“You got what you wanted. I thought you’d be glad of it. Especially after all the fuss you’d been making.”
What I’d wanted was something if not as salubrious as the previous facility, at least one that I could use without fear of draughts and naughty little boys peeping in through the gaps in the planking. But I just couldn’t get that into his head. “So what did you expect me to do when I saw that ruin? Organise a firework display? Inaugurate it in front of you?”
My sarcasm bounced off Mr Whybrow with the usual shrug. “Well, ‘thank you’ would have sufficed.” With that, he departed, mumbling something about having work to do, which his customers appreciated even if others didn’t.
I quickly learned that I’d been overgenerous in speaking about the facility as a minor irritation. It was stuffy, uncomfortable, and worse - full of spiders. Foremost amongst these was a big one which had wasted no time in taking residence in the most shaded corner, where it presided over its underlings from a position I could only see by craning my neck awkwardly. All right, it never seemed to move, but I knew that if I took my eyes off it for a moment, it would scurry down and insinuate itself inside my collar like an eight-legged rat. Using the cattleprod was out; I hardly dared imagine Mr Whybrow’s wrath if I destroyed a second facility. And I wasn’t going to tell him I was afraid of a spider, even if it was the size of a cow. Well, almost.
My breathing was deep and feverish as I stood staring grimly back into that cubicle, congratulating myself on having avoided being pounced on by the king of spiders again, knowing that my luck would not last forever. I didn’t care what Mr Whybrow said. I was sick of each moment of necessity planting a great leaden lump of doom in my belly, like Marie Antoinette seeing the scaffold approaching. I resolved that as long as that spider was in residence, I was not going back into that ghastly cubicle at cattleprod point.
A now-familiar clumsy footfall broke my waking nightmare as it arrived at my side. It was Jasper.
“Wassup, Miss? You looks like you lorst a guinea ‘n’ fahnd a fruppeny bit.”
For once, I felt like talking to him, purely as he was more likely to be sympathetic to my fears. “Have you seen the size of that spider in there?”
My spirits plunged further even as he let me down by scoffing loudly. “Aw, Miss! ‘e ain’t gonna ‘urt you none. That’s my mate, that is. ‘arry, I calls ‘im.”
And to demonstrate their relationship, he ambled into the cubicle and returned with Harry on his palm. I wanted to run screaming and vomit and generally implode all at once as he stroked the monster across the thorax, or whatever you call a spider's
Then he held out Harry to me. “You wanna ‘old ‘im for a mo?”
Was there no limit to the stupidity of malekind? “You must be joking!” I retorted.
Finally, sufficient daylight penetrated Jasper’s skull to reveal what had been staring him in the face. I did not like spiders. “Aww, he’s awright, is ‘arry. Come on, lad. Let’s put you back where you belongs.” Jasper then did what for him was the first intelligent thing of the day, by disappearing into the cubicle and letting Harry scamper back to his favourite corner. All right, so it was still in the booth, but at least he was out of my sight.
Jasper had the decency to close the door behind him when he came out. “I’s just abaht to ‘ave me midmorning pint, Miss. Care to join me?”
For a moment, I thought I could use a drink to restore my nerves. But only for a moment. I hadn’t forgotten Jasper’s recent overture with the fruit, and I didn’t want to be within a mile of anyone who’d just been handling Harry. The best he got out of me was a beam without too many barbs in it. “Thank you, but I’ve a lot to do.”
He seemed to have been expecting that reply. “Oh, well, some uvver time, then.” Scarcely put out, he stomped back to the post office.
I made my own way back to the shop, my mental equilibrium shot to pieces. I wondered if Mr Whybrow would miss an inch of brandy from the office bottle, but decided against it. He didn’t mark the bottle, that I did know. But he probably could remember the level against the label.
I did not know which was worse. Jasper, or Harry the spider.
