The Loom (43 page)

Gertie stormed up the garden path, lumps of suet still sticking to her hat and suit. Her mind was ticking over louder than the Mercer Hall Clock. She’d explode if she didn’t calm down but just thinking what had happened sent her blood pressure soaring again. She’d get even with that lot, if it was the last thing she did, she’d get even.

Fred was standing waiting for her next to the car. A thought struck her! She paused for a moment to let it sink in. I will, aye, I will, she thought. I’ll show them and she raced up to Fred. ‘Come on, Fred,’ she said, gulping to get her breath back (she wasn’t very fit because she hadn’t worked for years and mainly just sat around at home eating chocolates). ‘Come with me to the garage.’

Fred’s mouth began to twitch as he looked at Gertie. What a sight! Her hat was hanging askew with a bit of dumpling stuck on it. Her suit was splotched with suet and her face was now redder than her hat. He controlled himself with difficulty and hurriedly stood up from leaning against the car because that glowering look on Gertie’s face had the power to wipe the smile right off his.

‘
What do you want there, Gertie?’

Gertie had already set off in the direction of the garage. She called back over her shoulder. ‘Just come on and you’ll see.’

Fred followed Gertie at a run. He’d better go with her because there was no knowing what she’d get up to the frame of mind she was in at the moment. Ee, she was a handfull, was Gertie (a cartload full would have been more appropriate). She’d too much time on her hands. That was the trouble with her: time to think about things and stew over them until she’d blown everything so out of proportion she couldn’t think straight. If he’d had his way they would have had a few young ‘uns by now but Gertie was dead set against that, as well (and come to think of it she was disagreeable about most everything). She’d nearly had a fit when she thought she was in the family way.

‘
I’m not going to be a slave all me life to any snotty-nosed brats’ she stormed at him.

He had been relieved when she found she wasn’t.

As Fred hurried after Gertie, who was running as though she’d a train to catch, he wondered how on earth he’d be able to cope with her for the rest of his life.

When they reached the garage Gertie looked around as though searching for something. Fred watched for a few minutes.

‘
What are you looking for?’

She continued her frantic poking around without looking up.

‘
A petrol can,’ she said tersely. She gave a pleased exclamation as she spied one in the corner.

‘
Here we are, then, just what I was looking for.’ She picked it up and gave it a shake, then opened the lid and sniffed. ‘Aye, it’s petrol all right. Here, smell that.’ She held out the can to Fred who took a sniff and nodded.

‘
Aye it’s petrol right enough, but what do you need it for? We’ve got plenty of petrol to get back to Manchester.’

Gertie looked at Fred in exasperation. ‘It’s not for us, numbskull,’ she said.

He was as bloody thick as two bricks! He didn’t think she was going to let that lot get away with what had happened, did he? She looked around the garage. Bloody toffs! Just look at the cars: a Rolls, a Bentley and a Jaguar! Well, they’d soon be laughing on the other side of their faces when she’d finished with them, she’d see to that!

Alarm bells began ringing in Fred’s ears. Loud ones!

‘
Now Gertie,’ he began. Gertie ignored him. He’d twigged that something was wrong but she wasn’t going to let him or anybody else stop her now!

‘
Here, carry it for me, will you. It’s a bit heavy.’

Fred took the can.

Gertie walked out of the garage, Fred following behind with the petrol can like a thin little terrier (he
was
thin and wiry (like a terrier) and even had white and ginger hair and ears that stuck up. They didn’t have a terrier though. Gertie hated dogs (as well as just about everything else).

It was all quiet on the western front at Hyndburn, Grimsby having taken the day off and gone to visit some relative in Blackburn and Bob Watkins, the gardener was messing around with his roses, it being such a beautiful day and all. So the coast was clear and Gertie, looking this way and that (like a big basset hound followed by terrier Fred) hared across the open space separating the garage and the main house and in the back way, which led down a long passage to the kitchen. Halfway down this passage were two doors facing each other, one leading down to the cellar and the other (on the left) up a staircase to the ground floor of the main part of the house. This stairway was used by the servants (lately, though, Raymond Townsend took them to have a cup of tea in the kitchen with Maud and Alf).

