CHAPTER XVIII
THE AIR RAID
"Miss Brent, please get up. There's an air raid."
Mechanically Patricia sat up in bed and listened. Outside apolice-whistle was droning its raucous warning; within there was thesound of frightened whispers and the noise of the opening and shuttingof doors. Suddenly there was a shriek, followed by a low murmur ofseveral voices. The sound of the police-whistle continued, graduallydying away in the distance, and the noises within the house ceased.
Patricia strained her ears to catch the first sound of the defensiveguns. She had no intention of getting up for a false alarm. For someminutes there was silence, then came a slight murmur, half sob, halfsigh, as if London were breathing heavily in her sleep, anotherfollowed, then half a dozen in quick succession growing louder withevery report. Suddenly came the scream of a "whiz-bang" and thethunder of a large gun. Soon the orchestra was in full swing.
Still Patricia listened. She was fascinated. Why did guns soundexactly as if large plank were being dropped? Why did the report seemas if something were bouncing? Suddenly a terrific report, a sound asif a giant plank had been dropped and had "bounced." A neighbouringgun had given tongue, another followed.
She jumped out of bed and proceeded to pull on her stockings. Therewas a gentle tapping at her door, not the peremptory summons that hadawakened her and which, by the voice that had accompanied it, sherecognised as that of Mrs. Craske-Morton.
"What is it?" she called out.
"It's me, mees." Patricia could scarcely recognise in the terrifiedaccents the voice of Gustave. "It's a raid. Oh! mees, please comedown."
"All right, Gustave. I shall be down in a minute," replied Patricia,and she heard a flurry of retreating footsteps. Gustave was descendingto safety. There was about him nothing of the Roman sentry.
Patricia proceeded with her toilette, hastened, in spite of herself, bya tremendous crash which she recognised as a bomb.
At Galvin House "Raid Instructions" had been posted in each room.Guests were instructed to hasten with all possible speed downstairs tothe basement-kitchen, where tea and coffee would be served and, ifnecessary, bandages and first-aid applied. Miss Sikkum had made asuperficial study of Red Cross work from a shilling manual but as,according to her own confession, she fainted at the sight of blood, novery great reliance was placed in her ministrations.
As Patricia entered the kitchen her first inclination was to laugh atthe amazing variety, not only of toilettes, but of expressions that mether eyes. Self-confident in the knowledge that she was fully dressed,she looked about her with interest.
"Oh, here you are, Miss Brent!" exclaimed Mrs. Craske-Morton, who wasbusily engaged in preparing the tea and coffee of the "RaidInstructions." "Gustave would insist on going up to call you a secondtime. We were----" Mrs. Craske-Morton broke off her sentence anddashed for the gas-stove, where the milk was boiling over.
"Oh, mees!" Patricia turned to Gustave. She bit her lip fiercely torestrain the laugh that bubbled up at the sight of the major-domo ofGalvin House.
Above a pair of black trousers, tucked in the tops of unlaced boots,and from which the braces flapped aimlessly, was visible the upper partof a red flannel night-shirt. The remainder was bestowed beneath theupper part of the trousers, giving to his figure a curiously knobblyappearance. His face was leaden-coloured and his upstanding hair moreerect than ever, whilst in his eyes was Fear.
He was trembling in every limb, and his jaw shook as he uttered hisexpression of relief at the sight of Patricia. She smiled at him, thensuddenly remembering that, in spite of his terror, he had voluntarilygone up to the top of the house to call her, she felt somethingstrangely uncomfortable at the back of her throat.
"Come along, Gustave!" she cried brightly. "Let us help get the tea.I'm so thirsty."
From that moment Gustave appeared to take himself in hand, and save fora violent start, at the more vigorous reports, seemed to have overcomehis terror.
