FullReads

‘Did you give it to her,’ said Midmore.

‘Me? Your sherry? No!’

The memory of Sidney’s outrageous rhyme at the window, and Charlie’s long nose (he thought it looked interested at the time) as he passed the copies of Mrs. Werf’s last four wills, overcame Midmore without warning.

‘This damp is givin’ you a cold,’ said Rhoda, rising. ‘There you go again! Sneezin’s a sure sign of it. Better go to bed. You can’t do any thin’ excep”–she stood rigid, with crossed arms–‘about me.’

‘Well. What about you?’ Midmore stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket.

‘Now you know about it, what are you goin’ to do–sir?’

She had the answer on her lean cheek before the sentence was finished.

‘Go and see if you can get us something to eat, Rhoda. And beer.’

‘I expec’ the larder’ll be in a swim,’ she replied, ‘but old bottled stuff don’t take any harm from wet.’ She returned with a tray, all in order, and they ate and drank together, and took observations of the falling flood till dawn opened its bleared eyes on the wreck of what had been a fair garden. Midmore, cold and annoyed, found himself humming:

‘That flood strewed wrecks upon the grass,
That ebb swept out the flocks to sea.

There isn’t a rose left, Rhoda!

An awesome ebb and flow it was
To many more than mine and me.
But each will mourn his …

It’ll cost me a hundred.’

‘Now we know the worst,’ said Rhoda, ‘we can go to bed. I’ll lay on the kitchen sofa. His light’s burnin’ still.’

‘And she?‘

‘Dirty old cat! You ought to ‘ear ‘er snore!’

At ten o’clock in the morning, after a maddening hour in his own garden on the edge of the retreating brook, Midmore went off to confront more damage at Sidney’s. The first thing that met him was the pig, snowy white, for the water had washed him out of his new sty, calling on high heaven for breakfast. The front door had been forced open, and the flood had registered its own height in a brown dado on the walls. Midmore chased the pig out and called up the stairs.

‘I be abed o’ course. Which step ‘as she rose to?’ Sidney cried from above. ‘The fourth? Then it’s beat all records. Come up.’

‘Are you ill?’ Midmore asked as he entered the room. The red eyelids blinked cheerfully. Mr. Sidney, beneath a sumptuous patch-work quilt, was smoking.

‘Nah! I’m only thankin’ God I ain’t my own landlord. Take that cheer. What’s she done?’

‘It hasn’t gone down enough for me to make sure.’

‘Them floodgates o’ yourn’ll be middlin’ far down the brook by now; an’ your rose-garden have gone after ’em. I saved my chickens, though. You’d better get Mus’ Sperrit to take the law o’ Lotten an’ ‘is fish-pond.’

‘No, thanks. I’ve trouble enough without that.’

‘Hev ye?’ Mr. Sidney grinned. ‘How did ye make out with those two women o’ mine last night? I lay they fought.’

‘You infernal old scoundrel!’ Midmore laughed.

‘I be–an’ then again I bain’t,’ was the placid answer. ‘But, Rhoda, she wouldn’t ha’ left me last night. Fire or flood, she wouldn’t.’

‘Why didn’t you ever marry her?’ Midmore asked.

‘Waste of good money. She was willin’ without.’

There was a step on the gritty mud below, and a voice humming. Midmore rose quickly saying: ‘Well, I suppose you’re all right now.’

‘I be. I ain’t a landlord, nor I ain’t young–nor anxious. Oh, Mus’ Midmore! Would it make any odds about her thirty pounds comin’ regular if I married her? Charlie said maybe ‘twould.’

‘Did he?’ Midmore turned at the door. ‘And what did Jimmy say about it?’

‘Jimmy?’ Mr. Sidney chuckled as the joke took him. ‘Oh, he’s none o’ mine. He’s Charlie’s look-out.’

Midmore slammed the door and ran downstairs.

‘Well, this is a–sweet–mess,’ said Miss Sperrit in shortest skirts and heaviest riding-boots. ‘I had to come down and have a look at it. “The old mayor climbed the belfry tower.” ‘Been up all night nursing your family?’