Mansfield with Monsters (11 page)

She heard him absolutely roaring. “And do you expect me to pay for this gimcrack excursion of yours?”

“Oh,” groaned poor Josephine aloud, “we shouldn't have done it, Con!”

And Constantia, pale as a lemon in all that blackness, said in a frightened whisper, “Done what, Jug?”

“Let them bu-bury Father like that,” said Josephine, breaking down and crying into her new, queer-smelling mourning handkerchief.

“But what else could we have done?” asked Constantia wonderingly. “We couldn't have kept him, Jug—we couldn't have kept him unburied. At any rate, not in a flat that size.”

Their mother had been human but their grandmother, their father's mother, had been an almost pure blooded reptilian. She had shed her human skin in late middle age and lived the rest of her days as a reptile, confined to the basements of her family home. Upon her death she had been mummified and mounted on a great wooden plaque which had had pride of place in their drawing-room in Ceylon. It had pained their father terribly to put her into storage when they had moved into the flat.

Josephine blew her nose; the cab was dreadfully stuffy.

“I don't know,” she said forlornly. “It is all so dreadful. I feel we ought to have tried to, just for a time at least. To make perfectly sure. One thing's certain”—and her tears sprang out again—“Father will never forgive us for this—never!”

VI

Father would never forgive them. That was what they felt more than ever when, two mornings later, they went into his room to go through his things. They had discussed it quite calmly. It was even down on Josephine's list of things to be done. “Go through Father's things and settle about them.” But that was a very different matter from saying after breakfast:

“Well, are you ready, Con?”

“Yes, Jug—when you are.”

“Then I think we'd better get it over.”

It was dark in the hall. It had been a rule for years never to disturb Father in the morning, whatever happened. His old reptile blood took the longest time to warm, and he was sluggish, surly in the early part of the day. And now they were going to open the door without knocking even… Constantia's eyes were enormous at the idea; Josephine felt weak in the knees.

“You—you go first,” she gasped, pushing Constantia.

But Constantia said, as she always had said on those occasions, “No, Jug, that's not fair. You're the eldest.”

Josephine was just going to say—what at other times she wouldn't have owned to for the world—what she kept for her very last weapon, “But you're the tallest,” when they noticed that the kitchen door was open, and there stood Kate… .

“Very stiff,” said Josephine, grasping the door-handle and doing her best to turn it. As if anything ever deceived Kate!

It couldn't be helped. That girl was… Then the door was shut behind them, but—but they weren't in Father's room at all. They might have suddenly walked through the wall by mistake into a different flat altogether. Was the door just behind them? They were too frightened to look. Josephine knew that if it was it was holding itself tight shut; Constantia felt that, like the doors in dreams, it hadn't any handle at all. It was the coldness which made it so awful. Or the whiteness—which? Everything was covered. The blinds were down, a cloth hung over the mirror, a sheet hid the bed; a huge fan of white paper filled the fire-place. Constantia timidly put out her hand; she almost expected a snowflake to fall. Josephine felt a queer tingling in her nose, as if her nose was freezing. Then a cab klop-klopped over the cobbles below, and the quiet seemed to shake into little pieces.

“I had better pull up a blind,” said Josephine bravely.

“Yes, it might be a good idea,” whispered Constantia.

They only gave the blind a touch, but it flew up and the cord flew after, rolling round the blind-stick, and the little tassel tapped as if trying to get free. That was too much for Constantia.

“Don't you think—don't you think we might put it off for another day?” she whispered.

“Why?” snapped Josephine, feeling, as usual, much better now that she knew for certain that Constantia was terrified. “It's got to be done. But I do wish you wouldn't whisper, Con.”

“I didn't know I was whispering,” whispered Constantia.

“And why do you keep staring at the bed?” said Josephine, raising her voice almost defiantly. “There's nothing on the bed.”

“Oh, Jug, don't say so!” said poor Connie. “At any rate, not so loudly.”

Josephine felt herself that she had gone too far. She took a wide swerve over to the chest of drawers, put out her hand, but quickly drew it back again.