It was Jasper. Without doubt. Harry just liked to keep me in suspense until he chose the right moment to scurry inside my collar or up my skirts. Jasper wanted – well, to scurry inside my skirts and more, and was too obtuse to accept that I was not interested. And to make matters worse, Mr Whybrow depended largely on his Postmistress employer for smuggled goods, as I’d discovered when he replaced that barrel I’d – ah, deprived him of. So how was I going to put off Jasper, once and for all, without wrecking the political equilibrium?
I found a customer waiting for me in the shop. She didn’t look like a time-waster, and her smile was friendly in an unaffected sort of way.
“Good day, Miss. Can I be of assistance?”
“Yes; I was wondering where to find the art gallery?”
Aww, she seemed almost shy! Just the sort of person I needed to meet after Jasper and Harry. “Why, Miss; we’ve many art galleries – oh, you mean Mr Whybrow’s?” I knew that he had one, although he’d never shown it to me. “There are directions on the poster; let me show you.”
I took her outside and pointed out the bit she’d missed. The lady went on without having introduced herself, leaving me to study the poster more closely. It depicted a lush forest with a strangely fabulous city clinging to a cliffside, with in the foreground, a lady raising her arms in apparent welcome to the sunset. She had her back to me but I could see that she was was unclothed, although if it was a traditional classical scene, its context escaped me completely. I was surprised I’d taken the poster for granted for so long, but any inspection at first hand would have to wait. This was peak shopping time and I could not leave the shop for long.
The painting edged out my recent unhappy experiences at the quayside, and left me wondering if there was another side to Mr Whybrow that I had yet to discover. Not just an artistic faculty, but another facet to his mind. Things that he valued deeply.
I was not able to dwell on it for long. Mr Whybrow marched in bearing a small box. His own bearing suggested that he found my company distasteful, but something he’d have to put up with. He clapped the box to the counter. “I need you to wear these, Miss Bluebird. Halloween’s coming up, and Caledonians take it very seriously.”
He stood back, clearly waiting for me to open the box. I did, and almost fainted away. A stronger soul would have lauded the intricacy of his workmanship, but all I saw was two great wolf spiders that appeared to have been dipped in gold, encrusted with gems,and mounted on filigree webs of silver. They were so delicate, I’d have expected them to collapse under their own weight. He’d even managed to capture the distinctive wolf-spider crouch – you know, that slight flexing of the legs that warns you the blighter’s about to take off in absolutely any direction?
I gave him a sick smile. “They’re exquisite, sir – do excuse me, I don’t like spiders. But I’ll be happy to wear these ones.”
He halted for a moment, my initial expression having warned him that I would refuse outright to have anything to do with the ear pendants, but he relaxed when he saw that I was prepared to wear them. I slid a tentative hand to the box, but remembered that I had a way of putting the moment off.
“Sir, I wanted to ask – a lady called just now, asking about your art gallery. Can I presume that the directions given on the poster are accurate?”
“Tried and tested – Good Lord. Of course.” A new excitement flashed in his eyes; any discontent was gone. This was the Mr Whybrow that I preferred to know. “You’ve never seen it, have you? Come with me!”
Naturally, Mr Whybrow knew the way to his own gallery. He set off at a fast loping walk which I, in my skirts, had trouble matching. I was heaving for breath somewhat by the time he led me into a great domed chamber which appeared to be a cathedral dedicated to the female form.
“Caledon’s full of artists,” he explained with his usual modesty. “You’d be surprised how open minds are, here. Uncle Arthur once had to model a calendar for charity, wearing his hat and a strategically-placed aspidistra.” And nothing else, he left me to infer.
I made a sort of “Indeed, sir,” noise. The naked figures did not surprise me, as the poster had alluded to what the gallery held. But I could see at a glance what he was trying to tell the world in his paintings. The beauty of the human form, its sheer naturalness, utterly divorced from any unwholesome connotations. This was a temple to the worship of beauty as it was meant to be seen, without society’s strictures preaching that it was unhealthy. The most obscene acts any of them were committing were dancing, or playing musical instruments. Nevertheless, it was reassuring to see that the female form held some attraction for him, even if it was purely aesthetically. But the presence of so many painted ladies brought one question naturally to mind, which Mr Whybrow killed before I had a chance to worry about it.
