‘No beds,’ screamed his sister, with that terrifying unexpectedness of hers. Penderel had begun to cherish an intense dislike of her, and longed to bellow in return, particularly when she gave another screech: ‘They can’t have beds.’
‘As my sister hints,’ said Mr. Femm, smoothly, ‘there are no beds, I am afraid, at your disposal. Indeed, this is the last house in Britain I should choose to be either a guest or a host in. But please remember that it is not mine.’
‘We really don’t need beds or anything, thank you. We quite understand,’ Mrs. Waverton told him.
‘Just a roof,’ added Waverton.
‘And a fire,’ Penderel put in. And for the love of Mike, he whispered to himself, a drink too. A brief tussle with floods and landslides was sufficiently heartening in itself, but an acquaintance with this house, these people, was not to be undertaken feeling all cold and dark inside, without a drink.
A faint suggestion of geniality, like a leaden and watery gleam of November sunshine, crept into Mr. Femm’s manner. ‘Of course, of course! We can offer you a roof and a fire and some food and drink. You can spend the night sitting round the fire here, perhaps the best place a night like this. I am not sure that I want to go to bed myself to-night. Morgan, attend to the fire. You must make yourselves as comfortable as you can.’ He bent forward again and hissed: ‘Perhaps we could have supper soon, Rebecca.’
‘I’ll see that they have some supper, Horace,’ cried his sister. ‘Don’t give yourself airs. You’re not the master here.’
‘What about the car?’ Waverton asked. ‘Is there anywhere I could put it where it would be safe all night?’
‘Your motor car? You have it outside there?’ Mr. Femm twisted his long dry fingers and called Morgan from the fire. ‘There are out-houses, round the corner there, on the left, where we only keep a horse and a trap now. There might be room for a motor car there. Morgan will know. Morgan, go with this gentleman and see if there is room for his motor car in the stables or coach-house.’ Morgan nodded sullenly and lurched towards the door.
‘What about the bags?’ Waverton looked at both his wife and Penderel.