“Strange words from a Clavering,” he said.
“Ah, but this one’s an Opal.”
“I could never think why they gave me such a name-except that I was born in Italy. I think my mother must have been very different then ” People change,” said Mr. Henniker.
“What happens to them can often bring a turn-about. I’ve got a man calling to see me at half past four, so I shall have to go now, but listen. We’re going to meet again.”
“Oh yes, please, Mr. Henniker.”
What about here . at this spot . tomorrow at this time? “
I’d love it. “
“I reckon we’d have a lot to say to each other. Same time tomorrow then.”
I watched him guide his chair towards the house and then, in high spirits, I ran down to the bridge. I stood on it looking back. The trees hid the house-his house now-but I was picturing him in it, shouting for Banker, laughing because one of the Claverings had become his friend.
“He’s an adventurer,” I thought, ‘and so am I. “
I tried to hide my exuberance but Maddy noticed it and commented that she couldn’t make up her mind what I resembled most-a dog with two tails to wag or a cat who’s stolen the cream.
"Very pleased with ourself, I’d say,” she added suspiciously.
“Ifs a lovely day,” I answered blithely.
Thunder in the air,” she grumbled.
That made me laugh. Yes indeed, the atmosphere would be decidedly stormy if it was discovered that I had actually spoken to the enemy and arranged another meeting.
I could scarcely wait to see him again.
He was there when I arrived. He talked-how he talked and how I loved to listen! He told me about his life when he had been very poor in his early days in London.
“London!’ he cried.
“What a city! I never could forget it, no matter wherever I was. But there were some hard memories too. We were poor-not as poor as some others, there being only one child … me.
My mother couldn’t have more, which in some ways was a blessing. I went to a dame school, where I learned my letters, and after that to a ragged school, where I learned the ways of the world, and when I’d done with education at the age of twelve, I was ready to fight my battles. By that time my father had dropped dead. He was a drinker so it wasn’t much of a loss, and I started to keep my mother in a degree of comfort to which she had not been accustomed. I wondered why he was telling me all this. He was an actor of a kind, for when he talked of people his voice and his expression would change. When he told me of the baked potato seller, his face would be grizzled and he’d shout:
“Come, me beauties, all hot and floury. Two a penny hot spuds. Fill your bellies and warm your hands.”
"There, Miss Jessie,” he would go on becoming himself.
“I’m being a bit vulgar now, you’ll be thinking, but that was the streets of London when I was a nipper. Life! I never saw such life no, never. There it was all over the streets of London. It’s something you don’t take much notice of when you’re there, but you never forget it. It gets in your blood. You get away from it, but you’ll always love it and it’ll always draw you back.”
Then he would tell me of the orange woman and the sellers of pins and needles.
“Five sheets a penny, pins,” he sang out; “All neat and middlings’; then there were the vendors of what he called ‘green stuff, which was mainly watercress gathered’ in the fields on to which, in those days, the city had not encroached.
“Why there were fields just beyond Portland Place - meadows and woods; and there were market gardens too, so there was plenty of green stuff about. Woorter creases,” he shouted.
“All fresh and green.
Funny, when I talk of it, it all comes back fresh to me. Most clear in my memory is Easter time. Good Friday was what I thought of as the Day of the Buns. It was the Just thing I thought of when I got up on Good Friday morning. It was the day of the buns. “
He began to sing:
“One a penny, two a penny, hot cross buns, If your daughters won’t eat them, give them to your sons.
If you ain’t got any of those pretty little elves, Then you can’t do better than to eat them up yourselves.
“We used to go round singing that with our trays of buns on our heads.”
I was fascinated. I had never met anyone like him. He talked all the time about himself. That didn’t worry me because I wanted to hear and I was getting a glimpse into a world hitherto unknown to me.
“I was born to make money,” he said. The Midas Touch, that’s what I’ve got. Ever heard of that. Miss Jessie? Everything he touched turned to gold. That was how it was with old Ben Henniker. If I tossed with a pie man I’d be the winner. You know what was done, don’t you? There was the pie man with his tray of pies. You tossed your penny.
“Heads,” he’d say, for the pie man always called heads. And sure enough if it was old Ben’s penny, it would come up tails. So I kept the penny and had the pie. Other people-they’d lose every time. Never me. A proper gambler I was then and have been ever since. I found selling things was the answer. You find something people want and they can’t do without and you bring it out much better and, if you can, cheaper than the next man. You get the idea? Even when I was only fourteen I knew how best to sell things. I knew where to get the cheapest and give the best value 'sheeps’ trotters, pigs’ trotters, whelks, sherbet, ginger beer and lemonade. I had a coffee stall once, and when I got the idea of making gingerbread it seemed I was set fair to make my fortune. I hit on the idea of making it in fancy shapes-horses, dogs, harps, girls, boys . the Queen herself with her crown on her head. My mother made ‘em and I sold ‘em. It got so big we had a little shop right there on the Ratcliffe Highway, and a fine shop it was. The business grew and we were more comfortably off. Then one day my mother died. Right as rain one day and gone the next She just dropped dead on the floor when she was making her gingerbread fancies. “
“What did you do then?”
“I got me a lady friend. She hadn’t got the touch, though. Pretty as paint but a fiery temper, and she couldn’t make the shapes and the cake wasn’t right either. Business fell off and she left me. I was seventeen years old then, and I took a job in a gentleman’s home looking after the horses. One day they went visiting friends in the country. It was my job to ride there at the back of the carriage, and when we stopped I’d jump out and open the door and see the ladies didn’t muddy their skirts. Oh, I was very handsome in those days. You should have seen my livery. Dark blue with silver braid. All the girls would look twice at me, I can tell you. Well, one day we went out visiting in the country, and where do you think we came to-the little village of Hartingmond. And the house we called on was named Oakland Hall.”
“You were calling on the Claverings! .
“Quite right, but calling in a humble capacity, you might say. I’d never seen a house like that. I thought it was just about the most beautiful place I’d ever seen. I went round to the stables with the coachman, and we looked after the horses and then got ourselves refreshed while we talked to the stable men of Oakland Hall, and they were very superior, I can tell you.”
“How interesting!” I cried. That must have been years ago. “
“Long before you were born. Miss Jessie. When I was seventeen or eighteen and that’s a good many years ago. How old do you think I am ” Older than Xavier . lots older, but somehow you seem younger. “
The answer seemed to please him. You’re just as old as you feel.
That’s the answer. Ifs not how many years you’ve lived, ifs how they’ve left you. Now I reckon I’ve lived mine pretty well. It was more than forty years ago that I first set eyes on this place, and do you know, I never forgot it. I remember standing there in those stables and feeling the age of it. That’s what I liked-all those stone walls and the feeling that people had been living there hundreds of years, and I said to myself: