The Town in Bloom (10 page)

I tried to analyse it while we had tea. I could detect petrol and a whiff of dustbins. But there was something else. At last I said, ‘It’s crazy, but there’s a smell of horses.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Lilian. ‘There can’t have been horses here for years.’

‘Our Mouse is psychic,’ said Molly. ‘She’s smelling the ghosts of horses.’

‘No, truly. There’s a leathery smell and a smell of manure.’

Neither of them believed me but I was right. All the stables in that mews were now used as garages except the one under us. That housed some tradesman’s horse. And either it was an insomniac horse or it was a confirmed sleep-stamper. Night after night I was fated to lie awake listening to it. And because I lay awake I learned, for the first time, how uncomfortable beds could be.

All the three beds were uncomfortable but they were uncomfortable in different ways. And Lilian decided it would only be fair if we each spent a week in each bed (and tossed up for the fourth week). So just when one had got the knack of avoiding the broken spring in the divan one
had to learn how to dodge the lumps in one of the bedroom beds, and then cope with the uniform hardness of the other (here a cushion under the hip-bone helped). Lilian also insisted that we should each put in a week on kitchen work and then move on to other housework. Being small, I could fit into the kitchen fairly well, whereas poor large Molly invariably bumped herself. One day, glaring around the kitchen (or rather
at
it; ‘around’ was hardly a word one could apply to that tiny strip) she remarked, ‘This place is supposed to have been converted. But if you ask me, it’s still a heathen.’ Ever afterwards, the mews flat was referred to as ‘The Heathen’.

Lilian, to whom the past is always sacred but often amusing too, insists that a very funny book could be written about The Heathen. She is wrong. Our discomforts weren’t particularly funny. One might work up something about Molly’s attempt to empty the rubber bath
single-handed
. (The horse below must have thought it was out in the rain.) And there was a night when a drunk friend of The Heathen’s owner, having had the front door shut on him, stood below our windows wailing, ‘But I’m always
welcome
to a bed here.’ And Molly and Lilian got a laugh when I fed the horse with sugar and it neatly removed my green hat. But for the most part we endured a month of bad nights, bad meals and sometimes very bad tempers.

I, at least, was at the theatre in the afternoons and evenings, and I got a good brown dinner at the pub. Lilian and Molly spent far more time at The Heathen than I did, particularly after their show closed at the end of our first week; and there was no good cheap restaurant near. Sometimes they went all the way to the Club for dinner.
And once, during very hot weather and a plague of flies in the mews, they tried to get our cubicles back. But the Club was full. We just had to stick our month out.

During the last few days of it, we worked hard getting The Heathen into perfect order; well, as perfect as The Heathen would permit. We cleaned and polished,
refurbished
the window boxes, bought flowers and provisions. The Heathen’s owner had written to say she was bringing a new friend with her, ever such a nice boy. ‘She hasn’t had too much luck with her boy friends,’ said Lilian, ‘so we’ll do our best to start her off well this time.’

At last it was Sunday morning. We put on clean sheets, washed up, packed, and all signed a glowing note of thanks to leave behind us. (After all, we hadn’t paid any rent.) Then we bumped our cases down the narrow stairs, slammed the door, put the key under the mat and trudged along the mews. As the girls were now out of work we felt we must go by bus instead of taxi.

‘God bless the old Club,’ said Molly, as we entered the hall – only to learn we were not expected until next day and there was no room for us.

‘But we left on a Sunday, for a month, so we come back on a Sunday,’ said Lilian.

The secretary was off duty so the housekeeper was sent for. Her theory was that we must have left a day earlier than the secretary expected us to. Anyway, the booking sheet showed we were not due until Monday and our cubicles were occupied; so was every bed in the whole Club.

Molly suggested we should sleep on sofas. The
housekeeper
would not hear of it. She said, ‘You’ll just have to go to a hotel,’ and left us flat.

We went down to lunch seething with indignation. None of us knew of a cheap hotel and none of us could afford an expensive one. Then Lilian remembered that, while looking for food shops near the mews, she had walked through a long drab street where dozens of windows displayed cards saying ‘Apartments’. We could try there.

‘Then we must have a taxi,’ said Molly. ‘I can’t face another trek burdened with suitcase, coat, umbrella and handbag.’

