IV
Thus it was that she found herself, on the Thursday afternoon, on the road a few miles from Rawsley. Behind, on top of her own bags, was a theatrical basket, the property of Miss Elsie Longstaff, and in her handbag was a letter from Effie and an envelope in which she had seen Unkerlarthur place a dirty pound note and an equally dirty ten shilling one; all he could muster. She had hinted that she could lend Elsie some money herself, but Unkerlarthur had insisted on sending this thirty shillings. It had never occurred to Miss Trant that she, a stranger, was being trusted with these things, and neither Unkerlarthur nor Effie had pointed out this fact or shown the least hesitation; all of which says something for the company we are keeping.
The rain that had driven Mr.¬ÝOakroyd under the trees had compelled Miss Trant to put up the hood of her car. With the first appearance of the sun, she had stopped to take down the hood, and this time had stopped altogether. The car refused to start again. She cranked away until she was breathless and aching. She pressed the self-starter until at last it would not even make a noise. When she was not attending to one or the other, she was hopefully flooding the carburettor. It was useless; the engine would not start, never even gave a promising little cough or splutter. She looked wistfully at its mysterious pipes and wires and cylinders. ‚ÄúHow absurd these things are!‚Äù she told herself. ‚ÄúIt looks just the same, exactly the same as it does when it‚Äôs going, and yet it won‚Äôt go.‚Äù There was nothing for it but to wait until someone came along who knew more about the interior of a car than she did. As the roads now are crowded with people who know all about such things, her position did not make her feel uneasy. The road to Rawsley, however, was singularly deserted that afternoon. Ten minutes passed and brought not a soul. Then a little figure came into the struggling sunlight. And this, of course, was Mr.¬ÝOakroyd walking into his adventure.
When he came closer, Miss Trant noticed that he was carrying a bag of tools and, of all things, one of those absurd little basket trunks, and the very smallest she had ever seen. When he came closer still, she noticed that this sturdy middle-aged workman had a broad pleasant face and eyes of bright blue. His brown cap was on the back of his head and looked too small for him, and this cap and the ridiculous little basket trunk made Miss Trant want to laugh. What she did do, however, was simply to smile at him and to ask if he knew anything about cars.
He did not raise his cap, he did not touch it in salute, but he pushed it further back on his head. In this way he contrived to give the lady some sort of salute and also keep his independence at the same time. “Well,” he replied to her question about cars, “I do and I don’t, as you might say.” And he smiled back at her, his face wrinkling pleasantly in the sunshine.
“I wonder if the ‘do’ part of it would apply to this car, because I can’t make it start, you see. I wonder if you’d mind having a look at it. I’m sure you could do something with it.” Miss Trant had great confidence in all men who carried bags of tools about with them, and would have been surprised to learn that joiners usually know very little about internal-combustion engines.
‚ÄúWhat I mean is this,‚Äù he went on, following his own thoughts stubbornly. ‚ÄúI‚Äôve nivver driven a car i‚Äô my life. Cars as cars has nowt to do wi‚Äô my job. But where I‚Äôve been working, they‚Äôve a lot o‚Äô lorries and I‚Äôve spent many an hour watching t‚Äôlads set ‚Äôem to rights, so I‚Äôve picked up a bit about ‚Äôem. Nar do you understand me, Missis‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI mean, Miss?‚Äù
His caution, his broad North-country speech, and certain whimsical details of his appearance all delighted Miss Trant. “I see. But I’m sure you could find out what’s wrong with it.”
“I might and I might not. You can nivver tell wi’ these things. I’ll have a do at her, though. Nar what have you done so far?” And he listened to her tale of cranking and petrol flooding with the deep solemnity of a man about to take over a job. When she had finished, he remarked: “I’ll bet it’s either t’plugs or magneto. She won’t start if her plugs is mucky. We’ll have a look at ’em.”
Cheerfully he set to work, first pulling out the car’s tool box, then unscrewing one plug after another. “They’re none so bad,” he observed, “but we’ll give ’em a bit of a rub up while we’re on t’job.”
It was while he was giving them his bit of rub up that the sky suddenly darkened. From the massed clouds in the West there came a vague roll or two of thunder, and the next minute there was something more than a mere shower, there was a downright pelter. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd hastily covered up the engine and then helped Miss Trant to raise the hood. ‚ÄúCome inside and shelter,‚Äù she cried, climbing in. After a moment‚Äôs hesitation, he followed her, and there they sat together, looking through the windscreen at the downpour, a very queer pair indeed.
“Eh, I’ve left that basket o’ mine out,” he exclaimed, and brought it in. “I’ve all my clothes i’ that, an’ they wouldn’t dry so quick once they’d gotten sopped through.”
This last remark was made, in his excitement, in a brogue so broad that Miss Trant could hardly understand it. “I’m sure you must come from Sheffield,” she said, after a pause. “I was there last night.” This nice little man reminded her of Unkerlarthur.
“Nay, I don’t,” he replied, apparently in some surprise. “I belong many a mile off Sheffield. I came from Bruddersford. Nar, I’ll bet you’ve heard o’ Bruddersford, haven’t you, Miss?”
“Yes, that’s where they make cloth, isn’t it? But that’s in Yorkshire too, surely?”
“Ay, I should think it wor. It’s more i’ Yorkshire ner Sheffield. You couldn’t have owt more Yorkshire ner Bruddersford. An’ I’ve lived there all my life, except for a bit when I was down South, till this week.”
“And where are you going to now?”
“Eh, I don’t know. I was just going to have look round this Rawsley place today, but I don’t rightly know where I’m going.”
“I’m rather like that, too, at the moment,” Miss Trant remarked. The parallel amused her.
