Short Story: Inspection Invited

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXVII, Issue 19308, 8 October 1932, Page 9

Short Story: Inspection Invited

LMOST before the builders * had cleared away their j planks and buckets, their

piles of mortar and broken bricks, three very ordinary people fell in love with that very ordinary house. There it stood, lonely and apart, with a low paling round its unmade garden and a muddy lane running past it, bordered with high elms. Only a few years before you could have found primroses in the ivied hedgerows. Lucy ' used to bowl her hoop along the shady lane, with a crinkly sunbonnet framing her large grey eyes and her

pretty, pensive face. Now she hurried daily from her mother’s ugly Victorian villa, caught a { ’bus in the busy town that had once been an unassuming little Sussex village, and was borne joltingly to the ] great shop where she worked. She had done this for twelve years. * It was a big contrast to leave that ( softly-carpeted room where she sold the 1 sheerest, daintiest garments and to { hurry home for lunch on a Wednesday * at midday; change into a brown coat 5 and skirt, and to walk swiftly, purpose- J ly out of the bustling town, and into 1 the newly built-cn district beyond—un- ‘ finished and cheap. But there was * just one little empty house out of all the others which she loved. She went | to see it three Wednesday afternoons j running. ) At first she walked slowly up and down, up and down, letting her dreams | have full sway. No one guesses the ' dreams of ordinary sort of people like ; Lucy. After all, why should they? ; Dreams are such lovely, secret things. “I hope they won't be long before , they finish it. I want to see inside it. _ I must see inside it!” She wanted to put her dream- ‘ children into it. Her dream-man, too. ' But always the children were nearer ‘ and clearer to her. There were two of them —a dark boy, a fair little girl. She had so often imagined their stepping happily beside her. Down the years she had held their little fairy hands, and loved them. They had never had a house to romp in; her mother’s house was so heavy and dark with furniture and chenille curtains — it wasn’t the place for them. But at least she had found one.. Of course, it was an ideal home for her, too—given the right man to share it with her. But she didn’t put it that way to herself. The house faced south-west, so that ) by the time Lucy had reached it, the j afternoon sun was full on it, and its wide windows caught the light and held it dazzlingly. There came at last the afternoon when she saw the board in the front garden: ‘‘lnspection Invited.” Tremulously, lest she should be disappointed, she turned f he handle of the front door and stepped inside. “Oh, how cosy!” was her first thought. “The stairs tucked away over there. A fireplace in the hall —a sensible square hall. too. Kenneth could have his trains set out there. And j here’s a cupboard for Mary’s dolls.” There were also two deep, built-in cupboards on either side of the diningroom fireplace. Lucy peered into them delightedly. “Just the very thing for their schoolbocks and hobbies. I shouldn t like them poked away in a playroom. They wouldn't disturb rqe here. I should sew over here, while they worked. I love that wide window-sill —our winter bulbs would catch all the sunshine there. . . . Kenneth and Mary, my dears, we should be ever so happy together in this room!” It was funny that, up till now, she had never visualised their getting any bigger. But the little house suddenly made them very real and human to her. She ran upstairs, her feet echoing strangely in the emptiness about her. She went into all the bedrooms. It was a cheerful little pfaoe. and on this particular March afternoon it positively radiated sunlight and youth. In one small room Lucy pictured a gailypainted bedstead with a coverlet of apple-green, and curtains and chaircovers to match. ‘‘l would embroider yellow' and purple crocuses on them,” she mused. “It would be Mary s own room. Plain, cream-washed walls, with one or two of Hall Thorpe’s flower pictures on it. And that narrow Persian rug I've so often longed for, from the carpet-department at Dalrympls’s.” She chose the room for her little dream-son, too. Che arranged the whole place after her own heart. All except one room, facing west. It suggested a workroom, somehow. As she stood on its threshold, pcnderingly, she heard a party of people trampling noisily up the stairs. Suddenly she was unreasonably jealous. She ran into the front bedroom and leaned on the wide sill, waiting for the family to leave the landing clear for her to pass unnoticed out of the house—the little lovely dream-house that was hers no longer. She w'ould come again on the following Sunday, she mused, as she closed the gate gently behind her, and went home to the stuffy realities oi her «u/n home.

It was brilliantly sunny on her next free afternoon, and she alighted from the ’bus at the far end of the town, and branched oil the high road into the familiar lanes with a light step and a song in her heart. Then sw'iftly. without warning, the clouds swept over the bluest of skies and the rain came down in torrential sheets.

