'So do you, Mrs Burge.'
'Me? I come in each day to give a hand, like. Been doing it for years, ever since the professor bought the house. A very nice home he's made of it, too. I have heard that he's got a tip-top place in Holland, too. Well, it stands to reason, doesn't it? He's over there for the best part of the year-only comes here for a month or two, though he pops over if he's needed. Much in demand, he is.'
She picked up Emmy's tray. 'Now, you have a nice bath and get dressed and come downstairs when you're ready. I'll be around and just you call if you want me. We'd better pack your things later on; the professor's driving you home in the morning.'
So Emmy got herself out of bed, first taking a look at her lump before going to the bathroom. The swelling had almost gone and the cut was healing nicely. She stared at her reflection for several moments; she looked a fright, and she was going to wash her hair before anyone told her not to.
Bathed, and with her hair in a damp plait, she went downstairs to find Beaker hovering in the hall.
His, 'Good morning, miss,' was affable. 'There's a cup of coffee in the small sitting room; it's nice and cosy there.'
He led the way and opened a door onto a quite small room at the back of the house. It was furnished very comfortably, and there was a fire burning in the elegant fireplace. A small armchair had been drawn up to it, flanked by a table on which were newspapers and a magazine or two. Sitting in front of the fire, waving his tail, asking to be noticed, was Charlie.
Emmy, sitting down, could think of nothing more delightful than to be the owner of such a room and such a dog, with a faithful old friend like Beaker smoothing out life's wrinkles. She said on a happy sigh, 'This is such a lovely house, Beaker, and everything is so beautifully polished and cared for.'
Beaker allowed himself to smile. 'The master and I, we're happy here, or so I hope, miss.' He went, soft- footed, to the door. 'I'll leave you to drink your coffee; lunch will be at one o'clock.'
He opened the door and she could hear Mrs Burge Hoovering somewhere.
'I suppose the professor won't be home for lunch?'
'No, miss. Late afternoon. He has an evening engagement.'
She put on her coat and went into the garden with Charlie after lunch. For one belonging to a town house the garden was surprisingly large, and cleverly planned to make the most of its space. She wandered up and down while Charlie pottered, and presently when they went indoors she sought out Beaker.
'Do you suppose I might take Charlie for a walk?' she asked him.
Beaker looked disapproving. 'I don't think the professor would care for that, miss. Charlie has had a long walk, early this morning with his master. He will go out again when the professor comes home. There's a nice fire burning in the drawing room. Mrs Burge asked me to let you know that she'll be back this evening if you should need any help with your packing. I understand that you are to make an early start.'
So Emmy retreated to the drawing room and curled up by the fire with Charlie beside her and Humphrey on her lap. She leafed through the newspapers and magazines on the table beside her, not reading them, her mind busy with her future. Christmas was too close for her to look for work; she would stay at home and help to get their new house to rights. There would be curtains to sew and hang, possessions to be stowed away in cupboards.
She wondered what the house was like. Her mother had written to tell her that it was delightful, but had had no time to describe it. There had been a slight hitch, she had written; the previous occupant's furniture was for the most part still in the house owing to some delay in its transport. 'But,' her mother had written, 'we shall be quite settled in by the time you come.'
Beaker brought tea presently; tiny sandwiches, fairy cakes and a chocolate cake which he assured her he had baked especially for her. 'Most young ladies enjoy them,' he told her.
Emmy was swallowing the last morsel when Charlie bounded to his feet, barking, and a moment later the professor came into the room.
His 'Hello,' was friendly and casual. He sat down, then enquired how she felt and cut himself a slice of cake.
'I'll run you home in the morning,' he told her. 'The day after tomorrow I shall be going to Holland.'
'There's no need,' said Emmy.
'Don't be silly,' said the professor at his most bracing. 'You can't go back to an empty house, and in a very short time you would be going home anyway. There seems little chance of selling the house at the moment; I phoned the agent this morning. There's nothing of value left there, is there?'
She shook her head. 'No, only my bed and the bedclothes and a few bits of furniture.'
'There you are, then. We'll leave at eight o'clock.' He got up. 'Charlie and I are going for our walk-I shall be out tonight. Beaker's looking after you?'
'Oh, yes, thank you.'
'Mrs Burge will come again this evening. Ask for anything you want.'
His smile was remote as he went away.
She was still sitting there when he returned an hour later with Charlie, but he didn't come into the drawing room, and later still she heard him leave the house once more. Beaker, opening the door for Charlie to come in, said that Mrs Burge was in the kitchen if she needed her for anything. 'I'll be serving dinner in half an hour, Miss. May I pour you a glass of sherry?'
It might lift her unexpected gloom, thought Emmy, accepting. Why she should feel so downcast she had no idea; she should have been on the top of the world-leaving London and that pokey house and going to live miles away in Dorset. She wouldn't miss anything or anyone, she told herself, and the professor, for one, would be glad to see her go; she had caused enough disruption in his life.
Beaker had taken great pains with dinner-mushroom soup, sole
She drank her coffee in Humphrey's company and then, since she was heartily sick of her own company, went in search of Mrs Burge. There was still some packing to do, and that lady came willingly enough to give her help, even though it wasn't necessary. It passed an hour or so in comfortable chat and presently Emmy said that she would go to bed.
'We're to go early in the morning, so I'll say goodbye, Mrs Burge, and thank you for being so kind and helpful.'
'Bless you, ducks, it's been a pleasure, and I'll be up to see you off. Beaker will have breakfast on the table sharp at half past seven-I'll give you a call at seven, shall I?'
She turned on her way out. 'I must say you look a sight better than when you got here.'
Emmy, alone, went to the triple looking-glass on the dressing table and took a good look. If she was looking better now she must have looked a perfect fright before. No wonder the professor showed little interest in her company. Anyway, she reminded herself, his mind would be on Anneliese.
She woke in the morning to find her bedside lamp on and Mrs Burge standing there with a tray of tea.
'It's a nasty old day,' said Mrs Burge. 'Still dark, too. You've got half an hour. The professor's already up and out with Charlie.'
The thought of keeping him waiting spurred Emmy on to dress with speed. She was downstairs with only moments to spare as he and Charlie came into the house.
His good morning was spoken warmly. He's glad I'm going, thought Emmy as she answered cheerfully.
'There's still time to put me on a train,' she told him as they sat down to breakfast. 'It would save you a miserable drive.'
