“I shouldn’t like to sleep here alone,” said Morvyth, as Miss Lowe acted cicerone and showed them through the house. “These long, gloomy, eerie corridors give me the shivers!”
“I felt the same,” admitted their friend, “so I persuaded Miss Barton to join me. She’s as mad on the antique as I am, and together we enjoy ourselves immensely, though we should each feel spooky alone. Our first business last night was to 156 turn five bats out of our bedroom. There’s an open trap-door in the ceiling of the landing, and a whole colony of them seem to be established up there; they flit up and down the stairs at dusk! One has to sacrifice comfort to the picturesque. I think I begin to have just a glimmer of an understanding why some people prefer new houses to old!”
Both Miss Lowe and Miss Barton certainly found their romantic proclivities came into collision with their preconceived ideas of the fitness of things. Mrs. Marsden, their landlady, was a kind soul who did her best; but she had all her farm work and a large family of children to cope with, so it was small wonder that cobwebs hung in the passages and the dust lay thick and untouched. It is sometimes wiser not to see behind the scenes in country rooms. Miss Barton had set up her easel in the great hall, and absolutely revelled in painting the grey oak and plaster-work, nevertheless she had a tale of woe to unfold.
“They use the place as a dairy,” she explained, “and they keep the milk in large, uncovered earthenware pots. First I found the cat was lapping away at it, and I jumped up and scared it off; and then the dog strayed in and began to help itself, and I had to rush again and chase it away. Then the unwashed baby, still in its dirty little night-gown, brought a mug and kept dipping it into the pot to get drinks. We’re going to take a jug into the field at milking-time this afternoon, and ensure our particular portion straight from the cow.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Morvyth, looking considerably relieved. 157
“Perhaps it’s as well we don’t see most foodstuffs in the making,” moralized Aveline.
“Decidedly! Isn’t there a story of a barrel of treacle, and a little nigger baby being found at the bottom?”
“And an attendant who fell by mistake into the sausage machine,” added Miss Lowe, laughing. “I suppose one ought to be judiciously blind if one is to preserve one’s peace of mind.”
“One may shut one’s eyes, but one can’t do away with one’s nose!” persisted Miss Barton. “There was the most horrible and peculiar and objectionable odour in the hall yesterday morning, all the time I was painting. I came to the conclusion that a rat must have died recently behind the panelling. Then Mrs. Marsden came in with some milk-cans, and she raised a lid from a big pot close to where I was sitting. What do you think was inside? Twelve pounds of beef that she had put down to pickle! I hinted that it was rather high, but she didn’t seem to perceive it in the least. She can’t have the slightest vestige of a nose!”
“Perhaps, like some tribes of Africans, she prefers her meat gamey. Don’t look so alarmed, you poor girls, it’s not going to appear on our table for dinner! I ordered a fowl.”