Lucy was drenched in a few moments. Her common sense told her to return home and get into dry clothes. But to-day a greater sense of adventure and quiet fun possessed her, and she pushed on against the gale, looking for all the world like a lonely autumn leaf forsaken by its fellows and tryng in vain to catch up. At last she was literally blown against the little green gate, and she pulled at the latch and stumbled breathlessly into the porch.

She heard no voices as she entered the hall, and her heart leapt for joy. She took off her wet coat and hat, smiling ruefully at her soaked clothes. Then, as she waited a moment to regain her breath, she became aware of a smell of burnt paper and new wood. For a second she feared the beloved little place had caught fire. Some one had left a smouldering cigarette

Then, quite suddenly, terror assailed her. Up above, coming from the narrow room at the end of the landing, facing west, came a curious uncanny noise. It wasn’t human at all. A sound that began in a low, humming I tone, and then rose up and up into a thin, high pitch. Something like a thousand imprisoned blue-bottles. Or that queer Russian music, imitative of a factory: “O-o-o-o-m! Ah-o-o-o-m*! O-o-o-m!” Scared though she was, Lucy felt she must find out the meaning of the unusual noise and the smell of fire. She hurried upstairs, ran along the landing, turned the handle of the door, and nearly fell over a little wire-haired terrier, who had heard strange footsteps and was on the alert instantly. Behind him a very tall man was sitting on an upturned box, utterly unI conscious of any one near him. His attitude suggested some one working feverishly at a piece of machinery. One arm was extended and seemed to be turning an imaginary wheel; his lips were tightly compressed and his shoulders and head bent forward. Then, in the midst of another “O-o-o-o-o-m.” the little dog began to bark excitedly and pulled at his master’s coal. The man jerked away from him sideways, overbalanced, and went sprawling backwards, landing unceremoniously at Lucy’s feet. Even then he hadn’t seen her. He j was actually first aware of her as a laugh! For the first time in her quiet, uneventful life, she felt a great happi-

ness—for here was a grown man playing with his imagination in the empty house, as she had so often done. The only difference was in their dreams. She had her children and he was visualising some kind of favourite machinery. Then, as he sat up, shook the dust off his plus fours, and characteristically ran his fingers across his tousled head, she recognised him. He was Mr Gordon Nesbit, that most earnest, courteous, rather solemn head manager of Dalrymple's Furnishing and Home Decoration Department. Solemn and earnest no longer in his nice rough tweeds with his friendly and fussy little dog. and his rumpled hair, his imaginative mood. But courteous and kindly as ever, as he sprang to his feet and recognised the quiet, rather dull and ordinary little Miss West of the Lingerie Department. And with her laugh she, too. had dispelled those shop-illusions. So that Gordon Nesbit, a bachelor with engineering hobbies and dog-loving propensities, fell to laughing joyously, abandonedly. with a very charming girl whom he instantly liked and wondered why he had never noticed before. “That strange sound—it—it was you, then?” Lucy stammered, recoverng herself first. “Yes, Miss West. You must have heard it as you came upstairs. It must have sounded mad! Did it frighten you?” “Just at first. You see ” “I am so sorry!” exclaimed Nesbit. “Please don't thnk I’m mentally deficient. I'm perfectly safe. I was partly exercising myself to get warm— Wags and I were horribly wet when we first took shelter in here—and, well, I was working an imaginery electric motor.” Lucy went across to the fireplace, stooped down and patted Wags. Amazed as she was at the change in herself, she began to laugh again. “Are you laughing at me or with Wags? He seems to have taken a great fancy to you, by the way.” “Of course I’m not laughing at you. Not now. Perhaps I'm very glad to have found some one besides myself who can be happy with imaginary things. Whenever I come to this house, I always picture the peo—the things I love in it.” “Is that what you do? By Jove, that’s rather interesting. I was planning my workshop here. “Have you bought this house?” Lucy queried, and unconsciously a wistful tone crept into her voice. “I’m sorry if I intrude. The fire, you know ” She hesitated. “Awful cheek, isn't it? Don't tell : the builder chap if you ever meet him

