2. Twelfth Night Is The Last
Mummy had not been especially enthusiastic about hosting Harry and Charles and Andrew to tea, but she had put on a brave face and retreated to her bedroom while Mrs. Barnet fed them sandwiches and supervised the group inspection of the View-Master. All the boys agreed that it was a super present, and Andrew came up with the idea of making Harry's talking Dalek say "EX-TER-MI-NATE!" just as someone clicked through to an image of a Dalek. All too soon, Mrs. Barnet rang the parents of the other boys, who came over to collect them. Mycroft watched his friends vanish with a sigh.
But there wasn't much time to mope. Almost as soon as the last boy had left, Mummy came downstairs, wobbling and holding on to the banister, her face grey. "I think . . . I'd better ring my husband," she gasped, and Mrs. Barnet guided her to a chair and fetched the telephone.
"Are you all right, Mummy?" Mycroft asked.
"I'm – ooh! – I'm fine, darling," she said. "It's just that your little brother or sister has decided to start making an appearance. Can you be a big boy and run and fetch Mummy's suitcase from the bedroom, there's a dear."
Mycroft hurried up the stairs and into Mummy and Daddy's bedroom. Next to the bed, he found the small, elegant case. It turned out to be heavier than it looked, but he bumped it down the stairs without dropping it. Mummy was on the telephone when he brought it to her side.
"Yes, now," she said. "No, I've got everything ready. Yes, ring Mummy, but no one else, or we'll never get there in time. All right. I'll be waiting. Kiss, kiss." Mummy replaced the telephone in its cradle and winced. Mycroft put his finger in his mouth, not quite sure what to make of Mummy's clear distress.
Fortunately, Mrs. Barnet knew what to do. She eased Mummy to her feet and walked her over to the bench by the door. Mycroft followed, dragging Mummy's suitcase along behind him. Mrs. Barnet deposited Mummy gently on the bench. "Now you just rest there, and you'll be all ready when Mr. Holmes comes to fetch you."
Mummy panted and blew, and after a few moments, she relaxed, and a flush of colour returned to her face. She glanced over at Mycroft. "You'll be all right, won't you, darling? It'll only be a few nights, and then Mummy'll be back with a new little brother or sister for you."
Mycroft said nothing, but scowled. The baby had not even been born, and already it was causing trouble.
Mrs. Barnet laughed and patted Mycroft's shoulder. "He'll be fine," she said. "I'll stay over tonight to look after him."
Mummy smiled, but then she turned grey and winced again. Mycroft frowned. He didn't like to see Mummy in pain, but Mrs. Barnet didn't seem worried. Between the two of them, Mycroft didn't know what to think. So he stuck his finger back in his mouth and leaned against Mummy's bench, waiting for Daddy to come and do something that would make things better.
In the end, Daddy had arrived, bundled Mummy and the suitcase out to the car, and left, pausing only briefly to ruffle Mycroft's hair and murmur the name of a hospital to Mrs. Barnet. After they had gone, Mrs. Barnet made Mycroft clean his teeth and change into his pyjamas, but she then allowed him to sit up and watch a film on the television with her. The film was mostly about grownups in fancy clothes talking to each other. Mycroft had no idea what they were talking about, and there were no monsters, songs, chases, or anything else interesting. But Mrs. Barnet seemed to be enjoying it, and she allowed Mycroft to cuddle up to her and watch the film until his eyelids drooped with boredom. He barely noticed when she walked him upstairs to put him to bed.
The next morning dawned sunny and cold. Mycroft rolled out of bed, put on his slippers and dressing gown, and went to look at the large calendar on the wall. Today was January 6, 1976. It was Tuesday. There was something special about today, but Mycroft didn't know what that was. He tiptoed to the door and pulled it open. The door to the nursery across the hall was open, and Mycroft remembered. Mummy had gone to have the baby yesterday. He could hear Mrs. Barnet talking to somebody downstairs, and he wondered if it was news about the new baby.
