Busman’s Honeymoon by Dorothy L. Sayers Read Free Book Online Page B

seventeen years since you and the doctor left Pagford. I did ’ear as ’e’d passed away, and sorry I was—’e was a wonderful clever doctor, was your dad, miss—I ’ad ’im for my Bert, and I’m sure it’s a mercy I did, ’im comin’ into the world wrong end up as you might say, which is a sad trial for a woman. And how are you, miss, after all this time? We did ’ear as you’d been in trouble with the perlice, but as I said to Bert, you can’t believe the stuff they puts into them papers.’
      ‘It was quite true, Mrs Ruddle—but they’d got hold of the wrong person.’
      ‘Just like ’em!’ said Mrs Ruddle. ‘There’s that Joe Sellon! Tried to make out as my Bert ’ad been stealin’ Aggie Twitterton’s ’ens. “’Ens,” I said. “You’ll be making out next as ’e took that there pocket-book of Mr Noakes’s, wot ’e made all the fuss about. You look for your ’ens in George Withers’s back kitchen.” I says, and sure enough, there they was. “Call yourself a perliceman,” I ses. “I’d make a better perliceman than you any day, Joe Sellon.” That’s what I ses to ’im. I’d never believe nothing none of them perlicemen said, not if I was to be paid for it, so don’t you think it, miss. I’m sure I’m very pleased to see you miss, looking so well, but if you and the gentleman was wanting Mr Noakes—’
      ‘We did want him, but I expect you can help us. This is my husband and we’ve bought Talboys and we arranged with Mr Noakes to come here for our honeymoon.’
      ‘You don’t say!’ ejaculated Mrs Ruddle. ‘I’m sure I congratulate you, miss—mum, and sir.’ She wiped a bony hand on the mackintosh and extended it to bride and groom in turn. ‘’Oneymoon—well, there!—it won’t take me a minnit to put on clean sheets, which is all laying aired and ready at the cottage, so if you’ll let me ’ave the keys—’
      ‘But,’ said Peter, ‘that’s just the trouble. We haven’t got the keys. Mr Noakes said he’d make all the preparations and be here to let us in.’
      ‘Ho!’ said Mrs Ruddle. ‘Well, ’e never told me nothing about it. Off to Broxford ’e was, by the ten o’clock ’bus Wednesday night, and never said nothing to nobody, not to mention leave me my week’s money.’
      ‘But,’ said Harriet, ‘if you do his cleaning, haven’t you got a key to the house?’
      ‘No, I have not, ’ replied Mrs Ruddle. ‘You don’t ketch ’ im givin’ me no keys. Afraid I’ll pinch sommink, I suppose. Not that ’e leaves much as ’ud be worth pinchin’. But there you are, that’s ’im all over. And burglar-proof bolts on all the winders. Many’s the time I’ve said to Bert, supposin’ the ’ouse was to go on fire with ’im away an’ no keys nearer than Pagford.’
      ‘Pagford?’ said Peter. ‘I thought you said he was at Broxford.’
      ‘So ’e is—sleeps over the wireless business. But you’d ’ave a job ter get him, I reckon, ’im being’ a bit deaf and the bell ringin’ inter the shop. Your best way’ll be ter run over ter Pagford an’ git Aggie Twitterton.’
      ‘The lady who keeps hens?’
      ‘That’s ’er. You mind the little cottage down by the river, miss—mum, I should say—where old Blunt useter live?
      Well, that’s it, an’ she’s got a key to the ’ouse—comes over ter see ter things w’en ’e’s away, though, come ter think of it, I ain’t seen ’er this last week. Maybe she’s poorly, because, come ter think of it, if ’e knowed you was coming it’s Aggie Twitterton ’e’d a-told about it.’
      ‘I expect that’s it,’ said Harriet. ‘Perhaps she meant to let you know, and got ill and couldn’t see to it. We’ll go over. Thank you very much. Do you think she could let us have a loaf of bread and some butter?’
      ‘Bless you, miss—mum—I can do that. I got a nice loafer bread, ’ardly touched, and ’arf a pound er butter at ’ome this