Read Online Busman’s Honeymoon by Dorothy L. Sayers - Free Book Online Page B

only jest now to Mr Bunter. Yes, m’lady, thank you. Now, this’—Mrs Ruddle opened the farther door—‘is Mr Noakes’s own room, as you may see, and all ready to okkerpy, barrin’ ’is odds-and-ends, which it won’t take me a minnit to put aside.’
      ‘He seems to have left all his things behind him,’ said Harriet, looking at an old-fashioned nightshirt laid ready for use on the bed and at the shaving tackle and sponge on the washstand.
      ‘Oh, yes, m’lady. Kept a spare set of everythink over at Broxford, ’e did, so ’e ’adn’t to do nothing but step into the ’bus. More often at Broxford than not ’e was, lookin’ after the business. But I’ll ’ave everythink straight in no time only jest to change the sheets and run a duster over. Maybe you’d like me to bile yer a kittle of water on the Beetrice, m’lady— and ’—Mrs Ruddle’s tone suggested that this consideration had often influenced the wavering decision of prospective summer visitors—‘ down this ’ere little stair—mind yer ’ead, mum—everythink is modern, put in by Mr Noakes w’en ’e took to lettin’ for the summer.’
      ‘A bathroom?’ asked Harriet hopefully.
      ‘Well, no, m’lady, not a bath room,’ replied Mrs Ruddle, as though that were too much to expect, ‘but everythink else is quite modern as you’ll find—only requirin’ to be pumped up night and morning in the scullery.’
      ‘Oh, I see,’ said Harriet. ‘How nice.’ She peered from the lattice. ‘I wonder if they’ve brought in the suitcases.’
      ‘I’ll run and see this minnit,’ said Mrs Ruddle, gathering all Mr Noakes’s toilet apparatus dexterously into her apron as she passed the dressing-table and whisking his nightgear in after it, ‘and I’ll ’ave it all up before you can look round.’
      It was Bunter, however, who brought the luggage. He looked, Harriet thought, a little worn, and she smiled deprecatingly at him. ‘Thank you, Bunter. I’m afraid this is making a lot of work for you. Is his lordship—?’
      ‘His lordship is with the young man they call Bert, clearing out the woodshed to put the car away, my lady.’ He looked at her and his heart was melted. ‘He is singing songs in the French language, which I have observed to be a token of high spirits with his lordship. It has occurred to me, my lady, that if you and his lordship would kindly overlook any temporary deficiencies in the arrangements, the room adjacent to this might be suitably utilised as a dressing-room for his lordship’s use, so as to leave more accommodation here for your ladyship. Allow me.’
      He opened the wardrobe door, inspected Mr Noakes’s garments hanging within, shook his head over them, removed them from the hooks and carried them away over his arm. In five minutes, he had cleared the chest of drawers of all its contents and, in five minutes more, had re-lined all the drawers with sheets of the Morning Post, which he produced from his coat-pocket. From the other pocket he drew out two new candles, which he set in the two empty sticks that flanked the mirror. He took away Mr Noakes’s chunk of yellow soap, his towels and the ewer, and presently returned with fresh towels and water, a virgin tablet of soap wrapped in cellophane, a small kettle and a spirit-lamp, observing, as he applied a match to the spirit, that Mrs Ruddle had placed a ten-pint kettle on the oil-stove, which in his opinion, would take half an hour to boil, and would there be anything further at the moment, as he rather thought they were having a little difficulty with the sitting-room fire and he would like to get his lordship’s suitcase unpacked before going down to give an eye to it.
      Under the circumstances, Harriet made no attempt to change her dress. The room, though spacious and beautiful in its half-timbered style, was cold. She wondered whether all things considered, Peter would not have been happier in the Hotel Gigantic