As Patricia proceeded to assist Mrs. Craske-Morton, a veritable heroinein a pink flannel wrapper, she took stock of her fellows. Miss Wanglewas engaged in prayer and tears, her wig was awry, her face drawn andyellow and her clothes the garb of advanced maidenhood. On her feetwere bed-socks, half thrust into felt slippers. From beneath a blackquilted dressing-gown peeped with virtuous pride the longcloth of anightdress of Victorian severity.
Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe was in curl-papers and a faded blue kimono thatallowed no suggestion to escape of the form beneath. Miss Sikkum hadseized a grey raincoat, above which a forest of curl papers lookedstrangely out of place. Her fingers moved restlessly. The two topbuttons of the raincoat were missing, displaying a wealth of blueribbon and openwork that none had suspected in her. The lateness atwhich the ribbon and openwork began gave an interesting demonstrationin feminine bone structure.
Mr. Sefton was splendid in a purple dressing-gown with orange cord andtassels, and red and white striped pyjamas beneath. Mr. Sefton hadchosen his raid-costume with elaborate care; but the suddenness of thealarm had not allowed of the arrangement of his hair, most of whichhung down behind in a sandy cascade. His manner was the forced heroic.He was smoking a cigarette with a too obvious nonchalance to deceive.The heroes of Mr. Sefton's imagination always lit cigarettes whenfacing death. They were of the type that seizes a revolver when theship is sinking and, with one foot placed negligently upon the capstan(Mr. Sefton had not the most remote idea of what a capstan was like)shouted, "Women and children first."
He walked about the kitchen with what he meant to be a smile upon hispale lips. The cigarette he found a nuisance. If he held it betweenhis lips the smoke got in his eyes and made them stream with water; if,on the other hand, he held it between his fingers, it emphasized theshaking of his hand. He compromised by letting it go out between hislips, arguing that the effect was the same.
Mr. Bolton had donned his fez and velvet smoking-jacket above creasedwhite pyjama trousers that refused to meet the tops of his feltslippers. Mr. Bolton continued to make "jokes," for the same reasonthat Mr. Sefton smoked a cigarette.
Mr. Cordal was negative in a big ulster with a hem of nightshirtbeneath, leaving about eight inches of fleshless shin before his carpetslippers with the fur-tops were reached. He sat gazing with unseeingeyes at the cook huddled up opposite, moaning as she held her heartwith a fat, dirty hand.
Mrs. Barnes, the victim of indecision, had leapt straight out of bed,gathered her clothes in her arms and had flown to safety. She walkedabout the kitchen aimlessly, dropping and retrieving various garments,which she stuffed back again into the bundle she carried under her arm.
Mrs. Craske-Morton was practical and courageous. Her one thought wasto prepare the promised refreshments. Her staff, with the exception ofGustave, was useless, and she was grateful to Patricia for herassistance.
Outside pandemonium was raging, the noise of the barrage wasdiabolical, the "bouncing" of the heavy guns, the screams of the"whiz-bangs," the cackle of machine-guns from aeroplanes overhead; allseemed to tell of death and chaos.
Suddenly the puny sound of guns was drowned in one gigantic uproar.For a moment the place was plunged in darkness, then the electric lightshuddered into being again. The glass flew from the windows, the houserocked as if uncertain whether or no it should collapse. Miss Wangleslipped on to her knees, her wig slipped on to her left ear.
"Oh, my God!" screamed the cook, as if to ensure exclusive rights tothe Deity's attention.
Jenny, the housemaid, entirely unconscious that her nightdress was hersole garment, threw herself flat on her face. Mrs. Craske-Morton, whowas pouring out tea, let the teapot slip from her hand, smashing thecup and pouring the contents on to the table. Gustave's knees refusedtheir office and he sank down, grasping with both hands the edge of thetable. Mrs. Barnes dropped her clothes without troubling to retrievethem.
Suddenly there was a terrifying scream outside, then a motor-car drewup and the sound of men's voice
s was heard.
