Book I Chapter 11 The Little School-Mothers by L. T. Meade
The Terror
The fair was delightful. The merry-go-rounds were much more enchanting than anything Harriet had ever dreamed about. Pattie was very generous, too, with her shilling, and that shilling seemed to go a long way.
Pattie had made a careful calculation. A penny each to be admitted to the fair, a penny each for a turn on the merry-go-round; a penny each for a visit to the fat lady; a penny each for a peep at the man with two heads. All this fun, this intoxicating delight, could be obtained for eightpence. There would still be fourpence over. Pattie explained to Harriet as they were approaching the fair how she meant to spend her money. Harriet nodded. Pattie’s programme was carried out to perfection.
How delightful it was! Oh, the fascination of that rush through the air on those prancing horses! And oh—the mystery of looking at the fat woman, and the thrill which went through them when they gazed at the man with two heads!
But the delight was short, and quickly over. They had not been half an hour at the fair, but the whole of their programme had been carried through, and eight pence out of Pattie’s twelve had vanished. Still, there were four more to spend. They might have two more turns each on the merry-go-round, or they might buy some gingerbread at the gingerbread stall. That stall was a most fascinating one, for the gingerbread was made into all kinds of funny shapes. There were gingerbread dogs, gingerbread cats, gingerbread birds; and there were also horses of gingerbread, and elephants of gingerbread, and—what was more exciting than anything else—the wonderful and handsome lady who sold the gingerbread cakes could write anything to order on them. She had a sort of pencil which she dipped in liquid sugar, and behold, Pattie’s name could appear on the cake, or Harriet’s name, or any other thing that the girls happened to ask for.
Should they have a gingerbread each? Oh yes, they must. Harriet decided that she would have written on her gingerbread cat, “Harriet—the Queen of Hearts.” She could get all this for a penny. She borrowed a penny from Pattie, and the deed was done. She would not eat her treasure on any account—she would carry it home with her. By and by, she might show it to the children in the old house in the country, and describe to them how she of all others on that special morning had won the heart of a little boy. She was in ecstasies over her treasure.
Pattie also secured a gingerbread cake with a suitable inscription. But now there were only two pennies left. They might have one more ride on the merry-go-round, and then they would go home. Had they done this, that which happened would not have happened, for they would have found little Ralph asleep on the sofa, and Harriet would have rushed back to the school with him before Miss Ford had time to miss either of them. But, just as they were about to leave the fair, who should come up and speak to Pattie, but her father’s chemist, for Dr Pyke kept his own dispensary.
The chemist was a young man of the name of Frost, very much addicted to eating gingerbreads and amusing himself at fairs. He was delighted to see Pattie; and Pattie, with some pride, introduced Harriet to him.
Mr Frost was a fat, podgy young man, and he felt quite pleased to walk with the little girls. With one on his right hand and one on his left he perambulated round and round the fair with them now.
“What have you seen?” he asked, and when they explained, he told them that they had practically seen nothing at all, and that now it would be his pleasure to give them a good time. He described what he meant to do, and certainly his programme was delightful. He himself would go on the merry-go-round with a little girl on each side of him, and they would fly right round not once, but several times; and afterwards, they would go into a little theatre and witness a wonderful piece of acting in which there was a giant and a pigmy, and some acting dogs, and an elephant and even a lion. The entertainment was of a jumble order, but it would be intensely exciting. It would take, Mr Frost said, no time at all. They must not miss it, however, for it really was first-rate, of that he could assure them.
Before Harriet could even reply, he had provided tickets for all three—tickets which cost sixpence each. He really was a most generous young man.
“But,” said Harriet, turning to Pattie, “won’t this make me dreadfully late?”
“Late?” cried Mr Frost, overhearing her. “Not a bit of it. I tell you it will be over in no time at all. Here, take a hand each, girls, and we’ll squeeze well to the front. We mustn’t miss the beginning of the fun. The fat lady comes on first of all with the kangaroo; oh, it will be screamingly funny!”
The next minute, they were inside the tent where the great performance was to take place.
They were inside with a crush of people behind them, and Harriet forgot everything else. The entertainment was of the breathless order; before you had time to recover from one astounding surprise, another still more astounding followed on its heels. The fat lady’s performance was nothing at all to that done by the man with two heads—he really managed these double appendages with the greatest cleverness, nodding and winking simultaneously with both, and causing the people to shriek, holding their sides with mirth.
“He hasn’t two heads at all, you know,” said Mr Frost, “but it’s wonderfully cleverly managed for all that.”
Harriet and Pattie were almost sorry. They would much rather have believed that the man was possessed of the double head.