By VERE WALLIS

here, will you?” He didn’t want her I to go. “I haven’t bought the house, I but I’ve taken a great fancy to it.” j Then he noticed that she was very wet. “I say—what a brute I am! You’re \ simply soaking. You must get dry somehow. Here's my coat. Put it on, please—you must, Miss West!” he urged. She obediently sat down on an up- 1 turned box, and huddled gratefully up ! to the fire. Then he left her, closing ' the door gently behind him. He re- j entered the room presently, armed with ' fire-wood. Lucy looked up from the i depths of his burly coat, and smiled. I “It's clearing up,” she told him. He said that he was afraid it was. “Afraid?” “Well, if you’re in no hurry to go, I I'm not. Your things aren’t nearly dry yet, are they?” “No. but I'm much warmer ” “Besides.” Gordon went on cheer,- j fully, hopefully, “we don't know one I another yet. We've only just met.” | “We’ve worked in the same shop j for—how many years is it?” “About twelve. I think,” Nesbit ad- ! mitted. “But that's not saying much.” j “How do you mean—net saying much.” Lucy crinkled up her brows, and j studied the tall man thoughtfully. It was nice to pretend to be dense—for once. He knelt down in front of the fire j and caressed Wags. “We may have worked together in the same shop for twenty years,” he began very quietly, very deliberately. “But unless we can see each other clearly, apart from the cult and veneer and artificiality of our noble Dalrymple, we may as well be Miss West of the Lingerie and Nesbit of the Furnj ishing Department for ever. And.” 1 he finished up hurriedly, yet gently, j “I ask you—when we can laugh at one i another, with me on the floor and you | there in my old clothes, both of us making friends in a funny little house j which we both hoped was empty—j can’t we start a new sort of friendship, and forget your black frock and my jgrey spats?” • “Yes, I think we can.” agreed Lucy softly. Then, after a pause, “I’m so glad you like this little house.” "Yes. I do. Will you take me round it before you go? Just to give me an idea cf how I ought to furnish it—supposing I decide to buy it?” Nesbit pleaded. “I’d love to.” she answered simply. “But you won’t catch me interfering with your workshop arrangements.” Gordon smiled to himself. Lucy had risen and stood waiting for him in the open doorway. lie suddenly turned to lock at her. Al-

most he sensed the feeling that she j was saying good-bye to a greatly-loved ; experienced. And Lucy knew that : she had found a friend, but she also j knew that she had lest her little ' sanctuary. Nesbit returned to view the house a few days later. He tore down the lane in his little two-seater during his | lunch-hour. He was going to pay a 1 call on the builder afterwards. As he jumped out and was about to open the gate, he heard, to his dismay, the sound of digging, and a woman’s voice, humming an old-fashioned song to j herself. She sang rather cut of tune. I The “Inspection Invited” board was j down. Gordon stood still, too disappointed to do anything. Wags barked in- j quiringly. The lady-gardener looked up. She wore very round, horn-rimmed spectacles, but her smile was most engaging and friendly. Then she saw Nesbit. “Good morning, young man. I do hope you’re from the gas company? I want to know how soon I can have my stove laid on.” “I’m awfully sorry, but I'm afraid I can't help you in that direction.” “Well, don't go and tell me you’re touting orders from the local grocer—ah. no! I can see you're not!” “The fact is,” Gordon explained, “we —er, I mean. I looked over this little place the other afternoon, and I —we—l hoped it was still up for sale. I rather thought ’’ “How unfortunate!” she interrupted sympathetically. “Yes; I’m afraid you’re too late. Let’s hope you’ll find another house you’ll like as well.” Gordon hoped so. too. But he had met Lucy in this one; and she had planned it after his own ideal of what a house should be. And besides, she j and the house seemed to be part and j parcel of some glad adventure. What ! would she say when she heard? Ho j tried to be polite to the garden en- ; thusiast. He asked her what she in- : tended planting in the front garden, j “Oh. cld-fashioned flowers,” answer - led the lady amiably. “Thrift round ) the borders. Honesty to hide the i fence, for a background. And in the I centre, love-in-a-mist.” “It ought to look rather nice,” ! agreed Gordon, vaguely interested. ! “Good morning.” j “Good morning, and the best of luck to you!” called out the new owner. I That evening Nesbit took Lucy to ‘ the pictures. But he dared not mention the sold house. On the following Sunday afternoon I he drove her cut into the country. And i still he could net bring himself to i speak cf his discovery.

