hall she was satisfied that she had done well to marry the old fool after all.
‘And this is my inner sanctum,’ said Mr Flawse, opening a door to the left of the entrance. Mrs Flawse went inside. A huge coal fire blazed in the hearth and, in contrast to the rest of the house which had seemed decidedly damp and musty, the study was warm and smelt of book-leather and tobacco. An old cat basked on the carpet in front of the fire and from every wall books gleamed in the firelight. In the centre of the room stood a kneehole desk with a greenshaded lamp and an inkstand of silver. Mrs Flawse went to the lamp to switch it on and found a handle.
‘You’ll need a match,’ said Mr Flawse, ‘we’re not on the electricity.’
‘You’re not …’ Mrs Flawse began and stopped as the full significance of the remark dawned on her. Whatever treasures in the way of old silver and fine furniture Flawse Hall might hold, without electricity it held only transitory attractions for Mrs Flawse. No electricity meant presumably no central heating, and the single tap above the stone sink had signified only cold water. Mrs Flawse, safe from the hounds and in the inner sanctum of her husband’s study, decided the time had come to strike. She sat down heavily in a large high-backed leather chair beside the fire and glared at him.
‘The very idea of bringing me here and expecting me to live in a house without electricity or hot water or any mod cons …’ she began stridently as the old man bent to light a spill from the fire. Mr Flawse turned his face towards her and she saw it was suffused with rage. In his hand the spill burnt lower. Mr Flawse ignored it.
‘Woman,’ he said with a soft and steely emphasis, ‘ye’ll learn never to address me in that tone of voice again.’ He straightened up but Mrs Flawse was not to be cowed.
‘And you’ll learn never to call me “woman” again,’ she said defiantly, ‘and don’t think that you can bully me because you can’t. I’m perfectly capable—’
They were interrupted by the entrance of Mr Dodd bearing a silver tray on which a teapot stood under a cosy. Mr Flawse signalled to him to put it on the lowtable beside her chair and it was only when Mr Dodd had left the room, closing the door quietly behind him, that the storm broke once again. It did so simultaneously.
‘I said I’m—’ Mrs Flawse began.
‘Woman,’ roared Mr Flawse, ‘I’ll not—’
But their unison silenced them both and they sat glowering at one another by the fire. It was Mrs Flawse who first broke the truce. She did so with guile.
‘It’s perfectly simple,’ she said, ‘we need not argue about it. We can install an electrical generator. You’ll find it will make a tremendous improvement to your life.’
But Mr Flawse shook his head. ‘I have lived without it for ninety years and I’ll die without it.’
‘I shouldn’t be at all surprised,’ said Mrs Flawse, ‘but I see no reason why you should take me with you. I am used to hot water and my home comforts and—’
‘Ma’am,’ said Mr Flawse, ‘I have washed in cold water—’
‘Seldom,’ said Mrs Flawse.
‘As I was saying—’
‘We can have Calor gas if you won’t have electricity—’
‘I’ll have no modern contraption …’
They wrangled on until it was time for dinner and in the kitchen Mr Dodd listened with an interested ear while he stirred the stewed mutton in the pot.
‘The auld divil’s bitten off a sight more than he’s teeth in his heid to chew,’ he thought to himself, and tossed abone to his old collie by the door. ‘And if the mither’s so rigid what’s the lassie like?’ With this on his mind he moved about the kitchen which had seen so many centuries of Flawse womenfolk come and go and where the smells of those centuries which Lockhart pined for still clung. Mr Dodd had no nose for them, that musk of unwashed humanity, of old boots and dirty socks, wet dogs and mangy cats, of soap and polish,
‘And this is my inner sanctum,’ said Mr Flawse, opening a door to the left of the entrance. Mrs Flawse went inside. A huge coal fire blazed in the hearth and, in contrast to the rest of the house which had seemed decidedly damp and musty, the study was warm and smelt of book-leather and tobacco. An old cat basked on the carpet in front of the fire and from every wall books gleamed in the firelight. In the centre of the room stood a kneehole desk with a greenshaded lamp and an inkstand of silver. Mrs Flawse went to the lamp to switch it on and found a handle.
‘You’ll need a match,’ said Mr Flawse, ‘we’re not on the electricity.’
‘You’re not …’ Mrs Flawse began and stopped as the full significance of the remark dawned on her. Whatever treasures in the way of old silver and fine furniture Flawse Hall might hold, without electricity it held only transitory attractions for Mrs Flawse. No electricity meant presumably no central heating, and the single tap above the stone sink had signified only cold water. Mrs Flawse, safe from the hounds and in the inner sanctum of her husband’s study, decided the time had come to strike. She sat down heavily in a large high-backed leather chair beside the fire and glared at him.
‘The very idea of bringing me here and expecting me to live in a house without electricity or hot water or any mod cons …’ she began stridently as the old man bent to light a spill from the fire. Mr Flawse turned his face towards her and she saw it was suffused with rage. In his hand the spill burnt lower. Mr Flawse ignored it.
‘Woman,’ he said with a soft and steely emphasis, ‘ye’ll learn never to address me in that tone of voice again.’ He straightened up but Mrs Flawse was not to be cowed.
‘And you’ll learn never to call me “woman” again,’ she said defiantly, ‘and don’t think that you can bully me because you can’t. I’m perfectly capable—’
They were interrupted by the entrance of Mr Dodd bearing a silver tray on which a teapot stood under a cosy. Mr Flawse signalled to him to put it on the lowtable beside her chair and it was only when Mr Dodd had left the room, closing the door quietly behind him, that the storm broke once again. It did so simultaneously.
‘I said I’m—’ Mrs Flawse began.
‘Woman,’ roared Mr Flawse, ‘I’ll not—’
But their unison silenced them both and they sat glowering at one another by the fire. It was Mrs Flawse who first broke the truce. She did so with guile.
‘It’s perfectly simple,’ she said, ‘we need not argue about it. We can install an electrical generator. You’ll find it will make a tremendous improvement to your life.’
But Mr Flawse shook his head. ‘I have lived without it for ninety years and I’ll die without it.’
‘I shouldn’t be at all surprised,’ said Mrs Flawse, ‘but I see no reason why you should take me with you. I am used to hot water and my home comforts and—’
‘Ma’am,’ said Mr Flawse, ‘I have washed in cold water—’
‘Seldom,’ said Mrs Flawse.
‘As I was saying—’
‘We can have Calor gas if you won’t have electricity—’
‘I’ll have no modern contraption …’
They wrangled on until it was time for dinner and in the kitchen Mr Dodd listened with an interested ear while he stirred the stewed mutton in the pot.
‘The auld divil’s bitten off a sight more than he’s teeth in his heid to chew,’ he thought to himself, and tossed abone to his old collie by the door. ‘And if the mither’s so rigid what’s the lassie like?’ With this on his mind he moved about the kitchen which had seen so many centuries of Flawse womenfolk come and go and where the smells of those centuries which Lockhart pined for still clung. Mr Dodd had no nose for them, that musk of unwashed humanity, of old boots and dirty socks, wet dogs and mangy cats, of soap and polish,
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