Читать книгу Captain Jim - Mary Grant Bruce - Страница 10

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They bade good-bye to the flat early next morning and went down to Homewood through a dense fog that rolled up almost to the carriage windows like masses of white wool. At the station the closed carriage waited for them, with the brown cobs pawing the ground impatiently. General Somers’ chauffeur had gone with his master, and so far they had not succeeded in finding a substitute, but the groom and coachman, who were also gardeners in their spare time, considered themselves part and parcel of the place, and had no idea of changing their home.

“The cart for the luggage will be here presently, sir,” Jones, the old coachman, told Mr. Linton. So they left a bewildering assortment of suit-cases and trunks piled up on the platform in the care of an ancient porter, and packed themselves into the carriage. Norah was wont to say that the only vehicle capable of accommodating her three long men-folk comfortably was an omnibus. The fog was lifting as they rolled smoothly up the long avenue; and just as they came within sight of the house a gleam of pale sunlight found its way through the misty clouds and lingered on the ivy-clad gables. The front door was flung wide to welcome them: on the steps hovered the ex-sergeant, wearing a discreet smile. Behind him fluttered a print dress and a white apron, presumably worn by his niece.

“I say, Norah, don’t you feel like the Queen of Sheba entering her ancestral halls?” whispered Wally wickedly, as they mounted the steps.

“If she felt simply horrible, then I do!” returned Norah. “I suppose I’ll get used to it in time, but at present I want a hollow log to crawl into!”

Allenby greeted them respectfully.

“We did not know what rooms you would like, sir,” he said. “They are all practically ready, of course. My niece, miss, thought you might prefer the blue bedroom. Her name is Sarah, miss.”

“We don’t want the best rooms—the sunniest, I mean,” Norah said. “They must be for the Tired People, mustn’t they, Dad?”

“Well, there are no Tired People, except ourselves, at present,” said her father, laughing. “So if you have a fancy for any room, you had better take it, don’t you think?”

“Well, we’ll tour round, and see,” said Norah diplomatically, with mental visions of the sudden “turning-out” of rooms should weary guests arrive. “It might be better to settle down from the first as we mean to be.”

“A lady has come, miss,” said Allenby. “I understood her to say she was the cook, but perhaps I made a mistake?” He paused, questioningly, his face comically puzzled.

“Oh—Miss de Lisle?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Oh, yes, she’s the cook,” said Norah. “And the housekeeper—Mrs. Atkins?”

“No one else has arrived, miss.”

“Well, I expect she’ll come,” said Norah. “At least she promised.”

“Miss de Lisle, miss, asked for her kitchenmaid.”

“There isn’t one, at present,” said Norah, feeling a little desperate.

“Oh!” said Allenby, looking blank. “I—I am afraid, miss, that the lady expects one.”

“Well, she can’t have one until one comes,” said Mr. Linton. “Cheer up, Norah, I’ll talk to Miss de Lisle.”

“I’ll be kitchenmaid, if necessary,” said Wally cheerfully. “What does one do?”

Allenby shuddered visibly.

“My niece, I am sure, will do all she can, sir,” he said. His gaze dwelt on Wally’s uniform; it was easy to see him quailing in spirit before the vision of an officer with a kitchen mop. “Perhaps, miss, if you would like to see the rooms?”

They trooped upstairs, the silent house suddenly waking to life with the quick footsteps and cheery voices. The big front bedrooms were at once put aside for future guests. Norah fell in love with, and promptly appropriated, a little room that appeared to have been tucked into a corner by the architect, as an afterthought. It was curiously shaped, with a quaint little nook for the bed, and had a big window furnished with a low cushioned seat, wide enough for any one to curl up with a book. Mr. Linton and the boys selected rooms principally remarkable for bareness. Jim had a lively hatred of furniture; they left him discussing with Allenby the question of removing a spindle-legged writing table. Mr. Linton and Norah went downstairs, with sinking hearts, to encounter Miss de Lisle.