Late cn the previous Saturday evening he had joined her on her way home from business. Never had tiredness been so marvellously transformed [ into ecstasy! For he had told her then how he loved her. “Lucy—Lucy, are you as happy as I “You knew I am. Gordon.” But something was troubling her, nevertheless. It was an exquisite spring evening. Lucy felt that they j were not on the solid earth at all. She j was intensely in love with Gordon Nes- * bit. And it was so wonderful to bo j taken care of. But . . . “Aren’t you enjoying all this, dear?” asked Nesbit gently. “I have never in all my life known i anything lovelier. But, oh. I’ll have to tell you, Gordon. The little house 1 has been sold!” “How do you know?” he questioned j quickly. “One cf our customers has bought it. ■ She’s an absolute dear, quite elderly. I heard her say that a distant cousin cf hers was coming back from South Africa, and that she had been ccmmissiolied to get a house. I just wondered whether she meant another house, so I went this morning to see if it were true.” “And did you see her?” “Oh, Gordon, wasn't it dreadful of me? I saw the dug-up garden, with j the little wooden labels sticking in the I soil, showing where her seeds were. But she wasn’t there. I guessed she would be in church. I longed to have cne last.” “But it would have been locked, surely?” “Yes, it was. But Miss Chester is | terribly absent-minded. So I wasn't ' surprised to see the front door key lyI ing cn that little window-sill insde the I porch.” | “But. Lucy ” I “Yes. I did! I was worse than you I and the fire. I went inside. I had to go and say good-bye ” “Darling—then you, you too—you wanted that little house?” “Yes. - she replied. “Long before you found it. I loved it. “Did I spoil everything for you by finding it too?” “No. Oh. no! You just—made it l different.” “Lucy, I'm glad you went ail over it j with me. We’ll have a little house made like that cne very soon. And j we’ll arrange it just as you wanted me ! to have it.” | When he next spoke, it was under | his breath: "Those cubpoards beside I the fireplace . . . you smiled so i queerly when we came to them, Lucy.” j “Gordon, you want to know too j much!”

Just as they were saying good-night at her mother’s door. Lucy took his arm and whispered: “I sent the key back to Miss Chester before we started this .afternoon. I told her what I’d done. I hope the old dear forgives me."

The “old dear” did more than forgive Lucy. She bustled into Dalrymple’s a week later, and hurried up to the manageress. “Ah. good morning. Miss Mantravers! Is your little Miss W3st busy? May I speak to her?” “Certainly, madam. I’ll call her.” Miss Chester greeted Lucy with beaming, be-spectacled eyes. Her words tumbled out, helter-skelter: “My dear child—your note. So nice cf you! Cf course I didn’t mind. Delighted! Dreadfully careless of me to leave the key where I did, wasn’t it? I hadn't any idea you both wanted my little house.” “Eoth?” ventured Lucy amidst the torrent of words. “Yes, both. You. and that nice man. I was far from polite to him. I fear .... Well, my dear,” she hesitated, expecting Lucy to agree. “I hope you'll both be ever so happy in it—that is—if he wants to share it with you ” “But —aren’t you going to live in it, after all?” Miss Chester replied: “I was told to buy a suitable little house for a distant cousin of mine. He gave me to understand that I was to housekeep for him. We-we were fond of each ether a great many years ago. But I I never anticipated—oh, no, dear child, I do assure you. ... I thought it ! was all over and forgotten. . . . But Sam arrived in England three days j ago. And he wants me to marry i him.” “I am so glad. Miss Chester. How ; thrilling and romantic it all sounds! He is a lucky man.” “He's a very foolish one. Why, would ! you believe it? He went with me to see the house. And. upon my soul, he didn't care for it. Said he’s heard of a likely little place in Devonshire. He ■ was born near Exeter, and he wants to | get back to the West, after all. Well, I the soil’s rich down there. I don’t much mind where I go so long as Sam and I are together.” | “And Gordon and I ” “You're going to be together, too? Haven't I guessed right?” “I think you have, dear Miss Chester.’’ “Ive sown the right seeds in your garden, too,” she added triumphantly. “What are they?” “You ask your nice doggy man.” “He'll never remember.” “Well, you will. Thrift, honesty, and lcve-in-a-mist. . . . They’ll grow well in Devonshire—the same as they i will here, I expect. Good-bye, dear. I must hurry back to my Sam!” “Gocd-bye! I’ll take care of the 1 flewers,” said Lucy happily.