Читать книгу Waif of the River - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 6

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The kitchen of the Jolly Young Waterman was a place of fragrant warmth and orderly comfort; indeed from floor to massive ceiling-beams, whence dangled hams with bunches of drying herbs, it was all that any kitchen could or should be: with its vast open hearth flanked by great roomy settles; its gigantic dresser bright with the gleam of scoured pewter and aglow with burnished copper; and its four trim maids, demurely prim in their snowy caps and aprons, who now rose to greet "Master Robin" and survey his dripping burden.

"Oh, another!" exclaimed Jemima, buxom, dimpled but supremely efficient. "And a woman, poor soul—it mostly often is!"

"Filth!" said Robin. "An armful! And a foul mess she's making of your kitchen, Jemima!"

"'Tis no matter; we be well used to such."

"Where will you have her?"

"Here on the settle. Lay her flat, sir."

"Down with her, Tom. Easy does it—so! Ha, b' George, and a vile mess she's made of me, too!" exclaimed Robin, scowling from his own miry person to the dripping thing upon the settle, its face unseen by reason of clotted slime and strands of long, matted hair. "Lord love me!" he gasped, recoiling. "How frightfully revolting! And her hair—like so many filthy snakes! I felt 'em writhing on me in the dark—horrible! Precious lucky for her it was so dark. Had I seen, I doubt if I could have touched her——"

"Oh, but you would have done, of course, Robin," said a voice gently, yet in tone so assured that instinctively he nodded and answered:

"Yes, Aunt Rosamond, I suppose so."

Now to him came this small though dominant lady, who, despite years and white hair, seemed young by reason of her quick, graceful movements and was made lovely by her large, gentle eyes and tender curve of smiling lips.

"My dear," said she, both hands outstretched to him, "you are gladly welcome."

"And well I know it, my lady of comfort!" he replied, taking off his sodden hat. "But pray don't touch me yet. I'm all slimy mud from the river and that—that frightful thing——"

"The poor, poor creature!" sighed Lady Rosamond, stooping above the settle. "So many are brought to me from the river and so often too late, but ... tonight ... I believe ... Oh, Jemima, hurry! Bustle, girls, bustle, for here is a spark of life!" So saying, Lady Rosamond knelt beside the dripping, awful thing that lay a shapeless, featureless horror from which Robin shrank apalled as he watched his aunt's quick, deft hands begin their labour of mercy.

"Jemima ... hot water ... sponge."

"Here, m' lady."

"Scissors, Lucy!"

"Here, ma'am!"

"Helen, is the bath ready?"

"Oh yes, my lady."

"Well, now may the kind God bless our efforts!"

"And you, my wonderful Aunt!" said Robin fervently.

"Go away, Robin, and change those wet clothes. Off with you—I'm going to strip her. Now, girls!"