Slowly, so that Mrs. Barnet would not notice him at first, Mycroft slithered down the stairs, pausing on the landing so that he could listen and not be seen.
"Really," Mrs. Barnet was saying. "Oh, lovely! Well, do let us know when you do. Well, I haven't seen him yet, but I'll get him up and let him know. What time? Very good. We'll be expecting you."
There was the sound of the telephone being hung up, and then Mrs. Barnet emerged from the sitting room. She spotted Mycroft and gave a startled shriek, staggered backward a few steps and rested her hand on her bosom.
"Lands' sakes, Mycroft, you startled me, sitting there all quiet like that," she gasped. "How long have you been up there, then?"
Mycroft shrugged. "You were talking on the telephone," he said. "Was it Daddy? Is the baby born?"
A fond smile crept over Mrs. Barnet's face. "Yes, that was your dad. He said that the baby was born early this morning, and it's a boy, your little brother. Your dad was just going in to see him when he rang off, and he said he'd pop by later today. I'll get your breakfast, and then I've got to get some things together for your mum. Go wash your face and get dressed."
Mycroft went back upstairs slowly, contemplating the news. When he reached the top of the stairs, he looked over his shoulder to make sure that Mrs. Barnet hadn't followed him, and then carefully poked his head into the nursery. Daddy had set up the furniture two days after Christmas, and Mummy and Granny had spent the week decorating, washing and folding drawers full of little white clothes, and arranging the soft toys that various relatives had given them at Christmas in anticipation. Since then, the nursery had stood still and calm and tidy. Mycroft tried to imagine a baby living in it.
"Mycroft, how are you getting along?" Mrs. Barnet called from downstairs. "Don't dawdle!"
Mycroft tore himself away from the nursery and went to wash his face.
After breakfast, the morning positively crawled. Usually, Mycroft resisted being sent out to play in the cold and damp when he could be reading or looking at picture magazines inside. But now that he wanted to take a ball to the Common and do something, anything, that would take his mind off of waiting for Daddy to come home, Mrs. Barnet would not allow it, saying that he had to wait patiently, because Daddy could return at any moment. At least Mrs. Barnet had something to do. She was in the kitchen baking, and refused to let Mycroft help.
"Don't you worry about it," she said. "It's the simplest thing in the world. You go and look at your picture books, and leave me alone, and you'll have plum cake for tea."
"Why plum cake?" Mycroft asked. It wasn't that he didn't like plum cake, but there were plenty of cakes that he liked better.
Mrs. Barnet chuckled. "For Twelfth Night, of course. I suppose you've forgotten in all the excitement over the baby."
Mycroft nodded, although he had no idea what Twelfth Night was. It wasn't something that Mummy and Daddy had ever mentioned. Bored, he wandered through the house in search of something to do, and found a bookcase that had a shelf full of small, thin books. Mycroft was not always interested in grown-up books, but these looked small enough for him. One of them was titled Twelfth Night; or, What You Will. Unfortunately, when he examined it, it turned out to be a long play written in poetry that he couldn't understand. So he put it back and returned to his Rupert Bear books. He had long ago learned to read the short rhyming captions underneath the pictures, and now he was working through the more complicated, but more detailed, stories at the bottoms of the pages.
He was soon so absorbed in a Chinese adventure featuring Rupert, Tiger Lily, and the Conjuror that he was startled to hear the door open.
"Anybody home?" came Daddy's voice.
"Me!" Mycroft tossed the book aside and hurried down the stairs, arriving just in time to see Daddy setting down a carrier bag and shedding his coat in the front hall. "Is the baby born, Daddy? Did you see it? What does it look like? What's its name?"
"His name," Daddy replied. "It's a little boy. Your little brother. What do you think about that?"
"His name, Daddy!"
Daddy smiled. "Well, Mummy and I haven't quite decided yet. We were thinking about Cecil, or Percy."
