Section 15 of 25 - Table of Contents
CHAPTER VII
HOW JONAH OBEYED HIS ORDERS, AND DAPHNE AND KATHARINE FESTIVAL BACKED
THE SAME HORSE.
Berry laid down his knife and fork and raised his eyes to heaven.
"This," he said, "is the frozen edge. I'm getting used to the distemper
which is brought me in lieu of soup, and, although I prefer salmon
cooked to raw, you may have noticed that I consumed my portion without a
word. But this...." Contemptuously he indicated the severed _tournedos_
upon his plate. "You know, they must have been using the lime-kiln.
Nobody could get such a withered effect with an electric cooker. Oh, and
look at our olive. Quick, before it shuts up."
Jill began to shake with laughter.
"I can't help it," said Daphne desperately. "I know it's awful, but what
can we do?"
"There must be some cooks somewhere," said I. "The breed isn't extinct.
And they can't all be irrevocably suited. I always thought the Cooks'
Brigade was one of the most mobile arms of domestic service."
"I've done everything," said my sister, "except advertise. Katharine
Festival put me off that. She says she spent seven pounds on
advertisements and never got a single answer. But I've done everything
else. I've asked everybody I know, my name's on the books of every
registry office I've ever heard of, and I've written and sent stamped
addressed envelopes to every cook whose name I've been given. Three out
of about sixty have replied, saying they were already suited. One came
here, practically said she'd come, and then wrote to say she was
frightened of the electric cooker. And another wanted a hundred a year
and a private bathroom. It's simply hopeless."
"If," said Berry, "we survive this meal, I'll write to Jonah and tell
him to bring one back with him. If he can't raise one in Paris, he ought
to be shot. And now let's have a sweep on the savoury. I'll bet it
tastes of paraffin and looks like a pre-War divvot."
"Let's try advertising," said Jill. "Katharine mayn't have had a good
one."
"I agree," said I. "I'll get one out to-night. A real snorter."
In silence the traces of the course which had provoked the outburst were
removed, clean plates were set before us, and the footman advanced with
a dish of nauseous-looking fritters.
Daphne instinctively recoiled.
"Hullo," said Berry. "Another gas attack?"
With an effort my sister recovered herself and took one with a shaking
hand. Loyally Jill followed her example, and, with tears running down
her cheeks, induced a glutinous slab to quit the silver, to which it
clung desperately.
I declined the delicacy.
With compressed lips the servant offered it to my brother-in-law.
Berry shook his head.
"Mother wouldn't like me to," he said. "But I can see it's very tasty."
He turned to his wife. "What a wonderful thing perfume is! You know, the
smell of burnt fat always makes me think of the Edgware Road at dusk."
"Hush," said I, consulting the _menu_. "_De mortuis._ Those were banana
fritters. That slimy crust enshrined the remains of a once succulent
fruit."
"What?" said Berry. "Like beans in amber? How very touching! I suppose
undertakers are easier than cooks. Never mind. It's much cheaper. I
shan't want to be reminded of food for several days now." He looked
across the table to Daphne. "After what I've just seen, I feel I can
give the savoury a miss. Do you agree, darling? Or has the fritter acted
as an _aperitif_?"
My sister addressed herself to Jill.
"Don't eat it, dear. It's--it's not very nice." She rose. "Shall we go?"
Gloomily we followed her into the library, where I opened all the
windows and Berry lighted a huge cigar, in the hope of effacing the
still pungent memory of the unsavoury sweet. Gradually it faded away....
Three weeks had passed since the mistress of our kitchen, who had
reigned uninterruptedly for seven years, had been knocked down by a taxi
and sustained a broken leg. Simple though the fracture fortunately was,
at least another nine weeks must elapse before she could attempt to
resume her duties, and we were in evil case. Every day we became more
painfully aware of the store which we had unconsciously set by
decently-cooked food. As time went on, the physical and mental disorder,
consequent upon Mrs. Mason's accident, became more and more pronounced.
All topics of conversation became subservient to the burning question of
filling the void occasioned by her absence. Worst of all,
dissatisfaction was rampant in the servants' hall, and Daphne's maid had
hinted broadly that, if a cook was not shortly forthcoming, resignations
would be--an intimation which made us desperate. Moreover, in another
month we were due to leave Town and repair to White Ladies. There, deep
in the country, with no restaurants or clubs to fall back upon, we
should be wholly at the mercy of whoever controlled the preparation of
our food, and, unless the situation improved considerably, the prospect
was far from palatable.
