Rule Britannia by Daphne du Maurier Read Free Book Online Page B

earshot. “Pompous ass,” she said, her voice much too loud and clear. Emma went scarlet and withdrew to the hall, while her grandmother continued to stand by the front door until the two American officers had closed the gate behind them. Then she returned to the house.
    “Call Joe, darling, will you,” she said to Emma, “and tell him to get my car out of the garage and tuck it away in the corner under the kitchen window.”
    Emma shouted for Joe, who was still steadily chopping wood in the basement. He came up the little stairway that connected with the hall, closely followed by Terry. Mad explained briefly what had happened, and Joe vanished at once to obey her instructions. Not so the Byronic Terry, his eyes bright with excitement.
    “What do you want me to do?” he asked. “Shall I take out the fuse that works the stable light, and turn off the outside tap?”
    “No,” said Mad thoughtfully, “they’d know what to do. Anyway they’re self-contained. I tell you what, though. Go to the stables after Joe has brought round the car, wait there until they arrive, and then put on your charm act and say you are there to be of any assistance. Don’t overdo it. Just play it cool. Try and find out what’s going on.”
    “O.K.”
    Terry vanished as quickly as Joe had done and Mad went through to the kitchen, followed by her granddaughter.
    “Dottie?”
    “Here, Madam.”
    Mad’s one-time dresser, who had barely finished stacking the dishwasher and laying the kitchen table for the next repast, turned a flushed and harassed face in their direction.
    “It seems those American soldiers want to camp in the stables,” announced Mad. “They’ve just landed in the paddock in a helicopter.”
    “Oh dear,” said Dottie, “however are we to manage? Will they want tea? And what about blankets? There’ll never be enough to go round.”
    “Don’t be idiotic, Dottie. These men have their own equipment. Iron rations, or whatever soldiers have, groundsheets, field telephones, radios, everything…”
    Mad gestured largely, shrugging her shoulders. Anyone would think she was enjoying the situation. The other boys had dispersed to their various quarters, all but black Ben, who was hunting for crumbs under the kitchen table.
    “Thank goodness,” said Dottie. “We couldn’t possibly have managed to feed a lot of soldiers. The baker’s never called as it is, with all this emergency, and we’ve run out of bread. I don’t know what to give the boys for tea.”
    “Give them cake,” said Mad. Shades of Marie Antoinette, thought Emma. “I tell you what,” said her grandmother, “you go and lie down, Dottie dear, you look worn out. It’s been a tiring day and it will probably get worse. I will make a cake for the boys, and they can have tea with me. Find me a basin, and lots of flour and butter and sugar, and all the necessary. Eggs, have we any eggs?”
    Dottie raised her eyebrows at Emma, and Emma shrugged. The thing was, Mad’s cakes were terribly hit or miss, generally miss, and the net result, as Pa used to say, was like molten lead. Her one or two successes had gone to her head, but usually the effect upon everybody’s digestion was damaging to the extreme and the cakes had to be crumbled up the next day and given to the birds.
    “Come on, come on,” said Mad impatiently, “let’s get started. If it turns out well, I’ve half a mind to go against my principles and ask that Colonel Cheesering or whatever he calls himself in to tea, if he’s still here. I haven’t heard the helicopter take off yet.”
    It will be his finish if you do, thought her granddaughter. She took a peep out of the kitchen window. Terry’s charm was working. He was engaged in conversation with both Colonel Cheeseman and Lieutenant Sherman. They must have been discussing the household, because the two officers glanced up at the window, and the colonel, whose voice had carrying power, said something like, “You don’t say? I thought