However, my mental note was all but forgotten the moment I entered the nursery and closed the door behind me, for the room and adjoining bedrooms were almost a haven of calm. Usually toys were littered everywhere, clothes hanging out of drawers and the usual mess that I associated with the room was marked by its absence, for the room was spotless. Everything had been tidied away, beds were made and the two children were standing looking at me in their pyjamas as nanny stood in front of them, spoon raised obviously about to give them their evening tonic.
“Ah nanny.” I said and she paused, spoon poised over the table, watching me closely. “I trust everything is to your satisfaction.” I looked around the room carefully. Certainly everything seemed to be ship-shape!
“Indeed.” she said, giving me that strange smile once again as if I were being watched closely. “All is to my satisfaction.”
“Nanny took a lampshade out of her travelling bag.” said Susan, smiling at me from the centre of the room. She is eight and liable to flights of fancy I fear, as all young girls often are, I am told.
“Did she now?” I smiled, noticing for the first time a large ornamental lamp standing on the far side of the room, casting a pall of light through the room through its dark green shade.
“She did father.” said Paul who was six and therefore of course given to statements of nonsense almost every time he opened his mouth. I did however cast a cursory glance around the room and noticed several items that I had not noticed before. There was a small mirror on the wall for example, and a large odd looking plant in a pot upon the table. I shook my head however, for I was hardly a regular visitor to the room, and therefore no expert on the arrangement of the furniture in there!
“Pit pat.” said nanny in almost exasperation, an expression that I took to be a combination of irritation mixed just with the correct amount of impatience. Much to my chagrin I found myself almost standing to attention army style when she said this.
“Nonsense.” said the nanny, turning back to the table with the spoon. “It is a carpet bag. Not a travelling bag.” she wagged the spoon at Susan accusingly. “Pay attention Susan.” she said, and the poor child also almost stood to attention as well.
“Well as long as everything is in order then I shall leave you to your charges.” I said, turning to leave. “No doubt the children will be presented downstairs in...” I glanced at my pocket watch, “Fourteen minutes.” I said, noting the smile on the nanny’s face again.
“Precisely.” she said, and she failed completely to keep an air of sarcasm out of her voice. “As soon as I have administered the children’s tonic.”
“It tastes like sugar, daddy!” said Paul, smiling at me.
“Does it now?” I asked, making my way to the door. I turned as the nanny dipped a spoon in a bowl on the table and presented the contents to Susan who licked the spoon clean quickly, her face crinkling into a grimace as she did so. Her face changed instantly however, a broad grin appearing on her face.
“It is sugar!” she said almost in delight. I could not for the life of me even remotely begin to understand what was so exciting about a spoon of sugar but my two children seemed especially pleased for some undefinable reason.
“A spoon filled with sugar assists in the digestion of many a medicine.” said the nanny happily, and I noticed the bowl of sugar on the table for the first time. It was fully filled, the light from the seemingly new lamp giving the contents a dark greyish tinge. Unwittingly I shivered as I opened the door.
“Very good.” I said as the nanny swept the bowl off the table and rather strangely stowed it in her travelling bag. I corrected myself. Carpet bag. Yes. Carpet bag. My children could barely contain their excitement, which was almost certainly down to their tonic.
“You won’t ever leave us will you nanny?” said Paul eagerly. licking the remnants of sugar from around his mouth with his tongue, which I was extremely irritated that the nanny did not chide him for doing this. The nanny stared at him strangely, almost as if attempting to solve some difficult equation, but then she smiled at the two children before returning to being busy with her carpet bag.
“I shall stay until the wind changes.” she muttered, and as she said it a swift gale of wind blew about the gables, making a low moaning sound as it blew around the outside of the house. Involuntarily I felt myself shiver.
“Very good.” I said once again as I struggled to regain my composure, closing the door behind me and finding myself outside on the landing once more. For some reason I could not fathom the melancholy feeling I had experienced but this very morning returned once again, and I made my way down from the nursery to sit in the living room awaiting the presentation of the children to my wife and I. Wilhelmina was already there of course, sitting reading beside the large flaming fire, and I smiled at her as I took my seat opposite.
“What is that on your shirt my dear?” she asked as I sat down, and I followed her gaze. To my surprise a small black fleck of dirt was on my white shirt and I rubbed it with my finger. Unfortunately, that made the matter worse as a dark black smear spread across the starched cloth.
“Damnation!” I uttered as I looked at the stain, noting my wife’s eyebrow rise again. It is quite amusing how she can say so much and yet not utter any words at all! I glanced at my fingertips where I had rubbed the black mark and was surprised to see my fingers smeared too.
“How very strange.” I sighed. “It would appear it is soot! We really must get these chimneys swept, Wilhelmina!” I muttered as we sat there awaiting the arrival of the children, my wife reading and I glaring into the raging fire, a dark stain of soot staining the breast of my shirt over the area of my heart. “Must get them swept, and soon I would say!”
“Of course.” said my wife, smiling from over her book, though I am not sure that she actually heard me at all. “Of course.” she repeated dreamily while we sat together awaiting the children. Outside the west wind continued to bluster and moan around the house.