On the way appeared Sarah; very clean and starched as to dress, very pink and shiny as to complexion. Her hair was strained back from her forehead so tightly that it appeared to be pulling her eyes up.

“Oh, Sarah,” said Mr. Linton, pausing.

“Yes, sir,” said Sarah meekly.

“You may be required to help the cook for a few days until we—er—until the staff is complete,” said her employer. “Your uncle tells me you will have no objection.”

“It being understood, sir, as it is only tempory,” said Sarah firmly.

“Oh, quite,” said Mr. Linton hurriedly.

“And of course I will help you with the housework, Sarah,” put in Norah.

Sarah looked more wooden than before.

“Thank you, miss, I’m sure,” she returned.

They went on.

“Doesn’t she make you feel a worm!” said Norah.

“This is a terrible business, Norah!” said Mr. Linton fervently. “I didn’t guess what Brownie was saving me from, all these years.”

They found Miss de Lisle in the kitchen, where an enormous range glowed like a fiery furnace, in which respect Miss de Lisle rather resembled it. She was a tall, stout woman, dressed in an overall several sizes too small for her. The overall was rose-coloured, and Miss de Lisle was many shades deeper in hue. She accepted their greetings without enthusiasm, and plunged at once into a catalogue of grievances.

“The butler tells me there is no kitchenmaid,” she boomed wrathfully. “And I had not expected such an antiquated range. Nor could I possibly manage with these saucepans”—sweeping a scornful hand towards an array which seemed to the hapless Lintons to err only on the side of magnificence. “There will be a number of necessary items. And where am I to sit? You will hardly expect me to herd with the servants.”

“It would be rough on them!” rose to Norah’s lips. But she prudently kept the reflection to herself.

“To sit?” echoed Mr. Linton. “Why, I really hadn’t thought of it.” His brow cleared. “Oh—there is the housekeeper’s room.”

“And who is the housekeeper? Is she a lady?”

“She hasn’t said so, yet,” said Mr. Linton. It was evident that he considered this a point in the absent housekeeper’s favour. Miss de Lisle flamed anew.

“I cannot sit with your housekeeper,” she averred. “You must remember, Mr. Linton, that I told you when engaging with you, that I expected special treatment.”

“And you must remember,” said Mr. Linton, with sudden firmness, “that we ourselves have not been half an hour in the house, and that we must have time to make arrangements. As for what you require, we will see into that later.”

Miss de Lisle sniffed.

“It’s not what I am accustomed to,” she said. “However, I will wait. And the kitchenmaid?”

“I can’t make a kitchenmaid out of nothing,” said Mr. Linton gloomily. “I hope to hear of one in a day or two; I have written to Ireland.”

“To Ireland!” ejaculated Miss de Lisle in accents of horror. “My dear sir, do you know what Irish maids are like?”

“They’re the nicest maids I know,” said Norah, speaking for the first time. “And so kind and obliging.”

“H’m,” sniffed the cook-lady. “But you are not sure of obtaining even one of these treasures?”

“Well, we’ll all help,” said Norah. “Sarah will give you a hand until we get settled, and my brother and Mr. Meadows and I can do anything. There can’t be such an awful lot of work!” She stopped. Miss de Lisle was regarding her with an eye in which horror and amazement were mingled.

“But we don’t do such things in England!” she gasped. “Your brother! And the other officer! In my kitchen, may I ask?”

“Well, one moment you seem afraid of too much work, and the next, of too much help,” said Norah, laughing. “You’d find them very useful.”

“I trust that I have never been afraid of work,” said Miss de Lisle severely. “But I have my position to consider. There are duties which belong to it, and other duties which do not. My province is cooking. Cooking. And nothing else. Who, I ask is to keep my kitchen clean?”

“Me, if necessary,” said a voice in which Allenby the butler was clearly merged in Allenby the sergeant. “Begging your pardon, sir.” He was deferential again—save for the eye with which he glared upon Miss de Lisle. “I think, perhaps, between me and Sarah and—er—this lady, we can arrange matters for the present without troubling you or Miss Linton.”

