The Aloe (9 page)

Alice in the Kitchen

Up at the house in the warm, tidy kitchen Alice the servant girl had begun to get the afternoon tea ready – She was dressed. She had on a black cloth dress that smelt under the arms, a white apron so stiff that it rustled like paper to her every breath and movement – and a white muslin bow pinned on top of her head by two large pins – and her comfortable black felt slippers were changed for a pair of black leather ones that pinched the corn on her little toe “Somethink dreadful.” It was warm in the kitchen – A big blow fly buzzed round and round in a circle bumping against the ceiling – a curl of white steam came out of the spout of the black kettle and the lid kept up a rattling jig as the water bubbled – The kitchen clock ticked in the warm air slow and deliberate like the click of an old woman’s knitting needles and sometimes, for no reason at all, for there wasn’t any breeze outside the heavy Venetians swung out and back tapping against the windows. Alice was making water cress sanwitches. She had a plate of butter on the table before her and a big loaf called a “barracouta” and the cresses tumbled together in the white cloth she had dried them in – But propped against the butter dish there was a dirty greasy little book – half unstitched with curled edges – And while she mashed some butter soft for spreading she read – “To dream of four black beetles dragging a hearse is bad. Signifies death of one you hold near or dear either father husband brother son or intended. If the beetles crawl backwards as you watch them it means death by fire or from great height, such as flight of stairs, scaffolding etc.
Spiders.
To dream of spiders creeping over you is good. Signifies large sum of money in the near future. Should party be in family way an easy confinement may be expected but care should be taken in sixth month to avoid eating of probable present of shell fish.” “How Many Thousand Birds I see”. Oh Life, there was Miss Beryl – Alice dropped the knife and stuffed her Dream Book under the butter dish but she hadn’t time to hide it quite for Beryl ran into the kitchen and up to the table and the first thing her eye lighted on – although she didn’t say anything were the grey edges sticking out from the plate. Alice saw Miss Beryl’s scornful meaning little smile and the way she raised her eyebrows and screwed up her eyes as though she couldn’t quite make out
what
that was under the plate – She decided to answer if Miss Beryl should ask her what it was – “Nothing as belongs to you Miss” “No business of yours Miss” but she knew Miss Beryl would not ask her – . Alice was a mild creature in reality but she always had the most marvellous retorts ready for the questions that she knew would never be put to her – The composing of them and the turning of them over and over in her brain comforted her just as much as if she’d really expressed them and kept her self respect alive in places where she had been that chivvied she’d been afraid to go to bed at night with a box of matches on the chair by her in case she bit the tops off in her sleep – as you might say. “Oh Alice,” said Miss Beryl “there’s one extra to tea so heat a plate of yesterday’s scones please and put on the new Victoria sanwich as well as the coffee cake. And don’t forget to put little doyleys under the plates will you – You did yesterday again you know and the tea looked
so
ugly and common. And Alice please don’t put that dreadful old pink and green cosy on the afternoon teapot again. That is only for the mornings and really I think it had better be kept for kitchen use – it’s so shabby and quite smelly – Put on the Chinese one out of the drawer in the dining room side board – You quite understand, don’t you. We’ll have tea as soon as it is ready –” Miss Beryl turned away – “That sing aloft on every tree” she sang as she left the kitchen very pleased with her
firm
handling of Alice.

