An Old Fashioned Girl. Бетти Нилс
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and said in her practical way, ‘Yes, I got old Ned to bring some logs up to the boot-room and there is plenty of coal, and if we run short we can live in the kitchen.’
Mr van der Beek sighed; living in the kitchen was something he would prefer not to do, and besides he would be hindered from his writing. He drank the last of his tea and watched her stifle a yawn. ‘Go back to bed, Patience, and get some sleep. I’ll blow out the candles.’
She wished him goodnight and, clutching the surplus folds of her nightgown, made her way back to her room. It was cold there after the kitchen but she was too tired to mind that. She was already asleep within minutes.
It was still dark when she got up and the snow had faltered to occasional flurries driven by the wind. She dressed, wound her hair into a neat bun and went downstairs to the kitchen. The Aga might be old but it still worked; she added coal, turned up the heat and set a kettle on to boil. Miss Murch would be down presently and both she and Mr van der Beek would expect tea. There was no sign of Basil, but presently she heard him barking. Perhaps he had got shut out—she went through the scullery and past the boot-room and opened the old door which led to the garden. Here it had been somewhat sheltered from the wind so that the snow hadn’t drifted although it was several inches deep. She poked her head out cautiously, her breath taken by the icy air, and was rewarded by the sight of Mr van der Beek shovelling snow, making a narrow path towards the woodshed. He appeared to be enjoying himself, tossing great shovelfuls to one side as though they were feathers. He had a splendid pair of shoulders, thought Patience, watching him, and, dressed as he was in a great baggy sweater with trousers stuffed into his boots, he didn’t look at all like the austere man whom she spent her days avoiding.
It was Basil who saw her and came romping back to say hello and although Mr van der Beek didn’t look up he called over one shoulder, ‘I should like a cup of tea …’
‘Well, you shall have one if you come into the kitchen now,’ said Patience tartly, ‘and wipe your boots and leave them on the mat.’
She didn’t wait for an answer but went back to the kitchen, made the tea and set out a small tray ready to carry to the study. As soon as he had had it and gone upstairs to make himself presentable for his breakfast she would nip in and get the fire raked out and lighted.
Basil came prancing in, delighted with the weather, and his master with him, looking meek in his socks. ‘I’ll take the tray through to the study,’ said Patience.
‘Indeed you will not. It’s freezing there. I’ll have it here. Where’s Miss Murch?’
‘I expect she will be down presently to cook your breakfast.’ She picked up the teapot and he put three mugs down on the table.
‘Let’s not be dainty. I like two lumps of sugar. Is there a towel I can use to rub Basil dry?’
‘Behind the door. I’ll fetch a clean one for us to use.’
Miss Murch, coming into the kitchen, paused in the doorway. Her, ‘Good morning, Mr van der Beek,’ was glacial, but he didn’t appear to notice that.
‘I’m going to shave,’ he told her cheerfully, ‘and I’ll have my breakfast here where it’s warm—twenty minutes?’ He gave her a charming smile, whistled to Basil and went out of the room.
‘I made a pot of tea,’ said Patience. ‘Would you like a cup, Miss Murch? The Aga’s going nicely and Mr van der Beek has cleared a path to the woodshed so there’ll be plenty of coal and logs. Would you like me to see to the fire in the study first?’
‘Well, since there’s no one else. We had better have our breakfast when Mr van der Beek has finished his. If you could light the study fire it would soon be warm enough for him.’ She sounded almost apologetic.
Patience got into the apron Mrs Perch used when she came to work, collected bucket, shovel, paper and kindling, and went off to the study. It was getting light now; she drew back the curtains to find that the snow had heaped itself up against the windows so that she had to stand firmly on tiptoe in order to see out; really she might just as well have left the curtains drawn …
She had a nice fire going and was sitting back on her heels admiring it when Mr van der Beek came in.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ he wanted to know, and she glanced up in surprise; it didn’t sound like him at all.
She said in the kind of voice she might have used to a child who needed something explained, ‘I’m making sure that the fire is going to burn.’
‘I can see that for myself. In future, until this crisis is over, I shall light the fires, fetch the wood and the coals and dispose of the ashes.’
Patience looked at him with interest. ‘Do you know how?’ she asked, and at his icy look added, ‘Oh, don’t look like that, I don’t mean to be rude but I dare say in your home you don’t need to lift a finger.’
‘You consider that I am a man of leisure?’
‘Well, I hadn’t really thought about it, but I’ve got eyes—you drive a lovely car and Miss Murch says you are very successful—I dare say you lead a very pleasant life with lots of friends and theatres and so on.’
Mr van der Beek, slavishly revered by those students lucky enough to be under his tuition, tirelessly devoted to his work and his patients, so generous with both his time and his money, agreed meekly.
Patience laid another piece of coal exactly where it was most needed and got up. ‘It’s very kind of you to offer,’ she told him gratefully, ‘but if you aren’t used to doing it, lighting a fire can be very tiresome.’
‘And you’re good at it?’ His voice was bland. ‘What else are you good at, Patience?’
‘Me?’ She thought for a moment. ‘Why—nothing much—I can cook and mend things—sew and knit—change plugs, mend fuses, that kind of thing.’
‘You have no wish to do anything else?’ He spoke casually with just the right amount of interest.
‘I’m not clever and I’m plain—Aunt Bessy says I’m the plainest girl she has ever seen, but if I could be clever and charming and pretty I’d like to spend a week in London going to the theatres and the kind of restaurants where there are candles on the tables and waiters and the menu is in French—and shopping of course … Your breakfast will be ready, Mr van der Beek.’ Her voice was all of a sudden brisk. ‘Now there’s a fire I can bring a tray in here …’
‘I actually said I would have my breakfast in the kitchen,’ he reminded her, and now he didn’t sound friendly any more.
He was adamant that Miss Murch and Patience should have breakfast with him too but he was no longer casually friendly; the conversation was strictly businesslike and concerned the possibility of being snowed in for a further day or so and how to make the best of it. ‘Close the rooms we don’t need,’ he told Miss Murch. ‘This kitchen is the warmest place in the house; we can eat here—the study and the small sitting-room will be all right with fires. Are there enough candles and lamps?’
Miss Murch looked at Patience. ‘Plenty of candles but there’s not a great deal of oil left,’ said Patience. ‘We could keep the lamps for the study and take the candles with us when we go from room to room; they’ll last ages that way.’
‘Food?’
Miss Murch replied with dignity. ‘I trust I am a sufficiently good housekeeper to ensure a fully adequate supply of food for several days at least, and that of course over and above my normal store of groceries.’
‘There’s plenty of greenstuff in the greenhouse,’ said Patience. ‘If Mr van der Beek could dig a path I can go and collect as much as we’re likely to need before it’s frozen solid.’
‘Mr van der Beek has better ways of employing his time,’ observed Miss Murch sharply.
Mr van der Beek took another slice of toast and buttered it lavishly.