CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Kitchen Business
‘COME, MISS JULIA. You sit in the old basket chair while Mr. Tim and I get supper ready. Shall I make you a little fire in the hob-grate and you can pretend you’re Cinderella?’
Mrs. Broome’s ever-young voice tinkled gaily in the low-ceilinged cavern which was the kitchen of the Well House. As a sample of conversation in the world of today it had to be heard to be believed, and Tim and Julia exchanged secret glances. Julia was still slightly emotional and her eyes were wet as she laughed and turned to look at the carefully restored chimneypiece hung about with iron spoons and skillets.
‘You’re wonderful, Nanny Broome,’ she said. ‘I don’t think that thing is meant to light though, do you? Eustace would be horrified.’
‘Very likely, but he’d get over it. If we put up with all his antique bits and bobs he must give way to us sometimes.’
Mrs. Broome was making noises rather than talking and her glance was running over the details of the fireplace as she weighed up the difficulties of the project.
‘I do like a flare,’ she said. ‘And there are some wine boxes through there we could break up, but it’s warm enough with all these pipes. I just want to make you feel at home, miss. After all, as I said to Mr. Tim when you rang up so upset, you’ve been such a good little girl over all this engagement business we ought to make a fuss of you or he’ll lose you.’
‘Nan! This will do!’ Timothy was embarrassed and, as usual, Mrs. Broome bridled dangerously at any reproach from him.
‘You still show you’ve been fighting, especially when you colour up, young man,’ she said spitefully. ‘Come along: there are four places to be laid on the kitchen table. We’ll give Mrs. Telpher something down here with us, shall we? Poor thing, she won’t want to eat alone even if she is so rich! It was a great shock to her losing that little Miss Saxon and she was worried enough before, what with the kiddy-widdy and being so far from home.’
Julia stirred in the creaking chair. She was laughing but yet grateful for the mothering, which was comforting, however absurd.
‘I hope you’re right that Miss Alison won’t mind me coming to stay,’ she said. ‘I was dreading the evening at home alone but it seems rather an imposition to move in on you when I live reasonably near.’
‘Oh, rubbish! Miss Alison always lets me settle little things like that when I’m here. If Mr. Tim wanted to bring a school friend home for a match or the Boat Race he only had to ask me. I do the extra work, you see!’
Mrs. Broome was trotting round the kitchen with her little steps swinging her seat and conveying such ecstatic happiness as could alone excuse her. ‘One of these days you’ll be the mistress and we shall be the poor old things all very glad that you’ve got something to be grateful to us for.’
Tim put his arm round her and lifted her gently off the floor. ‘Shut up!’ he said.
Mrs. Broome squeaked with delight like a musical-comedy soubrette. ‘Giving away secrets, am I?’ she inquired contentedly. ‘I’m always doing that. Never mind me. We must get a tray for the gentlemen. I shall give them theirs in the study. Then they won’t come and bother us down here.’
Tim stood for a moment absently caressing his ear lobe.
‘Poor Campion,’ he said. ‘Eustace has frozen on to him as if he was the only spar in an angry sea. I’ve got a terrific admiration for your father, darling. This deft introduction of an expert instead of bungling about in it himself is masterly.’
The girl looked up quickly. ‘I like Mr. Campion, though, don’t you?’
‘Immensely. I don’t know why. He’s on our side anyway, perhaps it’s that. I’m afraid he’s having a depressing day. Alison gave him some dreadful lunch and now he’s going to be asked to share Eustace’s boiled milk and bickies.’
‘No. I shall make him a nice little omelette and he’ll eat it with a glass of wine and a roll and butter and like it.’ Mrs. Broome was beside herself with happy home-making. ‘I shall put a pretty tray cloth on and find a bit of cheese and he’ll enjoy it. They’re very busy talking about something I was able to tell them, Miss Julia.’ She was bursting with her news and carefully avoided Timothy’s warning glance. ‘I happened to go out today and I . . .’
‘What about Alison and Aich?’ Timothy interrupted her ruthlessly. ‘Where are they feeding?’