Still the guns thundered. Patricia felt herself trembling. For amoment a rush of blood seemed to suffocate her, then she found herselfgazing at Miss Wangle, wondering whether she were praying to God or tothe bishop. She laughed in a voice unrecognisable to herself. Shelooked about the kitchen. Mr. Sefton had sunk down upon a chair, thecigarette still attached to his bloodless lower lip, his arms hanginglimply down beside him. Mr. Cordal was looking about him as if dazed,whilst Mr. Bolton was gazing at the glassless window-frames, as ifexpecting some apparition to appear.
"It's a bomb next door," gasped Mrs. Craske-Morton, then rememberingher responsibilities, she caught Patricia's eye. There was appeal inher glance.
"Come along, Gustave," cried Patricia in a voice that she still foundit difficult to recognise as her own.
Gustave, still on his knees, looked round and up at her with the eyesof a dumb animal that knows it is about to be tortured.
"Gustave, get up and help with the tea," said Patricia.
A look of wonder crept into Gustave's eyes at the unaccustomed tone ofPatricia's voice. Slowly he dragged himself up, as if testing thecapacity of each knee to support the weight of his body.
"There's brandy there," said Mrs. Craske-Morton, pointing to aspirit-case she had brought down with her. "Here's the key."
Patricia took the key from her trembling hand, noting that her own wasshaking violently.
"Mrs. Morton," she whispered, "you are splendid."
Mrs. Morton smiled wanly, and Patricia felt that in that moment she hadgot to know the woman beneath the boarding-house keeper.
"Shall we put it in their tea?" enquired Patricia, holding the decanterof brandy.
Mrs. Craske-Morton nodded.
"Now, Gustave!" cried Patricia, "make everybody drink tea."
Gustave looked at his own hands, and then down at his knees as if indoubt as to whether he possessed the power of making them obey hiswishes.
Miss Wangle was still on her knees, the cook was appealing to theAlmighty with tiresome reiteration. Jenny had developed hysterics, andwas seated on the ground drumming with her heels upon the floor, MissSikkum gazing at her as if she had been some phenomenon from anotherworld. Mr. Bolton had valiantly pulled himself together and wasendeavouring to persuade Mrs. Barnes to accept the various garmentsthat he was picking up from the floor. Her only acknowledgment of hisgallantry was to gaze at him with dull, unseeing eyes, and to wag herhead from side to side as if in repudiation of the ownership of what hewas striving to get her to take from him.
Mr. Sefton, valiant to the end, was with trembling fingers endeavouringto extract a cigarette from his case, apparently unconscious that onewas still attached to his lip. Mrs. Craske-Morton, Patricia andGustave set themselves to work to pour tea and brandy down the throatsof the others. Mr. Sefton took his mechanically and put it to hislips, oblivious of the cigarette that still dangled there. Finding anobstruction he put up his hand and pulled the cigarette away and withit a portion of the skin of his lip. For the rest of the evening hewas dabbing his mouth with his pocket-handkerchief.
Gustave had valiantly gone to the assistance of Jenny, and wasendeavouring to pour tea through her closed teeth, with the result thatit streamed down the neck of her nightdress. The effect was the same,however. As she felt the hot fluid on her chest she screamed, stoppeddrumming with her heels and looked about the kitchen.
"You've scalded me, you beast!" she cried, whereat Gustave, who wassitting on his heels, started and fell backwards, bringing Miss Sikkumdown on top of him together with her cup of tea.
Mrs. Craske-Morton was ministering to Miss Wangle and Mrs.Mosscrop-Smythe. Mr. Bolton and Mr. Cordal were both drinking neatbrandy out of teacups.
Outside the guns still thundered and screamed.
Patricia went to the assistance of the cook; kneeling down shepersuaded her to drink a cup of tea and brandy, which had the effect ofsilencing her appeals to the Almighty.
For an hour the "guests" of Galvin House waited, exactly what for noone knew. Then the noise of the firing began to die away in waves ofsound. There would be a few minutes' silence but for the distantrumble of guns, then suddenly a spurt of firing as if the guns werereluctant to forget their former anger. Another period of silencewould follow, then two or three isolated reports, like the snarl ofdogs that had been dragged from their prey. Finally quiet.