“Connie!” she gasped, and she wheeled round and leant with her back against the chest of drawers.

“Oh, Jug—what?”

Josephine could only glare. She had the most extraordinary feeling that she had just escaped something simply awful. But how could she explain to Constantia that Father was in the chest of drawers? He was in the top drawer with his handkerchiefs and neckties, or in the next with his shirts and pyjamas, or in the lowest of all with his suits. He was watching there, hidden away—just behind the door-handle—ready to spring.

She pulled a funny old-fashioned face at Constantia, just as she used to in the old days when she was going to cry.

“I can't open it,” she nearly wailed.

“No, don't, Jug,” whispered Constantia earnestly. “It's much better not to. Don't let's open anything. At any rate, not for a long time.”

“But—but it seems so weak,” said Josephine, breaking down.

“But why not be weak for once, Jug?” argued Constantia, whispering quite fiercely. “If it is weak.” And her pale stare flew from the locked writing-table—so safe—to the huge glittering wardrobe, and she began to breathe in a queer, panting way. “Why shouldn't we be weak for once in our lives, Jug? It's quite excusable. Let's be weak—be weak, Jug. It's much nicer to be weak than to be strong.”

And then she did one of those amazingly bold things that she'd done about twice before in their lives: she marched over to the wardrobe, turned the key, and took it out of the lock. Took it out of the lock and held it up to Josephine, showing Josephine by her extraordinary smile that she knew what she'd done—she'd risked deliberately Father being in there among his overcoats. If the huge wardrobe had lurched forward, had crashed down on Constantia, Josephine wouldn't have been surprised. On the contrary, she would have thought it the only suitable thing to happen. But nothing happened. Only the room seemed quieter than ever, and the bigger flakes of cold air fell on Josephine's shoulders and knees. She began to shiver.

“Come, Jug,” said Constantia, still with that awful callous smile, and Josephine followed just as she had that last time, when Constantia had pushed Benny into the round pond.

VII

But the strain told on them when they were back in the dining-room. They sat down, very shaky, and looked at each other.

“I don't feel I can settle to anything,” said Josephine, “until I've had something. Do you think we could ask Kate for two pigeons?”

“But what of Nurse Andrews? She's only popped out on an errand. What if she should…?”

Josephine smiled, sharp teeth glistening. “I think it's time for Nurse Andrews to end her stay, don't you?”

Constantia's tongue slipped out of her mouth, tasted the air. “Oh Jug, shall we really do away with her? Here, in the house?”

“We shall, Con. We shall.”

“Oh Jug, my appetite has quite returned.”

“I'll go to the kitchen door and ask Kate for something for now,” said Josephine. “Just two pigeons, Con, nothing else—on a tray.”

“She needn't even pull the feathers off, need she?” said Constantia, as though Kate might very well complain if the birds had to be plucked.

“Oh no, certainly not! The feathers can stay. She can just snap their little necks,” cried Josephine, feeling that would be a labour-saving indeed.

Their cold lips quivered at the sight of the birds. Josephine curved her small red claws round a breast; Constantia sat up and blew on the feathers of one wing, making them flutter.

VIII

Nurse Andrews was late in returning. She had found little success on her errands, despite the time she had taken. It was most inconvenient.

“The mahket was quite crowded,” said Nurse Andrews, “so that it was impossible to faynd what one was looking for. There's nevah enough tayme, don't you think?”

Josephine smiled. All the tension of the afternoon was melting in the anticipation of what was to come. “A gift arrived for you, while you were out,” she said.

“A gift? Whay, whatevah could it be?” The nurse's eyes bulged as if she had seen a fresh plate of butter.

“It's in the bath-room,” said Constantia, wrapping one hand around her sister's sleeve. “Let us show you.”

It was an undeniable thrill to be hunting indoors. They'd slipped away in the dead of night to chase alley-cats or stray dogs from time to time, but this was a real first. Josephine found that she had quite forgotten about her father's death, and as she looked at her sister she could see that Constantine was thinking of nothing more than the pleasure at hand.