“Do,” said his employer thankfully. He beat a retreat, followed by Norah—rather to Norah’s disappointment. She was beginning to feel warlike, and hankered for the battle, with Allenby ranged on her side.

“I’m going to love Allenby,” she said with conviction, as they gained the outer regions.

“He’s a trump!” said her father. “But isn’t that a terrible woman, Norah!”

“Here’s another, anyhow,” said Norah with a wild inclination to giggle.

A dismal cab had halted at a side entrance, and the driver was struggling with a stout iron trunk. The passenger, a tall, angular woman, was standing in the doorway.

“The housekeeper!” breathed Mr. Linton faintly. “Do you feel equal to her, Norah?” He fled, with disgraceful weakness, to the billiard-room.

“Good morning,” Norah said, advancing.

“Good morning,” returned the newcomer, with severity. “I have rung three times.”

“Oh—we’re a little shorthanded,” said Norah, and began to giggle hopelessly, to her own dismay. Her world seemed suddenly full of important upper servants, with no one to wait on them. It was rather terrible, but beyond doubt it was very funny—to an Australian mind.

The housekeeper gazed at her with a sort of cold anger.

“I’m afraid I don’t know which is your room,” Norah said, recovering under that fish-like glare. “You see, we’ve only just come. I’ll send Allenby.” She hurried off, meeting the butler in the passage.

“Oh, Allenby,” she said; “it’s the housekeeper. And her trunk. Allenby, what does a housekeeper do? She won’t clean the kitchen for Miss de Lisle, will she?”

“I’m afraid not, miss,” said Allenby. His manner grew confidential; had he not been so correct a butler, Norah felt that he might have patted her head. “Now look, miss,” he said. “You just leave them women to me; I’ll fix them. And don’t you worry.”

“Oh, thank you, Allenby,” said Norah gratefully. She followed in her father’s wake, leaving the butler to advance upon the wrathful figure that yet blocked the side doorway.

In the billiard-room all her men-folk were gathered, looking guilty.

“It’s awful to see you all huddling together here out of the storm!” said Norah, laughing. “Isn’t it all terrible! Do you think we’ll ever settle down, Daddy?”

“Indeed, I wouldn’t be too certain,” responded Mr. Linton gloomily. “How did you get on, Norah? Was she anything like Miss de Lisle? That’s an appalling woman! She ought to stand for Parliament!”

“She’s not like Miss de Lisle, but I’m not sure that she’s any nicer,” said Norah. “She’s very skinny and vinegarish. I say, Daddy, aren’t we going to have a wild time!”

“Well, if she and the cook-lady get going the encounter should be worth seeing,” remarked Jim. “Talk about the Kilkenny cats!”

“I only hope it will come off before we go,” said Wally gleefully. “We haven’t had much war yet, have we, Jim? I think we deserve to see a little.”

“I should much prefer it in some one else’s house,” said Mr. Linton with haste. “But it’s bound to come, I should think, and then I shall be called in as referee. Well, Australia was never like this. Still, there are compensations.”

He went out, returning in a moment with a battered hat of soft grey felt.

“Now you’ll be happy!” said Norah, laughing.

“I am,” responded her father. He put on the hat with tender care. “I haven’t been so comfortable since I was in Ireland. It’s one of the horrors of war that David Linton of Billabong has worn a stiff bowler hat for nearly a year!”

“Never mind, no one in Australia would believe it unless they saw it photographed!” said Jim soothingly. “And it hasn’t had to be a top-hat, so you really haven’t had to bear the worst.”

“That is certainly something,” said his father. “In the dim future I suppose you and Norah may get married; but I warn you here and now that you needn’t expect me to appear in a top-hat. However, there’s no need to face these problems yet, thank goodness. Suppose we leave the kitchen to fight it out alone, and go and inspect the cottage?”

