Between the Larch-woods and the WeirKlickmann, Flora
General
Between the Larch-woods and the Weir
Klickmann, Flora
Country life -- England; England -- Social life and customs -- 20th century; Friendship; Household employees
He smiled when I confessed. “Well, I can tell you,” he said, as he
proceeded to mumble a little in an unknown tongue to himself, reading
each collection of strokes in turn. “It means—er—let me see—well—to
translate it quite broadly, you understand, in the vernacular, the
nearest equivalent in English is ‘Beware of Pickpockets.’”
* * * * *
Truly, you never know!
Work was extra heavy in my office that week. Like every other business
house, we were understaffed, with the majority of our expert men at the
front. Moreover, I was trying to get things a little ahead, as I was
going away on the Friday.
I did not get home till nearly nine o’clock on the Tuesday following my
adoption of Eileen, and by that time I was too tired to trouble about
matters domestic. Nevertheless I noticed that the house seemed very
draughty; but I put it down to a very high wind that had set in earlier
in the day.
As I was going upstairs to bed about half-past ten, I noticed the
powerful draught again. I like plenty of air in the house, but after
all a line should be drawn somewhere when it is blowing a hurricane,
and I said so.
“_Well_, and to think I forgot to tell you!” said Abigail cheerfully.
“The skylight’s blown clean away, and rain’s been pouring in like
anything on the top landing!” Judging by her pleased expression, you
might have thought that the deluge was in gold.
If you have ever been fortunate enough to find yourself minus a
fair-sized skylight on a stormy night, and the man of the house away on
urgent business, and not expected back for a month, you will know what
my feelings were when I heard the news. It is useless for me to try to
describe them.
Virginia and Ursula, who live near me in London, were hastily
summoned. By the time we had all done exclaiming, “Well, I never!”
singly and in chorus, and had heard full details of the catastrophe
repeated for the eighth time by Abigail, it was eleven o’clock. And as
no self-respecting builder’s man can do any work after five o’clock
(and few seem able to do any before that hour), it was obviously
useless to hope for professional aid. So we took a step-ladder to the
top landing and piled it on a table, with me on top of all, domestics
clutching the step-ladder fervently as I balanced myself on its dizzy
height, and exclaiming, “Oh, do be careful, madam!” at frequent
intervals; with Virginia and Ursula offering unlimited advice in a
running duet.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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