“Sadly, I don’t get the time to paint any more,” he appended, albeit without regret. “Modelling for me in this capacity is one thing you’ll never be called on to do. And now, Miss Bluebird, it’s back to what we were doing, and I’m not to be disturbed. By anyone.”
His slight emphasis on the last word told me that he had one particular anyone in mind. And I had an idea who she was. Well, thank you for leaving me to deal with her, sir.
Back in the shop, I regarded the ear pendants with unease. Being obliged to wear them was really rubbing it in, on top of that ghastly thing in the convenience. Harry had to go. The problem was, how? I was loth to go after him with anything less potent than the cattleprod, but Mr Whybrow would hardly be pleased if he found the new convenience scorched.
But there was more than one way. I didn’t necessarily have to kill Harry, after all. I rummaged around in the cleaning cupboard, and found what I was looking for. Empty. Bother.
Not to be thwarted, I sent Mr Whybrow a note via the Lamson tube. "Sir. Sorry to disturb but the convenience needs disinfecting. We’re out of Jeyes’ Fluid. Please advise.”
The reply came back quickly, although I detected a certain terseness in his hand. “Use paraffin in cellar.”
Oh, silly me! Of course!
I scuttled down to the cellar and found the paraffin. In a forty-five gallon drum, which was full. There was no way I was going to be able to move that. I thought of pumping some out, but the pump had just been used to move petrol, amd Mr Whybrow had warned me never to use it for anything after pumping petrol in case contamination caused an explosion.
That was it! Petrol! There were only a couple of gallons left in the drum after I’d refuelled Mr Whybrow’s airship, and he stored the drum in the yard. It couldn’t be easier. Yes, even a nearly-empty drum was heavy, but within my ability to tip up. I half-filled a bucket – one gallon should be enough, I reckoned.
Feeling pleased with my strategy, I returned to the shop. And who should I find there, waiting with an impatience that she could not be bothered to conceal, was that awful pirate lady again, poised imperiously in the middle of the floor where she could guarantee herself a large arena to broadcast her importance. Even if nobody else was there to see it. I entertained a hope that she might have come to apologise, but it was only a small hope and it did not last long. Dumping my bucket in the office, I straightened up and went through to see what she wanted.
“So there you are,” she said, before I could utter a word. “I don’t know what sort of service you call this. Is the master about?”
I drew myself up and tartly replied, “He’s asked not to be disturbed, Miss. Can I help?” Preferably by helping you to fall off a cliff.
The woman glared at me as though I’d committed a blasphemy. “Certainly not. He’ll see me. I want the organ grinder, not the monkey. It’s a personal matter; bring him at once.”
A surge of fury rose up in me, which I must have betrayed by a reddening of my face, or a clenching of both fists – the sort of clenching that could have strangled a lead pipe. But she appeared not to have noticed. “I’ll call him over the Lamson, Miss.”
She strode over to the counter to hover while I sent the message, and even before I could pick up a pen, she noticed the little box which Mr Whybrow had left.
“Oh, I was supposed to wear these.” Absent-mindedly, I fumbled the ear pendants out in the hope of frustrating the woman by buying more time as I put them on. But to my surprise, she let out a scream like a train whistle.
I knew what was bothering her and feigned not to have noticed her distress as I clipped the ear pendants on. “Is something wrong, Miss?”
She gasped like a fish out of water, and pointed to the ear pendants. I
Oh, this was priceless! It was such an effort not to laugh as I donned my sweetest smile. “I’m sorry, Miss, the master’s ordered that I wear them. I’m sure he can explain that to you when he comes down.”