***
The next day I noted as I dressed in my suit for work that the wind continued to blow from the west, according to the weather vane on the rooftop across the street, the trees of Cherry Hill Lane seeming to indicate a strong breeze, judging by their rapid swaying and leaves fluttering across the road. As my wife and I broke our fast in the dining room there was a sudden commotion from the nursery upstairs and it was with a sinking heart that I thought that the new nanny had perhaps lost control already. An air of gloom descended upon me, the interviewing process and advertisement forming in my mind once again. I sighed as my wife stared at the ceiling and the noise from above. It seemed that very soon the nannies of London would be boycotting our household, so high was our turnover of nursery staff!
Yet as I sat there not even daring to look at the ceiling it became apparent that the noise was simply that of the nanny, Susan and Paul descending the stairs.
“Pit pat!” I heard her call from outside. I rose from the table as I saw the children sweep past the doorway heading for the front door and leaned into the hall. The nanny saw me instantly and smiled, though the children took a few more seconds to register my presence, turning almost sleepily to look at me. “An outing to the park!” she almost barked, leading the children out through the now open front door and onto the doorstep.
“Ah yes. Fresh air…” I began, but the nanny had turned away from me and as the door slammed itself shut I found myself alone in the hall. “Very good for the lungs I believe.” I said to myself, and returned to the dining room for a final cup of tea before making my way to work.
Frobisher and Honeywell is a fine bank in the heart of the financial district of London. “The Square Mile” as it is known is a fine place for one to be employed within. The Bank of England is close to hand along with the stock exchange at Paternoster Square. The whole area is alive with finance, these banks being at the heart of all of the economies of the world, and Frobisher and Honeywell is but one spoke in a much larger wheel that rules nations f
rom their vaults. Their reliance upon the solid standing and reverence in which the institutes of The British Empire are held in admiration by the entire globe is of course quite remarkable, yet also hugely deserved.
I am held in good standing by my employers of course, and at this moment in time I have been made aware that I am being observed by my elders and betters with a mind to securing a promotion which would give me great pleasure in gratefully accepting. My immediate manager, Mister Hatch, is however a stickler for attention to detail of the highest order. Not only does he scrutinise the arithmetical elements of any ledgers I have passed but also their neatness and handwriting. It is said (often in whispers I must confess) that he once fired a man for accidentally releasing an ink blot in a ledger, and this I can well believe. He is an old thin man, made emaciated by lack of humour and fixation with his work at the bank. Often he will appear behind you, looking over your shoulder as you carefully fill in the ledgers.
Yet he seems to hold me in regard, the fact of which I am not entirely sure is an actual compliment or not. In all truth I think that it is with my passing of my colleagues work that he finds so little fault, and if anything, it is that which makes him look upon me favourably.
That I had already checked and passed several ledgers whilst at home the previous day gave me a good head start on the day’s work, and I found myself at lunchtime ruminating on the previous day’s events; the arrival of the nanny and I wondered vaguely whether the children were enjoying their outing in the park. I felt a small pang of guilt that it may have been the case that I did not spend as much time with my children as perhaps I should, but the fanciful notion soon left my head, the original thought no doubt caused by a hastily digested piece of onion with my lunch, or maybe the apple I ate this morning for it tasted a little sour. Nevertheless, soon the idea was gone and I was back to my ledgers.
That evening Wilhelmina and I saw sat by the fireside as nanny presented our children, suitably fed, watered and scrubbed clean and in their night clothes ready for a good night’s sleep. They seemed sleepy and I must say that I was too, for Mr Hatch had kept me busy all day despite my expedience of making a free start from the day before. I found myself not completely paying attention as the children chatted to my wife about their day’s escapades yet I did manage to raise my level of attention upon hearing about their escapades in the park.
“... And we met a real chimney sweep!” I heard Paul say, which I am sure you will understand drew my attention instantly.
“I beg your pardon, Paul?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. The child stopped in his tracks almost and it was then that I noticed just how tired he actually was. He appeared to be almost sagging as he stood, trying to remain awake. I considered relenting until the morning but I needed to know where he had got this preposterous idea from.
“You met a chimney sweep?” I continued incredulously. He nodded dumbly, almost dropping the small teddy he held in his left hand.
“Yes.” he yawned. “He was covered in coal dust and had real brushes and a hat.”
“A hat?” I stammered. “Exactly what sort of hat does a chimney sweep wear then?” I asked, more in shock than anything.
“A small flat cap like a pancake he said it was.” Susan said all in one breath.
“A chimney sweep, nanny?” I enquired as Wilhelmina sat squirming in her chair. There was no such deference in the posture or expression on the face of the nanny however.
“Seth.” she said, smiling broadly. “A friend of mine.” she continued as the children stood in silence swaying sleepily by her side.
“And he is a chimney sweep, nanny?” enquired Wilhelmina. To my great shock the nanny nodded.
“Yes. A very old and very good friend of mine.” I can tell you that I could barely contain myself!
“Now look her, nanny!” I shouted and it was her turn to raise an eyebrow. I rose from my chair, pointing an accusing finger at her. “I do not want my children cavorting with chimney sweeps or common folk of that sort! It is unseemly!”