‘Oh, they’re going to the Art-Lovers Club.’ Mrs. Broome was sidetracked. ‘They’ve got to go to this recital in Wigmore Street you see, because they know the gentleman who’s giving it. It’s a harpsichord he plays and very rare, but afterwards they’re slipping over to the Club to have a hot sandwich and they’ll be back at once after that, because of course they’re as interested in the the goings-on here as anyone is. You finish this table, Mr. Tim, and I’ll slip up to the dining-room pantry and fix the tray and find the wine.’ She bustled out of the room but put her head back inside the door immediately afterwards.
‘Make him tell you about what I found in the Cemetery, miss,’ she said and fled before she saw his reaction.
For once she had misjudged the situation, however, for the instant they were alone they were in each other’s arms, too wearily frustrated to care about any mystery save one. Julia lay in the creaking basket chair holding her beloved back from her by his ears.
‘Oh God, this is awful,’ she said. ‘It’s like dabbing a burn with cold water, brief peace and then twice as much pain. Look darling, before she comes back, I’ve got to tell you. I had a sort of extraordinary experience down in Ebbfield at the cobbler’s shop.’
‘Oh, be quiet.’ He pushed his mouth over hers and with his weight upon her edged her back farther into the hard flock cushions sewn into the groaning basket work. The discomfort was a delight to her and the very absurdity of the noise of the chair seemed to add to the pleasure of the sacrifice, but she wriggled away from him at last and struggled on with her story.
‘I head someone say Basil Kinnit. Do you think . . . ?’
‘Basil Kinnit? There’s no such person.’ He was momentarily interested.
‘I know. That’s what I thought. But it couldn’t be a coincidence because it’s an unusual name and anyway Basil’s in it, isn’t he?’
‘Basil Toberman?’
‘Of course.’ They were whispering without knowing why. Two conspirators, their heads together, their breath mingling. ‘He started it all, didn’t he? He hates you – he hates us both.’
He was about to protest but changed his mind and began to kiss her again, pressing his forehead hard into her chest.
‘It’s ridiculous,’ he said, suddenly, his head bobbing up like a child out of a cot. ‘We want so little, only a bit of peace and solitude, only for a tiny while . . . It’s like dying: you only need your narrow bit of earth. Hush —’
They both paused, listening. Someone was coming down the flight of wooden stairs which led from the ground floor to the half-basement in which the kitchen was built at the end of the entrance yard.
Timothy got up and Mrs. Telpher came in quietly and nodded to them. She was aware that she was intruding and regretted it in a mild Kinnit-like way.
‘Mrs. Broome tells me we are to have a meal down here,’ she remarked, looking about her with the impersonal interest which was so very characteristic of the whole family. ‘She is still very excited about her encounter. It’s quite an extraordinary chance that she should have found the woman there, of all places. Oh – haven’t you told Julia about it yet, Timothy?’
The dark colour came slowly into the boy’s face.
‘Julia’s only just arrived,’ he said.
‘Oh, I see.’ She looked from one to the other with the calmly inquisitive stare which was reminiscent of Alison, and then laughed with a touch of hardness which was not Alison at all. ‘I think I should tell her if I were you,’ she said. ‘It’s rather her affair.’
There it was again, the hint of superiority, unaware and unselfconscious, which denigrated the other person’s
importance in an off-hand, unintentional way. Although he had been familiar with the trick all his life, Timothy could still be flustered by it.
He swung round and addressed the girl who was still sitting in the chair.
‘Nan went over to Harold Dene Cemetery to take a wreath which arrived too late for Miss Saxon’s funeral,’ he said. ‘While she was there she ran into a woman whom she fancied she recognized, and afterwards she decided it was the person who brought me down to Angevin when I was a baby. Naturally everybody is rather excited because I suppose there’s a very good chance that she is my mother.’ He hesitated. ‘Nan won’t have it, because she didn’t take to her. She sounds something of a problem Mum!’
Julia received the full message and made no false move.
‘That could be very useful and interesting,’ she said slowly. ‘I suppose people do recognize each other after twenty years?’
Mrs. Telpher laughed gently. ‘One can see how young you are!’ she said. ‘Did the other woman recognize Mrs. Broome? I shouldn’t think she’d changed since the day she was born.’
Timothy looked startled. ‘No one seems to have thought of that. I’ll ask Nan. She must know.’
