw Mrs Bünz wearing an expression of artificial abstraction. She tiptoed past the gap and disappeared.
‘Grandfather!’ Camilla cried out indignantly, ‘she heard you! How could you! You’ve hurt her feelings dreadfully and she’s not even English –’
‘Hold your tongue, then.’
‘I don’t see why I should.’
Ernie astonished them all by bursting into shouts of laughter.
‘Like mother, like maid,’ he said, jerking his thumb at Camilla. ‘Hark to our Bessie’s girl.’
Old William glowered at his granddaughter. ‘Bad blood,’ he said darkly.
‘Nonsense! You’re behaving,’ Camilla recklessly continued, ‘exactly like an over-played “heavy”. Absolute ham, if you don’t mind my saying so, Grandfather!’
‘What kind of loose talk’s that?’
‘Theatre slang, actually.’
‘Theatre!’ he roared. ‘Doan’t tell me you’re shaming your sex by taking up with that trash. That’s the devil’s counting-house, that is.’
‘With respect, Grandfather, it’s nothing of the sort.’
‘My granddaughter!’ William said, himself with considerable histrionic effort, ‘a play-actress! Ar, well! Us might have expected it, seeing she was nossled at the breast of the Scarlet Woman.’
Nat and Andy with the occasional unanimity of twins groaned: ‘Ar, dear!’
The landlord said: ‘Steady, souls.’
‘I really don’t know what you mean by that,’ Camilla said hotly. ‘If you’re talking about Daddy’s Church you must know jolly well that it isn’t mine. He and Mummy laid that on before I was born. I wasn’t to be a Roman and if my brother had lived he would have been one. I’m C. of E.’
‘That’s next door as bad,’ William shouted. ‘Turning your back on Chapel and canoodling with Popery.’
He had come quite close to her. His face was scored with exasperation. He pouted, too, pushing out his lips at her and making a piping sound behind them.
To her own astonishment Camilla said: ‘No, honestly! You’re nothing but an old baby after all,’ and suddenly kissed him.
‘There now!’ Trixie ejaculated, clapping her hands.
Tom Plowman said: ‘Reckon that calls for one all round on the house.’
The outside door was pushed open and a tall man in a duffle coat came in.
‘Good evening, Mr Begg,’ said Trixie.
‘How’s Trix?’ asked Wing-Commander Simon Begg.
II
Later on, when she had seen more of him, Camilla was to think of the first remark she heard Simon Begg make as completely typical of him. He was the sort of man who has a talent for discovering the Christian names of waiters and waitresses and uses them continually. He was powerfully built and not ill-looking, with large blue eyes, longish hair and a blond moustache. He wore an RAF tie, and a vast woollen scarf in the same colours. He had achieved distinction (she was to discover) as a bomber pilot during the war.
The elder Andersens, slow to recover from Camilla’s
