"Toby!" I repeated. "What in the world are you doing in there?"
He looked a real scarecrow: tangled hair, tousled clothes, a smeary face, filthy hands—and most of this had come off on my laundry, in which he had been wrapped.
Mrs. Early lowered her poker. "You know him, miss?" She made it sound like a crime.
I started to explain, but he turned a pitiful face in my direction and clutched the front of his trousers.
"Wanna piss, miss!"
I snatched at his sleeve, rushed him out into the yard and pointed him in the direction of the outside privy. When he reappeared, looking much better, I hauled him back into the kitchen.
"Would you be kind enough to give him a mug of milk, Mrs. Early?" He downed it in one gulp, sighed, and put the empty mug on the table. "There's more where that came from," I said, "when you have explained yourself!"
"Where'd you want me to start?"
"At the beginning. Just a moment though . . ." I turned to Mr. and Mrs. Early and finished explaining who and what he was. "Not my idea," I said.
"And just look at what he's done to your laundry!" Mrs. Early snatched out the sheets, pillowcases and towels. "Need more than one boil!"
"Right, Toby!"
"Er . . . I ain't et nuffin since—"
"How many times do I have to tell you? `I haven't eaten anything since . . .' Repeat it after me—and leave out that whine . . . Good. Carry on. You can eat after you have told me why and how you are here. The truth, mind."
I was fiercer with him than usual, largely because his appearance had been such a shock, bringing back the environment I had come from with painful clarity, now when I had decided to give it all up.
He hesitated. "I hid in there because I wanted to be with you. When—when I heard as you weren't coming back—"
"That you weren't—"
"That you weren't coming back, I grew desperate. Me Mam's latest—"
"My—"
"My Mam's latest hates me, he does. Doesn't want me in the house no more—"
I sighed. "Any more. Come on, Toby, you can talk better than that!"
"He told me as—that—I reminded him of a frog. Me—my Mam—was always saying as—that my dad was the best lover she ever had."
I looked at his filthy face. Large, long-lashed eyes, straight nose, determined chin— "You don't look a bit like a frog—or a toad, come to that."
"Not a frog frog, a Frenchie Frog. Me—my Mam—let slip he came from a town called Paree."
All Mrs. Jugg's children had different fathers, I knew that. Beside me Mrs. Early's eyes were like saucers.
"But how did you get in there? And when?"
"Miss Madeleine. From the school, remember? I went and told her everything, how I wanted to be with you, an' all. She went and saw my Mum. My Mum's got the hots for this new fellow—"
There was a gasp from Mrs. Early: such things just weren't mentioned.
"—and she said as it—that it was probably for the best if'n I joined you. For the time being, at any rate."
"But why the laundry basket?"
"Miss Madeleine ain't—hasn't got no—any—money, seeing as—that she's only Miss Hepzibah's by-blow—" Another gasp from Mrs. Early. "—so it was my Mum's idea, to save the fare. Miss Madeleine got permission to check that your things were all packed proper—properly—and she shut me in and labelled me this morning before they came to take everything to the station."
I wanted to laugh, but kept my voice severe. "And how do I know all this is the truth?"
He fished about in his pockets. "Got a letter from Miss Madeleine."
Taking the crumpled envelope I opened it and rapidly scanned the contents. It seemed that Madeleine Moffat had hidden depths. Not only did her letter confirm all that Toby had said, but she added a few details about Toby's new "uncle" that Toby would never have told me, which also made me glad that he was away from home. She hoped I could find him a good position, suggesting that he deserved it and would benefit from further education. She closed by regretting she had not had the chance to bid me farewell, and wishing me well in my new life. In a hastily written postscript she added that she had taken over my position at the school, "Although I shall not, of course, be receiving any wages!"
So here I was, a sort of surrogate aunt, charged with finding Toby a secure position and a temporary home, on top of everything else I had to think about! I looked at the filthy, forlorn-looking boy and felt a rush of sympathy. It must have been quite an experience, being humped and bumped around on carts and trains, upside down or right way up, without food or water and never even sure if he were going to arrive safely.
