from yer.” He looked thoroughly unhappy and frightened, his blue eyes wide, his blond hair standing slightly on end where the housekeeper had cut it rather badly – when Stockwell had been absent, up in London with Freddie.
“It won’t take your job, Willie,” Brodie said comfortingly. “I don’t suppose for a moment it works and, even if it did, do you imagine any gentleman would use it himself?”
“Mr Stockwell is all-fired keen on it, Miss,” Willie said doubtfully. “ ’im or Mr ’Arrison and the General is out there in the stables playin’ wif it every chance they gets.”
“They are assembling it, Willie,” Stockwell broke in. “That is entirely different.”
“I don’t see no difference,” Willie replied, but he did look rather more hopeful.
“Of course there is a difference,” Brodie reassured him. “In fact there is no relation. Putting it together is invention – a very suitable occupation for a gentleman, keeping him out of the house and harmlessly busy. Operating it every day to clean shoes would be work, and entirely unsuitable. Whoever heard of a gentleman cleaning his own boots?”
Willie was almost mollified. There was only one last hurdle to clear.
“Wot if ’e ’specs Mr Stockwell ter use it, seein’ as it’s a machine, an invention, like, and Mr Stockwell’s clever, an is ’is butler, an’ ’e don’t keep a separate valet?”
Stockwell stiffened.
“Butlers don’t clean boots,” Brodie pronounced without hesitation. “Regardless of how clever they are.”
“Oh … well I s’pose it’s alright then.”
“Of course it’s all right,” Brodie said briskly. “There is no reason whatever for you to worry.”
*
After a late and excellent breakfast of the sort Bertie Welch-Smith most enjoyed – eggs, bacon, sausages, kidneys, crisp-fried potatoes and tomatoes, followed by toast and sharp, dark Dundee marmalade and several cups of strong Ceylon tea, all of which he had sorely missed in France – he and Freddie went out to the stables to tinker with the machine.
“Ah!” Bertie said, with satisfaction, patting his stomach. “Can’t tell you, old chap, how I missed a decent breakfast in France. Don’t mistake me, food’s very good, and all that, but I do like a proper cup of tea in the morning. Don’t care for coffee much, what? And I like a little real marmalade, some of the stuff you can taste, not all these damn pastries that fall to bits in your hand.”
“Quite,” Freddie agreed. He had never been to France, but he did not approve in principle. There weren’t many people he disliked. One had to be either dishonest or unkind to offend Freddie; but he did dislike Violet Welch-Smith, although he would not have dreamed of letting Bertie see that. Bertie was both his guest and his friend, and therefore sacred on both counts.
They strolled side by side in the sun towards the stables and the marvellous machine.
“And then you must come and see my magnolias,” Freddie said hopefully. “I’ve got some purple ones which really are very fine, if I say so myself.”
“Certainly, old boy,” Bertie agreed. “Delighted!” He did not know what a magnolia was, but that was irrelevant. Freddie was a good fellow.
*
Brodie busied herself about her duties. There was delicate personal laundry to be done. There was a spot of candlewax on the gown Pamela had worn the previous evening, and she must take it to the ironing room and press it between blotting paper with a warm iron. She would have to remove the pink with a little colourless alcohol. Gin was best. It was a tedious job, but it was the only way. Then naturally there would be a great deal of other ironing to do. A lady’s maid’s accomplishments were many, but Pamela very seldom desired to be read to or otherwise entertained. She always found more than sufficient to occupy herself. Anyway, she was obliged to accompany Violet, and listen continuously to her endless account of her sojourn in France, and its sophisticated pleasures.
Just before midday, Brodie was walking through the hall towards the conservatory to deliver a message, when she saw a newspaper lying on the table near the umbrella stand. It was the local newspaper, and it had obviously been read and cast aside because it was open at the centre page. She glanced at it and her eye was caught by an advertisement for an exhibition of modern inventions, to be held in the town. Apparently it was most remarkable for the variety and ingeniousness of the machines. In fact, in two days’ time the French Ambassador himself