Mycroft wrinkled his nose.
"Not those names?" Daddy asked. "You're right. They're awful. Those were what Mummy wanted."
"What did you want, Daddy?"
"Well," Daddy said, "What about Robert?"
Mycroft shook his head. "He can't be a Robert. Alfie's little brother is a Robert, and he'd say I was copying him."
"Mm, we can't have that," Daddy said. "Richard?"
"After my bear?" Richard Bear had recently moved from Mycroft's bed to a shelf because Mycroft felt that he had to set a grown-up example for the new baby, but that did not mean that Richard Bear had to lose the right to his name.
"Of course. How could I forget the adventures of Richard Bear?" Daddy pursed his lips. "Well, then, how about a family name, like yours? We could call him Sherlock."
Mycroft considered the prospect. "Sherlock" sounded like a character in the chaptered adventure books that he was just starting to read, like somebody who could be a companion for going on walks and discovering strange insects and doors into unknown places. At the very least, "Sherlock" wasn't boring the way "Robert" was. Mycroft shrugged his approval.
"Excellent," Daddy said. "Sherlock it shall be. Now, Mrs. Barnet, come out of the kitchen. I've brought champagne, and we'll all celebrate!"
"Champagne?" Mycroft asked. "Me, too?"
"Not you," Mrs. Barnet said.
Daddy shrugged, but even he had to obey Mrs. Barnet. He went into the kitchen and brought out two wine glasses, a tumbler, and a bottle of fizzy water. Mrs. Barnet fetched a napkin from the sideboard, and Daddy returned to the front hall to fetch the carrier bag. Inside was a bottle of champagne very much like the ones that Mummy and Daddy had served at New Year's. Mycroft remembered those bottles well enough to put his fingers in his ears when Daddy wrapped the bottle in the napkin. Daddy eased the cork out with a resounding pop and poured champagne into the wine glasses and then poured the fizzy water into the tumbler. He gave the tumbler to Mycroft and one of the wine glasses to Mrs. Barnet. They all raised their glasses.
"To Sherlock," Daddy said, and they all drank.
"What does he look like?" Mycroft asked, sniffing a little as the fizzy water tickled his nose.
"He's a tiny little thing," Daddy said. "I could balance him on my arm with his head in my palm. And he's very red and quite wrinkled."
That puzzled Mycroft. "But aren't babies meant to be all pink and white and fat?" he asked.
"They fill out," Daddy said, "but they're always a bit crumpled when they're new. Don't you worry. Sherlock will grow out of it. Now you run along for a bit. I have to write some letters."
He took his champagne to his study and set it on a coaster on his desk. Mycroft followed him, but stood just outside the door. Daddy took stationery and his good fountain pen from his desk.
"Who are you writing to?" Mycroft asked.
"To whom are you writing," Daddy corrected. "The masters at the schools. Just like I did when you were born."
"Oh. Is Sherlock going to go to school with me?"
Daddy smiled. "Shouldn't think so. The same schools, yes, if I can get his name down early enough, but not until you've left them. It'll be your job to make a good impression on the masters for your brother."
"What does that mean?"
"It means to be a good boy, follow the school rules, join in the games, and get good marks," Daddy said.
That was disappointing. It was the same thing Mummy had told Mycroft to do even before she was going to have a baby. "When can I see the baby?" Mycroft asked. "Can I go visit Mummy with you?"
"No," Daddy said. "The hospital only allows children to visit on Saturdays. You can see the baby when Mummy comes home."
"When's that?"
"Thursday morning, I should guess. Tea-time Thursday at the latest. Now go and play so that I can write these letters."
Mycroft sighed and slunk away. Daddy was ignoring him, Mrs. Barnet wouldn't let him go outside, he had to have fizzy water instead of tasting the champagne, and he couldn't even see the baby until Thursday. So far, having a baby brother was no fun at all.