Gertie paused and listened at the bottom of the stairs. Everything was quiet except for the distant murmur of voices and the clink of china coming from somewhere at the front of the house. Having a tea party were they? Well, it would be a Mad Hatters tea party soon enough! She turned towards the cellar stairs and beckoned to Fred. He looked distinctly alarmed.

‘
That’ll do, Gertie,’ he said, grabbing her arm.

‘
Shut your gob,’ Gertie hissed, shaking free. She grabbed the can of petrol and ran down the steps to the cellar, which was filled with bottles of wine and liquor.

Good, they should go up like a bomb! Her face was demonic! Fred tried to pull the can away from her and she hit out at him savagely.

‘
Go back to the car, Fred and let me get on with it.’

‘Gertie, you can’t do this. No, you can’t, it’s criminal. We’ll end up in jail if we’re caught.’

‘You weak little weasel, we won’t get caught. If you don’t want to stay and help then just bugger off.’ She glared at him, looking like a devilish Santa Clause with that stupid red hat. ‘You go and get the car started and as soon as I’ve done what’s to be done here I’ll dash back up and we’ll be gone before they even know what’s happened.’

Fred backed up the stairs still watching Gertie as though he couldn’t believe it. She was definitely mad and he wasn’t going to wait for her either. She wouldn’t be stopped and he wasn’t going to be involved in anything like this. His mother had told him Gertie was a strange woman!

When Fred disappeared up the cellar stairs Gertie quickly emptied petrol on some rags lying in a corner until they were soaked. She took out a match, struck it and then standing back threw it on the petrol-drenched rags, which immediately burst into flames. She watched for a few minutes to make sure they didn’t go out. She pushed them with her foot a little nearer to some wooden crates so that they’d ignite, too, and start a really good bonfire. She laughed like a maniac, watching the flames leap higher, then turned and dashed up the steps closing the door behind her. She could hear voices coming from the kitchen and ran down the passage and out the back door. By the time that lot in the cellar really began to burn they’d be well on their way!

As he turned the corner of the stables Bob Watkins saw Gertie running down the side of the house towards the drive. He stopped for a moment wondering who it could be. It was a woman in a grey suit and red hat with white dots. Maud! No, it was too big for Maud. His eyes weren’t as good as they used to be. He put his gardening tools away and straightened up. He needed a cup of tea after all that digging. He began to walk towards the kitchen still wondering who that woman could have been and why she was running as though she’d a bus to catch.

As Gertie had surmised they
were
having a nice little tea party in the living room. Although it could have been nicer, Jessica thought, if Stephen had been more at ease. How she wished she’d got to know him years ago. He looked so much like her step-son at that age she felt she was in some kind of time warp. The spit image of him as George said when he met him, pumping his hand and telling him ‘what a grand lad’ he was. George had retired upstairs shortly after to have a nap. There was a lull in the conversation as Jessica poured Raymond another cup of tea. He had difficulty getting his finger round the handle. He thought of the big pint pot of tea at Emma Hammond’s place (he had much preferred that).

‘
Sugar, Raymond?’ Jessica said, holding a cube between silver tongs.

‘No thanks, Mother.’ He took a sip of the tea. Stephen was sitting stiffly on the satin covered settee, feeling that at any minute he would slip off.

‘So tell me, Stephen, what are you interested in?’

Stephen swallowed his cake quickly, almost choking. Raymond patted him on the back. ‘Steady there, Stephen.’

‘Sorry. Er…I like reading,’ Stephen said lamely when he recovered, his eyes streaming and red in the face. He wished he hadn’t come. He didn’t like all this luxury. He wasn’t used to it and he’d only agreed because his mother had said she thought he should. He wasn’t sure whether he liked the lady who looked like a queen, either. He knew she was his grandmother but he’d never be able to call her that. Never!

