Some Must Watch by Ethel Lina White (top 10 motivational books TXT) đ
- Author: Ethel Lina White
- Performer: -
Book online «Some Must Watch by Ethel Lina White (top 10 motivational books TXT) đ». Author Ethel Lina White
She could see her quarryâa small and rather attractive rodentâfrisking
in the distance, with the assurance of an old resident.
âWhereâs its hole?â she whispered.
âIn that corner,â panted Mrs. Oates. âOates did say as how heâd stop it
up.â
Helen was driving the mouse homewards when she started atâ the sound of
footsteps on the back-stairs.
âWhoâs that?â she cried.
âNot him,â laughed Mrs. Oates. âWhen he comes youâll not hear him on the
way. Heâll creep. That sounds like Mr. Rice.â
As she spoke the door was pushed open, and Stephen Rice carrying a
suitcaseâentered the kitchen. He stared at the sight of the demure Miss
Capel on her knees, with her hair falling in a mane across her eyes.
âWhatâs this?â he asked. âRed Indians, or a crawling party? Count me
in.â
âIâm chasing a mouse,â explained Helen.
âGreat sport. Iâll help.â
âNo, I donât want to catch it.â Helen rose and placed the bar on the
table. âI think heâs gone now.â
Stephen sat down and looked around him.
âI always feel at home, here,â he said. âItâs the one room I like in
this horrible house. Mrs. Oates and I hold our prayer-meetings here.â
âWhereâs your dog?â asked Helen.
âIn my room. Miss Warren did not come to tea, unfortunately. So the
rowâs postponed.â âWhy dâyou have one at all?â asked Helen. âYouâre
leaving tomorrow. I expect Miss Warren would prefer not to know.â
âNo.â Stephen stuck out his prominent chin. âIâd rather come out in the
open. Noble of me, when I know the heroic Newton will enlighten her
darkness in any case.â
âHe wouldnât tell?â cried Helen incredulously.
âWouldnât he? To be frank, Otto was not a blazing success. The poor lad
is not used to afternoon tea. Like his master, heâs happier in the
kitchen.â
âBut Mrs. Newton must have fallen for him,â insisted Helen, who argued
along the familiar lines or âlove me, love my dog.â.
âIf she did, she controlled her passion.â Stephen opened his empty
suitcase and turned to Mrs. Oates. âWhere are the empties?â he asked. âI
thought Iâd lift them now, and lug them over to the Bull tonight, to
save that poor delicate husband of yours.â
âAnd I suppose you want to say âGoodbyeâ to your young lady there?â
Mrs. Oates winked at Helen, whoâenlightened by her previous
gossipâunderstood the allusion to to daughter of the licensee of the
Bull. Apparently, this young lady was not only the patron-saint of the
bar, but the magnet that reassembled the sparse male population of the
district.
Mrs. Oates took advantage of her privileged position to ask another more
personal question.
âAnd what will your other lady say, if you spend your last night away?â
âMy otherâwhat?â demanded Stephen.
âMrs. Newton.â
âMrs. Newton Warren is a respectable married lady. She will naturally
pass the evening in the company of her lawful husband, working out
mathematical problemsâŠâ
âDid you have a good tea?â
Helen did not hear the question, for she suddenly glimpsed an exciting
possibility.
âDid Miss Warren have her tea up in the bedroom?â she asked.
âI suppose so,â replied Stephen. âThen sheâs been up there for ages. I
wonder if I might, offer to relieve her?â
âIf you do,â advised Stephen, âsee that sheâs supplied with cushions.
Unless, of course, youâre expert in dodging.â
âBut does she always throw things at people?â asked Helen
incredulously.
âItâs the only way she knows of expressing her temperament.â
âWell, it doesnât matter. I think she sounds so alive for an old woman.
I admire that.â
âYouâll be disillusioned,â prophesied Stephen. âSheâs a vile-tempered
old cuss, with horrible manners. When I was presented to Her Majesty,
she was eating an orange, and she spat out all the pipsâto impress me.â
He broke off to laugh at a sudden recollection.
âAll the same,â he said, âIâd love to have seen her chuck the basin at
that pie-faced nurse.â
âBut, surely, that was an accident. She couldnât have known she was
going to hit her.â
Mrs. Oates looked up, with streaming eyes, from her task of peeling
onions.
âOh, no, miss,â she said. âLady Warren wouldnât miss. When she was
younger, she spent all her time tramping over the fields, shooting
rabbits and birds. They said she went to bed with her gun.â
âThen sheâs been here a long time?â asked Helen.
She believed that her curiosity was about to be given a real meal, for
Mrs. Oatesâ manner hinted at gossip.
Stephen rolled a cigaretteâthe cat purred on the rug the mouse washed
his face, in the safety of his hole. Inside was firelight and
tranquillityâoutside, the rising storm.
A gust of wind smashed against the corner of the house, and spattered
the unbarred shutter, before the passage window, with the remnants of
its original fury. Slowly, as though pushed open by invisible fingers,
the casement swung outwards over the garden. The house was open to the
night.
It looked in, through the gap, and down the darkness of the passage. Its
far end stretched away into shadows. Round the bend, was the warren of
the officesâa honeycomb of cells, where a man could hide.
Inside the kitchen, Mrs. Oates electrified her audience.
âThey do say,â she said dramatically, âas old Lady Warren shot her
husband.â
âNo,â gasped Stephen and Helen together.
