That I made a sorry sight there could be no doubt. Drenched in rain, most definitely as white as a sheet and nursing a battered kite I staggered along the lane heading homewards. At one point I passed the local police constable who eyed me with traces of both suspicion and concern simultaneously.
“Are you quite well Mister Berkeley?” he asked, his eyebrows bristling beneath his police helmet.
“Yes indeed.” I said, surprising myself at how strange my voice sounded; high pitched and somewhat tremulous. “Very well indeed.” I finished and he tipped his hand to his hat and made off on his way on his beat, though I will say that I felt his eyes on my back for quite some time as I staggered on my way up the street.
Eventually my house came into sight, and I noticed that in the row of houses in which it stood, the stone on the front of my house looked much dirtier than all of the others, almost as if it were somehow coated in dust of some sort. It could have been a trick of the light or of my imagination of course, for it was most certainly not that way the day before, but I had no time for it at that moment in time, for I felt as I were about to succumb and fall to the pavement at any second. Climbing the front steps, I let myself in and staggered into the hall. The house seemed to be in silence, and so I dragged myself into the living room which was equally empty, though I was grateful to find that a well-lit fire roared in the fireplace. Dropping the kite to the floor I fell into my armchair and revelling in the luxuriant warmth rising from the dancing flames in the grate I kicked off my ruined shoes, huddled into the heat and quickly fell asleep.
***
I came to with a start, the fire now but ashes in the grate. I sat there for a minute or so listening in the darkness for any sign of movement, but there appeared to be none. I shivered as I was now chilled to the bone, my jacket still sticking wetly to my back where the heat of the fire had not been able to reach and therefore dry it. I looked at the clock on the mantelpiece but could not see the time in the darkness. So I rose from my seat and this confirmed what I had previously only suspected; to my dismay whilst the front of my clothes had been dried by the now expired fire, the back of them most definitely had not! I plucked the clock from the mantelpiece, stubbing my toe on the chair facing mine as I did so, cursing loudly into the darkness as I carried it across the room.
Moving carefully in the darkness I pulled open the curtain and held the clock up to see the time, the clock face reflected in the moonlight now pouring through the window.
Five past midnight! I was aghast! I had slept surely for all of the day. I had not even eaten, or at least had no recollection of doing so! Yet my family and staff had seen fit to leave me where I was helpless and soaked to the bone! I shivered in the cold as my damp clothes stuck to my back to remind me of my soaking earlier in the day. I could not fathom why I had been left there all alone, for now my staff would have retired, and certainly my wife and children would be asleep also, which made the running of a hot bath I so fervently desired an impossibility!
I did however feel completely drained and lacking in energy and vigour, and so I decided to head for bed and have my bath in the morning once I had undertaken my duty of having several harsh words with my servants. Carefully re-crossing the room and replacing the clock on the mantelpiece I left my study, and crossing the hall began my ascent up the stairs. As I did so I thought I heard the sound of a giggling child rising from somewhere up above me. “No doubt the nanny was having a bad night of it” I thought and could hardly keep my delight at the very thought making me laugh aloud. Yet as I approached the nursery I hear what was obviously the high pitched giggling of a small girl from the far end of the hall in which I stood.
“Susan!” I whispered loudly down the corridor. “Is that you?” I was however greeted with nothing but silence from the pitch blackness that surrounded me. I had considered lighting a lamp to light my way to bed but had thought better of it as I did not want to disturb either my wife or children, such was the hour. Curious, I continued down the corridor which was in completely the opposite direction from my bedroom and there I heard the giggle again, but from the next storey up.
I was all but a stranger to this part of the house, for the next staircase rose a flight up to attic where my staff slept, but I remembered it vaguely. Up the now narrow flight of stairs I went, reaching a small corridor which I knew had several doors about its short length, even if I could not currently see them at all. Then the giggling sounded above me; nearer this time but still a little way off. I knew that there was but one more thin set of stairs that led to the roof and I banged into the wall several times as I attempted to find the beginning of the next flight up. Eventually I stumbled upon it and began my final ascent as the giggling sounded above me yet again, even nearer this time.
Reaching the top of the stairs I knew that there was a small doorway here that led out onto the roof itself, and so I was greatly surprised as I neared the top of the steep stairs to discover that the door was actually open and flapping in the breeze. From the edges of the frame a silver light was shining, and as I pushed it open moonlight flooded down around me, a slight breeze making me gasp as it hit my wet clothes. I ducked my head as I left the stairs and made my way onto the roof, and gasped again, so beautiful was the sight that rose before me. Do not take me wrong, for I am not a man given to fancies or words of poetry or the like, but the sight before me quite took my breath away!
I was now standing on the roof my house, which is quite elevated, though no more than some, and all around me stood the chimney pots of my home and my neighbours. As my gaze rose towards the city of London it was almost as if I was looking over a forest of chimney pots rising from the rooftops, smoke billowing from some, but because of the lateness of the hour, not from most. The city was behind this, and far across the river I fancied that I could just about see the dome of Saint Paul’s, and the surrounding buildings. Above all this low in the sky hung a large harvest moon, casting blue light about the city, glistening off the buildings and rooftops, illuminating the chimney pots and stacks. Bright stars twinkled overhead, studding the night sky that was so black and dark it almost seemed to be a deep mournful shade of blue in hue somehow, though this was no doubt in some way due to the moonlight that bathed me as I stood in awe on the rooftop.
