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Author's note: I've had a pretty bad run of stories lately, and here is my redemption of some sort, I hope that you will review! Thanks very, very much! And I don't mind very honest opinions, better than nothing!
Chapter 1: Beginning with a Game of Cricket
“How about it? I bet you two shillings that Patrick will scream.”
“I bet three that he will yell for Auntie.”
“All right! Are you ready with the chicken, Anne?”
“Yes, I’m sure that it’s rotted nicely enough.”
“Ugh, don’t open it, it smells beastly.”
“Well, let’s put it onto the catapult then.”
“Fire away!”
“No, you do it, Ruth, you have the better aim.”
“Why thank you, Anne!”
“I shall count. One, two, - ”
“THREE!”
The rotten chicken flew through the air, through the door and landed smack on top of Patrick Cauvel’s head.
“AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!”
“Yes! That’ll be three shillings, please.”
“Oh, here you go.”
“Now let’s get away from here!”
“Terrific shot anyway, Ruth!”
“Please, you are too kind!”
Ruth and Anne sniggered. Patrick turned absolutely pink and shook his head. “No thank you, Uncle.”
“And what’s all the bits of feather doing on your hair? And, do wash it, it smells dreadful!”
“Yes, Auntie.”
“Ruth! Anne! What can possibly drive the both of you to such a fit of tickles?”
Ruth cleared her throat as she stifled a laugh and ended up sounding choked. “N – nothing, Uncle.”
“You must have played a prank on somebody. Tell me, who is it?”
“Me, Uncle.”
Farmer Cauvel and his wife stared at Patrick, in surprise, and then burst into fits of laughter. His face turned from pink to beet red.
“Oh dear, so that explains the feathers!”
“My goodness, Patrick, and you’re eldest and all that! Although, I must say, Ruth and Anne, that it was very unkind of both of you to treat your poor brother so,” he looked very sternly at his nieces.
“I agree,” his wife chimed in, and looked equally stern at the two children. “And this is not the first time, either! Two days ago when you locked poor little Donald McBain in the pantry, I almost fainted when I received the news from his mother!”
Ruth and Anne hung their heads. But Mary Cauvel was not finished yet. “You, Ruth, as the elder sister, you should be ashamed of yourself. You should have the sense of a proper twelve-year-old! Now finish your dinner, and OFF TO BED.”
“Yes, Auntie,” they said together.
Ruth laughed weakly. “Yes, I suppose we must, but well, it isn’t the first time we’ve got him at it.”
Anne eyed her. “What difference does that make?”
There was a knock at the door. “Mind if I come in?” came Patrick’s voice.
The girls looked at each other and said, “Come in.”
Patrick entered and shut the door close behind him. He had washed his hair and he smelt much nicer. Ruth smiled a little. “I’m sorry about that chicken, Patrick . . . and getting it at you even when you were studying for the Exam. too.”
Patrick grinned and shrugged it off, always the cheerful chap. “Oh, don’t bother about it. I wasn’t really studying anyway.” He sat beside Ruth on her bed. “Although I must say it was really naughty of you two. Whose idea was it?”
“Me,” said Anne, and she couldn’t help but grin widely. “I stole the chicken from Auntie.”
Patrick laughed and ruffled her fair hair. “Stop it, Pat!” for she hated anyone messing with her hair, and after she had given it a hundred brushes too. “That’s what you deserve for that trick!” Patrick tickled her sides and she squealed and jumped over Ruth’s bed. Ruth joined in the romp by grabbing her and holding her still so that Patrick could tickle her. They ran and leapt over the beds and laughed and pulled and shoved at pillows so merrily that you would think that they weren’t properly-behaved English children but rough and unruly rascals.
Finally they fell onto a heap on Anne’s bed and, being so tired, dozed off to sleep there and then.
“I can’t, Anne! Can’t you see that I’m studying?”
“Oh bother your stupid Exam.! It’s next year, anyway!”
“Next term, my lady, next term.”
“Anyway, please, please, please come out! It wouldn’t be any fun playing cricket with only two people!”
“I told you, Anne, I’ve got to study!”
“Sucks to your Exam.!” Anne stuck her tongue out at him and tugged at his hand so hard that his hand slammed into a bottle of ink and sent in smashing onto the floor.
