Читать книгу The Remnants - W. P. Osborn - Страница 4

The final decree was unmistakable. Three short chimes from the large brass clock that hung above the service stairs reverberated through the upper walls. Each steady stroke proclaimed the certainty of their misfortune. The two exchanged a frozen wide-eyed glance that confirmed their desperation. Their great adventure now appeared hopelessly lost. True to the numerous threats and warnings the great beast suddenly roared to life in the paddock below, tearing and bellowing through the serenity of the morning calm. Clearly only a miracle could save them now.

The answer to their prayers did not hesitate, she charged out from the kitchen door in a thunderstorm of fury. This slender wisp of a woman exploded into action as she dashed forward brandishing a large metal spoon as her own true Excalibur. Ten feet from her target she halted, squared directly to face the beast and launched an opening cannonade of in righteousness indignation.

“You stop right there, Gerald Alton, or you’ll wish the bloody hell you had!”

Her voice penetrated throughout the courtyard with all the ferocity of an irate sergeant major on a parade ground. The pure bluster of her performance slowed the ogre to a stagger just long enough for its master to pause to reconnoiter the situation. Seizing the moment, she raced forward to confront the great green monster and kicked it hard with her heavy wooden heel. The loud clang on the metal fender triggered an immediate angry response.

“Here now, stop that nonsense immediately,” Gerald Alton bellowed as he sprang up from his seat, snapping his goggles back up on to the brim of his cap. “I told those two that I would leave at quarter to the hour precisely and that no delays would be tolerated.”

Her bold defiance came with as much power and fury as the knockout blow she intended. “You’ll set that filthy beast still ‘til they come down or you’ll never have another decent meal in this house again! You’ll be eatin’ scraps and dregs in that livery shed forever, I promise you that!”

Alton paused and stared hard into the eyes of the only woman in the world who could force him to retreat. Lowering his head he exhaled in a long, slow blow. Then he slowly eased back into his seat and set the motor back down to a low rumble as he tugged the throttle to idle. Alton now appeared a man entirely overwhelmed by the burden of defeat.

In truth, this setback would barely cause a ripple amongst his colleagues of the manor. After all, cook was no minor player in this household. In fact Lily Quayle had become a legendary personality of Meaford House. Celebrated throughout the county by the master himself for the magic of her culinary skills, she was also a much beloved and respected character amongst the entire household staff. But her fellow staff also knew that her apparent amiable manner could be quickly triggered by a ferocious Irish temper. Together these two qualities confirmed the duality of Lily’s notoriety. She was revered in the wider world and both loved and feared by her friends at home.

“Now, you just sit quietly and bide your time for a moment, they’ll be along directly.”

“Please, Mrs. Quayle,” poor Alton pleaded. “I have a long list of chores to complete this day and I can’t be held ransom by a pair of young lasses off on a tour of the village shops.”

He thrust his goggles back on to his reddened face and leaned forward ready to resume his mission.

“You’re a far too rigid and impatient man, Mr. Alton. Surely two minutes more won’t ruin your day. Besides, it won’t hurt a crotchety old bachelor to have two lovely young things tucked up there beside you as you make your way down High Street.”

“Enough, Mrs. Quayle. I will dally no longer. I must be off,” Alton threatened as he stretched down again toward the throttle.

“Just before you run off, I’ll ask for yer opinion concerning another most urgent matter.” There was another moment of pause and Alton frowned, rolled his eyes in frustration and slowly leaned back again into his seat.

“I’ve been considering the menu tonight’s dinner, Mr. Alton. Of course the master’s guests will feast on a handsome Beef Wellington but I have not yet decided for the staff. I was curious what would you might say to a lovely braised rabbit?”

Alton jerked his head back so quickly the goggles began to slide back down along the side of his nose. He plucked them back up onto the brim of his cap and turned to her slowly engaging a warm grin that slowly brightened his face.

“Now you’ve done it Lily,” Alton said as he rubbed his chin to consider the matter further “You know very well how much I love your braised rabbit.”

“Precisely, Mr. Alton,” Lily nodded and returned his grin with a smile so devious it could melt butter. “Now you just ease yourself back in your seat and they’ll be along in just a moment.”

It was the first glorious weekend in May, the girls’ first Saturday afternoon off in a month. However this morning was filled with a special air of expectation. It took two long weeks of continuous pleading and cajoling until they had finally persuaded poor old Alton to ferry them to town in lordship’s new mechanical lorry. Though Alton was not yet entirely confident with its entire operation, “too many levers and gears for these old hands,” nonetheless in a moment of weakness he had finally succumbed to their request, albeit most reluctantly. Now that the morning finally arrived, he was surely regretting that decision.

Lord Knowles had purchased the vehicle more as a statement of his abiding confidence in the new Austin Motor Company than any real consideration for better operations of the household. On its arrival he immediately passed it over to poor Alton on the simple premise that as the senior liveryman he would be able to master its curious technical challenges.