I stood immobile, amazed at the cloudless sky, for usually it was obscured from the residents of the city in a dark smog, but not tonight. There was not a cloud in sight, and the few plumes of smoke that rose from the chimney pots far away rose into the blue of the night sky and dissolved like a mist on a wind.
“Sookra… farley… accra…. oakra…” I heard from nearby and jumped to attention. I edged carefully around one of my chimney pots to where the roof was widest and saw in front of me the nanny crouched on the flat roof before me, Susan and Paul on either side of her.
“Children! Come here at once!” I cried, “What on Earth are you doing on the roof at night? I shall have your resignation for this nanny, make no mistake!” My children did not move however, for they looked as if they were in a daze, their eyes not registering my presence at all. As I spoke however, the nanny tilted her head up to face me and I saw black circles of soot around her mouth. As I watched she stuck her tongue out and licked her lips clean of the soot, smiling at me as she did so. When done she leaned down to the ground and licked at something on the floor again, before raising her head towards me once again, showing me even more soot around her mouth.
Then she laughed a low, deep laugh that seemed to make my eyes bulge in my head as the chant came back to me. “Sookra… farley… accra… oakra…” it said, and suddenly I saw the Dobbie horse’s dead eyes race before me, bright flashes of primary colours making my head spin. I reeled and leaned against one of the chimney pots to regain my balance just as the nanny strode past me.
“Pit pat.” she said, vanishing through the door that led down from the roof into the house. From inside I heard her speak again. “Step in line.”
“Step in line
.” said both Susan and Paul simultaneously, walking past me and back into the house as they did so, not even noticing that I was there on the rooftop at all.
I stood there rooted to the spot, my head spinning as I heard the chant again on the breeze, seeming to come from far away and yet at the same time somewhere near to hand too.
“Sookra… farley… accra… oakra…” came the chant again and I jumped back startled as from a chimney pot at the far side of the roof a long arm suddenly appeared from inside the chimney and grasped the rim of the pot itself. It was as if the arm was dragging someone, or something, up from inside the chimney. I watched with a growing sense of amazement that rapidly turned to fear as I saw another black arm rise from within the pot and then with a loud expulsion of soot from the chimney itself a head appeared, featureless and black, the shape of a cap on its head.
Yet as it emerged from the chimney it became apparent that the creature was featureless and all made of one flowing piece of what looked like solid soot! It turned its head toward me as I stood there unable to move as I saw out of the corner of my eye another arm appear over the edge of a different chimney pot, and then from another chimney to my right yet another arm appeared. The first creature stood unmoving, jutting up from the chimney pot as if it had every right to be there. Then it spoke.
“Step in line.” It said, and began to drag itself further out of the chimney.
“Step in line.” said another creature from my left as it dragged itself from the chimney and flopped to the roof, raising itself and then slowly moving towards me. Soot fell around it to the floor as it pulled itself towards me. I saw the first creature had also freed itself from the chimney, as had a third and then a fourth.
I began to back slowly towards the door that I knew was behind me as the chanting seemed to rise with the slow progress of the creatures across the rooftop towards me.
“Sookra… farley… accra… oakra…” I heard.
“Step in line!” insisted the five creatures dragging themselves slowly across the roof. They moved I noted awkwardly, as if they were unused to being upright, or indeed of walking at all, and yet I was not taking any chances. With a loud scream I turned and fled, darting through the open doorway and taking the door firmly in my hands I slammed it shut in the face of the encroaching sweeps.
I rummaged around in the dark searching for the bolts I suspected were on the door and having found them first at the top and then at the bottom I drew them across, securing the door. Luckily the nanny seemed to have taken the children down the stairs and so I stood there with my back to the door panting. listening for the sign of any activity on the roof. Suddenly there was a loud thump on the frame almost as if some person had thrown a bag of dust at the door, and then all was silent.
A thin breeze rose, and I thought I heard the chant again…. “Sookra… farley… accra… oakra…” but I may have been mistaken, for then there was naught but silence.
Quivering I checked the bolts one more time and descended in the darkness, making my way cautiously to my bedroom. I am pleased to say that the nursery door was closed and there were no sounds of activity from within, and yet I am not also afraid to say that as I passed the children's room I broke into a run.
***
My office at the establishment of the Frobisher and Honeywell Bank was a haven to me normally, yet today it seemed far away; distant, as if it did not really belong to me at all. I looked at the large blotter freshly cut and placed on my desk, examined the ink pot set into the table and the stack of ledgers off to my right. Normally I would enjoy the smell of the ink and the rub of the pages in the ledgers as I turned them, but today it was but a chore.
I felt hot and feverish, no doubt due to my drenching and peculiar turn the day before, and also the strangely vivid dream I had of finding creatures on the rooftop. What a preposterous thing was the human mind when suffering a malady, for it was no doubt no more than that!