Lilian pointed out it would cost a fortune to keep a taxi ticking while we went from house to house. She said that as it was a hot day, we could leave our coats and umbrellas in the Club cloak-room. ‘And we can put our handbags in our suitcases – that’ll mean we’ve only one thing each to carry. We’ll just keep out enough money for bus fares. Mouse can put it in one of her Miss Muffets.’ She referred to the smocked pockets on the full skirt of my chintz dress. This dress was considered very funny – possibly with justification, as it was patterned with elves sitting on toadstools.

The scheme worked well on the short way to the bus stop; but once we were trailing up the long drab street even the suitcases alone became burdensome. And Lilian’s dozens of ‘Apartments’ cards dwindled to four. The first three landladies would not take us for one night. The fourth would have, but had just let her last room; she apologised for not having taken her card down. As she was pleasant, we asked her advice and she told us of a cheap hotel only ten minutes walk away. She suggested we should leave our cases with her. If we got in, the hotel could send
for them. And if we didn’t, we were to come back and she’d try to think of somewhere else to send us.

So we thanked her and dumped our cases in her hall. It was bliss being without them. I swung my arms and said how free I felt. A few minutes later it dawned on me that I felt
too
free; our handbags were shut up in our suitcases. We thought of going back at once as there was quite a bit of money in our bags. But none of us distrusted the kind woman and we were already in the street where the hotel was said to be, so we just hurried on.

Again we were disappointed: the hotel was full. We went back towards our cases as fast as we could walk – indeed, I had to run to keep up with the girls. The sky had clouded over but it was very sultry, and we were all extremely hot by the time we got to the long drab street. And we then realised that we did not know which of the drab houses we had left our cases in. Why, oh why, had none of us noticed its number?

We went to what seemed the right part of the street. There was no ‘Apartments’ card to be seen but by now, no doubt, the landlady would have taken it down. We asked at three houses and had no luck. Then Lilian said we must do the job systematically and try every house. This led to our trying the same three houses again and we got rude receptions.

After we’d tried a lot more houses I said: ‘We’re in the wrong street. The houses in the street we want had balconies.’

Molly and Lilian then remembered the balconies.

Lilian said, ‘We must go to the main road and try to get our bearings. Oh, God, now it’s starting to rain.’

We felt sure the street we wanted must run parallel to the one we were in; but when we reached the main road, we didn’t know whether to go right or left. And it was now raining hard.

‘We’ll have to get a taxi,’ said Molly.

‘But we’ve no money with us,’ said Lilian. ‘And anyway, we wouldn’t know where to drive to.’

‘Let’s find a café and have tea,’ said Molly.

‘Can’t you take it in that we’ve
no money
?’ said Lilian. ‘And there
are
no cafés near here that are open on Sundays – if there was one, we might at least ask for shelter. I can’t think, with this rain beating down on me.’

I pointed out that we were close to The Heathen and we might get Lilian’s friend to take us in until the storm was over. ‘Then we can comb these streets until we find our cases. And while we’re at The Heathen we can use the telephone. I’ll see if Miss Lester knows anywhere we can stay.’

‘Or you could ring up Rex Crossway,’ said Lilian, brightening. ‘He won’t want his Mouse to sleep on the Embankment.’

I said I thought he would be at his country house for Sunday. ‘Anyway, the great thing is to get out of the rain and to a telephone. Let’s run for it.’

We ran – through rain which now seemed a
cloud-burst
. As we dashed into the mews a taxi went by us, spattering us with mud. We saw it pull up in front of The Heathen.

‘Quick!’ cried Lilian. ‘They must be going out.’

Even as she spoke, the blue front door opened and a man and a woman hurried into the taxi. We yelled, and
ran faster; but it was no use. The taxi drove out of the other end of the mews.

We stood in the doorway of one of the big houses that backed onto the mews. There wasn’t much shelter as the rain was driving in. Our dresses were wet through and my elves had run into my toadstools.

‘Never did I think I’d long to be back at The Heathen,’ said Molly, staring at the closed blue door.

We couldn’t even get in with the horse, as its owner always locked it up at weekends.

