Chapter V: Front Matter (5)

“I don’t suppose _you_ would see anything unusual in such an approach to the upper storeys, having been used to it all your life,” she said distantly; “but accustomed as _we_ are to our magnificent staircase at home—wide enough to drive up a carriage and pair, isn’t it, dear?”—

“Er—nearly——” (Dear was the more truthful of the two, I fancy.)

“—And our beautiful pile carpet, in rich reds and blues, and the thickest of stair-pads underneath, till you would think you were walking on real Turkey carpet, this naturally strikes us as—how shall I put it so as not to hurt your feelings?—as—as very humorous, you know!”

“I quite understand,” I said, as we entered my bedroom.

She walked straight over to the window and looked out.

“Not a house to be seen anywhere,” she exclaimed dismally, “whichever way you look; nothing in sight but those everlasting tree-covered hills.”

As she seemed inclined for a lengthy soliloquy, I poured out some water and indicated the soap-dish, as politely as I knew how, to Dear, who had taken off her hat and coat, and seemed almost grateful for my attentions. I noticed that Abigail had been up and had adorned the towel-horse with my finest damask towels with embroidered ends, and had got out a rare and treasured bedspread made entirely of lace, that had just been sent me as a present from Venice, and had put it over the bed in place of the old-world patchwork quilt that I infinitely prefer in the cottage; it was so much more in keeping with the surroundings.

The ample one turned with a sigh from the depressing outlook that was so deficient in motor-buses and halfpenny car rides and taxis and houses, and said, evidently striving to make the best of a bad job, “At any rate you’ve tried to make it look as nice as you can inside. Do you know, I rather like that bedspread”—as though conveying a real favour on the article in question. “It reminds me of an _exquisite_ bedspread we have at home something like it, only ours is linen, with shamrocks on it in solid embroidery.” And she flung down her coat and other _impedimenta_ on the top of the lace in a way that made me tremble for its safety. “It’s _something_ like ours—don’t you think so, dear?”

Dear had her face in the soft delicious lather of the rainwater, and didn’t reply.

“But”—at this point transformation came over the black and white plaid—“I’ve only just noticed it! This is a _double_ bed! Look, dear, it’s a DOUBLE bed! And I most distinctly said in my letter it was imperative that we have two single beds; the same room would do, I said—no need to go to the expense of two rooms—but on no account a double bed. As I can’t possibly rest unless I have the bed to myself—I’m a _very_ light sleeper, whereas my friend sleeps rather heavily, not to say—er—sonorously, don’t you, dear?—I must simply insist that you have this bed taken down and two single ones put up in its place. Had I _seen_ the rooms before I engaged them I shouldn’t have taken a place with such a desolate outlook; but as we’ve had the expense of coming here, I don’t mind staying if you undertake to have the beds changed; and they must both be feather beds, too. Now, can you do this?”

“I’m afraid I can’t!” I said. “But if——”

“There can be no ifs; I put everything quite clearly in my letter. I’ve got a copy of it here. I wrote——”

“My dear lady, if you will sit down in that easy-chair, we’ll make everything still clearer.” She was beginning to prance around the room.

Dear, unmoved, was having a very thorough wash. So the light sleeper sank into the chair and rummaged in her hand-bag, presumably for the copy of the letter in question.

I tried to speak as lightly and soothingly as possible, for she was fairly bursting with indignation! “Now, please understand that I am delighted to give a meal to any wayfarer who, like yourself, arrives hungry and tired at my door. I’m glad for them to come in and have a rest, and even a wash and brush up, if they want it. But, when an absolute stranger, of whom I know nothing, demands my own bed, and my feather bed into the bargain, then I must protest! That feather bed is one of my most cherished possessions!”

“But you expected me?”—sitting bolt upright.

“I certainly did not!”

“Didn’t I write and tell you we would arrive to-day?”

“I’ve neither heard of you, nor from you, in my life before!”

“But this is Rosemary Cottage?”

“It is.”

“Then you _must_ be Miss Flabbers!”—with an air of finality.

“I’m sorry, but I’m _not_!”

At this, Dear dropped the soap with a sudden splosh into the water and looked round in frozen astonishment. (The merest wraith of it remained two hours later when Abigail emptied the water. It was a new cake, too!)

At the name of Flabbers, light came. Miss Flabbers is a gentlewoman in somewhat reduced circumstances, who lives in a cottage a good mile and a half away. Presumably she was going to add to her income by taking in boarders.

“If it’s Miss Flabbers whom you are wanting,” I continued, filling up a painful silence, “her house is called Rose May Cottage. I expect you got the names confused in your mind.”