Oh, Alice was wild! She wasn’t one to mind being told, but there was something in the way Miss Beryl had of speaking to her that she couldn’t stand. It made her curl up inside as you might say and she fair trembled. But what Alice really hated Miss Beryl for was – she made her feel low: she talked to Alice in a special voice as though she wasn’t quite all there and she never lost her temper – never, even when Alice dropped anything or forgot anything she seemed to have expected it to happen . . . “If you please Mrs Burnell,” said an imaginary Alice, as she went on, buttered the scones, “I’d rather not take my orders from Miss Beryl. I may be only a common servant girl as doesn’t know how to play the guitar.” This last thrust pleased her so much that she quite recovered her temper. She carried her tray along the passage to the dining room “The only thing to do,” she heard as she opened the door “is to cut the sleeves out entirely and just have a broad band of black velvet over the shoulders and round the arms instead.” Mrs Burnell with her elder and younger sisters leaned over the table in the act of performing a very severe operation upon a white satin dress spread out before them. Old Mrs Fairfield sat by the window in the sun with a roll of pink knitting in her lap. “My dears” said Beryl, “here comes the tea
at last”
and she swept a place clear for the tray. “But Doady” she said to Mrs Trout, “I don’t think I should dare to appear without any sleeves at all should I?” “My dear” said Mrs Trout “all I can say is that there isn’t one single evening dress in Mess’ Readings last catalogue that has even a sign of a sleeve. Some of them have a rose on the shoulder and a piece of black velvet but some of them haven’t even that – and they look perfectly charming! What would look very pretty on the black velvet straps of your dress would be red poppies. I wonder if I can spare a couple out of this hat –” She was wearing a big cream leghorn hat trimmed with a wreath of poppies and daisies – and as she spoke she unpinned it and laid it on her knee and ran her hands over her dark silky hair. “Oh I think two poppies would look perfectly heavenly –” said Beryl, “and just be the right finish but of course I won’t hear of you taking them out of that new hat, Doady – Not for worlds.”

“It would be sheer murder,” said Linda dipping a water cress sanwich into the salt cellar – and smiling at her sister – “But I haven’t the faintest feeling about this hat, or any other for the matter of that,” said Doady – and she looked mournfully at the bright thing on her knees and heaved a profound sigh. The three sisters were very unlike as they sat round the table – Mrs Trout, tall and pale with heavy eyelids that dropped over her grey eyes, and rare, slender hands and feet was quite a beauty. But Life bored her. She was sure that something very tragic was going to happen to her soon – She had felt it coming on for years – What it was she could not exactly say but she was “fated” somehow. How often, when she had sat with Mother Linda and Beryl as she was sitting now her heart had said “How little they know” – or as it had then – “What a mockery this hat will be one day,” and she had heaved just such a profound sigh . . . And each time before her children were born she had thought that the tragedy would be fulfilled then – her child would be bom dead or she saw the nurse going into Richard her husband and saying “Your child lives
but” –
and here the nurse pointed one finger upwards like the illustration of Agnes in David Copperfield – your wife is no more” – But no, nothing particular had happened except that they had been boys and she had wanted girls, tender little caressing girls, not too strong with hair to curl and sweet little bodies to dress in white muslin threaded with pale blue – Ever since her marriage she had lived at Monkey Tree Cottage – Her husband left for town at eight o’clock every morning and did not return until half-past six at night. Minnie was a wonderful servant. She did everything there was to be done in the house and looked after the little boys and even worked in the garden – So Mrs Trout became a perfect martyr to headaches. Whole days she spent on the drawing room sofa with the blinds pulled down and a linen handkerchief steeped in eau de cologne on her forehead. And as she lay there she used to wonder why it was that she was so certain that life held something terrible for her and to try to imagine what that terrible thing could be – until by and by she made up perfect novels with herself for the heroine, all of them ending with some shocking catastrophe. “Dora” (for in these novels she always thought of herself in the third person: it was more “touching” somehow) “Dora felt strangely happy that morning. She lay on the verandah looking out on the peaceful garden and she felt how sheltered and how blest her life had been after all. Suddenly the gate opened: A working man, a perfect stranger to her pushed up the path and standing in front of her, he pulled off his cap, his rough face full of pity. ‘I’ve bad news for you Mam’ . . . ‘Dead?’ cried Dora clasping her hands. ‘Both dead?’” . . . Or since the Burnells had come to live at Tarana . . . She woke at the middle of the night. The room was full of a strange glare. “Richard! Richard wake! Tarana is on fire” – . At last all were taken out – they stood on the blackened grass watching the flames rage. Suddenly – the cry went up, Where was Mrs Fairfield. God! Where was she. “Mother!” cried Dora, dropping onto her knees on the wet grass. “Mother.” And then she saw her Mother appear at an upper window – Just for a moment she seemed to faintly waver – There came a sickening crash . . . .

