Free Music at Long Verney by Sylvia Townsend Warner Page A

linen cupboard is sure to be upstairs.” Dinnie ran back to the house. The young man came running downstairs, holding a picture. They collided, and went on their ways.
    â€œWe can get out that bureau between us,” said Avery to the young man. “This is bloody for you. I suppose it’s a fuse. It’s usually a fuse.” The bureau was massy. They paused in the passage to set it down.
    â€œWhere’s your wife?” asked Avery.
    The young man replied that she was putting things into cartons and that he didn’t know where they would be if it hadn’t been for Mrs – “But I don’t know your name.”
    â€œKelso.”
    A pile of sheets fell on them. “I believe all women feel like that about bed linen,” said Avery, the first to recover.
    â€œNot in Switzerland,” said the young man. “In Switzerland, people use paper sheets.”
    â€œGood God!”
    They picked up the bureau and when out with it, returned for more furniture. As they carried out a settee, a hail of shoes descended. Dinnie was at an upper window, encircled with roses below, flames above.
    â€œDinnie! Come down.”
    â€œMrs Kelso, you oughtn’t to stay up there.”
    â€œI’m putting Sheila’s clothes in pillowcases,” she said. There was a smudge on her cheek. The smudge and her wide-brimmed hat made her look absurdly girlish – childish, rather. For thethousandth time in his life Avery reflected that he was the hearthrug of a fireside sphinx. How did she know the young woman was called Sheila? How had the hat stayed on?
    â€œDinnie!
Come down!
”
    Sheila came out, carrying a glass rolling pin, a miscellany of kitchen equipment, and an umbrella. She stood silent as a dumbwaiter while Jim unloaded her. “We’ve got each other,” she said despairingly when he removed the umbrella. Another pillowcase thumped down, and another. It struck Avery that Jim and Sheila had got considerably more than each other – and that so far Dinnie had done nothing to insure Jim more than the clothes he stood up in.
    â€œSheila, where do you keep –” Her voice leaped an octave. “Look! It’s coming!” Avery started back; he had been severely bruised by a flying alarm clock. “It’s coming! It’s seen us. We’re saved!”
    A lorry reeled across the meadow, shedding baled hay with every lurch. Two men jumped off.
    â€œGot a ladder, Mister? No? Well, if you’ll clear this stuff out of the way and not mind what happens to your hedge, we’ll drive right in and do it from there. Do it in no time.”
    A space was cleared, the lorry was backed in and manoeuvred into position. Standing on it, the two men clawed away the burning thatch with their long-handled forks. The beams, the blackened rooftree appeared. Vast quantities of thatch smouldered on the ground, and the men went to and fro kicking the sparks out of it.
    â€œThere,” said the older man. “You’ll be all right now. This cottage has been needing a red jacket for the last fifty years, but it won’t have one this time.” He laughed kind-heartedly and contemptuously. The younger man said he’d see what he could do about putting his hand on some hayrick tarpaulins. They drove off. As the noise of the lorry died away, there was anextraordinary silence; the hornets swarmed no longer. Dinnie walked out of the house as though she were going to a royal garden party, glanced at Sheila, and put her arms round her. By the time Jim and Avery had carried everything back, she had collected the remains of the picnic lunch from the car and was feeding Sheila on cucumber sandwiches.
    â€œWhat a strange day,” she mused as Avery drove westwards. “One never knows what one’s setting out for. That’s why I had my smelling salts. Poor girl! Not that I liked either of them very much. Those nice men would have gone away without a