Moodily I extinguished my cigarette and filled and lighted a pipe in its
stead. Then I remembered my threat.
Berry was writing a letter, so I extracted a sheet of notepaper from the
left-hand drawer and, taking a pencil from my pocket, sat down on the
sofa and set to work to compose an advertisement calculated to allure
the most suspicious and _blasee_ cook that ever was foaled.
Jill sat labouring with her needle upon a dainty tea-cloth, pausing now
and again to hold a whispered and one-sided conversation with Nobby, who
lay at inelegant ease supine between us. Perched upon the arm of a deep
armchair, my sister was subjecting the space devoted by five daily
papers to the announcement of "Situations Required" to a second and more
leisurely examination.
Presently she rose with a sigh and crossed to the telephone.
We knew what was coming.
Every night she and Katharine Festival communicated to one another their
respective failures of the day. More often than not, these took the
simple form of "negative information."
She was connected immediately.
"Hullo, that you, Katharine? ... Yes, Daphne. Any luck? ... Not much.
You know, it's simply hopeless. What? ... 'Widow with two boys of seven
and nine'? Thank you. I'd rather ... Exactly ... Well, I don't know. I'd
give it up, only it's so awful ... Awful."
"If she doesn't believe it, ask her to dinner," said Berry.
"Shut up," said Daphne. "It's all right, Katharine. I was speaking to
Berry ... Oh, he's fed to the teeth."
"I cannot congratulate you," said her husband, "upon your choice of
metaphor."
My sister ignored the interruption.
"Oh, rather ... His food means a lot to him, you know."
"This," said her husband, "is approaching the obscene. I dine off tepid
wash and raw fish, I am tormented by the production of a once luscious
fillet deliberately rendered unfit for human consumption, and I am
deprived of my now ravening appetite by the nauseating reek from the
shock of whose assault I am still trying to rally my olfactory nerves.
All this I endure with that unfailing good----"
"Will you be quiet?" said his wife. "How can I---"
"No, I won't," said Berry. "My finer feelings are outraged. And that
upon an empty stomach. I shall write home and ask to be taken away. I
shall----"
"Katharine," said Daphne, "I can't hear you because that fool Berry is
talking, but Boy's getting out an advertisement, and we're going to ...
Oh, are you? I thought you said you'd given it up ... Another nineteen
shillings' worth? Well, here's luck, anyway ... Yes, of course. But I
daren't hope ... Good-bye." She replaced the receiver and turned to me.
"Katharine's going to start advertising again."
"Is she?" I grunted. "Well, I'll bet she doesn't beat this. Listen.
_COOK, capable, experienced, is offered for three months abnormal wages,
every luxury and a leisurely existence: electric cooker: constant hot
water: kitchen-maid: separate bedroom: servants' hall: late breakfast:
town and country: followers welcomed.--Mrs. Pleydell, 7, Cholmondeley
Street, Mayfair: 'Phone, Mayfair 9999."_
"That's the style," said Berry. "Let me know when it's going to appear,
and I'll get a bedroom at the Club. When you've weeded the best out of
the first hundred thousand, I'll come back and give the casting vote."
From behind, my sister put her arms about my neck and laid her soft
cheek against mine.
"My dear," she murmured, "I daren't. Half the cooks in England would
leave their situations."
"So much the better," said I. "All's fair in love and war. I don't know
which this is, but we'll call it 'love' and chance it. Besides," I added
cunningly, "we must knock out Katharine."
The light of battle leapt into my sister's eyes. Looking at it from her
point of view, I realized that my judgment had been ill-considered.
Plainly it was not a question of love, but of war--"and that most
deadly." She drew her arms from my neck and stood upright.
"Couldn't you leave out my name and just put 'Box So-and-so'?"
I shook my head.
"That's so intangible. Besides, I think the telephone number's a great
wheeze." Thoughtfully she crossed to the fireplace and lighted a
cigarette. "I'll send it to-morrow," I said.
Suddenly the room was full of silvery laughter.
From Berry's side at the writing-table Jill looked up sparkling.
"Listen to this," she said, holding up the letter which my
brother-in-law had just completed.