"Does he stay, miss?"
"For the time being, Mrs. Early, until we can find him a suitable position. I realise this will mean extra work for you—"
She shook her head. "Think nothing of it. Just a bit more food on the stove, for I'll bet he has an appetite . . . And if I might suggest it, he could do with a bath!"
He certainly could. It was warm in the kitchen, and even where I stood I could smell the unwashed children stink of the school . . .
But Toby had turned to me in something like terror. "A barf? I ain't 'ad a barf since Gawd knows when!" Obviously the very thought had washed away any attempt at correct speech.
"Now listen to me; you came here uninvited and I could send you straight back to London, if necessary in custody. Don't think I'm not pleased to see you, but if I let you remain, then you must do exactly what I say, is that understood?" He nodded. "Now, Mrs. Early will give you something to eat—" Indeed, she was already ladling soup into a large bowl. "—And then you will have a bath, as she suggested. I myself bathe every day, and I shall expect you to do the same. Understood again?" He nodded once more, as if he couldn't trust himself to speak. I realised he must be feeling that perhaps he had made a mistake in leaving home, so I softened my tone and added: "And as soon as Mr. and Mrs. Early have dealt with you, you can come upstairs and we'll have a talk by the fire and tea and cake."
The housekeeper cut a large hunk of bread and set that and the soup on the table, pulled up a stool and motioned Toby to eat. He needed no further invitation. He fell on the food like a starved dog, and ate as untidily, stuffing the bread into his mouth until his cheeks bulged, and slurping the soup noisily. I opened my mouth to remonstrate, but behind his back Mrs. Early shook her head, conveying without words that she understood his hunger. He was obviously in good hands.
"I'll send him up when he's ready, miss. Don't worry, he'll be all right. And if you hear a noise or two, just ignore it. I doubt he's seen soap and water in a good while . . ."
So I ignored the yells and screams I heard some time later, as I brought Ky-Lin up to date with what had happened.
"I shall be curious to see your little friend . . ."
But I don't think either of us was prepared for what came up shortly after Mrs. Early's tea-tray, now with a bigger tea-pot and two large slabs of cake.
"Mr. Early will be up with him in a minute, Miss," she said without preamble. "We had to burn his clothes, they were that flea-ridden. Once the eggs get into the seams, there's nothing else to do." She looked uncharacteristically hot and bothered, with wisps of hair escaping from under her cap. "So, begging your pardon, we've put him in one of your uncle's old nightshirts, not having anything else to hand. Your uncle wasn't that tall, but the garment reaches his ankles, and we had to stuff the slippers with paper. He wouldn't wear the combies . . ." She turned to go, then came back and lowered her voice. "Thought you might like to know: poor lad was covered in bruises and two burns. Not where they would show, mind. Reckon it's a good thing he's away from all that."
Poor Toby! But I had expected as much from Madeleine's letter.
She turned to go again, but hadn't quite finished. "By the by, the nightcap was your uncle's too, but we thought it best to cover his head against the cold. It was the lice as well, you see . . ."
I didn't immediately, and it was only when Mr. Early ushered the boy in a couple of minutes later that I realised the extent to which he had been "done over," as he would have put it.
I had always seen him as a healthily tanned, curly-haired boy with a ready grin, but what I saw now was someone I hardly recognised. A thin pale-faced lad with freckles on his nose, wearing an absurd nightshirt and a nightcap with a bobble on the end, shuffling across the floor in over-large slippers. His eyes were big, dark-rimmed and frightened.
"Toby? Come and sit down and let me pour you some tea." He smelt of good, strong carbolic soap, and even his bitten nails had been scrubbed clean. "My word! I hardly recognised you. It's nice to see you so—so clean and tidy! Aren't you glad to get rid of all that London dirt and grime?"
He looked at me resentfully, his lower lip trembling, then suddenly snatched off the nightcap, to reveal that they had shaved him completely bald. "Just look what they done to me hair! Bald as a coot, I am!"
