II

Joanna and I came down rather late to breakfast the next morning. That isto say, late by the standards of Lymstock. It was nine-thirty, an hour atwhich, in London, Joanna was just unclosing an eyelid, and mine wouldprobably be still tight shut. However when Partridge had said “Breakfastat half past eight, or nine o’clock?” neither Joanna nor I had had the nerveto suggest a later hour.

To my annoyance, Aimée Griffith was standing on the doorstep talkingto Megan.

She gave tongue with her usual heartiness at the sight of us.

“Hallo, there, slackers! I’ve been up for hours.”

That, of course, was her own business. A doctor, no doubt, has to haveearly breakfast, and a dutiful sister is there to pour out his tea, or coffee.

But it is no excuse for coming and butting in on one’s more somnolentneighbours. Nine-thirty is not the time for a morning call.

Megan slipped back into the house and into the dining room, where Igathered she had been interrupted in her breakfast.

“I said I wouldn’t come in,” said Aimée Griffith—though why it is moreof a merit to force people to come and speak to you on the doorstep, thanto talk to them inside the house I do not know. “I just wanted to ask MissBurton if she’d any vegetables to spare for our Red Cross stall on the mainroad. If so, I’d get Owen to call for them in the car.”

“You’re out and about very early,” I said.

“The early bird catches the worm,” said Aimée. “You have a betterchance of finding people in this time of day. I’m off to Mr. Pye’s next. Gotto go over to Brenton this afternoon. Guides.”

“Your energy makes me quite tired,” I said, and at that moment the tele-phone rang and I retired to the back of the hall to answer it, leavingJoanna murmuring rather doubtfully something about rhubarb andFrench beans and exposing her ignorance of the vegetable garden.

“Yes?” I said into the telephone mouthpiece.

A confused noise of deep breathing came from the other end of the wireand a doubtful female voice said “Oh!”

“Yes?” I said again encouragingly.

“Oh,” said the voice again, and then it inquired adenoidally, “Is that—what I mean—is that Little Furze?”

“This is Little Furze.”

“Oh!” This was clearly a stock beginning to every sentence. The voice in-quired cautiously: “Could I speak to Miss Partridge just a minute?”

“Certainly,” I said. “Who shall I say?”

“Oh. Tell her it’s Agnes, would you? Agnes Waddle.” “Agnes Waddle?”

“That’s right.”

Resisting the temptation to say, “Donald Duck to you,” I put down thetelephone receiver and called up the stairs to where I could hear thesound of Partridge’s activities overheard.

“Partridge. Partridge.”

Partridge appeared at the head of the stairs, a long mop in one hand,and a look of “What is it now?” clearly discernible behind her invariablyrespectful manner.

“Yes, sir?”

“Agnes Waddle wants to speak to you on the telephone.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

I raised my voice. “Agnes Waddle.”

I have spelt the name as it presented itself to my mind. But I will nowspell it as it was actually written.

“Agnes Woddell—whatever can she want now?”

Very much put out of countenance, Partridge relinquished her mop andrustled down the stairs, her print dress crackling with agitation.

I beat an unobtrusive retreat into the dining room where Megan waswolfing down kidneys and bacon. Megan, unlike Aimée Griffith, was dis-playing no “glorious morning face.” In fact she replied very gruffly to mymorning salutations and continued to eat in silence.

I opened the morning paper and a minute or two later Joanna enteredlooking somewhat shattered.

“Whew!” she said. “I’m so tired. And I think I’ve exposed my utter ignor-ance of what grows when. Aren’t there runner beans this time of year?”

“August,” said Megan. “Well, one has them anytime in London,” saidJoanna defensively.

“Tins, sweet fool,” I said. “And cold storage on ships from the far-flunglimits of empire.”

“Like ivory, apes and peacocks?” asked Joanna.

“Exactly.”

“I’d rather have peacocks,” said Joanna thoughtfully.

“I’d like a monkey of my own as a pet,” said Megan.

Meditatively peeling an orange, Joanna said:

“I wonder what it would feel like to be Aimée Griffith, all bursting withhealth and vigour and enjoyment of life. Do you think she’s ever tired, ordepressed, or—or wistful?”

I said I was quite certain Aimée Griffith was never wistful, and followedMegan out of the open French window on to the veranda.

Standing there, filling my pipe, I heard Partridge enter the dining roomfrom the hall and heard her voice say grimly:

“Can I speak to you a minute, miss?”

“Dear me,” I thought. “I hope Partridge isn’t going to give notice. EmilyBarton will be very annoyed with us if so.”