Patrick had a good mind to box her ears there and then, but it wouldn’t mend the bottle or clean up the mess, so he said tiredly as he bent down to gather the shards of glass, “Look at what you’ve done, Anne! Auntie will never hear the end of this!”
“So run, Pat! Come on!” she pulled at his hand so that he was tugged out of his chair. The fourteen-year-old boy laughed and stood. “All right, all right, and bother Auntie, too!”
They laughed and ran outside to play. They found Ruth holding up a bat and a cricket ball and instantly got into place. Patrick was to throw the ball, Anne was going to hit it with the bat and Ruth was going to catch it if Anne missed.
Soon there was a very merry game going on, just like any ordinary cricket, but this was no ordinary cricket game because Patrick was an excellent thrower and Ruth was a fantastic catcher and Anne simply had a knack of missing almost every ball ever thrown at her. But it was the greatest, most fun cricket game that the Cauvel siblings have had all that year, because in ordinary cricket games in their school in London they weren’t allowed to laugh or have breaks whenever they wanted.
They spent the summer here in this hilly countryside with their Uncle and Auntie every year and the rest of the year in London with another Mr. and Mrs. Malavy, who were great friends of their parents, who had been living in India ever since Anne was born because their father was a mighty General there. They rarely saw their parents and they seldom wrote letters to their parents unless, of course, if something really serious happened. This is because Mr. and Mrs. Cauvel knew that their children would be safe and always in good hands so they didn’t worry too much, and this was probably for the best too, because since their parents weren’t always there to stand up for them, the three Cauvel children grew up very protective of each other and much more sensible than most children that lived in London in that time.
Patrick, the eldest, was tall and fair-haired, and had merry blue eyes. He was very naughty when he was young and had all sorts of misadventures with Ruth before little Anne was born, but ever since Mr. and Mrs. Cauvel had ‘shipped’ Anne to them (he was six then and Ruth, four) he had forsaken his orchard-raiding days and became quite serious and more responsible. But thankfully, as Ruth always said to him, he hadn’t lost his sense of humour and fun yet, but the Exam. truly was going to spoil his love for games.
Ruth was second eldest and had beautiful dark hair that grew in soft curls and hung to her shoulders. She was just as mischievous as Patrick, if not worse, and she would prefer to go horseback riding (which she and Patrick enjoyed very much) than stay indoors and sew, and that made her a very hardy girl compared to all her friends, whether in the country or in London. She had spent so much time outdoors that she had learnt not only to ride on a horse bareback but also archery, taught to her by Oliver Whiteseed a few farms below, and she never missed a shot. The only thing girlish about her was her love for her curls and her obedience for skirts, and her Auntie considered it a sort of redeemable quality to make up for her tomboyish behaviour.
Anne, the youngest, had fair hair like Patrick and curls like Ruth. Like the elder Cauvels, she was naughty too, but her naughtiness extended to point of playing tricks on people, like the incident of the rotten chicken. In London, everyone gave her a mile’s berth whenever they saw her playing in the park or walking down the streets because you never knew what she was hiding behind her back. But that didn’t mean that she was mean, because mean girls would never rush towards their victims, help them up, apologise or clean them up a little before offering some sweets. No, though she was as cheeky as a hare, she was popular and had a lot of friends. Though she spent a lot of time outdoors as Ruth, she was never fond of climbing trees or archery or horseback riding either. Indeed she was quite a lady indoors, and preferred tea parties with her friends than running around in the park with Ruth.
And so it was in this temperament that the three siblings played the jolliest game of cricket ever played in their memory so far. All was peaceful in the countryside except for their laughter, and they certainly didn’t mind the woods behind them, a few feet away, one bit. Until an eventful round when Patrick threw the ball quite low, so as to raise Anne’s hampering spirits, and Ruth stood a few inches back so that she could miss the ball, and Anne did hit the ball, but a little too hard in her anxiety, and the ball flew so high and so far off that it took quite a while for it to land, and when it did, it landed somewhere in the thick and dark aforementioned woods.
“I’ll go get it!” panted Anne, quite exhilarated by her excellent hit and dropped her bat and ran off towards the woods.
“Be careful!” Patrick yelled after her,while Ruth called out, “Be quick!” and Anne turned behind and gave them a grin and a thumbs up, and then entered the forest and disappeared.