"It'll soon grow back," I soothed, even as I tried to hide my dismay at the loss of his normally luxuriant mop. He saw my expression and flushed angrily.
"See? You don't like it neither! Looks like a freak I does, a bloody freak!"
"Toby! Don't swear—"
" 'Nough to make a saint swear!" I heard a tiny snigger from the hidden Ky-Lin. "You ain't never 'ad your 'ead shaved, 'ave you? Bloody cold it is too: you'll 'ave me catch me death!"
"Oh, come on," I said placatingly. "I think it makes you look sort of—sort of distinguished. Like one of those marble busts we saw in that museum once, remember?" For sometimes I used to take him with me on my expeditions in London.
"They was wearing stone wigs," he said disgustedly. "And I ain't wearing no wigs, stone or otherwise. Right fright I'd look!"
I forebore to say that he looked a "right fright" at this moment. Leaning forward I touched his skull; it was strange to study the true shape of the head, so often hidden by hair, with its unaccustomed slopes, furrows and hollows. I examined my own head later, discovering for the first time my own bumps and lumps. Phrenology was an emerging science, I learned.
"Listen, Toby! Once your hair grows back—and it will, and quickly too—there'll be no more lice, no more nits, no more scratching. Doesn't that make any difference?"
"Not when you're as bald as an egg! Not when folks are goin' to look at you as if you came from a freak show! Not when the wind is whistling past your ears fit to freeze off your balls!"
"Toby!" I expostulated, though I was grinning inside, and there was another snigger from the hidden Ky-Lin. "That's enough of that! Tomorrow I will have you kitted out properly in the village, including a nice cap to hide your baldness. Now, drink your tea and eat your cake and I'll show you where you will sleep."
He ate his slice, and mine, and drank three cups of tea, with six lumps of sugar in each. Afterwards he looked much better, with a flush in his cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes.
I leant back in my chair, waiting till he had finished, initially loath to spoil his mood, but it had to be done.
"Look here,Toby, at the risk of repeating myself, I didn't invite you here, and I'm afraid you have come at rather a busy time as I shall be going away on a long journey very soon. Before I go, however, I shall find you somewhere to live and, hopefully, some job or other to keep you busy. However, if I agree to take on the responsibility of doing this, you must promise to behave yourself, and keep your bad language to yourself. Understood?"
He nodded, and I relaxed. Not for long.
"Reckon I'll go with you, miss."
"Oh, no you don't!" I said. "This is nothing to do with you. I'm not taking you on an expedition to China!"
"Chiny? Must be a third of the way across the world!" His eyes were now dangerously bright. " 'Member that map we had in the classroom?"
Indeed I did. Probably about six feet by four, a Mercator projection, it was primarily meant to glorify the British Empire, with all the red bits showing that we seemed to have conquered half the world. Actually its most useful function was to hide the badly stained plaster of the wall, for as a map it was pretty useless. The greasy brown oilcloth had dimmed so that the red was pale pink, the blues and greens and yellows all dulled to a sort of dun colour, smearing the world into an ancient hoarding, rather than the bright tapestry it should have been.
"Used to look at that map all the time, miss, 'specially when the lessons were boring. I was nearest, see. Got to understand what the different shapes were: ours looking like a little old lady in a bonnet riding a pig to market; Italy like a posh boot, kicking little Sicily, France and Germany big squares—and Chiny and Roosia so big they could swallow up 'most everybody else, 'cept the triangle of India. And the rivers, miss! Like wriggly worms, they was—sorry, were—so it must take a long time to travel along them, though it looks shorter in a straight line . . ." He ran (temporarily) out of breath. I was fascinated; I had never heard him so animated, and had no idea he was so keen on geography—unless of course he was making the whole thing up in order to impress me and book his place on our expedition. If so, it was a very adroit performance, especially as it seemed to be spontaneous.
"I never knew you were so keen on maps and things," I said carefully.