For a further half-hour Galvin House waited, praying that the attackwould not be renewed. There were little spurts of conversation. Mr.Sefton was slowly returning to the "foot on the Capstan" attitude, andactually had a cigarette alight. Mr. Bolton and Mr. Cordal werespeculating as to where the bomb had fallen. Mrs. Craske-Morton waswondering if the Government would pay promptly for the damage to herglass.
Outside there were sounds of life and movement, cars were throbbing andpassing to and fro, and men's voices could be heard. Suddenly therewas a loud peal of the street-door bell. All looked at each other inconsternation. Gustave looked about him as if he had lost a puppy.Mrs. Craske-Morton looked at Gustave.
"Gustave!" said Patricia, surprised at her own calm.
Gustave looked at her for a moment then, remembering his duties, wentslowly to the door, listening the while as if expecting a furtherbombardment to break out. With the exception of Miss Wangle and thecook, everybody was on the qui vive of expectation.
"It's the police," suggested Mrs. Craske-Morton, with conviction.
"Or the ambulance," ventured Miss Sikkum in a trembling voice."They're collecting the dead," she added optimistically.
All eyes were riveted upon the kitchen door. Steps were hearddescending the stairs. A moment later the door was thrown open andGustave in a voice strangely unlike his own announced:
"'Ees Lordship, madame."
Bowen entered the kitchen and cast a swift look about him. A light ofrelief passed over his face as he saw Patricia. Some instinct that shecould neither explain nor control caused her to go over to him, andbefore she knew what was taking place both her hands were in his.
"Thank God!" he breathed. "I was afraid it was this house. I heard abomb had dropped here. Oh, my dear! I've been in hell!"
There was something in his voice that thrilled her as she had neverbeen thrilled before. She looked up at him smiling, then suddenly witha great content she remembered that she had dressed herself with care.
Bowen looked about him, and seeing Mrs. Craske-Morton, went over andshook hands.
"She's a regular heroine, Peter," said Patricia, unconscious that shehad used his name. "She's been so splendid."
Mrs. Craske-Morton smiled at Patricia, again her human smile.
"Oh! go away, make him go away!" It was Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe whospoke. Her words had an electrifying effect upon everyone. MissWangle sat up and made feverish endeavours to straighten her wig.Jenny, the housemaid, looked round for cover that was nowhereavailable. The cook became aware of her lack of clothing. Miss Sikkumstrove to minimise the exhibition of feminine bone-structure. Mrs.Barnes made a dive for Mr. Bolton, who was still holding various of hergarments that he had retrieved. These she seized from him as if he hadbeen a pickpocket, and thrust them under her arm.
"Oh, please go away!" moaned the cook.
"Come upstairs," said Patricia as she led the way out of the kitchen,to the relief of those whose reawakened modesty saw in Bowen's presencean outrage to decorum. Switching on the light in the lounge, Patriciathrew herself into a chair. She was beginning to feel the reaction.
"Why did you come?" she asked.
"I heard that a bomb had fallen in this street and---well, I had tocome. I was never in such a funk in all my life."
"How did you get round here; did you bring the car?"
"No, I couldn't get the car out, I walked it," said Bowen briefly.
"That was very sweet of you," said Patricia gratefully, looking up athim in a way she had never looked at him before. "And now I think youmust be going. We must all g
o to bed again."
"Yes, the 'All Clear' will sound soon, I think," replied Bowen.
They moved out into the hall. For a moment they stood looking at eachother, then Bowen took both her hands in his. "I am so glad,Patricia," he said, gazing into her eyes, then suddenly he bent downand kissed her full on the lips.
Dropping her hands and without another word he picked up his cap andlet himself out, leaving Patricia standing gazing in front of her. Fora moment she stood, then turning as one in a dream, walked slowlyupstairs to her room.
"I wonder why I let him do that?" she murmured as she stood in front ofthe mirror unpinning her hair.