It nestled at the far side of a belt of shrubbery: a cheery, thatched place, with wide casement windows that looked out on a trim stretch of grass. At one side there was actually a little verandah! a sight so unusual in England that the Australians could scarcely believe their eyes. Certainly it was only a very tiny verandah.

Within, all was bright and cheery and simple. The cottage had been used as a “barracks” when the son of a former owner had brought home boy friends. Two rooms were fitted with bunks built against the wall, as in a ship’s cabin: there was a little dining-room, plainly furnished, and a big sitting-room that took up the whole width of the building, and had casement windows on three sides. There was a roomy kitchen, from which a ladder-like staircase ascended to big attics, one of which was fitted as a bedroom.

“It’s no end of a jolly place,” was Jim’s verdict. “I don’t know that I wouldn’t rather live here than in your mansion, Norah; but I suppose it wouldn’t do.”

“I think it would be rather nice,” Norah said. “But you can’t, because we want it for the Hunts. And it will be splendid for them, won’t it, Dad?”

“Yes, I think it will do very well,” said Mr. Linton. “We’ll get the housekeeper to come down and make sure that it has enough pots and pans and working outfit generally.”

“And then we’ll go up to London and kidnap Mrs. Hunt and the babies,” said Norah, pirouetting gently. “Now, shall we go and see the horses?”

They spent a blissful half-hour in the stables, and arranged to ride in the afternoon—the old coachman was plainly delighted at the absence of a chauffeur, and displayed his treasures with a pride to which he had long been a stranger.

“The ’orses ’aven’t ’ad enough to do since Sir John used to come,” he said. “The General didn’t care for them—an infantry gent he must have been—and it was always the motor for ’im. We exercised ’em, of course, but it ain’t the same to the ’orses, and don’t they know it!”

“Of course they do.” Norah caressed Killaloe’s lean head.

“You’ll hunt him, sir, won’t you, this season?” asked Jones anxiously. “The meets ain’t what they was, of course, but there’s a few goes out still. The Master’s a lady—Mrs. Ainslie; her husband’s in France. He’s ’ad the ’ounds these five years.”

“Oh, we’ll hunt, won’t we, Dad?” Norah’s face glowed as she lifted it.

“Rather!” said Jim. “Of course you will. What about the other horses, Jones? Can they jump?”

“To tell you the truth, sir,” said Jones happily, “there’s not one of them that can’t. Even the cobs ain’t too bad; and the black pony that’s at the vet.’s, ’e’s a flyer. ’E’ll be ’ome to-morrow; the vet. sent me word yesterday that ’is shoulder’s all right. Strained it a bit, ’e did. Of course they ain’t made hunters, like Killaloe; but they’re quick and clever, and once you know the country, and the short cuts, and the gaps, you can generally manage to see most of a run.” He sighed ecstatically. “Eh, but it’ll be like old times to get ready again on a hunting morning!”

The gong sounded from the house, and they bade the stables a reluctant good-bye. Lunch waited in the morning-room; there was a pleasant sparkle of silver and glass on a little table in the window. And there was no doubt that Miss de Lisle could cook.

“If her temper were as good as her pastry, I should say we had found a treasure,” said Mr. Linton, looking at the fragments which remained of a superlative apple-pie. “Let’s hope that Mrs. Moroney will discover a kitchenmaid or two, and that they will induce her to overlook our other shortcomings.”

“I’m afraid we’ll never be genteel enough for her,” said Norah, shaking her curly head. “And the other servants will all hate her because she thinks they aren’t fit for her to speak to. If she only knew how much nicer Allenby is!”

“Or Brownie,” said Wally loyally. “Brownie could beat that pie with one hand tied behind her.”

Allenby entered—sympathy on every line of his face.

“The ’ousekeeper—Mrs. Atkins—would like to see you, sir. Or Miss Linton. And so would Miss de Lisle.”

But Miss de Lisle was on his heels, breathing threatenings and slaughter.

