The Good Comrade

by Una L. Silberrad

CHAPTER XII

THE YOUNG COOK

It was about ten o'clock on an October night; everything was intensely quiet in the big kitchen where Julia stood. It was not a cheerful place even in the day time, the windows looked north, and were very high up; the walls and floor were alike of grey stone, which gave it a prison-like aspect, and also took much scrubbing, as she had reason to know. It was far too large a place to be warmed by the small stove now used; Julia sometimes wondered if the big one that stood empty in its place would have been sufficient to warm it. She glanced at it now, but without interest; she was very tired, it was almost bed-time, and she had done, as she had every day since she first joined Herr Van de Greutz's household, a very good day's work. She had scarcely been outside the four walls since she first came there on the day after the holiday on the Dunes. This had been her own choice, for, unlike all the cooks who had been before her, she had asked for no evenings out. Marthe, the short-tempered housekeeper, had not troubled herself to wonder why, she had been only too pleased to accept the arrangement without comment. Apart from the self-chosen confinement, the life had been hard enough; the work was hard, the service hard and ill-paid, and both the other inmates of the house cross-grained, and difficult to please. These things, however, Julia did not mind; discomfort never mattered much to her when she had an end in view; in this case, too, the end should more than repay the worst of her two task-masters. Which was agreeable, and almost made his unpleasantness desirable, as providing her intended act with a justification.

She drew the coffee pot further on to the stove, and with a splinter of wood stirred the fire. She had the kitchen to herself, old Marthe had gone to bed; she liked going to bed early, with a glass of something hot, and she had soon found that the young cook could be trusted to finish the work down-stairs. It was her opinion that it is as well to be comfortable when you can, as blessings are fleeting and fickle, especially when they are cooks; so she indulged often both in bed and the glass, notably the glass. She had not been able to go to bed quite as early as she liked that day, for her master had a visitor, and there had been some trouble after the dinner. It was intended to be an hour later than usual to accommodate the visitor, but the chemist had not mentioned the fact—he seldom troubled about such trifles, expecting his household to divine his wishes instinctively, and resenting their failure to do so with indignation and some abuse. He did so to-day, and Marthe was consequently kept up later than she had intended, though it was Julia who came in for most of the reproof, and the trouble too; it was she who took away the dinner and kept it hot, and presented it afresh when the time came in as good condition as she could manage. There had to be a second omelet made; the first would not stand an hour, and so was wasted, to the indignation of Marthe. The chicken was a trifle dried by waiting, which called down the wrath of Herr Van de Greutz. Julia had listened to both of them with a meekness which was beautiful to see, albeit perhaps a little suspicious in one of her nature.

She glanced up at the clock now, then rose and fetched two thick white coffee cups, and set them ready on a tray, and sat down again. She wondered drowsily how long Herr Van de Greutz's visitor would stay. He was a German, a very great scientist; the chemist looked upon him as a friend and an equal, a brother in arms; they talked together freely in the cryptic language of science, and in German, which is the tongue best fitted to help out the other. Julia heard them when she went to and from with the dishes at dinner time. She did not understand chemistry, a fact she much regretted; had she known even half as much as Rawson-Clew, the desired end would have been much sooner within reach. It is a very great disadvantage to have only a very vague idea what it is you want. But she did understand German very well, consequently part of the chemists' conversation was quite intelligible to her, though they did not know it. Herr Van de Greutz knew and cared nothing about her; he was not even aware that she was English, though, of course, old Marthe was.

If the conversation had touched on the famous explosive at dinner time, Julia would have known it; she was always on the watch for some such occurrence. Unfortunately it had not, although, as she saw plainly, the German was the sort of man with whom Van de Greutz would discuss such things. She had still another chance of hearing something; she would soon have to take the coffee into the laboratory; they might be speaking of it then. She remembered once before Van de Greutz had spoken of it to a scientific guest at such a time; she had then heard some unenlightening technical details, which might have been of some value to a chemist, but were of no use at all to her ignorance. It was hard to come thus near, and yet be as far off as ever, but such things are likely to occur when one is in pursuit of anything, Julia knew that; she was prepared to wait, by and by she would find out what it was she wanted, and then—

A bell rang peremptorily; she hastily poured the strong black coffee into the two cups, and put a bottle of Schiedam on the tray. As she did so she noticed that it was nearly empty, so she fetched another full one, and added that to the tray. The bell did not ring again, although getting the second bottle had hindered her, for by this time the chemists had forgotten they wanted coffee. When she entered the laboratory, Herr Van de Greutz had just taken a bottle from the lower part of a cupboard near the door. Second shelf from the floor, five bottles from the left-hand corner. Julia observed the place with self-trained accuracy as she passed Herr Van de Greutz with the tray, which she carried to the table far down the room.

"This is it," Van de Greutz said; "a small quantity only, you see, but the authorities have a ridiculous objection to one's keeping any large one of explosive. Of course, I have more, in a stone house in my garden; it is perhaps safer so, seeing its nature, and the fact that one is always liable to small accidents in a laboratory."

Julia put down the tray, but upset some of the coffee. Seeing that excitement had not usually the effect of making her hand unsteady, it is possible accident had not much to do with it. However, it happened; she carefully wiped it up, and the two chemists, paying no more attention to her than if she had been a cat, went on speaking of the explosive. It was the explosive; their talk told her that before she had finished the wiping.