Читать книгу Moss Rose - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 11

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The two women were standing in the flame-shot dark, pausing, one reluctant and alert, one yawning and sleepy, about to leave the kitchen, when again there was the swish of flounces, the tap of unsteady heels, and Daisy Arrow entered, she also with a candle in a tin stick held in a shaking hand.

"What now?" asked Mrs. Bulke with an air of authority, peering through the crossing light of the flames.

"I want some champagne," smiled Daisy.

"Champagne? That's a gentleman's drink, ain't it?"

"I want it for a gentleman."

"Well, he won't find it here, as you ought to know, beauty."

"Brandy then, he said—champagne or fine old brandy."

"I've neither. And all what hasn't been drunk of what I have got has been put away and will stay put away. You've had enough."

Daisy Arrow made as if to open the reticule which still dangled on her arm.

"Can't Moll run and fetch some? I've got the money, plenty of money."

"What time do you think it is? The public-houses and the wine shops is all shut up. It's past midnight."

"It's Christmas Day," said Belle, smiling above her smoking candle. "Peace on earth, goodwill towards men."

Daisy Arrow stared at her, seemed to shudder, to wince a little, frowned, then tossed her head and once more left the kitchen, holding her candle aslant so that the wax dripped on her skirt.

"Well," remarked Mrs. Bulke with her air of resigned indignation. "He's a foreigner all right—champagne and fine old brandy for Daisy Arrow! Who does he think she is?" Suddenly laughing in her throat the landlady limped out on to the stairs. "He doesn't know his way about, that's what it is, dearie; he thinks we're Claridge's, here at No. 12, that's what he thinks." Laboriously mounting the low worn stairs, she added, "Or less he's blind drunk."

"I heard his voice," said Belle following slowly, shivering in the draughts that were so keen outside the stale warmth oft the kitchen. "And he's sober enough, quite sober."