Agatha Christie - Giant’s Bread

‘I don’t know that I want things to be very exciting,’ said Vernon.

‘I do,’ said Joe. ‘I want things to be exciting the whole time without ever stopping.’

Joe and Vernon had few other children to play with. The Vicar, whose children Vernon had played with when he was younger, had gone to another living, and his successor was unmarried. Most of the children of families in the same position as the Deyres lived too far away for more than a very occasional visit.

The only exception was Nell Vereker. Her father, Captain Vereker, was agent to Lord Coomberleigh. He was a tall stooping man, with very pale blue eyes and a hesitating manner. He had good connections but was inefficient generally. His wife made up in efficiency for what he lacked. She was a tall commanding woman, still handsome. Her hair was very golden and her eyes were very blue. She had pushed her husband into the position he held, and in the same way she pushed herself into the best houses of the neighbourhood. She had birth, but like her husband, no money. Yet she was determined to make a success of life.

Both Vernon and Joe were bored to death by Nell Vereker. She was a thin pale child with fair straggly hair. Her eyelids and the tip of her nose were faintly tinged with pink. She was no good at anything. She couldn’t run and she couldn’t climb. She was always dressed in starched white muslin and her favourite games were dolls’ tea-parties.

Myra was very fond of Nell. ‘Such a thorough little lady,’ she used to say. Vernon and Joe were kindly and polite when Mrs Vereker brought Nell to tea. They tried to think of games she would like, and they used to give whoops of delight when at last she departed, sitting up very straight beside her mother in the hired carriage.

It was in Vernon’s second holidays, just after the famous episode of the wasps’ nest that the first rumours came about Deerfields.

Deerfields was the property adjoining Abbots Puissants. It belonged to old Sir Charles Alington. Some friends of Mrs Deyre’s came to lunch and the subject came up for discussion.

‘It’s quite true. I had it from an absolutely authentic source. It’s been sold to these people. Yes— Jews . Oh, of course—enormously wealthy. Yes, a fancy price, I believe. Levinne, the name is. No, Russian Jews, so I heard. Oh, of course quite impossible. Too bad of Sir Charles, I say. Yes, of course, there’s the Yorkshire property as well and I hear he’s lost a lot of money lately. No, no one will call. Naturally.’

Joe and Vernon were pleasurably excited. All titbits about Deerfields were carefully stored up. At last the strangers arrived and moved in. There was more talk of the same kind.

‘Oh, absolutely impossible, Mrs Deyre … Just as we thought … One wonders what they think they are doing … What do they expect? … I daresay they’ll sell the place and move away. Yes, there is a family. A boy. About your Vernon’s age, I believe …’

‘I wonder what Jews are like,’ said Vernon to Joe. ‘Why does everyone dislike them? We thought one boy at school was a Jew, but he eats bacon for breakfast, so he can’t be.’

The Levinnes proved to be a very Christian brand of Jew. They appeared in church on Sunday, having taken a whole pew. The interest of the congregation was breathless. First came Mr Levinne—very round and stout, tightly frock-coated—an enormous nose and a shining face. Then Mrs—an amazing sight. Colossal sleeves! Hour glass figure! Chains of diamonds! An immense hat decorated with feathers and black tightly curling ringlets underneath it. With them was a boy rather taller than Vernon with a long yellow face, and protruding ears.

A carriage and pair was waiting for them when service was over. They got into it and drove away.

‘Well!’ said Miss Crabtree.

Little groups formed, talking busily.

‘I think it’s rotten,’ said Joe.

She and Vernon were in the garden together.

‘What’s rotten?’

‘Those people.’

‘Do you mean the Levinnes?’

‘Yes. Why should everyone be so horrid about them?’

‘Well,’ said Vernon, trying to be strictly impartial, ‘they did look queer, you know.’

‘Well, I think people are beasts.’

Vernon was silent. Joe, a rebel by force of circumstances, was always putting a new point of view before him.

‘That boy,’ continued Joe. ‘I daresay he’s awfully jolly, even though his ears do stick out.’

‘I wonder,’ said Vernon. ‘It would be jolly to have someone else. Kate says they’re making a swimming pool at Deerfields.’

‘They must be frightfully, frightfully rich,’ said Joe.

Riches meant little to Vernon. He had never thought about them.

The Levinnes were the great topic of conversation for some time. The improvements they were making at Deerfields! The workmen they had had down from London!

Mrs Vereker brought Nell to tea one day. As soon as she was in the garden with the children, she imparted news of fascinating importance.

‘They’ve got a motor car.’

‘A motor car?’

Motor cars were almost unheard of then. One had never been seen in the Forest. Storms of envy shook Vernon. A motor car!

‘A motor car and a swimming pool,’ he murmured.

It was too much.

‘It’s not a swimming pool,’ said Nell. ‘It’s a sunk garden.’

‘Kate says it’s a swimming pool.’

‘Our gardener says it’s a sunk garden.’

‘What is a sunk garden?’

‘I don’t know,’ confessed Nell. ‘But it is one.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Joe. ‘Who’d want a silly sort of thing like that when they could have a swimming pool?’

‘Well, that’s what our gardener says.’

‘I know,’ said Joe. A wicked look came into her eyes. ‘Let’s go and see.’

‘What?’

‘Let’s go and see for ourselves.’

‘Oh, but we couldn’t,’ said Nell.

‘Why not? We can creep up through the woods.’

‘Jolly good idea,’ said Vernon. ‘Let’s.’

‘I don’t want to,’ said Nell. ‘Mother wouldn’t like it, I know.’

‘Oh, don’t be a spoilsport, Nell. Come on.’

‘Mother wouldn’t like it,’ repeated Nell.

‘All right. Wait here, then. We won’t be long.’

Tears gathered slowly in Nell’s eyes. She hated being left. She stood there sullenly, twisting her frock between her fingers.

‘We won’t be long,’ Vernon repeated.

He and Joe ran off. Nell felt she couldn’t bear it.

‘Vernon!’

‘Yes?’

‘Wait for me. I’m coming too.’

She felt heroic as she made the announcement. Joe and Vernon did not seem particularly impressed by it. They waited with obvious impatience for her to come up with them.

‘Now then,’ said Vernon, ‘I’m leader. Everyone to do as I say.’

They climbed over the Park palings and reached the shelter of the trees. Speaking in whispers under their breath they flitted through the undergrowth, drawing nearer and nearer towards the house. Now it rose before them, some way ahead to the right.

‘We’ll have to get farther still and keep a bit more uphill.’

They followed him obediently. And then suddenly a voice broke on their ears, speaking from a little behind them to the left.

‘You’re trethpassing,’ it said.

They turned—startled. The yellow-faced boy with the large ears stood there. He had his hands in his pockets, and was surveying them superciliously.

‘You’re trethpassing,’ he said again.

There was something in his manner that awoke immediate antagonism. Instead of saying, as he had meant to say, ‘I’m sorry,’ Vernon said, ‘Oh!’

He and the other boy looked at each other—the cool measuring glance of two adversaries in a duel.