“Geoffrey.” said my wife still seated in front of me, but leaning across and placing a placatory hand on my arm. “Remember your blood pressure.” she sighed, for she knew that I was not so easily shaken off any subject. The nanny however I was convinced was now smirking at me insolently.
“I suggest Mr Berkeley that you let me consider what is seemly and unseemly. Seth is a very good friend and there is no danger to either of your children whatsoever.” She began to usher the children towards the door. “In fact I doubt if they can understand a single word he can say most of the time.” she said, a wry smile crossing her face as she led the two children from the room. As she did so she turned and looked over her shoulder for a moment, her eyes locking on mine. I felt her staring at me and I began to feel confused; unfocused. The next moment her gaze was snatched away from mine as she closed the door behind her. From the hall outside I could hear her voice however.
“Pit pat!” she said loudly and this was followed by the sound of the three of them making their way up the stairs and across the landing to the nursery. I felt my heart racing and I felt dizzy, yet still I had some remaining strength to continue my protests that I moments before seemingly forgotten.
“Well I never, Wilhelmina!” I exclaimed, slumping back down into my chair. “A chimney sweep, no less!”
“I am sure nanny knows best.” said my wife, looking at the no doubt purple hue of my cheeks.
“Well I shall be sure to keep a very careful eye on this nanny and her outings!” I shouted, my wife wincing at the sound of the sarcasm I placed on the last word.
It was an uneasy night after that and my wife retired early, no doubt to escape the awkward silence that lay between us. Having kissed her goodnight, I stoked the fire and poured myself a stiff whisky and settled down to read. Yet I could not concentrate, and found my attention wandering. At around about eleven in the evening the servants retired and I sat alone staring into the coals sipping at my drink. A hard rain was falling on the windows, and a stiff breeze was rushing about the outside of the house. Just after midnight I retired and banking down the fire I made myself ready for bed.
I lit a candle and made my way up the stairs, the corridor cold and drafty as I made my slow tired way along it. Even here I could hear the wind from outside as it howled and blew. It seemed to me as I made my way along the passage that there were almost like voices on the wind, words I could not make out, almost as if they were on the edge of my hearing. I stopped as the candle spluttered and flickered in the draft; listening.
I could hardly make it out, yet it started with almost a sound… “Sookra” I thought I heard… then “farley” I think it said, then “Accra” and maybe the last sound was “oakra” or the like, and then it began again, the wind rising, and the chant grew in volume… Sookra... farley... accra…. Oakra... then louder again, roaring down the hallway. I began to hurry up the corridor to my bedroom but as I increased my speed suddenly there was a sudden gust of wind and just as I reached the nursery door the candle flickered and went out completely.
I stood in the dark, listening… “Sookra... farley... accra…. oakra…” and then I heard rather than saw the nursery door slowly creak open. On the other side of the room I saw the green shaded lamp casting a sickly emerald glow across the nursery, the rocking horse rocking back and forwards slowly as if propelled by some unseen hand.
“Sookra... farley…. accra…. oakra…” It continued, and I took a step towards the now open door of the nursery, and then I heard a rustling sound like some beast was moving towards me across the floor. Yelping to myself I dropped the extinguished candle and ran to my bedroom.
I slept uneasily as the wind and the chanting raged about the house, yet towards dawn I dropped into an uneasy slumber as light began to break through the curtains. It was a little later when I awoke and as I lay in my bed I felt weary and knew it was going to be a long hard day ahead. Focusing my sight on the room I noticed a small spot on my pillow
and raised myself onto my arms to look at it. I felt my heart racing for no reason that I could put my finger on, yet I felt disturbed, for there on my pillow lay a small fleck of dark black soot.
***
As I wearily broke my fast I resolved that as I was already late that I would arrive at work by ten o’clock and so resume my duties at that point. It was unlike me to be late, I know, and I was sure that it would be commented on, though more from the angle of it being out of character rather than as a misdemeanour, for as head of the department in which I worked the actual hours I chose to be at the bank were of my own creation. Efficiency was the key of course, though this did not of course apply to the clerks who worked beneath me! They were the eight o’clock until six o’clock men; not a minute more unfortunately, but most profoundly not a single second less: this I insisted upon.
So, yawning I paid little heed to the nanny leading the children out into the sunshine and continued with another cup of tea. My wife had long since broken her fast of course, and was now no doubt embroiled in some no doubt tedious domestic trifle, but as I sat there reading the latest stocks and shares and making an attempt to grasp the current state of the markets my tired mind began to wander back to the previous night’s events.
No doubt I had simply imagined most of it, no doubt embellishing the sounds of the wind around the house due to the late hour and the darkness of the hallway. Yet I am not a man taken to flights of fancy, and so it caused me no little unease to sit there ruminating over what may or may not have happened. I recalled the opening of the nursery door, seemingly by itself, but surely that was no more than the wind, and of course the new nanny had installed a green lamp of her own. Given enough time I could have rationalised away all and everything of course, but I could not shake the feeling of unease.
The Waiting Room Page 12