Chapter 9 #2
“You’re right. It’s bloody awful,” Iris said. “I don’t know what to do about it, but I can tell you I’m going to fight it with every fiber of my being.”
“Not go gently into that good night,” Emma said softly, and Iris smiled.
“Too right, mate,” she said. “You see, the trouble is with all the Melrose books I just let him do what he wants and I put it down on paper, but in this book it felt different, as if he didn’t know what he wanted himself.
You’ll see. It’s there in the cottage, waiting for you.
Go and take a look. Don’t bother to come over for lunch.
There is a telephone connection to the house.
Just ring when you want food and someone will bring it across. ”
“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” Emma said. “I’m afraid I’ve already made an enemy of Miss Morton.”
“Miss Morton is far too possessive of me,” Iris said.
“She thinks of me as her pet spaniel to be cosseted. Her behaviour has nothing to do with reading and writing my book. She’s just worried that an outsider has been brought into our little circle.
She fears that I’ll give my attention to someone else.
She’s been with me far too long. It’s not healthy.
Now.” She picked up a little bell on the table.
“Maybe you’d like some coffee first. Shall I ring for some? ”
“You already asked your maid to bring coffee when we first arrived,” Emma said.
“Did I? Ah. Well, I expect it will soon turn up then.” Even as she said the words there was a rattle of cups and spoons in the hallway and the maid, Maggie, came in, carrying a tray with cups, saucers, a pot of coffee and one of hot milk, plus a plate with slices of cake on it.
“Cook wants to know if the visitors are going to stay for lunch?” she said as she put the tray down in front of Iris.
Iris sighed. “I told Cynthia to tell her that the young lady will be occupying the guesthouse and will be wanting her meals. I expect she’ll have dinner with us but someone will need to take over her breakfast and lunch. Cynthia can do it if you’re too busy.”
Maggie’s face took on a worried look. “I don’t think Miss Morton will be happy with that. She wasn’t at all happy at having to get the cottage ready.” Then she went red, as if she’d been telling tales.
“Miss Morton will just have to lump it,” Iris said. “So go and let everyone know what the plan is, and Miss Callander and I will enjoy a quiet cup of coffee with no fuss.”
Emma did not relish what lay ahead—facing two dragons.
“Look, Miss Blackburn, I really don’t want to cause a problem,” she said. “I can come to the house and take my meals whenever or wherever you want. I’m sure it’s too much trouble for someone to have to walk across to bring me food.”
“Bloody rubbish,” Iris said. “Cynthia goes out for walks all the time. She can just swing by the cottage on her way. She’s just being difficult to punish us for making plans that don’t include her.
And Mrs Fisk, well, Mrs Fisk is always a pain in the neck.
But I put up with it because she’s the best cook I’ll ever find and she knows it. Try the cake.”
Emma took a slice. It was moist and gingery and full of raisins. “It’s really good,” she said. She finished the slice of cake, finished her coffee, then got to her feet. “I should get started then,” she said. “Which direction is the cottage?”
“I’ll have Cynthia take you.” She picked up a little brass bell in the shape of a Victorian lady and rang it imperiously. The tap of shoes approached. Cynthia came in, today wearing baggy wool slacks and a loose navy cardigan.
“Ah, there you are, my dear,” Iris said. “Miss Callander has had her coffee and is ready to get to work. Please take her to the cottage and show her how everything works over there.”
“Come on then,” Cynthia said coldly. “We’ll go out of the side door.”
She walked fast and Emma had to break into a trot to keep up.
“Look, Miss Morton,” she gasped as she was a little out of breath, “you really don’t have to be angry with me.
I didn’t ask to be here. I don’t even know that I’m capable of what Iris wants, but if it helps her and she can finish a book that means a lot to her, then that’s a good thing, isn’t it?
We both want her to be happy, and who knows how long she has to live? ”
Cynthia glanced back at her. “How long she has to live? That old biddy will live forever. She has the constitution of an ox. You weren’t here for the flu epidemic in the fifties, were you?
Everyone else got the most awful flu. People died.
Mrs Fisk and I were both laid low for ages.
Iris cooked for us and waited on us and never got sick.
Unfortunately it’s only her memory that’s going, and there’s nothing I can do about that. ”
“We can help her finish the book,” Emma said.
They went out a small door on the left side of the house, and Cynthia set off across a lawn on the opposite side from the sunken garden.
The first thing Emma saw was the swimming pool, a wonderful, pristine blue.
And behind it, in a stand of trees, was a cottage that looked as if it belonged in a fairy tale.
Emma half expected to see a dwarf or two peering out of the window.
Cynthia opened the front door that was just high enough for them to enter without bending.
“Did Iris have this built?” she asked.
“No. It was already here. I gather it was some kind of Victorian fantasy. Iris pulled down much of the big house and had it rebuilt to her taste but she left the cottage. It appealed to her sense of whimsy.”
Emma expected to find the sort of furniture the three bears might have used, but instead she stepped into a perfectly ordinary, almost shabby room with a simple wooden table and chairs and a sofa in front of a fireplace.
In the window was a small oak desk with a typewriter and brown paper package on it.
The room was dark, with only the one paned window at the front.
The fire had been laid but not lit and the room felt cold and damp.
On one side a door led to a small bedroom with a single bed, chest and wardrobe.
On the other was a tiny kitchenette with a two-burner stove and a sink and behind that a bathroom with a shower, not a tub. Not the most hospitable of places.
“I expect Cook can give you supplies to make your own tea, and maybe some of her biscuits,” Cynthia said. “I gather your meals are to be brought to you.”
“Only if that’s convenient,” Emma said. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”