|
There was a proper little committee assembled upon the front steps to greet us. Having braked to a halt and popped smartly out, I ran around to open Fairchild's door, and she plunged into the throng like a politician.
In short order, she had shaken the paws of the Lady of the house and her sister, Dame Elspeth, Constance Kibbleston and Biddulph, been introduced to Dickens, the butler, and Sarah, the maid-in-waiting, and been shot through to the Green Room to freshen up for dinner. And there was I, left standing on the threshold like the jilted suitor. Dickens, a great protuberant-beaked, wattle-throated, round-shouldered, vulture-like specimen was eyeing me like he wished to determine my ripeness for scavenging. I tried a sliver of the O'Doul smile on him. "Well?" he demanded sepulchrally.
|
|
"Well water?" I replied, hoping to strike the jaunty note of easy familiarity, of which he was having none.
"Do you plan to bring the cases or not?" "Oh, the cases! Right-ho!" I cried and sprang to.
|
| I can honestly tell you that the last time I was compelled to deal with my own impedimenta was quite a ways back there in the dim mists of time. My second year at Baliol it was, when my batman drew a hasty and erroneous impression of the prospects of serving me and enlisted in the Foreign Legion, leaving me very much in the lurch.
Dickens, the swine, lifted not a finger in aid of the cause, and it was with the panting of the hart for a tall cool one that I entered the home stretch on the second floor landing and followed Dickens' retreating rump down the corridor. It did not contribute to my darkening mood to discover Fairchild propped languidly in an easy chair with her feet up on an ottoman in the aforementioned Green Room. "You will wish, no doubt, to unpack your master's things," Dickens intoned. "Having done so, report to me in the pantry, and I will show you to your quarters." "Thanks for all your help," I said, with a fair dosage of stinging sarcasm, and he popped off. "Get the heck out of that chair!" I barked at Fairchild, and she sprang up like a rabbit, leaving the way clear for me to fling myself down, as upon my death bed. "I can't believe the things I do for Biddulph Mudyard," I sighed dramatically. "This has to be the limit, shoving motorcars about and hauling baggage up multiple stories." "Most noble of you, sir," commented Fairchild, a bit tentatively. I think I frightened her a bit with my barking. "Well, you can jolly well unpack for yourself, of course. I'm staggering downstairs for a much needed tub." So saying, I painfully hove myself out of the chair and shuffled from the room. Dickens had shown me the green baize door leading to the pantry, and I now passed through it to discover him sitting at a counter sipping sherry. "That looks like a bit of all right," I observed. "Although I'd prefer a tallish brandy and soda, I could make do with a spot of sherry about now." "I rather imagine you could," he responded, with a hooded-eyed smirk that made my flesh crawl. Then he stood up and proceeded to leave the room. "This way," he said without bothering to turn around. I followed the blister, with one longing glance at the decanter as I passed, and he led me down a darkish corridor to my cell. I took a quick look, thinking, "How appropriate to a martyr", and then turned to my guide. "This is all well and good, but where's the bath?" I demanded. "The bath?" "You know, the font of ablutions, the indoor pond, the human watering hole ..." "The servants' bath is available to the male members of the household on Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday evenings." "But this is Wednesday." "That is correct. And may I just say that you have refuted my impression, upon first observing you, that you are the sort of fellow unlikely to know what day it is. Where do you think you are going?" "Upstairs, to lay out my gentleman's dinner clothes." "Why did you not do so when you were up there?" "Why do you not mind your own inscrutable business?" This blistering retort, which I had not quite brought myself to utter aloud, rang inside my head as I arrived at the Green Room to find Fairchild emerging in my bathrobe and carrying my favorite sponge.
|
| "Back up," I instructed curtly, and she reentered the room. I followed her and closed the door. She had already unpacked, and my evening get-up was arrayed on the bed.
"Where's the bath?" I asked her. "Just down the hall." "I've got to get in there." "What about the servants' loo?" "It's evidently the maids' and housekeeper's night to smell sweet. Here, hand over that robe." "But surely someone will see you." "I suppose you're right. This ..." I hissed. "This ..." My boiler was about to burst. "This is intolerable!" Fairchild took sympathy upon me in my hour of darkness. "I've got an idea," she said. "You can come with me. If someone looks squiggle-eyed, I can say you're attending me in my bath." "Good thinking, old girl. I knew I kept you on the payroll for something." |