These dreams were so powerful that she would turn over buried her face in the ribbon work cushion and sobbed. But they were a profound secret – and Doady’s melancholy was always put down to her dreadful headaches . . . “Hand over the scissors Beryl and I’ll snip them off now.” “Doady! You are to do nothing of the kind,” said Beryl handing her two pairs of scissors to choose from – The poppies were snipped off. “I hope you will really like Tarana” she said, sitting back in her chair and sipping her tea. “Of course it is at its best now but I can’t help feeling a little afraid that it will be very damp in the winter. Don’t you feel that, Mother? The very fact that the garden is so lovely is a bad sign in a way – and then of course it is quite in the valley – isn’t it – I mean it is lower than any of the other houses.” “I expect it will be flooded from the autumn to the spring” said Linda: “we shall have to set little frog traps Doady, little mouse traps in bowls of water baited with a spring of watercress instead of a piece of cheese – And Stanley will have to row to the office in an open boat. He’d love that. I can imagine the glow he would arrive in and the way he’d measure his chest twice a day to see how fast it was expanding.” “Linda you are very silly – very” said Mrs Fairfield. “What can you expect from Linda,” said Dora “she laughs at everything. Everything. I often wonder if there will ever be anything that Linda will not laugh at.” “Oh, I’m a heartless creature!” said Linda. She got up and went over to her Mother. “Your cap is just a tiny wink crooked, Mamma” said she, and she patted it straight with her quick little hands and kissed her Mother. “A perfect little icicle” she said and kissed her again. “You mean you love to think you are” said Beryl, and she blew into her thimble, popped it on and drew the white satin dress towards her – and in the silence that followed she had a strange feeling – she felt her anger like a little serpent dart out of her bosom and strike at Linda. “Why do you always pretend to be so indifferent to everything,” she said. “You pretend you don’t care where you live, or if you see anybody or not, or what happens to the children or even what happens to you. You can’t be sincere and yet you keep it up – you’ve kept it up for years – In fact” – and she gave a little laugh of joy and relief to be so rid of the serpent – she felt positively delighted – “I can’t even remember when it started now – Whether it started
with
Stanley or before Stanley’s time or after you’d had rheumatic fever or when Isabel was born –” “Beryl” said Mrs Fairfield sharply. “That’s quite enough, quite enough!” But Linda jumped up. Her cheeks were very white. “Don’tstop her Mother” she cried, “she’s got a perfect right to say whatever she likes. Why on earth shouldn’t she.” “She has
not”
said Mrs Fairfield. “She has no right
what
ever.” Linda opened her eyes at her Mother. “What a way to contradict anybody,” she said. “I’m ashamed of you – And how Doady must be enjoying herself. The very first time she comes to see us at our new house we sit hitting one another over the head –” The door handle rattled and turned. Kezia looked tragically in. “Isn’t it
ever
going to be tea time” – she asked – “No, never!” said Linda “Your Mother doesn’t care Kezia whether you ever set eyes upon her again. She doesn’t care if you starve. You are all going to be sent to a Home for Waifs and Strays to-morrow.” “Don’t tease” said Mrs Fairfield. “She believes every word.” And she said to Kezia, “I’m coming darling. Run upstairs to the bathroom and wash your face your hands
and
your knees.”

On the way home with her children Mrs Trout began an entirely new “novel”. It was night. Richard was out somewhere (He always was on these occasions.) She was sitting in the drawing room by candlelight playing over “Solveig’s Song” when Stanley Burnell appeared – hatless – pale – at first he could not speak. “Stanley tell me what is it” . . . and she put her hands on his shoulders. “Linda has gone!” he said hoarsely. Even Mrs Trout’s imagination could not question this flight. She had to accept it very quickly and pass on. “She never cared,” said Stanley – “God knows I did all I could – but she wasn’t happy I knew she wasn’t happy.”

“Mum” said Rags “which would you rather be if you had to a duck or a fowl – I’d rather be a fowl, much rather.”