Mrs. Telpher sat down at the partly laid table where she managed to look remarkably elegant despite a background of white kitchen fittings.
‘She may have made it all up,’ she said placidly. ‘Not intentionally you know, Timothy. But in a bedtime story fashion. Here she comes. I should like to hear it from her.’
‘Everybody wants to hear it from me.’ Nanny Broome caught the tail end of the sentence and responded happily as she came softly in, her quick light steps pattering on the stones. ‘I should think that Mr. Albert Campion – who isn’t nearly so gormless as he looks, let me tell you – took me through it a dozen times. Where exactly was the grave? Where was I? Where was the water tap? Where was the Keeper?’
‘The keeper?’ Julia demanded.
‘Well, the man in the peaked cap who was wandering about.’ Mrs. Broome was on the defensive. ‘It’s a very modern place, you know. The same idea as the zoo. Graves not quite graves and cages not quite cages but all lovely paths and gardens. Anyway I spoke to him and asked him the way because he looked as if he ought to know, and he did. There it was, covered with all our flowers. Mr. Eustace’s cushion of roses looked lovely. Naturally I was surprised to see a lady kneeling there because she wasn’t one of us.’
‘A lady kneeling?’ Mrs. Telpher’s utter astonishment splashed through the chatter like a shower of cold water.
‘Well, a person,’ said Mrs. Broome, reddening. ‘She was stooping if she wasn’t kneeling.’
Mrs. Telpher’s shrewd eyes began to laugh and Nanny Broome’s blush became sulky. ‘I said “kneeling” because it was a grave,’ she explained unnecessarily. ‘I went up softly and, not liking to disturb her in case she was someone we knew, I put the new wreath up against a headstone behind her and went off to get some water. I thought there must be a tap somewhere and I could see the poor tired flowers could do with a nice fresh sprinkle.’
‘Had she seen you?’ Timothy inquired.
‘I don’t think so. Not then. But when I came back with a little jam-pot of water – I found one hidden behind the post the tap was on – she was sitting back on her heels looking at the label on the wreath I’d just brought.’
‘You mean the card.’ Julia spoke absently.
‘No I don’t. I mean the label.’ Nursery authority was very marked and a certain feline streak, directed at Mrs. Telpher, appeared in the narrative. ‘I didn’t take the wreath out of its wrappings to carry it there, particularly since I was going by bus: so the label was still on it. It was sent “Care of Kinnit” to our address here and there was the name and address of the people who had sent it, too, – somewhere in Africa. Well, this lady – I always call people that because it’s more polite – was squatting there reading it. I thought “There’s cheek if you like!”, so I said “Excuse me, please” and took it away.’
‘Is that when you recognized her?’ There was still faint amusement in Mrs. Telpher’s face.
‘No. I shouldn’t have known her from Adam. I kept my eyes down you see. I was annoyed with her and I intended to show it.’ Nanny Broome conveyed the scene with complete veracity. One could see her, cross and prissy, waggling her bottom, taking her tiny steps, and keeping her eyes downcast so that the lashes were black on her red cheeks.
‘I unpacked the wreath and folded the cellophane very carefully for one doesn’t want to make litter,’ she said virtuously. ‘And I set it up in the best place and I said to it “now you lie there and look nice”.’
‘You actually spoke aloud?’ It was Mrs. Telpher again. She seemed fascinated.
‘Yes, I did. I always talk aloud to things. It helps me to concentrate. Why, there’s no harm in it, is there, Madam?’
She was within an ace of impudence, overplaying her part dangerously. Tim interfered hastily.
‘What else did you say?’ he inquired. ‘Did you speak to the label? Did you, Nan?’
‘Why should I?’ She flushed so brightly that he was answered.
‘Because I know you,’ he said. ‘What did you say?’
‘I only spoke to it as I put it with the rest of the rubbish to go into the litter bin. I said “Well, I don’t know, but everyone seems interested in you. First Mr. Basil and then a perfect stranger.’ Afterwards I did look at her and I was surprised, because I thought “My goodness! I have seen you before!” But I couldn’t think where, until I was nearly home.’
‘How did she take your delicate criticism?’