“I nobbut set off o’ Monday night,” he continued, a trifle dreamily. “And what is it now? It’s nobbut Thursday, isn’t it? Well, it seems like months sin’ I was i’ Bruddersford, I’ve done that much and seen that much these three days. I’m fair capped wi’ mesen. It’s like being one o’ these chaps on t’pictures. And nobbut three days!”
Miss Trant could have clapped her hands, just as she used to do when she was a little girl and as she had never thought of doing for years. “But how queer!” she cried. “I’ve been just like that too. I’ve been away since Monday and all kinds of things have happened and I feel as if I’d been away months and was quite a different person. Don’t you feel that too?”
“I do an’ all.” He was as delighted as she was.
“Do tell me all that’s happened to you,” she commanded. “But tell me your name first.”
“Oakroyd’s my name. It’s a right old Bruddersford name.”
“And mine’s Trant, and that’s an old name, too, in Gloucestershire. And now you must tell me all your adventures since Monday night. I’m sure you’ve had adventures, haven’t you?”
“I have that. I’ve had so many, I don’t fairly know where to start. It’ll tak’ a bit o’ time.”
‚ÄúNever mind about that, Mr.¬ÝOakroyd. It‚Äôs raining hard and we can‚Äôt do anything until it stops, and I want to hear all about it.‚Äù
After some hesitation, he told the whole story, with Lily and his wife and Leonard, the twenty pounds and the dismissal, the lorry, the Great North Road and Nobby and the Kirkworth Inn, the caravan and Joby Jackson and the fair and Jim Summers, in short, with everything in it. Miss Trant, who occasionally asked questions and insisted upon all the details, enjoyed it all and decided that Mr.¬ÝOakroyd himself was adorable. In return, she told him enough to prove that she was really a fellow-adventurer. Then the sun came out again to brighten the last spatter of rain.
‚ÄúNar we‚Äôll have a do at them plugs,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, who liked to push on with a job once he had put his hand to it. His ‚Äúdo‚Äù was crowned with success, for the car started easily. Miss Trant waved him back to his seat, and they moved towards Rawsley. The town began, as so many small towns do, with a railway station, and on the opposite side of the road, about a hundred yards farther along, was a corrugated iron hut labelled ‚ÄúMounder‚Äôs Station Refreshment Rooms.‚Äù Miss Trant‚Äôs eyes were caught by a pink bill pasted on the wall of this hut, near the doorway. She pulled up, then got out to examine the bill. It told her what she wanted to know: The Dinky Doos, in their Musical Medley of Fun and Frolic, were to be seen, it proclaimed, in the Assembly Rooms, Rawsley; and among the promised attractions were ‚Äúthe Dainty Numbers‚Äù of Miss Elsie Longstaff.
While she was reading this notice, a middle-aged woman appeared in the doorway. Perhaps she was Mounder herself, for she had the mournful resignation of one doomed to be encased in corrugated iron and to serve station refreshments.
Miss Trant turned to her. ‚ÄúCan you tell me if these people‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe pointed to the notice‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúare still in the town?‚Äù
Mrs.¬ÝMounder immediately folded herself up, her arms, her face, her whole body, being compressed at once, so that she seemed the very image of bitter stoicism. ‚ÄúYes indeed they are,‚Äù she replied grimly. ‚ÄúThey‚Äôre in here.‚Äù
“What! Do you mean they’re in there now?”
Mrs.¬ÝMounder shut her eyes, put her lips away altogether, and nodded her head so violently that the whole of her seemed to rock slightly. ‚ÄúCame an hour ago, six of ‚Äôem,‚Äù she said at last, ‚Äúand ordered one pot of tea and one plate of bread-and-butter, and they‚Äôve asked for two lots of hot water already, and some of ‚Äôem‚Äôs eating what they brought themselves. And sitting there jabbering away and ordering me about! They‚Äôll get no more hot water, I can tell you,‚Äù she added, looking sternly at Miss Trant, as if to anticipate that lady‚Äôs request that they should be given still more hot water.
“Oh, what a shame!” cried Miss Trant, remembering their plight.
“You might well call it that, Miss. If everybody went on like that, I couldn’t keep a door open.”
“No, I was thinking about them,” said Miss Trant, boldly correcting her.
‚ÄúThem indeed!‚Äù Mrs.¬ÝMounder sniffed. ‚ÄúDon‚Äôt you worry about them. They‚Äôve impudence for anything, they have. We‚Äôve heard about them.‚Äù
‚ÄúWell, I‚Äôm coming to see one of them, and I‚Äôll have some tea too.‚Äù She turned away to invite Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, who was still sitting in the car, to have some tea with her. At this moment, however, two men, looking rather bedraggled, approached the hut, and in the narrow space between the road and the doorway there was hardly room for the three of them. The men stepped back to let her pass, but as they did so, the one in front, a fair youth with a wild lock of hair and no hat, called out to Mrs.¬ÝMounder: ‚ÄúGood afternoon, Madam. Have you Dinky Doos here?‚Äù
It sounded as if he were an officer of health inquiring about some infectious disease. Miss Trant smiled as she hurried past them. She heard the second man cry: ‚ÄúLead on, Jollifant,‚Äù noticed that he carried a large flat case that looked as if it contained some musical instrument, and wondered if they were theatrical people too. They disappeared into the Station Refreshment Rooms. Then Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, a little diffident, followed them, and Miss Trant, who had returned to her car for her handbag, was last of all. In the doorway, she lingered a moment and heard an astonishing clatter of tongues coming from the inner room. ‚ÄúI‚Äôm quite excited,‚Äù she told herself happily.