Cuckoo in the Nest. Michelle Magorian

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СКАЧАТЬ look like Niagara Falls. Come in.’

      ‘But the floor . . .’ pointed out Ralph.

      ‘Damn the floor! The floor can’t catch pneumonia.’ And with that she dragged him into the kitchen. ‘Stand in front of that Aga while I get you some dry clothes. Queenie! Follow me!’

      Ralph was so stunned that before he could protest she had slammed the door behind him.

      ‘The master’s clothes, it will be,’ muttered Queenie disapprovingly over her shoulder. And she followed Mrs Egerton-Smythe out of the kitchen.

      By the time Queenie returned he had begun to shiver.

      ‘Mrs Egerton-Smythe says you’re to take off your boots and socks ’ere and come with me,’ she said and she pressed her lips together tightly.

      He pulled off the boots with some difficulty and then peeled off the socks. Standing barefoot on the scrubbed flagstone floor, a sock dangling from each hand, he felt rather foolish. Queenie stared at him with her arms folded and then produced a clothes horse from the wall, opened it out and placed it firmly in front of the Aga. Ralph hung one sock from one bar and the other on the opposite side, fighting down a desire to laugh.

      ‘This way,’ she commanded. And Ralph followed her out into the hallway, his trousers clinging soggily around his legs.

      He was taken up to an enormous bathroom on the first floor. A huge white bath with claw feet stood under a window over-looking the garden. A large sink with blue designs under the taps was on the wall alongside it. A tall green basket with a lid stood near a dark mahogany cabinet. Someone had draped a threadbare white towel across it. On a seat of a wicker chair were several pairs of trousers, a leather belt, woollen shirts, pullovers and socks.

      ‘I’m to wait outside for your clothes,’ said Queenie eyeing his soaked garments disparagingly, ‘so’s I can dry ’em before you goes home.’

      As soon as she had left the room, Ralph bolted the door and avoided standing in front of the keyhole. The clothes were good quality in spite of being worn. He chose a plain blue shirt, a thick navy blue jumper, grey flannels and socks. The flannels were so large he had to turn the legs up half a dozen times, and use the belt round them. He decide to leave his underwear on. He wasn’t going to let Queenie contemplate them in the kitchen.

      He had hardly unlocked the door when Queenie snatched the bundle of clothes from his arms. ‘I dunno,’ she said turning. ‘I dunno.’

      Ralph followed her as she rapidly raced across the landing and down the wide staircase to the main hall. They had just reached the kitchen when Queenie stopped. ‘Mrs Egerton-Smythe wants to see you in the garden room. It’s that door there,’ she said pointing to one opposite, further along the hall.

      ‘I’ve got to get my boots.’

      ‘There’s wellingtons on the veranda. Mrs Egerton-Smythe will show you.’ And she opened the kitchen door and slammed it in his face.

      Ralph slid across the polished floor in his stockinged feet and knocked tentatively.

      ‘Come in!’ yelled a voice.

      Ralph’s first impression of the garden room was whiteness. All the furniture was covered in sheets. Mrs Egerton-Smythe was standing by the French windows facing him. He hung in the doorway while she stared angrily at him.

      ‘Thanks for these,’ said Ralph after an awkward silence.

      ‘They’re not yours to keep,’ she stated. ‘They’re my husband’s, on loan, until Queenie has dried what you came in.’

      ‘Yes, of course,’ said Ralph.

      ‘I expect you already know he’s dead by the kitchen grapevine.’

      ‘No, Madam,’ said Ralph, stunned. ‘Would you prefer it if I took them off ?’

      ‘No!’ she barked. ‘Now, you can’t cut the lawn today, but I can show you the garden shed. It will be your domain from now on.’

      She opened the French windows and stepped out. He could hear the rain drumming loudly on the glass roof of the veranda. As he moved across the room he gazed around at it. He loved the bigness of it, in spite of its dark and miserable appearance. It let him breathe easy again. It was what he missed about not living in the rectory.

      ‘Splendid!’ he whispered.

      ‘Oh, you approve, do you, Hollis?’ she remarked wryly.

      ‘Very much,’ he said stepping quickly outside.

      ‘Boots are there,’ she said indicating the pair of wellingtons by the wall. ‘What size are you?’

      ‘Eight.’

      ‘They’re nine. They’ll have to do. And help yourself to one of the oilskins, or sou’westers.’ She pointed to a large shed halfway down the garden at the side. It was half-hidden by trees. ‘That’s the garden shed. There’s a woodshed further down. Get to know it. Queenie will ring a bell when it’s lunch.’

      Ralph stepped into the large boots and picked out a sou’wester and the smallest oilskin. It came down to his ankles, but he was glad of it as it protected his legs as he waded through the wet grass towards the shed. He fumbled with the lock on the door with his cold hands and glanced quickly back at the house. Mrs Egerton-Smythe was standing by the French windows observing him. He looked hastily away and pushed open the door.

      It took him a while to get accustomed to the darkness. It was obvious that no one had been in the shed for a long time. In the gloom he saw a large motor-mower covered in cobwebs. Tools, boxes and spades were scattered loosely around the wooden floor and, on shelves on the walls, empty dusty flowerpots stood with the remains of dead plants hanging over the sides. A big window, now covered with grime and cobwebs, looked down to the jungle of high grass, trees and the river beyond. He hung his oilskins on a hook behind the door, picked up an old rag and bucket and took it outside to the small stand-up tap he had noticed just outside the door. He placed the bucket underneath and turned it on. He was about to turn it off when it suddenly began to shudder and a burst of water came gushing out.

      The first thing he did in the shed was to wash the window. Anything to let a little light in. And then he grabbed a broom and went on a cobweb hunt. ‘Shelves next,’ he muttered. As he divested the shelves opposite the window of pots and empty seed boxes he found, to his alarm, dust all down the jersey and trousers. Frantically he beat it off and looked around for some overalls. He found some tossed into a heap in the corner. He held them out at a distance and then, screwing up his nose, he stepped into them. They stank of years of dampness.

      It was with some surprise that he heard a school bell ringing. At first he ignored it, but then remembered Mrs Egerton-Smythe mentioning the lunch bell. He pushed open the door. Queenie was standing under the veranda roof swinging a large bell up and down. As soon as she spotted him she disappeared. He threw the oilskins on and made a quick sprint through the rain and up the steps to the veranda. The French windows were open. He hung his oilskins on the hook and stepped out of the boots. He noticed, as he entered the room, cobwebs at the sides of the doors and a long line of dark dust. It looked as if they had been closed for a long time.

      A few nondescript pictures remained hanging on the walls, but there were light squares where other pictures must have once hung. СКАЧАТЬ