‘Don’t you laugh at me, young man. I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t stop to talk. I came away. She wasn’t the kind of person to get acquainted with. The years had altered her. She was a silly girl in those days – she had adenoids I shouldn’t wonder – but she wasn’t downright awful like she is now.’
‘I’ve lost the thread of all this,’ Mrs. Telpher intervened with sudden irritation. ‘What did you mean when you said Mr. Toberman was interested in the label on the wreath?’
‘Well, he was. He copied it down in his note-book, didn’t he? I thought you saw him. You were at the top of the stairs.’
‘Really? Was this yesterday evening when it arrived?’ She seemed amazed. ‘What an extraordinary thing for him to do! I’m afraid I find the whole story amazing. Are you sure you recognized this woman by poor Miss Saxon’s grave?’
‘Perfectly. Her face came back to me. I told you. I kept thinking about her and then when I was nearly here, “My goodness!” I said. “That’s who it was!”’
‘Did she know you?’
Nanny Broome seemed to find the question as surprising as everyone else had done. She stood considering and finally made a virtue of necessity, as usual.
‘I was always taught it was very wrong to go about wondering what effect one is making on the other person all the time, so I never do. If she did know me she didn’t say so, but she did have a silly sly smile on her face, now you come to mention it. It would be funny if she didn’t recognize me, wouldn’t it? I haven’t got any older at all, everybody says that.’ She turned away. ‘Now I must get on with your meal and hurry. I’m to see the police, Mr. Tim. First you and now me.’
She tossed the small grenade lightly into the conversation and busied herself at the sink. ‘Mr. Campion told me,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘He and Mr. Eustace were full of it when I took the tray up from the pantry. As soon as I’ve seen to you all down here I’m to slip into a dark coat and go with Mr. Campion to see somebody called Superintendent Luke.’
‘Officially?’ Julia got the question in before Timothy could speak. Mrs. Broome turned to look at her reproachfully.
‘Not quite,’ she admitted regretfully. ‘I’m not going to headquarters and I said I’d rather not go to a public house, so I shall meet him out.’
‘Why doesn’t the superintendent come here?’ Tim, fresh from his own experience, was
apprehensive.
‘He doesn’t want to.’ Mrs. Broome still talked with her back to him. ‘I asked Mr. Campion that and he explained that it’s a question of etiquette. So of course I understood at once.’
She bustled out through a door at the back of the room and Timothy looked at Julia, his eyebrows raised.
‘What’s your chum playing at, do you know?’
‘I don’t.’ She was wary. ‘Superintendent Luke is all right only very high-powered. I’m surprised though. I didn’t think he’d interfere unless —’
‘Unless what?’
‘Unless the Councillor talked to him. He conveyed that he might, but I didn’t think he’d do it so soon.’
‘The Councillor?’ Tim spoke in astonishment but did not continue since Mrs. Telpher was watching them with polite interest. Finally, as the silence grew longer she spoke herself.
‘Did you want to talk to him or were you just determined to get him out of the house before he drove Eustace out of his mind? I never saw a man so astounded in my life as when you carried him off like that.’
Julia regarded her gravely.
‘I liked him,’ she said. ‘He knows a great deal about Ebbfield. Did you like him, Timothy?’
‘I did rather.’ He seemed surprised by the admission. ‘He’s either very human or else he’s just a type I happen to know and understand. He annoyed me but I never felt I didn’t know what he meant, which is odd because I’m rather slow on the uptake with strangers.’
Julia sat hesitating, her eyes dark with indecision. ‘I was wondering,’ she began at last and was saved, or perhaps merely interrupted, by a shout from Mrs. Broome somewhere in the back of the building.
‘What’s happened here? Look at this!’
Both young people hurried out to her, entering first a whitewashed passage of a type which still exists in old London houses, and then on to a square room which must once have been an outhouse before the city had closed not merely round but over it. It was lit by a single bulb hanging from a cracked ceiling and still possessed a flagged floor. Nanny Broome was looking up at the outer wall. Just under the ceiling there were three lunette windows, heavily barred and blacked out in the normal way by centuries of grime. Their bases were on a level with the pavement outside, a narrow way which was several feet lower than the road behind the house.
The China Governess Page 19
