Fifteen

DELICIOUS DEATH

I
In the kitchen at Little Paddocks, Miss Blacklock was giving instructions toMitzi.

“Sardine sandwiches as well as the tomato ones. And some of those littlescones you make so nicely. And I’d like you to make that special cake ofyours.”

“Is it a party then, that you want all these things?”

“It’s Miss Bunner’s birthday, and some people will be coming to tea.”

“At her age one does not have birthdays. It is better to forget.”

“Well, she doesn’t want to forget. Several people are bringing herpresents—and it will be nice to make a little party of it.”

“That is what you say last time—and see what happened!”

Miss Blacklock controlled her temper.

“Well, it won’t happen this time.”

“How do you know what may happen in this house? All day long Ishiver and at night I lock my door and I look in the wardrobe to see no oneis hidden there.”

“That ought to keep you nice and safe,” said Miss Blacklock, coldly.

“The cake that you want me to make, it is the—?” Mitzi uttered a soundthat to Miss Blacklock’s English ear sounded like Schwitzebzr or alternat-ively like cats spitting at each other.

“That’s the one. The rich one.”

“Yes. It is rich. For it I have nothing! Impossible to make such a cake. Ineed for it chocolate and much butter, and sugar and raisins.”

“You can use this tin of butter that was sent us from America. And someof the raisins we were keeping for Christmas, and here is a slab of chocol-ate and a pound of sugar.”

Mitzi’s face suddenly burst into radiant smiles.

“So, I make him for you good—good,” she cried, in an ecstasy. “It will berich, rich, of a melting richness! And on top I will put the icing—chocolateicing—I make him so nice—and write on it Good Wishes. These Englishpeople with their cakes that tastes of sand, never never, will they havetasted such a cake. Delicious, they will say—delicious—”

Her face clouded again.

“Mr. Patrick. He called it Delicious Death. My cake! I will not have mycake called that!”

“It was a compliment really,” said Miss Blacklock. “He meant it wasworth dying to eat such a cake.”

Mitzi looked at her doubtfully.

“Well, I do not like that word—death. They are not dying because theyeat my cake, no, they feel much, much better….”

“I’m sure we all shall.”

Miss Blacklock turned away and left the kitchen with a sigh of relief atthe successful ending of the interview. With Mitzi one never knew.

She ran into Dora Bunner outside.

“Oh, Letty, shall I run in and tell Mitzi just how to cut the sandwiches?”

“No,” said Miss Blacklock, steering her friend firmly into the hall. “She’sin a good mood now and I don’t want her disturbed.”

“But I could just show her—”

“Please don’t show her anything, Dora. These central Europeans don’tlike being shown. They hate it.”

Dora looked at her doubtfully. Then she suddenly broke into smiles.

“Edmund Swettenham just rang up. He wished me many happy returnsof the day and said he was bringing me a pot of honey as a present this af-ternoon. Isn’t it kind? I can’t imagine how he knew it was my birthday.”

“Everybody seems to know. You must have been talking about it, Dora.”

“Well, I did just happen to mention that today I should be fifty-nine.”

“You’re sixty-four,” said Miss Blacklock with a twinkle.

“And Miss Hinchcliffe said, ‘You don’t look it. What age do you think Iam?’ Which was rather awkward because Miss Hinchcliffe always looks sopeculiar that she might be any age. She said she was bringing me someeggs, by the way. I said our hens hadn’t been laying very well, lately.”

“We’re not doing so badly out of your birthday,” said Miss Blacklock.

“Honey, eggs—a magnificent box of chocolates from Julia—”

“I don’t know where she gets such things.”

“Better not ask. Her methods are probably strictly illegal.”

“And your lovely brooch.” Miss Bunner looked down proudly at herbosom on which was pinned a small diamond leaf.

“Do you like it? I’m glad. I never cared for jewellery.”

“I love it.”

“Good. Let’s go and feed the ducks.”