_DEAR BROTHER,_
_Incompetent bungler though you are, and bitter as has been my
experience of your gaucherie in the past, I am once again about to prove
whether out of the dunghill of inefficiency which, with unconscious
humour, you style your 'mind' there can be coaxed a shred of reliability
and understanding._
_It is within your knowledge that some three weeks ago this household
was suddenly deprived of the services of its cook. This out of a clear
sky and, if we may believe the police, in one of those uncharted
purlieus which shroud in mystery the source of the Cromwell Road. After
four lean days your gluttonous instincts led you precipitately to
withdraw to Paris, from whence, knowing your unshakable belief in the
vilest forms of profligacy, I appreciate that lack of means must ere
long enforce your return._
_Therefore I write._
_For twenty-two unforgettable sultry days we have endured the ghastly
pleasantries of charwomen, better qualified to victual the lower animals
than mankind. To call the first meal "breakfast" is sheer blasphemy:
lunch is a hollow mockery: dinner, the abomination of desolation. I do
what I can with grape-nuts and the gas-stove in the bathroom, but the
result is unhappy, and last night the milk was too quick for me._
_I therefore implore you to collect a cook in Paris without delay. Bring
it with you when you come, or, better still, send it in advance,
carriage paid. Luxury shall be heaped upon it. Its slightest whim shall
be gratified, and it shall go to "the movies" at my expense, whenever I
am sent tickets. Can generosity go further? Wages no object: fare paid
back to Paris as soon as Mrs. Mason's leg can carry her._
_Brother, I beseech you, take immediate action. The horror of our plight
cannot be exaggerated. Do something--anything. Misrepresent facts,
corrupt honesty, suborn the faithful, but--procure a cook._
_My maw reminds me that it is the hour of grape-nuts, so I must go._
_BERRY._
_P.S.--If you can't raise one, I shouldn't come back. Just go to some
high place and quietly push yourself off. It will be simpler and avoid a
scene which would be painful to us both._
"That's rather worse than the advertisement," said Daphne. "But, as
Jonah is accustomed to your Interpretation of the art of letter-writing,
I suppose it doesn't much matter."
"When," said Berry, "you are making yourself sick upon _tete de veau en
tortue_ and _crepes Suzette_, I shall remind you of those idle words."
* * * * *
The advertisement appeared for the first time on Thursday morning.
As I entered the dining-room at half-past nine--
"It's in," said Jill. "On the front page."
"Yes," said Berry, "it's most arresting. Applicants will arrive from all
over the kingdom. It's inevitable. Nothing can stop them. Old and
trusted retainers will become unsettled. The domestic upheaval will be
unparalleled."
I read the advertisement through. In cold print my handiwork certainly
looked terribly alluring. Then I laid down the paper and strolled to the
window. It had been raining, but now the sun was out, and the cool fresh
air of the June morning was sweet and winsome. As I looked into the
glistening street--
"It's a bit early yet," continued Berry. "Give 'em a chance. I should
think they'll start about ten. I wonder how far the queue will reach,"
he added reflectively. "I hope the police take it past The Albert
Memorial. Then they can sit on the steps."
"Nonsense," said I a little uneasily. "We may get an answer or two
to-morrow. I think we shall. But cooks are few and far between."
"They won't be few and they'll be anything but far between by twelve
o'clock." He tapped the provocative paragraph with an accusing finger.
"This is a direct incitement to repair to 7, Cholmondeley Street, or as
near thereto as possible----"
"I wish to goodness we hadn't put it in," said Daphne.
"It's done now," said her husband, "and we'd better get ready. I'll turn
them down in the library, you can stand behind the what-not in the
drawing-room and fire them from there, and Boy'd better go down the
queue with some oranges and a megaphone, and keep on saying we're suited
right up to the last."
In silence I turned to the sideboard. It was with something of an effort
that I helped myself to a thick slab of bacon which was obviously but
half-cooked. From the bottom of a second dish a black and white egg,
with a pale green yoke, eyed me with a cold stare. With a shudder I
covered it up again.... After all, we did want a cook, and if we were
bombarded with applications for the post, the probability of getting a
good one was the more certain.
As I took my seat--
"Is Katharine's advertisement in?" I asked.
My sister nodded.
"She's put her telephone number, too."
"Has she? She will be mad when she sees we've had the same idea."
"Ah," said Berry. "I'd forgotten the telephone. That's another
vulnerable spot. I shouldn't wonder if----"
The sentence was never finished.
The hurried stammer of the telephone bell made a dramatic irruption, and
Jill, who was in the act of drinking, choked with excitement.
In silence we listened, to be quite sure. A second prolonged vibration
left no room for doubt.
"They're off," said Berry.
"I--I feel quite nervous," said Daphne. "Let Falcon answer it."
But Jill was already at the door....