“Oh!” said Pattie, with a gasp. “I was thinking what a lot he could do if they were really two heads.”
Mr Frost roared with laughter.
“It would be convenient, wouldn’t it?” he said. “He could eat with one of his mouths, you know, and talk with the other; and he could keep one of his brains for amusement, and one for lessons. I say, though, let’s look at this! Here’s the elephant with the dancing dogs on his back!”
Oh, was there ever such a time? It flashed by in what seemed less than a minute, but in reality it took over an hour and a half. When Harriet and Pattie, two flushed and intensely happy little girls, left the small theatre Harriet knew at once by the changed light how long she must have been within.
“Oh please,” she said, turning to Mr Frost, “we have enjoyed ourselves tremendously; but what is the hour, please?—oh, I do hope it isn’t late: I wanted to take Ralph back to school before five o’clock.”
“Five o’clock!” said Mr Frost with a roaring laugh. Really he was rather a noisy young man. “Why, it’s long past seven. You don’t suppose we have had all that fun in no time at all?”
“Past seven!” said Harriet, in a tone of horror. “Oh, oh, don’t keep me!”
She rushed away. She never waited even to say good-bye; Pattie and Mr Frost both thought her rather rude. In a minute she was out of the fair and running along the road. When she had gone to the fair that afternoon with Pattie, the distance between the doctor’s house and the bit of common where the fair was held seemed no way at all. But now Harriet thought she had miles to travel.
At last, panting and terrified, she reached the doctor’s house. The door, which had been standing open in the afternoon, was now shut. She rang the bell furiously. Oh, why had they shut the door? Every minute of delay was intolerable. Why did not Anastasia hurry? What a horrid name to give a servant! and what a horrid servant she was. Harriet in her agony gave the bell another and more furious pull.
It was opened this time by a stout, red faced lady. “Now, little girl,” she said, “if you dare to ring the doctor’s bell again in this rude manner I shall complain to your—oh, my dear!” she continued, changing her voice, “I beg your pardon, I thought it was little Susan Wright from across the road. That child requires keeping in her place; she is always playing practical jokes. But what is it, my dear little girl? Come in, pray. Do you want Dr Tyke?”
“No, no!” said Harriet. “Don’t keep me, please. I have come for the little boy in the drawing-room.”
“The little boy in the drawing-room?” said Mrs Pyke, who wondered if Harriet were very ill and a little off her head. “But I know nothing of any little boy in the drawing-room.”
“Oh, please let me go for him,” said Harriet, trying to push past the stout lady. “He is there, I know, for I left him there. He is little Ralph—little Ralph Durrant. I told him to wait for me; I know I am late, but let me go for him at once, please.”
“You can go into the drawing-room, of course,” said Mrs Pyke; “although I must say you puzzle me very much, for I know of no little boy there. The doctor and I are having a cosy little supper in the drawing-room at the present moment; we often do of an evening to get away from the children, and I assure you there is no little boy in the room.”
Nevertheless, Harriet would go for herself. Ralph must be where she had desired him to stay. With her face very white, her whole appearance exceedingly wild, and her poor little heart beating almost to suffocation, she poked about the untidy and ugly drawing-room. She looked under sofas and behind curtains, and finally burst into tears.
“He is not here—he is gone! What will become of me?” she sobbed.
“Why,” said Dr Pyke, who had not recognised her at first, “why, surely I cannot be mistaken—you are one of the little girls from Abbeyfield! My dear child, sit down and tell my wife and me at once what is the matter.”
“Oh, I must not stay,” said Harriet, struggling to suppress her tears; “but I—oh, it is too dreadful!” And then she told, as best she could, the story of her day’s adventure. “I should not have done it,” she said in conclusion, “but it was so tempting, and I thought of course he would wait for me.”
“This, my dear,” said Dr Pyke, turning to his wife, when Harriet had finished speaking, “is one of my little patients at Abbeyfield. Her name is Harriet Lane, and I am thankful to say that, as a rule, she does not put many pennies into the doctor’s pocket; but, my dear child, if you give way like this you will be ill, and then I shall be the richer, and you the poorer. Come now, stop crying; of course you have done wrong, but doubtless you have no cause for alarm. The little boy, my dear wife, is little Ralph Durrant. His father—you must know his father’s name, of course—the Durrant, you know, the great African explorer. I have seen the little fellow, a most sweet little man. I am sure, my dear child, that we shall find your little friend safe at school. And now, if you will take my hand, I will bring you back to Abbeyfield, and try to explain what has occurred.”
“Oh, oh!” sobbed Harriet. “Oh, oh—I am too miserable. I am certain that Ralph—little Ralph, is lost!”