âYes,â declared Mrs. Oates. âItâs an old wivesâ tale now, but my mother
told me all about it. Old Sir Roger was just such a one as the
Professor, quiet, and always shut up with his books. He made a lot of
money with some invention.. He built the Summit, so as to have no
neighbors. And Lady Warren couldnât abide It. She was always jawing him
about it, and they had one awful quarrel, in his study. She was
overheard to threaten to shoot him for vermin. A few minutes later he
was found shot dead, with her rookrifle.
âLooks pretty bad,â murmured Stephen.
âYes, everyone thought sheâd stand in the Dock,â agreed Mrs. Oates.
âThere was some nasty questions asked at the Inquest. She said as how it
was an accident, and her clever lawyer got her off⊠But there was
so much feeling about it that she went abroadâthough sheâd have gone,
anyhow, as she fair hated the house.â
âWas it shut up afterwards?â asked Helen.
âNo, the Professor left Oxford, and came here, and heâs been just the
same as his father before himâalways staying in, and never going out.
Old Lady Warren only came back when she said she was ill.â
âWhatâs the matter with her?â asked Helen.
Mrs. Oates pursed up her lips and shook her head.
âTemper,â she said firmly.
âOh, but Mrs. Oates, she must be ill, to have a nurse, and for the
doctor to keep her in bed.â âHe reckons sheâs less trouble there. And
she reckons she can give more trouble there. Itâs a fair game for her to
drive the nurses away, so as to get fresh ones in to bully.â
âBut Miss Warren told me that the Professor was anxious about her
heart,â persisted Helen. âAh, but a man donât forget the mother, that
bore him,â declared Mrs. Oates, lapsing into sentiment.
âBut sheâs only his step-mother,â objected Stephen. âShe has no
children. Still, she must be expected to croakbe cause the vultures are
gathering. Simone told methatthe old girl has made a Will, leaving her
money to charities. She has a nasty perverted taste, and, apparently,
likes Newton. Anyway, she makes him an allowance, which will cease at
her death. Thatâs why heâs down here.â
âHis pa sent for him,â explained Mrs. Oates.
Helen thought of the Professorâs glacial eye and Miss Warrenâs detached
manner. It was impossible to believe that they were swayed by financial
considerations.
âHullo,â said Stephen suddenly, as he swung himself up on the table.
âWhatâs this?â
He drew from under him a wooden bar, which Helen took from him, rather
guiltily.
âSorry,â she said. âIt belongs to the shutter in the pas sage. Iâm glad
you reminded me of it. Iâll try and fix the window.â
After what she had heard, she felt eager to finish the job, and get
upstairs, to the blue room, as quickly as possible. She made a makeshift
fastening with some string and a peg, and then hurried back to the
kitchen.
To her surprise, Stephen was peeling onions with Mrs. Oates.
âShe always makes me work,â he complained. âItâs her way of explaining a
man in the kitchen, when Oates comes home⊠I say, isnât he very
late? I bet you a fiver heâs run off with the pretty new nurse.â
Mrs. Oates snorted.
âIf sheâs like the last, sheâd have to hold his nose, to get him to kiss
her⊠Are you really going to sit with Lady Warren, miss?â
âI am going to ask if I may,â replied Helen.
âThen, take my warning, and be on the watch out against her. Itâs my
belief sheâs not as helpless as they make out, by a long way. Iâm sure
she can walk, same as me. Sheâs got something up her sleeve. Besides,
have you heard her voice, when she forgets?â Helen suddenly remembered
the bass bellow from the sick room. Here was a situation choked with
mystery and drama. In her eagerness to be in the thick of it she almost
ran to the door.
âIâve tied up the window,â she said. âNow, weâre safely locked up, for
the night.â
THE BLUE ROOM
As Helen mounted the stairs to the blue room, she felt an odd stir of
expectancy. It took her back to childish days, when she neglected her
toys in favor of an invisible companionâMr. Poke.
Although she played by herself for hours, in a corner of the communal
sitting room, it was plain to her parents, that she was not indulging in
a solitary game. She did everything with a partner.
And at twilight, when the firelight sent tall shadows flickering on the
walls, she carried on an interminable conversation with her hero.
At first, her mother disliked the uncanny element in the society
affected by her small daughter; but when she realized that Helen had
discovered the best and cheapest of playfellowsâimaginationâshe
accepted the wonderful Mr. Poke and used to ask questions about his
prowess, to which there was no limit.
The staircase was lit by a pendant globe, which swung from a beam which
spanned the central well. The first floor was between this light and the
illumination from the hall, so that the landing was rather dark. Facing
the fligh of stairs, was an enormous ten-foot mirror, framed in
tarnished gilt carving, and supported by a marble console table.
As Helen approached it, her reflection came to meet her, so that a small
white face rose up from the dim depths of the glass, like a corpse
emerging from deep lake-water, on the seventh day.
The thrill which ran through her veins, in response, seemed to her, an
omen. Miss Warren came to the door, in answer to her knock. Her pale
face looked dragged and devitalized after hours of imprisonment with her
step-mother.
âHas the new nurse come?â she asked.
âNo.â Helen was aggressively cheerful. âAnd we donât expect her for
hours and hours. Mrs. Oates says the rain has made the hills difficult
for the car.â
âQuite,â agreed Miss Warren wearily. âPlease let
Comments (0)