“There! It’s all _your_ fault,” said the ample one, turning irritably to her companion; “you said it was Rose May Cottage when you read the first letter: but I said that was an absurd name, and it must be Rosemary it was intended for—country people _do_ write so badly. I do _wish_, dear, you would be careful to be more accurate; if only you had said the right name I might have been saved all this trouble—and expense, because of course I shall _insist_ on paying for our tea——” (she didn’t though!) “and think how many miles I’ve walked, and now I suppose I’ve to do it all again. How I wish I’d listened to that old man at the station and gone with——”

She paused suddenly and threw up her hands; and then there arose that cry common to all womankind the world over, when they are weary with their pilgrimage, footsore and travel-stained; the cry that must have rent the air in the olden days when Sarai trailed after Abram across the plains of Mamre, even as it sounds to-day from Yokohama to Land’s End:

“_Where’s our luggage?_”

There was a perceptible gasp—and then, “Yes; _where’s our luggage?_” faintly echoed Dear, as she nervously clutched her gloves with feverish haste and pinned them on her head, and then wildly tried to get her arms into her hat.

“I expect it’s reposing peacefully in Miss Flabbers’ best bedroom,” I said assuringly. “At any rate it isn’t _here_!” as I saw signs that they were going to crawl under the bed in search of it. “The man would be sure to deliver it there, and——”

Abigail knocked at the door and asked if she could speak to me for a minute.

When I got outside she said, “There’s a person downstairs wants to see you _particular_, ma’am, or I wouldn’t have disturbed you.” Abigail divides all her sex into two classes, “persons” and “ladies,” and no one is more careful than she to see that “persons” don’t think more highly of themselves than their social status warrants.

I found a pleasant-faced woman who lives in a cottage near Miss Flabbers. “Please, ma’am, Miss Flabbers has lost two ladies rather suddint, and I wondered if you’d chanced to set eyes on ’em? Miss Flabbers is _that_ worrit as never was; expected ’em by the eleven train, and I misdoubt me if the cutlets won’t be a bit heavy by now, though she’s had ’em over a saucepan of hot water ever since. She’s so upset she don’t know what to do, yet she can’t go out to look for ’em in case they turns up meanwhile. I thought it ’ud be just neighbourly if I went out for her and hunted around. I know they come by that train, for I see’d ’em myself at the station, puffeck ladies you’d have took ’em for, only they wouldn’t have a fly. They’re not friends, no, nor boarders, no, she wouldn’t think of having boarders, so reserved as she is; they’re what’s called paying guests. I know, because my son’s got a friend in the _Hargus_ office, and he told him about an adver-_tise_ment she put in, only you wouldn’t have known it was her, being only X Y Z on it, but the people at the _Hargus_ knew as the X Y Z meant her, though _how_ they should know puzzles me, and they send on the letters to her. But she’s kep’ it very private; no one knew they was coming, so I wouldn’t dream of mentioning X Y Z to a soul. I’ve tracked ’em up here. Everybody all over the Common and even up to the Crag Farm has a-seed them, they’ve scoured the county for miles round. You’d be sure to rekernize them once you’d saw them——”

I should think so! E’en the slight harebell raised its head and stared after them whenever they passed it that afternoon, I’m certain.

By dint of shouting above her talking I managed to get her to hear that I had them safe and sound; and should be everlastingly grateful if she would take them off my hands and place them in the safe keeping of Miss Flabbers.

Then I fetched them down and introduced the neighbourly soul, who, you could see, felt elated at the distinction of being the one to take such costumes in tow.

“Better go out of the back door,” I said, “and up the garden to the top gate; it will save you a few steps.”

And then the ample one turned and said icily, “I suppose we must thank you for what you have done; but I _do_ think you should have told us _sooner_ who you were.” Yet I hadn’t told them even then!

* * * * *

It was as they were going out of the back door that Dear amazed us by falling unexpectedly to her knees and affectionately clasping a dark object that I had not seen in the dim recess of the lobby.

“_Here’s_ our trunks!” she shrieked hysterically.

And then both those women glared things unspeakable at me. They knew now, what they had only suspected before, that I was a deeply-dyed villainess with designs on them and their property.

“What’s this? Why wasn’t I told about it?” I inquired of Abigail, who, naturally, was not missing a word.

“Old Bob brought them while you were busy. He said they were for here, so of course I took them in, madam, as you said you were not to be disturbed,” with an injured sniff, “and I’ve had no opportunity to tell you since.”

The two, true to the instincts of their sex, had promptly seated themselves on the trunks, and I feared they had no intention of budging unless the trunks went with them. But the neighbourly person was anxious to be on the move; she wanted the _kudos_ of walking through the village with them in the broad daylight, so she said—

“They’ll be all right; my ’usband’ll come round for them soon as we get back. Now don’t you worrit the least little bit.”

Thus they were got off at last.

* * * * *

“Puffeck ladies,” I said to myself as I seized the brown pitcher and the water-can, and went out to the spring.

VIII

Merely to be Prepared