Free Miss Hargreaves by Frank Baker

infectious?)–‘scarlet fever,’ I added. ‘We have to be very careful.’
    ‘
Scarlet
fever?’
    ‘Well, not exactly scarlet; but fever, anyway. You never know, you know. She’s got an awful rash. I’ve made all arrangements for you to stay at the Swan. Best hotel in Cornford. Five stars. You’ll like it.’
    ‘But I feel sure I have
had
scarlet fever!’
    ‘You can have it again. Besides, it may be smallpox.’
    ‘Well–’she shrugged her shoulders displeasedly. ‘I suppose I must do as you suggest. But why should I not come and
nurse
your dear mother?’
    ‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘She’s funny.’ I spoke in a lowered voice. ‘She’s difficult with strangers. In fact —’I touched my forehead and sighed. ‘There has always been,’ I added quietly, ‘a slight streak of–irregularity in our family.’
    I hoped I might scare her away, you see.
    ‘So there is in mine,’ she said at once. A wild light came into her eyes. Like a flash the possible truth came home to me. She was an escaped lunatic. ‘Calm,’ I said; ‘be calm, Norman. You’ll have her in a strait-jacket in no time if you play your cards properly.’
    ‘That is why,’ she added, ‘I play the harp. Music hath charms, as Dr Pepusch will tell you. Let us go now, dear; I am tired of this place. Take me to this hotel.’
    I rose. ‘Give me your arm, dear,’ she said. ‘Give me your arm.’ I gave her my arm–ungraciously, I am afraid. Together we walked on to the platform. Before us, on a goods-truck, towered a pile of luggage. Miss Hargreaves had obviously come prepared for a long stay. There were hat boxes, two massive black trunks stamped ‘H’, several smaller cases, a gladstone bag, a leather portfolio labelled ‘music’, three butterfly nets, a large hip-bath peering rudely through half-torn brown paper, and, on top of the lot, Dr Pepusch in his cage, still covered by the black cloth.
    Miss Hargreaves surveyed her belongings thoughtfully. ‘Not quite so much this time.’
    ‘What are the nets for?’ I asked.
    ‘Butterflies.’
    ‘Oh. I see.’
    ‘Not that I ever catch any,’ she observed. ‘But still–one likes to be prepared for
everything
.’
    (Had I made her a naturalist? I couldn’t remember.)
    Slowly we ambled out into the yard, the porter dragging the luggage-truck behind us. I hailed a taxi.
    ‘Can’t take that there bath,’ said the taxi-driver, a lugubrious sort of fellow.
    ‘Always
so
tiresome about the bath,’ complained Miss Hargreaves petulantly. ‘After all, it is not a very
big
bath, is it?’
    ‘Can’t manage it with all this ’ere stuff as well,’ said the driver.
    She tapped the ground impatiently with one of her sticks.
    ‘Well, well! Order another taxi. There is nothing to prevent our having two, is there?’ She turned to me. ‘These people are so lacking in imagination,’ she remarked.
    After a lot of arranging and assembling, the two taxis drove off; Miss Hargreaves, myself, Sarah, Dr Pepusch and various small bags in one: the bath and the two large trunks in the other.
    ‘And now we will have a nice little supper,’ she said. She rubbed her hands together and smiled at me. I thought of the dance; Marjorie waiting for me, getting angrier and angrier, old Henry telling her all about Miss Hargreaves.
    ‘I’m afraid I can’t have supper with you,’ I said. ‘I really must get back to mother.’
    ‘How disappointing! I have travelled so far. You cannot leave me the moment we meet. It is cruel.’
    ‘It can’t be helped.’
    ‘It
can
be helped.’ Again that steely glint came into her eyes. ‘I insist that you stay. Surely your sister can look after your mother for a little while? Ah, I can see what is really in your mind, dear. After so tiring a journey you think that I should retire early. Dear Norman! So kind so thoughtful! How delightful Cornford is! Oh, that beautiful spire!’
    We were coming through the North Gate into the Close.
    ‘I am going to enjoy