"Oh, yes! I used to look at Miss Madeleine's sometimes when she took over if Miss Hardacre were—was—off. She's like you, buys books second-hand, but they got maps mostly, and plants and animals. Helped me make up my mind what I'm goin' to be: a 'Splorer."
"An explorer?" Small chance, Toby, I thought. You need to have a private income for that sort of thing.
"Yes, however long it takes. Reckon I could get a job, save a bit, then volunteer to join an expedition. Cook, carrier, collector—whatever, till I gets—get enough to strike out on me—my—own."
In spite of my misgivings, I was impressed. If his actions matched his determination, then he would succeed.
"China is out of the question, I'm afraid, but tomorrow or the day after I'll tell you where I'm going and why. It's quite a story . . ." I doubted he would believe it though. "Ah, here's Mrs. Early to tell us supper is ready . . ."
After seconds of mince and dumplings and treacle tart, I gave him a candle and showed him to his bedroom, explaining that I was just across the corridor, and introduced him to the commode in the bathroom.
"No guzunder?"
"No . . . ? Oh, I see. No chamber-pot! Relieve yourself now, and I'll see you into bed."
I could see he was overawed by his bedroom, with its spruce single bed and the fire that had been lighted to air the room. He allowed me to tuck him up, but when I turned back to say goodnight I saw he was out of bed and standing on the rug.
"What's the matter?"
"It's so clean, miss! And—and too quiet!"
"Rubbish! You'll soon get used to it. If you are going to be an explorer you have to get used to anything, and this will then seem like luxury. Blow out the candle and go to sleep . . ." A little harsh, perhaps, but it wouldn't do to accept everything he said at face value.
When I got back to the study Ky-Lin was nibbling at a couple of hazelnuts which I had collected for him earlier.
"Well, what do you think?"
"Not bad at all. A little more time in the sun, perhaps, but nice and sweet just the same . . ."
"No, not those. Toby!"
"We can take him with us," said Ky-Lin. "He's a likely lad."
"We can do no such thing! He's only a child."
"He's a bright thirteen- or fourteen-year old, and a trip like ours can only be good for him. Who else at his age and background gets a chance to travel like that? Where else would he hear different languages and have the chance to observe other life-styles? How do you know that the expedition wouldn't be an inspiration for him to follow his dream of being an explorer? Would you deny him all that?"
Put like that I was behaving like the classic wicked stepmother, denying a deserving child the chance of a lifetime because I was too protective, couldn't be bothered, didn't want the responsibility, saw too many drawbacks.
"He's not very strong." I said weakly. "It's a long way . . ."
"He's tougher than you think. You are a model for the sort of woman he has never known before. I think it would do him more harm if you leave him behind. Don't forget you are the only secure point he has in his life at the moment. One day he may go back to his own family, but from what the housekeeper said he's better off here for the time being. The boy needs affection, praise, most of all to feel he's needed. Here's your chance to make something of him; a year or so travelling could make all the difference. He's at a difficult time of life physically, too, just growing up. The discipline of a long trek will add muscles and inches, just wait and see." He paused. "I don't say there won't be moments when we shall want to throw him over the moon, but I still think it's worth it. Besides," he added slyly, "how do you know you will get on with your other travelling companions? At least you know Toby will be on your side . . ."
I had lost, and I knew it. "What about telling him everything—including you?"
"The sooner the better," he said briskly. "Save me all this chopping and changing. Er . . . could you possibly find some more of these splendid nuts tomorrow?"
I bathed, then sat up and read for a while before seeking my bed. I decided to check on Toby before I turned in, but was horrified to find his bed was empty. Rushing down the stairs to find Mrs. Early, I collided with her at the bottom. She had her finger to her lips.
"Hush, Miss . . . Just take a peep at this." She opened the kitchen door quietly and I peered in. At first I could see nothing untoward and then I glanced at the fire: there, wrapped in one of the blankets from his bed, the cat cuddled to his chest, was Toby, fast asleep on the rug.
Mrs. Early had a smile on her face. "Reckon a soft bed and being on his own is something he'll take a time to get used to. Don't worry, I reckon he'll do just fine!"