I opened the drawer of my desk and took from it the small brass key and crossing the room to the fireplace I placed the key in the Staveley timepiece placed there and wound it meticulously. It was of course important to keep a close eye on the correct time, and this clock must be not a second slow nor a second fast. The mechanism ensured that it stayed in steady beat with Greenwich Mean Time of course, but it was I who ensured that daily it was fully wound and ready for service.
It was equally important that this clock was completely accurate, for it was from this device and every other closely observed timepiece in the bank that every manager of the bank would set their watches, and it was this that not only set the time that the bank would open but also that it would close, and that the leaving and arriving of the staff were measured against. It was very important to make sure that the clerks would step in line of course, and so I wound the clock as I did every day.
Today was the day of my interview with the head of foreign currency, Mister Jakes, and Mister Hatch had set a note on my desk confirming the time of three o’clock in the afternoon, when he would come and inspect my ledgers as to appraise my application to my potential promotion. This of course had no effect on my humours for the day, for I am not one given to anxiety or nervousness. I am confident in my work and therefore the inspection, as I had come to think of it for that was what it was in all but name, troubled me not at all.
At five minutes before three o’clock I refilled my ink well and cleaned my quill, setting out the current ledger I was inspecting on the desk before me. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was now three minutes before the hour and so I was more than a little surprised to hear a small rap on the door which then opened as Mister Hatch showed Mister Jakes into my office. Hatch was normally a stickler for time, and so I conceded that mayhap it was Mister Jakes who had forced his early arrival. I knew Hatch well of course, though I found him to be a dry and humourless man, but Jakes was a complete stranger to me, having worked in a different department from him for all my time with the bank so far.
“Ah you are early!” I smiled, shaking Hatch’s hand vigorously before turning to shake the hand of Mr Jakes who ignored me completely and gave me his briefcase instead, which I placed on the floor beside my desk and ignoring the slight, smiled at Jakes once again.
He was a small rotund man, with the look of a person given to outbursts of impatience; in short a man whose voice had to be the loudest in the room as equally his height was almost certainly the shortest therein.
“Nonsense!” he said, pulling a pocket watch from his waistcoat. “We are precisely on time. You clock is slow old chap!” he said, an air of irritation creeping into his voice. I was about to express my lack of agreement when I saw Hatch open his pocket watch and show me the time, which was showing that my clock was actually three minutes slow! I felt my heat rising as Jakes crossed to the clock and went to take it from the mantelpiece before something that probably he could only just see caught his eye on the mantelpiece above the fire and he tutted loudly and ran his fingers across the ledge. He held them up to us both, showing dark smears of soot upon his fingers.
“I would employ a sweep if I were you, Berkeley!” he spat. “Damned office is a midden! No wonder your clock is slow as well!” He tutted and fussed loudly about the room, no doubt looking for more traces of soot but it appeared that he could not find any. Eventually he took a seat at my desk and Hatch and I followed him. For the next twenty minutes or more he looked at every ledger and at more or less every line and page expectant of finding flaws. He did comment on several things, indicating that “He would not do it that way himself” and although he did not seem to particularly enjoy my retort that there was no room for interpretation in a ledger and that it was either done correctly or incorrectly, he did not find any actual errors at all.
“Serviceable work.” he concluded as he slammed the ledger closed. “Though nothing remarkable. Mayhap I may see your journal entry skills?” he enquired and I nodded in agreement as he continued. “Journal entry is an important skill in
foreign currency, Mister Berkeley!” he exclaimed, “One decimal point in the wrong place and governments will fall!” He sniffed loudly and sat back in his chair. “Yes, governments could fall, sir! Mark my words!”
I pulled the journal from the top of my pile and inked my quill.
“No! No!” exclaimed Jakes, startling me somewhat. I still felt hot and light headed, and just wanted this interview to over and done with so I could retire home and have an early night’s sleep. I was most definitely sickening for something! “Not that ledger. I have brought one with me in my briefcase that we have been working on for the last month. We shall see how you fare with this one! Fetch it for me please, Mister Hatch!”
I watched as Hatch scuttled to the door and brought the briefcase to Jakes, who upon opening it produced a thick leather backed ledger and placed it before me, opening the page at the last entry. He then searched inside for a slip of paper on which were written several lines of text and figures.
“This is what I want you to enter into the ledger please, Mister Berkeley.” he said, passing me the slip of paper. “Do you think you are up to the job?” I looked at the carefully written work spread out before me. To my eye it was although extremely neat, somewhat a little over-ornate, yet I knew I was equal to the task and said so.
“I can ensure you I have been doing this for a very long time, Mister Jakes.” I sniffed. “My equals and betters consider my hand to be one of the best. I can assure you it will be but a pleasure to continue your work.
“Well just be careful, man.” he mumbled as I dipped my quill in the ink and looked very carefully at where I was about to make my entry.
“All you have to do is ensure that the figures step in line.” he said as my quill approached the paper. I stopped abruptly.
The Waiting Room Page 15