Raymond quirked his eyebrow at his mother; this was more difficult than he’d expected. Jessica smiled understandingly and mouthed ‘it’s all right, darling,’ at him. He nodded.

‘I’ll be going back to Alaska quite soon,’ Raymond said.

‘Oh, darling, no,’ Jessica protested. ‘You’ve hardly been with us two minutes.’

‘I’ve been here a month now and we’re going into the busy time and I can’t leave Mike on his own,’ he said, not meeting his mother’s eyes.

Jessica remained silent. What could she say? It was his life and she knew that he would do what he wanted so she’d be wasting her breath trying to dissuade him. She’d been a little optimistic that he might stay because she suspected he was more than a little interested in Leah Hammond. She hoped so! Who would have thought that
she
would condone such a thing, but if this was the case then there was every chance Raymond would stay on in Harwood indefinitely; now it seemed, this wasn’t to be. She wondered what had gone wrong!

Stephen was also surprised when he heard Raymond’s announcement. He looked at him in shock.

‘
You’re going back?’ he said.

Raymond nodded. He could see how disappointed they both were but he couldn’t stay another day in Harwood after what had happened with Leah.

‘Well, if you have to…’ Jessica began when there was a loud bang, like a muffled explosion. They all jumped. Another, even louder, made Raymond shoot out of his chair. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ he shouted. He began to run towards the door. Stephen and Jessica ran after him into the large front hall. The kitchen stairs were at the far end. Directly opposite were more stairs, which led to the bedrooms above.

Stephen stood and looked around him. Then he saw smoke billowing like fat brown cheeks from the door at the end of the passage. A great tongue of flame followed in the wake of the smoke. There was a horrendous crackling noise.

‘Fire! Get out of here,’ he yelled at Jessica and Stephen.

‘George,’ Jessica said in panic.

‘I’ll get him. Now, get out.’ Raymond began to run to the main staircase, which led to the first floor and the bedrooms. He had to get his father out. He was probably still fast asleep, completely unaware of the danger.

By this time the fire was having a wonderful time eating into any woodwork it could find. It shot up walls, devoured tapestries, ate into embossed wallpaper as though it was famished. It raced to the upstairs bedrooms, eager for different fare, dashing avariciously through every open door. George’s door was closed so it stopped briefly, then carried on past.

Stephen managed to dodge the fire in its mad race and reached his father’s bedroom just in time. He flung open the door, banging it quickly behind him. Almost immediately smoke began to seep underneath and he began to cough. He raced to the bed (his father was still blissfully asleep) and dragged the comforter off and put it against the bottom of the door. He ran to the bed and shook his father.

‘Get up, get up.’

George woke with a start. He’d been having a lovely dream where he and Jessica were in America. Marion was somewhere in the scene but he hadn’t quite grasped where when he heard a shout. ‘What?’ He sat up with a jolt.

‘Fire. Get up.’

He still felt groggy from the pills he was taking. He saw Stephen standing in front of him and then saw it wasn’t Stephen but Raymond yelling about a fire.

Raymond was busy pulling the sheets off the bed.

George suddenly realized what was happening. He jumped out of bed and helped Raymond tie some sheets together. Raymond made one end fast to the bed and then threw them out of the open window. By this time the comforter was beginning to smoulder. It suddenly burst into flames with a great whoosh, fire shooting across to where Raymond and George were standing.

‘
Get out of the window,’ Raymond yelled.

They were both coughing now, eyes streaming. George swung himself over, and let himself down, dimly aware of people watching them. He looked up.

Raymond was leaning out of the window, flames behind him, almost at this back.

Maud and Alf ran into the passage when they heard the explosion. They stopped in shock when they saw the fire, which was roaring like an express train straight from the cellar and up the stairs to the upper floor. The fire, confined in the cellar for some time, had at last exploded like a bomb (as Gertie had predicted) forcing the cellar door right off its hinges.