appearing the least bit interested.
‘No,’ I was all enthusiasm, ‘but a hot-air balloon sounds wonderful!’ I was thinking that nothing could be more appealing than to go flying up into the sky with Samuel Beresford at my side, though such hopes were soon deflated when – ‘No . . .’ said Uncle Freddie, determined to stop such silliness, a puff of smoke escaping his lips, having just lit a small cigar, the balloon is not flying today.’
Hard to hide my disappointment, though I was not dismayed for long, seeking Samuel Beresford’s eye once more. ‘But we did see the Beckwith Frog . . . before going on to the mermaid tent.’
‘Oh, yes . . .’ He sniffed. ‘Well, that sounds to be most appropriate, considering your grandfather’s latest book . . . and Elijah’s illustrations. Your brother is quite a prodigy! But . . .’ his smile was all for me, ‘you must tell what you thought of the mermaid today.’
‘She is perfectly horrible!’ I said.
‘Hideous.’ Uncle Freddie scowled. ‘Nothing but an abomination!’ But then, thankfully, the waiter arrived, and Freddie was all smiles again, exclaiming, ‘Ah . . . more glasses. More bottles, young man. Our numbers have grown. This will not suffice.’
That first cork made a disappointing pop and hardly any fizz rose up. But Freddie still toasted our special day and everyoneraised a glass to clink, except for Osborne Black, that is. He remained unresponsive on the grass, even when Papa made the suggestion that the artist might come and visit one day – should he ever wish to paint rural scenes and chance to be in the vicinity of the village of Kingsland, in Herefordshire.
I cringed to see Papa so rudely ignored. But then, I was also concerned for Elijah, my brother by then staring back at some bushes, and, curious to follow his gaze, just for a moment I thought her back – the girl we’d seen in the mermaid tent. Two female shapes. One tall. One short. Both blurred by the shadows of trees around. But as they entered the path of the sun it was clear that the older woman here could not have been more different, decked in clothes that gleamed as bright as the wings of a bird of paradise, and the child being dragged along in her wake was hardly more than nine or ten, yellow hair not hanging loose at her back but a clustering mop of ringlets that fell across her dimpled cheeks. She was dressed like a miniature adult, her gown cut too low to be decent, and her face painted up with the carmine paste so that innocent features appeared depraved. And something too hectic about the flush that shone through the woman’s powdered cheeks, beneath which the skin was pitted and grey, through which two glazed and bloodshot eyes first alighted on Elijah. But then, she seemed to change her mind, her glance moving on to Papa as she squawked in drunken, slurring tones, ‘Now, sir . . . you look a little glum. Do you fancy my Miss Curious? I guarantee she’ll cheer you up, and she’s awful lonely, so she is, and we have us some private chambers near by . . . if you’d care to come and play with her. It’s only a little way to walk.’
A push from her vulgar guardian and the child stepped forward and reached out a hand, and the fingers which curled around Papa’s were bloody and scabbed, bitten down to the quicks. By contrast his looked like gnarled pieces of wood, with blue-slugged veins and sparse grey hairs – and that trembling started up again, even worse than it had been before.
A terrible moment that was, during which we were shockedand could only look on until Mr Black jumped up from the grass, such expletives ringing from his mouth, shouting – no, screaming, ‘Away with you. Filthy harlots! Jezebels! Little wonder they call this place Sodom on Thames!’
The intruders went scurrying back to the bushes with Osborne Black still giving chase like the devil about to claim their souls – during which Uncle Freddie, if anything, seemed to be somewhat
‘No,’ I was all enthusiasm, ‘but a hot-air balloon sounds wonderful!’ I was thinking that nothing could be more appealing than to go flying up into the sky with Samuel Beresford at my side, though such hopes were soon deflated when – ‘No . . .’ said Uncle Freddie, determined to stop such silliness, a puff of smoke escaping his lips, having just lit a small cigar, the balloon is not flying today.’
Hard to hide my disappointment, though I was not dismayed for long, seeking Samuel Beresford’s eye once more. ‘But we did see the Beckwith Frog . . . before going on to the mermaid tent.’
‘Oh, yes . . .’ He sniffed. ‘Well, that sounds to be most appropriate, considering your grandfather’s latest book . . . and Elijah’s illustrations. Your brother is quite a prodigy! But . . .’ his smile was all for me, ‘you must tell what you thought of the mermaid today.’
‘She is perfectly horrible!’ I said.
‘Hideous.’ Uncle Freddie scowled. ‘Nothing but an abomination!’ But then, thankfully, the waiter arrived, and Freddie was all smiles again, exclaiming, ‘Ah . . . more glasses. More bottles, young man. Our numbers have grown. This will not suffice.’
That first cork made a disappointing pop and hardly any fizz rose up. But Freddie still toasted our special day and everyoneraised a glass to clink, except for Osborne Black, that is. He remained unresponsive on the grass, even when Papa made the suggestion that the artist might come and visit one day – should he ever wish to paint rural scenes and chance to be in the vicinity of the village of Kingsland, in Herefordshire.
I cringed to see Papa so rudely ignored. But then, I was also concerned for Elijah, my brother by then staring back at some bushes, and, curious to follow his gaze, just for a moment I thought her back – the girl we’d seen in the mermaid tent. Two female shapes. One tall. One short. Both blurred by the shadows of trees around. But as they entered the path of the sun it was clear that the older woman here could not have been more different, decked in clothes that gleamed as bright as the wings of a bird of paradise, and the child being dragged along in her wake was hardly more than nine or ten, yellow hair not hanging loose at her back but a clustering mop of ringlets that fell across her dimpled cheeks. She was dressed like a miniature adult, her gown cut too low to be decent, and her face painted up with the carmine paste so that innocent features appeared depraved. And something too hectic about the flush that shone through the woman’s powdered cheeks, beneath which the skin was pitted and grey, through which two glazed and bloodshot eyes first alighted on Elijah. But then, she seemed to change her mind, her glance moving on to Papa as she squawked in drunken, slurring tones, ‘Now, sir . . . you look a little glum. Do you fancy my Miss Curious? I guarantee she’ll cheer you up, and she’s awful lonely, so she is, and we have us some private chambers near by . . . if you’d care to come and play with her. It’s only a little way to walk.’
A push from her vulgar guardian and the child stepped forward and reached out a hand, and the fingers which curled around Papa’s were bloody and scabbed, bitten down to the quicks. By contrast his looked like gnarled pieces of wood, with blue-slugged veins and sparse grey hairs – and that trembling started up again, even worse than it had been before.
A terrible moment that was, during which we were shockedand could only look on until Mr Black jumped up from the grass, such expletives ringing from his mouth, shouting – no, screaming, ‘Away with you. Filthy harlots! Jezebels! Little wonder they call this place Sodom on Thames!’
The intruders went scurrying back to the bushes with Osborne Black still giving chase like the devil about to claim their souls – during which Uncle Freddie, if anything, seemed to be somewhat
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