“There must be some arrangement made as to my instructions,” she boomed. “Your housekeeper evidently does not understand my position. She has had the impertinence to address me as ‘Cook.’ Cook!” She paused for breath, glaring.

“But, good gracious, isn’t it your profession?” asked Mr. Linton.

Miss de Lisle fairly choked with wrath. Wally’s voice fell like oil on a stormy sea.

“If I could make a pie like that I’d expect to be called ‘Cook,’ ” said he. “It’s—it’s a regular poem of a pie!” Whereat Jim choked in his turn, and endeavoured, with signal lack of success, to turn his emotion into a sneeze.

Miss de Lisle’s lowering countenance cleared somewhat. She looked at Wally in a manner that was almost kindly.

“War-time cookery is a makeshift, not an art,” she said. “Before the war I could have shown you what cooking could be.”

“That pie wasn’t a makeshift,” persisted Wally. “It was a dream. I say, Miss de Lisle, can you make pikelets?”

“Yes, of course,” said the cook-lady. “Do you like them?”

“I’d go into a trap for a pikelet,” said Wally, warming to his task. “Oh, Norah, do ask Miss de Lisle if she’ll make some for tea!”

“Oh, do!” pleaded Norah. As a matter of stern fact, Norah preferred bread-and-butter to pikelets, but the human beam in the cook-lady’s eye was not to be neglected. “We haven’t had any for ages.” She cast about for further encouragement for the beam. “Miss de Lisle, I suppose you have a very special cookery-book?”

“I make my own recipes,” said the cook-lady with pride. “But for the war I should have brought out my book.”

“By Jove, you don’t say so!” said Jim. “I say, Norah, you’ll have to get that when it comes out.”

“Rather!” said Norah. “I wonder would it bother you awfully to show me some day how to make méringues? I never can get them right.”

“We’ll see,” said Miss de Lisle graciously. “And would you really like pikelets for tea?”

“Please—if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“Very well.” Jim held the door open for the cook-lady as she marched out. Suddenly she paused.

“You will see the housekeeper, Mr. Linton?”

“Oh, certainly!” said David Linton hastily. The door closed; behind it they could hear a tread, heavy and martial, dying away.

“A fearsome woman!” said Mr. Linton. “Wally, you deserve a medal! But are we always to lick the ground under the cook’s feet in this fashion?”

“Oh, she’ll find her level,” said Jim. “But you’d better tell Mrs. Atkins not to offend her again. Talk to her like a father, Dad—say she and Miss de Lisle are here to run the house, not to bother you and Norah.”

“It’s excellent in theory,” said his father sadly, “but in practice I find my tongue cleaving to the roof of my mouth when these militant females tackle me. And if you saw Mrs. Atkins you would realize how difficult it would be for me to regard her as a daughter. But I’ll do my best.”

Mrs. Atkins, admitted by the sympathetic Allenby, proved less fierce than the cook-lady, although by no stretch of imagination could she have been called pleasant.

“I have never worked with a cook as considered herself a lady,” she remarked. “It makes all very difficult, and no kitchenmaid, and am I in authority or am I not? And such airs, turning up her nose at being called Cook. Which if she is the cook, why not be called so? And going off to her bedroom with her dinner, no one downstairs being good enough to eat with her. I must say it isn’t what I’m used to, and me lived with the first families. Quite the first.” Mrs. Atkins ceased her weary monologue and gazed on the family with conscious virtue. She was dressed in dull black silk, and looked overwhelmingly respectable.

“Oh, well, you must put up with things as they are,” said Mr. Linton vaguely. “Miss de Lisle expects a few unusual things, but apparently there is no doubt that she can do her work. I hope to have more maids in a few days; if not”—a brilliant idea striking him—“I must send you up to London to find us some, Mrs. Atkins.”

“I shall be delighted, sir,” replied the housekeeper primly. “And do I understand that the cook is to have a separate sitting-room?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, ask Allenby!” ejaculated her employer. “It will have to be managed somewhere, or we shall have no cook!”