Breathlessly we awaited her return.
Nobby, apparently affected by the electricity with which the air was
charged, started to relieve his feelings by barking stormily. The
nervous outburst of reproof which greeted his eloquence was so
unexpectedly menacing that he retired precipitately beneath the table,
his small white tail clapped incontinently between his legs.
The next moment Jill tore into the room.
"It's a cook!" she cried in a tempestuous whisper. "It's a cook! She
wants to speak to Daphne. It's a trunk call. She's rung up from
Torquay."
"Torquay!" I cried aghast. "Good Heavens!"
"What did I say?" said Berry. My sister rose in some trepidation. "Two
hundred miles is nothing. Have another hunk of toast. It was only made
on Sunday, so I can recommend it."
Daphne hastened from the room, with Jill twittering at her heels, and in
some dudgeon I cut myself a slice of bread.
Berry turned his attention to the Sealyham.
"Nobby, my lad, come here."
Signifying his delight at this restoration to favour by an unusually
elaborate rotatory movement of his tail, the terrier emerged from his
cover and humbled himself at his patron's feet. The latter picked him up
and set him upon his knee.
"My lad," he said, "this is going to be a momentous day. Cooks, meet to
be bitten, are due to arrive in myriads. Be ruthless. Spare neither the
matron nor the maid. What did Mr. Henry say in 1415?--
This day is call'd the feast of Sealyham:
She that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will sit with caution when this day is named.
And shudder at the name of Sealyham.
She that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the razzle feast her neighbours,
And say, 'To-morrow is Saint Sealyham':
Then will she strip her hose and show her scars,
And say, 'These wounds I had on Nobby's day.'
Old cooks forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But she'll remember with a flood of talk
What feats you did that day."
Nobby licked his face enthusiastically.
Then came a swift rush across the hall, and Daphne and Jill pelted into
the room.
"She's coming up for an interview to-morrow," panted the latter. "Six
years in her last place, but the people are going abroad. If we engage
her, she can come on Monday. Sixty pounds a year."
Daphne was beaming.
"I must say I liked the sound of her. Very respectful she seemed. Her
name's rather unusual, but that isn't her fault. Pauline Roper. I fancy
she's by way of being an expert. She's got a certificate from some
institute of cookery, and her sister's a trained nurse in Welbeck
Street. That's why she wants to be in London. What's the return fare
from Torquay?" she added. "I said I'd pay it, if I took up her
reference."
"Oh, something under five pounds," said Berry.
"What!"
"My dear," said her husband, "if the expenditure of that sum were to
ensure me a breakfast the very sight of which did not make my gorge
rise, I should regard it as a trustee investment."
Reference to a time-table showed that the price of Pauline Roper's
ticket would be two pounds nine shillings and fourpence halfpenny.
Somewhat to our surprise and greatly to our relief, the day passed
without another application for the post of cook, personal or otherwise.
To celebrate the solitary but promising response to our S.O.S. signal,
and the prospect which it afforded of an early deliverance from our
state, we dined at the _Berkeley_ and went to the play.
On returning home we found a telegram in the hall. It had been handed in
at Paris, and ran as follows:
_Cook called Camille Francois leaving for Cholmondeley Street to-morrow
aaa can speak no English so must be met at Dover aaa boat due 4.15 aaa
Jonah._
* * * * *
The train roared through Ashford, and Berry looked at his watch. Then he
sighed profoundly and began to commune with himself in a low tone.
"_Mille pardons, madame. Mais vous etes Camille Francois? Non? Quel
dommage! Dix mille pardons. Adieu._ ... Deuce of a lot of 'milles,'
aren't there? I wonder if there'll be many passengers. And will she come
first-class, or before the mast? You know, this is a wild mare's chest,
and that's all there is to it. We shall insult several hundred women,
miss the cook, and probably lose Pauline into the bargain. What did I
come for?"
"Nonsense," said Jill stoutly. "Jonah's told her to look out for us."
"I'll bet he never thought I should be fool enough to roll up, so she
won't expect me. As a matter of fact, if he's described any one, he's
probably drawn a lifelike word-picture of Daphne."
"It's no good worrying," said I. "The only thing to do is to address
every woman who looks in the least like a cook as she steps off the
gangway. When we do strike her, Jill can carry on."
"It's all very well," said Berry, "but what does a cook look like, or
look least like, or least look like? I suppose you know what you mean."
