“Are you unhappy?” Angus asked.
Bertie, still seated on the stone stair, hugging his knees in front of him, lowered his head. “Yes,” he said. His voice was small, defeated, and Angus felt a surge of feeling for him. He, too, had endured periods of unhappiness as a boy – when he had been bullied – and he remembered what it was like. Unhappiness in childhood was worse than the unhappiness one encountered in later life; it was so complete, so seemingly without end.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Angus said. “It’s rotten being unhappy, isn’t it?” He paused. “I’m a bit unhappy myself at the moment. But you tell me why you’re unhappy and then I’ll tell you why I’m feeling the same way. Maybe we could help one another.”
“It’s because of Olive,” said Bertie. “She’s a girl at school. She 134 A Significant Revelation on the Stair came to play today and she pretended to be a nurse. She took some of my blood.”
Angus’s eyes widened. “Took some of your blood?”
“Yes,” said Bertie. “She had a syringe which she found in her bathroom cupboard. It had a proper needle and everything.”
“My goodness,” said Angus. “Did she actually . . . actually . . . ?”
“Yes,” said Bertie. “She stuck the needle into my arm – there, just about there – and then she squirted the blood into a little bottle. She said she was going to do some tests on it and would let me know the result.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear about that,” said Angus. “She shouldn’t have been playing with needles.”
“She said that the needle was a clean one,” said Bertie. “It was all wrapped up in plastic and she had to take it out.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” said Angus. “But why did you let her do this? I wouldn’t.”
“I thought that she was just pretending,” said Bertie. “So I closed my eyes. Then the next thing I knew she had the needle in my arm and was telling me not to move or it would go all the way through to the other side.”
Angus extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. “How very unpleasant for you, Bertie,” he said. “Did you tell your mother about this?”
“Yes,” said Bertie. “I ran through and told her, but I don’t think she heard me. She just started to talk to Olive, who was pretending that nothing had happened. She’s very cunning that way.”
“I can imagine that,” said Angus. “Well, Bertie, I don’t know what to say, other than to suggest that you give Olive a wide berth in the future. But I suppose that’s difficult. And I certainly won’t say to you that you should cheer yourself up by thinking of how many other people are worse off than you are yourself.
The contemplation of the toothache of another does very little to help one’s own toothache, you know.”
Bertie nodded. “Daddy sometimes says: worse things happen at sea. But when I ask him what these worse things are, he can’t tell me. Do you know what they are, Mr Lordie?”
A Powerful Ally in the Campaign to Free Cyril 135
Angus thought for a moment. Terrible things undoubtedly happened at sea, but he did not think it appropriate to tell Bertie about them. “Oh, this and that, Bertie,” he said. “It’s best not to talk about these things.”
Bertie appeared to accept this. He looked up at Angus and asked: “Mr Lordie, you said that you were unhappy too. Why are you unhappy?”
“My dog,” said Angus. “He’s in the pound. He’s been accused of biting people in Northumberland Street.”
Bertie thought for a moment. “That’s another dog,” he said eventually. “It looks like your dog, but it’s another one. I’ve seen it.”
Angus hardly dared speak. “Are you sure?” he whispered.
“Of course,” said Bertie. “There’s a dog who lives in a basement flat in Northumberland Street. They let him wander about.
And he’s a very bad dog – he tried to bite me once in Drummond Place Gardens, but I ran away in time.”
Angus could barely contain his excitement. “Bertie!” he said.
“Would you be able to help me find that dog? Would you?”
“Of course,” said Bertie. “I can show you where he lives. But you’ll have to ask my mother if I’m allowed.”
“I most certainly shall,” said Angus. “Oh, Bertie, you excellent boy! You have no idea what this means to me.”
“That’s all right, Mr Lordie,” said Bertie. “And I’m glad that you’re happy again.”
“Happy?” exclaimed Angus. “I’m ecstatic!”
41. A Powerful Ally in the Campaign to Free Cyril
“I’ve just had the most extraordinary conversation,” said Angus, as he entered Domenica’s flat. “I met that funny little boy from down below. He was sitting on one of the stairs, like Christopher Robin, his head bowed, looking utterly miserable.”
“It’s his mother,” said Domenica. “She’s a frightful woman.
136 A Powerful Ally in the Campaign to Free Cyril That poor little boy has the most terrible time at her hands.
She’s always banging on about Melanie Klein and the like, while all that poor wee Bertie wants to do is to have a normal boyhood. He’s mad keen on trains, I believe, but she, of course, thinks that his time is better spent in yoga lessons. Yoga lessons! I ask you, Angus. What six-year-old boy wants to do yoga?”
“There might be some,” mused Angus. “In these ashrams, or whatever. Some of the monks are tiny – young boys, really.”
“Those are Buddhists,” said Domenica. “You really should get your facts right, Angus. Buddhists meditate – there are some Buddhist schools of yoga, but generally the Buddhists don’t turn themselves inside out.”
“Well, be that as it may,” said Angus. “I had a conversation with young Bertie, and he came up with an extraordinary story about some game of doctors and nurses that he had been involved in. But then . . .” he paused for effect; Domenica was watching him closely. “But then he revealed that he knew the dog who had done the biting with which Cyril is charged. And he says that he can show me where he lives!”
Domenica clapped her hands together. “What a relief! You’ve been like a bear with a sore head since Cyril was arrested, Angus.
It will be a great relief to have you back with us again.”
“And what about Cyril’s feelings?” asked Angus peevishly.
“Aren’t you pleased for his sake?”
“Of course I am,” said Domenica soothingly. “Nobody wants the innocent to suffer.”
“So all we have to do is to explain to the police that it was this other dog – whoever he is – who did it, and they’ll release Cyril.”
Domenica frowned. It would not necessarily be so simple, she thought. One could hardly get the fiscal to drop proceedings just because somebody – and an interested party at that –
explains that he thinks that another dog is to blame. No, they would have to be more convincing than that.
“We’ll need to think about this,” she said to Angus. “We can’t just barge in and expect to get Cyril out. We must marshal our A Powerful Ally in the Campaign to Free Cyril 137
facts. We must prepare our case, and then, at the right moment, we produce the real culprit from a hat – metaphorically speaking, of course.”
Angus nodded his agreement to this. He was convinced now that Cyril would be exculpated, and he did not mind if the process required some planning and thought. In fact, he was quite willing to leave all this to Domenica; she was so forceful, he thought, she would be a very powerful ally for Cyril in the campaign to establish his innocence.
“Whatever you say, Domenica,” Angus said. “Cyril and I are quite content to leave our fate in your hands.”
They moved through to the kitchen, where Domenica prepared a cup of coffee for them both. Then she turned and addressed Angus with the air of one about to make an important statement. “Angus,” she began, “don’t you find that there are times when everything seems to be happening at once?