She gasped again a few more times. I could almost see the panic in her head as a set of gears whirling madly to their own destruction. “Is there anywhere I can powder my nose while I wait?”
It gets better! “Of course, Miss. We have a new facility around the back.”
“Good – take me there. At once,” she added in an attempt to recover her dignity.
“Which do you want me to do first, Miss? Call the master, or show you the facility?”
She recovered enough to shoot me a glare which did absolutely nothing to impress me. “Show me the facility first. And when I see the Master, I’ll be sure to mention your impertinence to him.”
“As Miss wishes,” said I.
Pausing only to retrieve my bucket of petrol from the office, I led the way to the quayside. There, she did exactly what I’d expected her to do. She froze in horror, staring at the shack. Without moving her mouth, she hissed, “If this is your idea of a joke – “
“That’s exactly what I said to Mr Whybrow, when he showed it to me,” I replied, happy to be unhelpful. “If you’d prefer to wait in the yard, of course – “
She pulled herself up and thrust out her overlarge chest. “Certainly not. You may go now.”
I withdrew, and followed her with my ears. Her heels clacking on the cobblestones, the door opening – I stopped and looked back, certain of what was about to happen. And I was right.
A scream racketed across the quayside as she came face to face with Harry.
I doubled up, so helpless with laughter that I almost dropped my bucket. When I could finally open my eyes, the woman was a small figure running for the horizon.
I was still laughing when I carried my bucket over to the convenience, and tipped it into the recepticle inside – standing well back from Harry, who was following my every move with curiosity.
There you go, Harry. Let’s see how long you’ll put up with the fumes from that. But well done for scaring her off. I hope you find somewhere nice to live, where ladies aren’t afraid of you.
I had tarried too long, and paid insufficient attention to what was going on around me. Jasper appeared suddenly at my shoulder, catching me completely by surprise.
“Wot ‘appened wiv ‘er, then?”
“She just met Harry,” I replied, still quaking with mirth.
“Dunno wot it is abaht ‘im, scarin’ ladies like that. ‘e wouldn’t ‘urt a fly.”
No. Not when there are shopgirls to eat.
“’ere, look – there’s this darnce tonight, d’you wanna come? Three ‘anded Pete’s gonna be there, ‘e’s the best spoon player in tahn.”
You just can’t take a hint, can you? “Thank you, but we don’t have the time for socialising, sir.”
Jasper tipped his hat forwards and scratched the back of his head. “Cworr, ‘e’s a real taskmaster, your bloke, ain’t ‘e?”
“We find the arrangement works well. And if you’ll excuse me – “
“As yer will, Miss. I’s a gonna ‘ave a smoke o’ me pipe before startin’ on me next rahnd.”
I headed back to the shop at a nervous, tripping pace, anxious to put some distance between myself and Jasper before he could make another attempt at seizing my time. And possibly something else while he was at it. I had just reached the alley back to the road, when I heard the convenience door close. I’s a gonna ‘ave a smoke o’ me pipe –
Dropping my bucket, I ran back to warn him, but I’d barely taken two paces when the familiar rasp of a match being struck stopped me dead. I drew a breath to yell I knew not what, but nothing got as far as my throat.
The cubicle vanished in a lurid blast that almost knocked me over with a hot hand. I ducked against the wall as bits of board clattered about the quayside. My main concern was that the blast did not take out Mr Mckew’s window, which he would charge to Mr Whybrow.
The echo died away and I remembered that Jasper had been in the centre of that cataclysm. I hardly dared open my eyes, in case the first thing I saw was bits of him lying about the quayside, all burnt and yucky. But I knew I’d have to look eventually.
I opened my eyes gradually, as though that would ease me into any shock – it’s silly how we do that, isn’t it? But anyway, I did. The convenience was, predictably, a ruin. There was little left to show that it had been there, and of its purpose, absolutely nothing remained. Of which the same could be said for Jasper.
Oh, my God. I know I couldn’t stand him, but – well, I tried to warn him -
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