Jill began to shake with laughter. "She'll probably be all dressed up to
give us a treat, and, for all we know, she may have a child with her,
and, if she's pretty, it's a hundred to one some fellow will be seeing
her off the boat. You can't rule out any one. And to accost strange
women indiscriminately is simply asking for trouble. Understand this:
when I've been knocked down twice, you can count me out."
This was too much for Jill, who made no further efforts to restrain her
merriment. Fixing her with a sorrowful look, my brother-in-law sank back
in his corner with a resigned air.
Jonah's telegram had certainly complicated matters.
We had received it too late to prevent the dispatch of the cook whose
services he had apparently enlisted. After a prolonged discussion we had
decided that, while Daphne must stay and interview Pauline Roper, the
rest of us had better proceed to Dover with the object of meeting the
boat. It was obvious that Jill must go to deal with the immigrant when
the latter had been identified, but she could not be expected to effect
the identification. I was unanimously chosen for this responsible task,
but I refused point-blank to make the attempt single-handed. I argued
with reason that it was more than one man could do, and that the
performance of what was, after all, a highly delicate operation must be
shared by Berry. After a titanic struggle the latter gave in, with the
result that Jill and he and I had left London by the eleven o'clock
train. This was due to arrive at Dover at two minutes to one, so that we
should have time for lunch and to spare before the boat came in.
But that was not all.
The coming of Jonah's _protegee_ made it impossible for my sister to
engage Pauline Roper out of hand. Of course the latter might prove
impossible, which, in a way, would simplify the position. If, as was
more probable, she seemed desirable, the only thing to do was to pay her
fare and promise to let her know within twenty-four hours whether we
would engage her or not. That would give us time to discover whether
Camille Francois was the more promising of the two.
Whatever happened, it was painfully clear that our engagement of a cook
was going to prove one of the most costly adventures of its kind upon
which we had ever embarked.
The train steamed into Dover one minute before its scheduled time, and
we immediately repaired to the Lord Warden Hotel.
Lunch was followed by a comfortable half-hour in the lounge, after which
we decided to take the air until the arrival of the packet.
Perhaps the most famous of the gates of England, Dover has always worn a
warlike mien. Less formidable than renowned Gibraltar, there is a look
of grim efficiency about her heights, an air of masked authority about
the windy galleries hung in her cold grey chalk, something of Roman
competence about the proud old gatehouse on the Castle Hill. Never in
mufti, never in gaudy uniform, Dover is always clad in "service" dress.
A thousand threats have made her porterage a downright office, bluntly
performed. And so those four lean years, that whipped the smile from
many an English hundred, seem to have passed over the grizzled Gate like
the east wind, leaving it scatheless. About herself no change was
visible. As we leaned easily upon the giant parapet of the Admiralty
Pier, watching the tireless waves dance to the _cappriccio_ of wind and
sun, there was but little evidence to show that the portcullis, recently
hoist, had for four years been down. Under the shadow of the Shakespeare
Cliff the busy traffic of impatient Peace fretted as heretofore. The
bristling sentinels were gone: no craft sang through the empty air: no
desperate call for labour wearied tired eyes, clawed at strained nerves,
hastened the scurrying feet: no longer from across the Straits came
flickering the ceaseless grunt and grumble of the guns. The wondrous
tales of nets, of passages of arms, of sallies made at dawn--mortal
immortal exploits--seemed to be chronicles of another age. The ways and
means of War, so lately paramount, were out of sight. As in the days
before, the march of Trade and caravan of Pleasure jostled each other in
the Gate's mouth. Only the soldierly aspect of the place remained--Might
in a faded surcoat, her shabby scabbard hiding a loose bright blade....
The steamer was up to time.
When four o'clock came she was well in sight, and at fourteen minutes
past the hour the rattle of the donkey-engine came to a sudden stop, and
a moment later the gangways were thrust and hauled into their respective
positions.
Berry and I stood as close to the actual points of disembarkation as
convenience and discretion allowed, while Jill hovered excitedly in the
background.
As the passengers began to descend--
"Now for it," said my brother-in-law, settling his hat upon his head. "I
feel extremely nervous and more ill at ease than I can ever remember. My
mind is a seething blank, and I think my left sock-suspender is coming
down. However ... Of course, it is beginning to be forcibly what they
call 'borne in upon' me that we ought to have brought some barbed wire
and a turnstile. As it is, we shall miss about two-thirds of them.
Here's your chance," he added, nodding at a stout lady with a green
suit-case and a defiant glare. "I'll take the jug and bottle
department."
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