An Old Fashioned Girl. Бетти НилсЧитать онлайн книгу.
Murch, coming upon her setting an old-fashioned candelabrum on the hall table, remarked tartly that anyone would think that she had done it all before, to which Patience made no reply.
Wrapped in the Burberry and the woolly cap, she knew before she had reached the end of the drive that getting back to the village would be impossible. There was a hollow in the lane a hundred yards from the house and she could see that the drifts were already head-high. Almost blown off her feet, she was half blinded by the snow and so she went back to the house.
Miss Murch eyed her sopping figure. ‘You’ll have to stay the night,’ she pronounced. ‘You can telephone to your home.’
‘We aren’t on the phone, but it’s all right, my aunts won’t worry; they would know that once the snow started drifting there wouldn’t be a way back.’
‘This Godforsaken place,’ declared Miss Murch crossly. ‘Get those wet things off; since you’re here you can help me with Mr van der Beek’s dinner.’
The kitchen was warm and smelled deliciously of something roasting in the Aga. ‘You had better have the room opposite mine,’ said Miss Murch. ‘You can have one of my nightgowns and then we can make up the bed presently. We’ll have our supper once Mr van der Beek has had his dinner.’
The electricity wavered for another half-hour and then went out. Patience went around lighting candles and the oil-lamps her aunts had always kept handy. The dining-room looked quite cosy when she had set candles on the table, but she didn’t linger; she had heard the subdued roar from Mr van der Beek when the power was cut, and he might not be in the best of tempers. She went to the lamp-room behind the kitchen and found another oil-lamp; the moment he went into the dining-room she would nip into the study and light it.
Miss Murch took the dinner in, tapping discreetly on the study door to let him know that it was served. Patience heard his voice, coldly annoyed, as she slid out of the kitchen and into the study. There was a splendid fire burning; by its light she lit the lamp and set it on his desk.
She itched to tidy the piles of papers strewn around. How, she wondered, did he ever find anything in all that muddle?
She had her supper with Miss Murch later that evening, listening politely to that lady’s accounts of the convenience and comfort of Mr van der Beek’s house in London. ‘He has a house in Holland as well,’ she told Patience. ‘He visits there from time to time. He is, as you doubtless know, very well thought of throughout the medical profession.’
Patience murmured politely, and helped with the washing-up while Miss Murch sang the praises of the dish-washing machine at the London house, and retired to her room. It was close to Miss Murch’s at the back of the house and the wind howled against the window, its glass peppered with snowflakes. Patience pulled the curtains, had a very hot bath in the rather antiquated bathroom and jumped into bed. She had experienced weather like this several times and it was unlikely to disturb her sleep. She set the alarm clock Miss Murch had thoughtfully given her for seven o’clock and went to sleep.
It was the dead of night when she woke and she knew at once what it was that had awakened her. One of the shutters in the unused scullery beyond the kitchen had broken loose and was banging against the wall. Then she lay and listened to it for a few minutes and decided to go down and see if she could close it. She lighted her candle and crept along the passage, pausing at Miss Murch’s door. Judging by the snores coming from her room, Miss Murch hadn’t been bothered by the noise. Patience remembered uneasily that Mr van der Beek’s bedroom, at the other side of the house, while not above the kitchen wing, was on the same side. She pattered silently on bare feet down the stairs, across the hall and through the baize door to the kitchen.
Mr van der Beek’s sleep, untroubled by the violence of the wind, was disturbed by the regular banging of the shutter, the kind of noise which would prevent even the most placid person from dozing off. He got into his dressing-gown and slippers by the light of his torch and went to the head of the stairs, just in time to see the faint glow of Patience’s candle dwindle from the hall. Following it quietly, he was in time to see Patience, shrouded in one of Miss Murch’s winceyette nighties, cross the kitchen and open the door leading to the various rooms beyond … She paused on her way to stoop and pat Basil curled up before the Aga. Mr van der Beek, standing in the kitchen doorway, watched her, the corners of his thin mouth twitching. Miss Murch’s nightie covered her from just under her chin to her heels and beyond for there was a good deal of surplus trailing behind her, the full sleeves she had rolled up to allow her hands to emerge and her hair hung in a mousy cloud halfway down her back.
Mr van der Beek coughed politely and hushed Basil who had got up to greet him, delighted to have some company.
Patience nearly dropped the candle. She turned slowly and said severely, ‘I might have screamed, Mr van der Beek.’
‘Oh, no, you’re not the screaming kind,’ he told her. ‘If you were you would be upstairs now with your head under the bedclothes. Is it a loose shutter somewhere?’
‘In the pantry, I think, or the scullery. Through here …’ She led the way, much too concerned about the noise to think about the strange appearance she presented. It was a loose shutter in the scullery. Mr van der Beek secured it and looked around him.
‘What an extremely dreary place,’ he remarked, and without looking at her added, ‘I am chilled to the bone; let us have a hot drink before we return to our beds.’
‘Well, that would be nice,’ said Patience, ‘but I’m not sure—I mean, I haven’t got a dressingg-gown …’ She had gone rather red but she gave him a steady look.
‘My dear young lady, no dressing-gown could cover you as adequately as the garment in which you presently appear to be smothered. Miss Murch’s, I gather?’
He had led the way back to the kitchen and opened up the Aga and filled a kettle. ‘Tea?’ he asked.
Patience thrust back her sleeves once more and crossed to the dresser, collecting cups and saucers, spoons, the tea caddy and a tray with the ease of long custom. As she came back with the milk jug and sugar bowl Mr van der Beek, watching the kettle come to the boil, remarked quietly, ‘You are familiar with this house, are you not, Miss Martin? Was it your home?’
‘Oh, how did you know?’ She paused on her way to the table. ‘I didn’t—I didn’t mean to deceive you, you know, only Mr Bennett thought you might need someone to give a hand and as I knew where everything was and the tradespeople …’
‘You have no need to apologise. I am sure you are worth your weight in gold. Do I have to call you Miss Martin?’
‘Oh, no, no. That wouldn’t do at all. My name’s Patience.’
He nodded. ‘And the two ladies who come each day to work here? They know who you are?’
‘Oh, yes. They used to work here while my aunts lived in this house, only not for some time now; for the last few months we managed very nicely without anyone.’
He poured water into the teapot. ‘Your aunts are elderly?’ He knew the answer to that but all the same he waited to hear what she would say.
‘We closed up most of the rooms.’ She spoke with a touch of defiance and he smiled.
‘Come and drink your tea. Are we likely to be snowed in?’
‘Oh, yes. The ploughs will come, of course, but they clear the main roads first so it will be a day or two.’
‘Will we be able to get through to the village?’ he asked idly.
‘Not until the wind dies down and we can dig our way out. The lane dips and there is always a drift every time there. Well,’ she added fairly, ‘there are drifts all over the place but the one in the lane is particularly deep.’
‘So we may be isolated for several days?’
‘I expect so.’ She added kindly, ‘But that will be nice for you; you wanted to be very quiet, didn’t you? And no one is