“Well, George, I am glad you have not forgotten your manners. I expected you to meet me.”
“Welcome, Miss Andrew!” Mr and Mrs Banks were rigidly polite.
“And the children seem clean and tidy enough. I hope their behaviour matches their appearance.”
Miss Andrew craned her head and at the sight of the neat blue-coated figure standing in the background, she shrank back nervously.
“I see,” he said, her voice trembling on the words, “that you still have the same young person taking charge of your household. Well, all I can say is, I hope she gives satisfaction.”
“She does indeed,” said Mr Banks, with a bow towards the blue coat.
“Welcome, Miss Andrew,” said Mary Poppins, in a voice Jane and Michael had never heard – sweet, shy and unassuming. Miss Andrew turned her head away and her glance swept over the garden.
“Really, George, you live in a wilderness. Everything needs pruning. And what is that heap of garments doing in the middle of the lawn.”
“That,” Mr Banks said, “is Robertson Ay. He is taking a little rest.”
“In the afternoon? Ridiculous! I hope you will take very good care that he never rests in my garden. Here,” she turned, fumbling in her bag, to the heavily breathing cabman, “take the key and carry my luggage into the house.”
“Well, I’ve just got to lever this here trunk.” The man edged a chest through the door of the cab. “And then we can let out the little feller.”
Jane and Michael looked at each other. Little feller! Did he mean a monkey or a kangaroo?
The chest fell with a thump to the pavement. It was followed by neither kangaroo, nor monkey, but by a small, strangely dressed boy, a little taller, perhaps, than Jane, with a large black bag in his hand. As he bent under the weight of it, they could see a round honey-coloured face with black hair falling loosely about it above a stiff white collar.
“Good Heavens!” said Mr Banks, in a whisper. “He’s wearing my old clothes! She must have kept them all these years!”
The small figure, in knickerbockers, jacket and large brown boots stepped delicately down the step and stood there, hanging his head.
“This is Luti,” pronounced Miss Andrew. “His name means Son of the Sun. He has come with me from the South Sea islands to get a good solid education and also to take care of me. Put down the medicine bag, Luti, and greet our next-door neighbours.”
The bag was put down, the bent head lifted. And as he beheld the group at the gate a smile lit up the sunburnt face as the boy took a step towards it.
“Peace and blessings,” he said shyly, spreading out his arms.
“That will do,” said Miss Andrew sharply. “We don’t use the island language here. Good afternoon is enough.”
“And peace and blessings to you, Luti,” Mr Banks cried heartily. “We are very glad to welcome you. There’s a hole in the fence, just there,” he pointed. “You can come through it any time. My children will be delighted to see you – won’t you, Jane and Michael?”
“Oh, yes!” said Jane and Michael raptly. This was better than a kangaroo or monkey. It was a new friend to play with.
“George! “Miss Andrew’s voice was like the snap of a whip. “Pray do not meddle in my affairs. Luti is here to work, not play. He will be busy with his lessons and making the porridge – we shall live on porridge, it is very nourishing – and getting my medicines ready. I intend him to be a credit to me so that when he eventually returns to the island he will go as something useful – a doctor or perhaps a teacher. In the meantime, we will continue our studies. And for relaxation, once a month, he and I together, George, will pay you a little visit. So go and waken your man, please, and tell him to repair the hole in the fence. We will have no to-ings and fro-ings between us. Is all the luggage safely in?”
She turned to the breathless cabman and gave him a coin as he nodded.
“Then pick up the medicine bag, Luti. We will go and inspect our new home.”
She strode towards Number Eighteen and Luti, after a glance at Jane and Michael – they could not tell if it were sad or happy – shouldered his burden and followed her, and the front door closed behind them.
The children looked at Mary Poppins. Her face was the only cheerful one among them. But now her smile was mysterious as though she was sharing a secret with herself.
“We will go in to tea,” she said briskly, giving the perambulator a push, “and then perhaps a game of Ludo.”
Jane and Michael enjoyed playing Ludo. But today it had no interest for them. They had something else on their minds. They followed slowly, dragging their feet, thinking of the golden boy who had appeared for a brief moment and then had been taken away.
“That poor child!” murmured Mrs Banks, looking tearfully at her husband.
“Well I said she was a Holy Terror.” Mr Banks sighed deeply as he turned to the jumbled heap on the lawn to waken the sleeping figure.
And all the inhabitants of the Lane who had been leaning over their gates watching, went quietly into their houses. Number Eighteen was no longer theirs. There was nothing more to be said.
The Lane was silent except for the voice of the Park Keeper, “Observe the Rules. Remember the Bye-laws.” And nearer at hand, the sleepy yawns of Robertson Ay as he put a nail to the loose paling and gave it a blow with his hammer. That done, he slid down on to the grass and went to sleep again.
Presently, the nail fell out, the paling gave a sideways lurch, and the hole in the fence between the houses was as it had always been.
Early next morning, when the sun rose over the trees of the Park, the Lane was peacefully asleep, not even a bird stirred.
Even so, something stirred. Jane and Michael, one carrying a banana and the other an apple, were tiptoeing cautiously through the Nursery of Number Seventeen, past the camp-bed where Mary Poppins lay sleeping, as neat and uncrumpled as though she and the bed were objects in a shop window. They smiled triumphantly at each other – Mary Poppins would not notice them! But at that moment, she opened her eyes and her blue gaze fell upon them.
“And what do you two think you’re doing?” She glanced at the fruit in their hands.
They jumped. She had woken, after all.
“Well, Mary Poppins,” Michael spluttered. “How would you like to eat nothing but porridge?” He eyed her anxiously.
“We thought, Mary Poppins,” Jane tried to explain. “We thought if we put some food down by the fence, Luti –” she nodded towards Number Eighteen, – “might perhaps come and find it.” She was as anxious as Michael.
Mary Poppins said nothing. She merely rose from her bed like a statue, leaving not a crease behind. Her hair hung in a plait down her back and her nightgown fell in neat folds around her as she stretched out her arm towards the door.
“Fetch me my handbag. It’s hanging on the handle.”
They ran eagerly to obey her and presently, sifting through the pockets, she took out of it a bar of chocolate and silently held it out. Michael made a rush at her and hugged her round the waist. He could feel her bony shape in his arms and her plait swung round his ears.
“Don’t huggle and squeeze me like that, Michael Banks. I am not a Teddy Bear!”