The white duck did not look as if it had ever had a head when Alice placed it in front of Stanley Burnell that evening. It lay, in beautifully basted resignation, on the blue dish; its legs tied together with a piece of string and a wreath of little balls of stuffing round it. It was hard to say which of the two, Alice or the duck looked the better basted. They were both such a rich colour and they both had the same air of gloss and stain – Alice a peony red and the duck a Spanish mahogany. Burnell ran his eye along the edge of the carving knife; he prided himself very much upon his carving; upon making a first-class job of it – He hated seeing a woman carve; they were always too slow and they never seemed to care what the meat looked like after they’d done with it. Now he did, he really took it seriously – he really took a pride in cutting delicate shaves of beef, little slices of mutton just the right thickness in his dividing a chicken or a duck with nice precision – so that it could appear a second time and still look a decent member of society. “Is this one of the home products” he asked, knowing perfectly well that it was. “Yes dear, the butcher didn’t come; we have discovered that he only comes three times a week.” But there wasn’t any need to apologise for it; it was a superb bird – it wasn’t meat at all, it was a kind of very superior jelly. “Father would say” said Burnell “that this was one of those birds whose mother must have played to it in infancy upon the German flute and the sweet strains of the dulcet instrument acted with such effect upon the infant mind – Have some more Beryl. Beryl you and I are the only people in this house with a real feeling for food – I am perfectly willing to state in a court of law, if the necessity arises that I love good food” – Tea was served in the drawing room after dinner and Beryl who for some reason had been very charming to Stanley ever since he came home suggested he and she should play a game of crib. They sat down at a little table near one of the open windows. Mrs Fairfield had gone upstairs and Linda lay in a rocking chair her arms above her head – rocking to and fro. “You don’t want the light do you Linda” said Beryl and she moved the tall lamp to her side, so that she sat under its soft light. How remote they looked those two – from where Linda watched and rocked – The green table, the bright polished cards, Stanley’s big hands and Beryl’s tiny white ones, moving the tapping red and white pegs along the little board seemed all to be part of one united in some mysterious movement. Stanley himself resting at ease big and solid in his loose fitting dark suit, had a look of health and wellbeing about him – and there was Beryl in the white and black muslin dress with her bright head bent under the lamp light. Round her throat she wore a black velvet ribbon – It changed her – altered the shape of her face and throat somehow – but it was very charming – Linda decided. The room smelled of lilies – there were two big jars of white arums in the fireplace – “Fifteen two – fifteen four and a pair is six and a run of three is nine,” said Stanley so deliberately he might have been counting sheep. “I’ve nothing but two pairs” said Beryl, exaggerating her woefulness, because she knew how he loved winning. The cribbage pegs were like two little people going up the road together, turning round the sharp corner coming down the road again. They were pursuing each other. They did not so much want to get ahead as to keep near enough to talk – to keep near – perhaps that was all. But no, there was one always who was impatient and hopped away as the other came up and wouldn’t listen perhaps one was frightened of the other or perhaps the white one was cruel and did not want to hear and would not even give him a chance to speak. In the bosom of her dress Beryl wore a bunch of black pansies, and once just as the little pegs were close side by side – as she bent over – the pansies dropped out and covered them – “What a shame to stop them,” said she – as she picked up the pansies, “just when they had a moment to fly into each other’s arms!” “Goodbye my girl,” laughed Stanley and away the red peg hopped – The drawing room was long and narrow with two windows and a glass door that gave on to the verandah. It had a cream paper with a pattern of gilt roses, and above the white marble mantelpiece was the big mirror in a gilt frame wherein Beryl had seen her drowned reflection. A white polar bear skin lay in front of the fireplace and the furniture which had belonged to old Mrs Fairfield was dark and plain – A little piano stood against the wall with yellow pleated silk let into the carved back. Above it there hung an oil painting by Beryl of a large cluster of surprised looking clematis – for each flower was the size of a small saucer with a centre like an astonished eye fringed in black. But the room was not “finished” yet – Stanley meant to buy a Chesterfield and two decent chairs and – goodness only knows – Linda liked it best as it was. Two big moths flew in through the window and round and round the circle of lamplight. “Fly away sillies before it is too late. Fly out again” but no – round and round they flew. And they seemed to bring the silence of the moonlight in with them on their tiny wings . . .