Cluny Brown by Margery Sharp Read Free Book Online

Colonel Duff-Graham was quite startled. It was indeed no more than the look of any young woman feeling thoroughly sorry for herself, but the Colonel was not in the habit of observing young women at close quarters. (He had indeed a daughter, of whom he was properly fond, but he took her for granted.) And under the influence of Cluny’s gaze a strangely unorthodox notion—his first in years—suddenly struck him: what was the use of treating servants well, giving ’em good food and all that, if you wouldn’t let ’em keep a dog? He felt really disturbed.
    â€œTell you what,” he said kindly, “on your afternoon off, you come over to my place, and you can take Roddy for a run.”
    At once Cluny’s brow cleared, her eyes sparkled, she radiated happiness.
    â€œThat’s a date!” she cried joyfully.
    The chauffeur heard them, and was so scandalized that when they reached Friars Carmel he ignored his master’s order to drive up to the house and stopped firmly at the lodge. Cluny embraced Roderick, shook hands with the Colonel, and got out with her bags. For some moments she stood there waving; she waved till the car was quite out of sight; then with a suitcase in either hand she turned and walked slowly through the gates, up the drive, into good service.
    II
    â€œTake off your hat, my dear,” said Mrs. Maile.
    Cluny, standing rather white-faced in the housekeeper’s room, did so. Her pony tail of hair at once sprang out and up, giving both Mrs. Maile and Mr. Syrett a surprise. (The latter was present purely by accident; as a rule he interviewed only men-servants. But there had been no men-servants at Friars Carmel for a very long time.)
    â€œWe must do something about that, ” said Mrs. Maile. “However, I understand this is your first place?”
    â€œYes,” said Cluny.
    â€œSay, ‘Yes, ma’am.’ I see we must begin at the beginning,” said Mrs. Maile. “You say ‘ma’am’ to me, ‘sir’ to Mr. Syrett here, and should you be spoken to by her ladyship, ‘my lady.’”
    â€œAnd his lordship ‘my lord,’” added Cluny, looking intelligent.
    â€œSir,” corrected Mrs. Maile patiently. “Sir Henry is not a peer, he is a baronet—though of far older creation than many. If you have to speak to him, which is unlikely, you say ‘sir.’ Now Hilda will give you some tea, and when you have put your things away, come back to me.”
    Cluny got herself out of the room, leaving Mrs. Maile and Mr. Syrett to exchange commiserating looks.
    â€œAt least she’s tall,” said the housekeeper at last.
    â€œLooks to me like a young ostrich,” said Mr. Syrett.
    â€œAnd clean. I knew I could rely on Postgate’s for that.”
    â€œYou always make the best of things, Mrs. Maile.”
    The housekeeper acknowledged this compliment with a melancholy bend of the head. She could remember the days when Friars Carmel employed six indoor maids, all hand-picked; her mind roved back over the long succession of Gracies, Florries, Bessies, ear-marked almost from birth for service at Friars, graduating in the proper, established order from Tweeny to First Parlour-maid. And Mrs. Maile sighed. If Cluny felt bewildered, so did she.
    â€œOut of place,” she said gravely. “Times change, Mr. Syrett, and we must change with them; but that’s what I can’t help saying to myself: in a house like this, she is out of place. However, I will take her in hand. And at least, with that appearance, we needn’t expect Hilda’s trouble.”
    â€œCertainly not,” said Mr. Syrett.
    III
    Dear Uncle Arn,
    This is a very large house to keep clean, looking at it from outside you would say it was hopeless, but Mrs. Maile says not. There are twenty-seven rooms, Queen Elizabeth slept in one of them but I have to share. The other girl is called Hilda. She had a baby last