According to his lordship’s resolute financial advisor in London Austin was a “very promising new enterprise with great potential in the budding automobile industry.” This strong endorsement resonated with his lordship especially on learning that the army had secretly agreed to acquire two-dozen of the same vehicles confident that they would provide more reliable transport for both men and material. Following confirmation from a pair of his cronies in Whitehall, Lord Knowles had immediately purchased a sizable number of priority shares in Austin. He then became entirely convinced that parading his new lorry throughout the county would do wonders to promote his investment.

Maggie and Rose were giddy as schoolgirls as they raced to finish dressing. Their black laced work-shoes and soiled aprons had been tossed recklessly into the back of their tiny closet certain that Mrs. Beechly would not bother to inspect their quarters in any detail this morning, after all it had been Beechly’s glowing review to Mr. Williams that had freed the girls for their afternoon escapade.

They executed their plan with military precision. Each had already rehearsed wearing the dress, gloves, shoes and hat for this warm spring day in town. There would be no confusion about presentable attire for church - this day was exclusively about defining a delightful personal style.

Maggie had chosen her ankle-length pale blue chiffon with faux pearl buttons and ivory lace at the cuffs and collar. She loved the swirl of its material and thrilled at the thought of the stir its snug fit would set off from the throngs of young men who would stand aside to let her pass. She paused briefly, bit her lower lip in expectation, tossed her bonnet to the corner chair and shook her long chestnut brown hair free to fall around her face and neck. She then stepped forward to the tiny worn mirror to quickly smooth it back with an old pearl handled brush - three crinkled hair-pins would hold it all in place and allow the world to inhale the full depth of her riveting smile. She pinched both cheeks and flashed herself a quick wink. This was to be her moment and she was determined to seize it.

Rose selected her full-length soft golden taffeta skirt with an ivory chemise and a matching gray and gold corduroy demi jacket. Yellow she knew always favoured her hazel eyes and high cheekbones. She’d pinned her auburn hair up and back in the latest fashion that she’d copied from a drawing in a borrowed catalogue and capped it with an elegant little pillbox hat - a fusion of rusty lace and green ribbon.

For these two young women this was a breakout event, a wonderful celebration of passing seventeen with an exciting adventure. They giggled as they saluted the mirror and sprinted down the back stairs and into the kitchen. When they raced toward the rear exit they barely acknowledged Mrs. Beechly’s distant exasperation, “Please girls, there will be no running in this house - this is not a gymnasium!” They slowed briefly to a canter and then picked up the pace as they poured out the rear door and mad-dashed across the courtyard toward their elderly prince and his huffing mechanical coach.

Running up beside the snarling green monster Rose paused just long enough to allow Maggie to climb on board ahead of her. She then turned to the woman who had championed them in their moment of crisis and embraced her with a quick kiss on her left cheek. “Thanks ever so Mum, you really saved the day.”

“Just you make sure to be back no later than quarter of five,”

“No worries, Miz Quayle,” Maggie shouted over the low groans of the broiling beast, “We’ll be back in loads of time, promise.”

“And save us some of that lovely pudding will you please, Mum,” Rose implored, “We’ll be starving when we get back.”

After two attempts, Rose finally managed to slam the metal door fully closed. The girls then nestled in as best they could next to Mr. Alton on the lorry’s luxurious front bench. Neither had ever been close enough to even sit on a motorized vehicle before let alone ride in one. Beaming, they turned toward each other and laughed aloud, both confident that this would be a day they’d never forget. They paused just long enough to inhale the luxurious aroma of the polished black leather seats and the bewildering array of gauges and levers on the dashboard. The motor gurgled more than it purred as it slumbered in neutral, awaiting the next command. Alton nodded, tugged the goggles down from his cap, depressed the clutch and with much grinding and some muttered swearing finally persuaded the shifter into gear. Immediately the graceless steel box lurched forward and began to lumber and chug its way out through the back gates toward the main road. The girls laughed and turned back to wave toward Mrs. Quayle, who stood hands on hips, her battle-spoon sheathed at her side. She returned the wave, shook her head and muttered, “Mother of God, save us all.”

Ever the Boy Scout Alton planned their journey as meticulously as if they were off on a worldwide expedition to the far reaches of West Africa or Outer Mongolia. Today’s challenge to Alton was indeed formidable. Their route to the local village would take them over six dusty, raucous miles along a heavily worn and deeply rutted road. His mission was to acquire a number of important supplies that had been penciled in order on a flap of worn out wallpaper. Leading his list was new harness for the dairy wagon, six sacks of barley seed and a month’s supply of feed supplements for that herd of Jerseys that patrol the back pastures of the estate. Poor Alton never could comprehend why with all that lovely great range of grassland meadows those cows should ever require food supplements. “Ours is not wonder why, ours is but to do and die,” the words of his late grandfather always quoted. He made the turn onto the road, pushed again on the accelerator lever and pointed the nose of the lorry forward toward town. “We’re off!” He called out and the girls squealed with delight.

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