Partridge went on: “I must apologize, miss, for being rung up on the tele-phone. That is to say, the young person who did so should have knownbetter. I have never been in the habit of using the telephone or of permit-ting my friends to ring me up on it, and I’m very sorry indeed that itshould have occurred, and the master taking the call and everything.”

“Why, that’s quite all right, Partridge,” said Joanna soothingly, “whyshouldn’t your friends use the phone if they want to speak to you?”

Partridge’s face, I could feel, though I could not see it, was more dourthan ever as she replied coldly:

“It is not the kind of thing that has ever been done in this house. MissEmily would never permit it. As I say, I am sorry it occurred, but AgnesWoddell, the girl who did it, was upset and she’s young too, and doesn’tknow what’s fitting in a gentleman’s house.”

“That’s one for you, Joanna,” I thought gleefully.

“This Agnes who rung me up, miss,” went on Partridge, “she used to bein service here under me. Sixteen she was, then, and come straight fromthe orphanage. And you see, not having a home, or a mother or any rela-tions to advise her, she’s been in the habit of coming to me. I can tell herwhat’s what, you see.”

“Yes?” said Joanna and waited. Clearly there was more to follow.

“So I am taking the liberty of asking you, miss, if you would allow Agnesto come here to tea this afternoon in the kitchen. It’s her day out, you see,and she’s got something on her mind she wants to consult me about. Iwouldn’t dream of suggesting such a thing in the usual way.”

Joanna said bewildered:

“But why shouldn’t you have anyone to tea with you?”

Partridge drew herself up at this, so Joanna said afterwards, and reallylooked most formidable, as she replied:

“It has never been the custom of This House, miss. Old Mrs. Bartonnever allowed visitors in the kitchen, excepting as it should be our ownday out, in which case we were allowed to entertain friends here insteadof going out, but otherwise, on ordinary days, no. And Miss Emily shekeeps to the old ways.”

Joanna is very nice to servants and most of them like her but she hasnever cut any ice with Partridge.

“It’s no good, my girl,” I said when Partridge had gone and Joanna hadjoined me outside. “Your sympathy and leniency are not appreciated. Thegood old overbearing ways for Partridge and things done the way theyshould be done in a gentleman’s house.”

“I never heard of such tyranny as not allowing them to have theirfriends to see them,” said Joanna. “It’s all very well, Jerry, but they can’tlike being treated like black slaves.”

“Evidently they do,” I said. “At least the Partridges of this world do.”

“I can’t imagine why she doesn’t like me. Most people do.”

“She probably despises you as an inadequate housekeeper. You neverdraw your hand across a shelf and examine it for traces of dust. You don’tlook under the mats. You don’t ask what happened to the remains of thechocolate soufflé, and you never order a nice bread pudding.”

“Ugh!” said Joanna.

She went on sadly. “I’m a failure all round today. Despised by our Aiméefor ignorance of the vegetable kingdom. Snubbed by Partridge for being ahuman being. I shall now go out into the garden and eat worms.”

“Megan’s there already,” I said.

For Megan had wandered away a few minutes previously and was nowstanding aimlessly in the middle of a patch of lawn looking not unlike ameditative bird waiting for nourishment.

She came back, however, towards us and said abruptly:

“I say, I must go home today.”

“What?” I was dismayed.

She went on, flushing, but speaking with nervous determination.

“It’s been awfully good of you having me and I expect I’ve been a fearfulnuisance, but I have enjoyed it awfully, only now I must go back, becauseafter all, well, it’s my home and one can’t stay away for ever, so I think I’llgo this morning.”

Both Joanna and I tried to make her change her mind, but she was quiteadamant, and finally Joanna got out the car and Megan went upstairs andcame down a few minutes later with her belongings packed up again.

The only person pleased seemed to be Partridge, who had almost a smileon her grim face. She had never liked Megan much.

I was standing in the middle of the lawn when Joanna returned.

She asked me if I thought I was a sundial.

“Why?”

“Standing there like a garden ornament. Only one couldn’t put on youthe motto of only marking the sunny hours. You looked like thunder!”

“I’m out of humour. First Aimée Griffith — (“Gracious!” murmuredJoanna in parenthesis, “I must speak about those vegetables!”) and thenMegan beetling off. I’d thought of taking her for a walk up to Legge Tor.”

“With a collar and lead, I suppose?” said Joanna.

“What?”

Joanna repeated loudly and clearly as she moved off round the corner ofthe house to the kitchen garden:

“I said, ‘With a collar and lead, I suppose?’ Master’s lost his dog, that’swhat’s the matter with you!”