Molly then had a temporary return of grandeur. She said she was going to ring the bell at the doorway in which we were standing. ‘And when someone comes I shall explain and ask to use the telephone. We are
not
going to stand here and drown.’

She rang the bell, keeping her finger on it a long time. Nobody came. She rang again and again, with no result.

‘Oh, God, why is everything so hellish!’ She turned in despair and leaned back on the door. It opened so suddenly that she nearly lost her footing.

‘In we go,’ said Lilian. ‘And thank you, God, for a roof.’

It was a glass one, over a long flagged passage. Molly closed the door she had so nearly fallen through – the catch on the Yale lock had been left up – and said we would go boldly in and find a telephone. At the far end of the passage was a glass-panelled door through which we could see a kitchen.

‘And it won’t take much boldness,’ said Lilian, ‘as there’s obviously no one in.’

All the same, I did not much like going into the kitchen. Suppose the servants came back? But we were barely
through the glass-panelled door before I guessed that the kitchen was not at present being used. It was too scrupulously tidy and there were a lot of dead flies on the window ledges. And when I looked in the larder, to make sure I had guessed right, it was empty. I said: ‘The servants must be away.’

‘Then everyone in the house will be,’ said Lilian. ‘It’s the kind of house where people don’t stay without servants.’

She made for the stairs we could see through an open door.

‘Oh, Lilian, don’t!’ I cried. ‘It’s bad enough, trespassing in the kitchen.’

A few seconds later she called down: ‘It’s just as I expected. There are masses of unopened circulars on the hall floor. And there’s a telephone.’

So we followed her up, though I still felt scared. I
considered
myself reasonably brave but I had been brought up to have a horror of doing anything illegal. I longed to get the telephoning over and hurry out of the house.

I tried Miss Lester’s number but got no answer. I tried the office in case she was working, but with no result. To Lilian’s annoyance, I didn’t know Mr Crossway’s number, it wasn’t in the telephone book and Enquiries refused to give it. The girls then tried to get their three men friends, but without success.

‘Oh, come on,’ I said at last. ‘We shall soon find our cases if we search methodically.’

‘But it’s still pouring,’ said Molly.

‘And I’m going to look round,’ said Lilian. ‘I’ve always longed to see over a great London house.’

I remembered her interest in Regent’s Park houses, and how she had sat at The Heathen’s windows gazing up at the big houses backing onto the mews. ‘Well, get it over quickly,” I told her.

‘You’re both coming with me. I dare you.’

As a child, I had often accepted dares to trespass in the grounds of large, empty houses – and quite enjoyed it. This present occasion was very different. Still, a dare was a dare.

‘I think it’s pretty safe, really,’ said Molly. ‘And we might find an electric fire and dry ourselves a bit.’

‘But that would be stealing electricity,’ I said, horrified.

‘It doesn’t
show
when you steal electricity,’ said Molly. ‘But if you like, you can soothe your conscience by sending an anonymous postal order. Personally, I can’t believe anyone would grudge a little warmth to three shivering girls.’

Lilian led the way into the dining-room. I was glad to notice that the blinds – cream, with deep lace edging – were down; at least we should not be seen from outside.

‘Fancy having blinds,’ said Lilian. ‘They’re terribly out of date. And what a dull room! It’s like a dentist’s
waiting-room
. Still, this heavy furniture must have been expensive.’

There was a study at the back of the dining-room, with glass-fronted bookcases filled with uniform sets of books, and a colossal desk.

‘Deadly!’ said Lilian. ‘Let’s hope the drawing-room’s better.’ She raced upstairs.

It was a double drawing-room and the only nice thing about it was the parquet floor. Much of the furniture was dust-sheeted; and what with the dust-sheets and the blinds being down, the whole effect was funereal.

‘Hideous curtains,’ said Lilian. ‘I should think the people who live here are elderly.’

‘That’s probably them,’ said Molly, looking at an oil painting over the fireplace.

It was of a middle-aged couple, very stiffly posed, the man standing behind the seated woman. She was plain, with elaborately arranged fair hair. He was heavily dark, with a streak of white in his hair.

‘She’s dreary,’ said Lilian. ‘He’s rather striking.’ She lifted a dust-sheet. ‘Goodness, what bad taste they have.’