“The bath-room? How qeeah.” Nurse Andrews frowned, looked from Josephine to Constantia, then started for the bath-room.

Josephine followed close behind her, flexing her hands until her claws popped out. As they neared the bath-room door she reached up and took hold of her upper lip, peeling the human skin back from her head like a fleshy hood. She took care not to tear the skin—it was always easier to reattach than regrow her human face and hair.

She looked over her shoulder and saw Constantia's green, scaly face and glittering eyes. She looked younger than she had in years, her scales lustrous and smooth.

“Is it in heah?” Nurse Andrews asked, pushing the door open. White tiles gleamed on the floor and walls as the late afternoon sun streamed in through the small window above the sink. The large, white bath sat heavy on the floor, its clawed feet gripping the tiles resolutely.

Josephine hissed and swept into the room.

It was awkward at first, as Nurse Andrews caught sight of the two lizard women behind her in the mirror and tried to scream. Josephine got a hold of her easily enough and managed to get a claw into her mouth to stifle the sound, but then the nurse began to struggle and Constantia bumped into Josephine and before they knew what was happening all three of them tumbled into the bath. Josephine found that her claw had ripped a ragged gash in the nurse's cheek and her mouth was no longer blocked. She managed a harsh cry before Constantia snapped her jaws around the woman's face and swallowed her voice.

Josephine pulled and raked and bit the nurse, and Constantia clung to her face in spite of her bucking and kicking. It wasn't nearly as fun as Josephine had hoped, and she found herself wanting it to be over. If the woman would hold still then Josephine could snap her neck or put a claw through her heart, but she insisted on making it complicated. In the end they had to wait for her to be starved of air as Constantia kept her distended jaws clamped over the nurse's mouth and nose.

When the body was limp in the bath Constantia and Josephine stood back and looked down at the shredded, bloody mess.

“I don't know how much I can eat just now, Jug,” said Constantia. She rubbed her jaw.

Josephine looked at their bloodied clothes, the smeared tiles.

“Let's leave her for later,” she said. She smoothed her frock and began to slip her skin back over her head. “And let's not tell Kate.”

They cleaned the bath-room as best they could, and once changed and rested they returned to eat the body. It was very filling and rather less tender than they had hoped, and in the end there was altogether too much for a single meal.

“What shall we do?” Constantia asked, one clawed hand resting on her belly.

“Hang her up,” Josephine suggested. She nodded at her own suggestion, trying to make herself bold. “In the attic, out of the way. We can finish her later.”

Constantia was sure that Kate would discover what they had done, but she was nowhere to be seen as they dragged what remained of the body up the stairs and propped it against an old hat-stand. Constantia opened a small, dusty window in one corner of the attic.

“Do we need to put salt on her?” she asked, looking at the exposed meat.

“Let's not worry about that,” Josephine replied. “We need to get cleaned up again.”

Constantia worried that they might never be clean again.

IX

Settled once more in the sitting room they were interrupted by Kate bursting through the door in her usual fashion, as though she had discovered some secret panel in the wall.

“Fried or boiled?” asked the bold voice.

Fried or boiled? Josephine and Constantia were quite bewildered for the moment. They could hardly take it in.

“Fried or boiled what, Kate?” asked Josephine, trying to begin to concentrate.

Kate gave a loud sniff. “Fish.”

“Well, why didn't you say so immediately?” Josephine reproached her gently. “How could you expect us to understand, Kate? There are a great many things in this world you know, which are fried or boiled.” And after such a display of courage she said quite brightly to Constantia, “Which do you prefer, Con?”

“I think it might be nice to have it fried,” said Constantia, pretending to be hungry. “On the other hand, of course, boiled fish is very nice. I think I prefer both equally well… . Unless you… In that case—”

“I shall fry it,” said Kate, and she bounced back, leaving their door open and slamming the door of her kitchen.

Josephine gazed at Constantia; she raised her pale eyebrows until they rippled away into her pale hair. She got up. She said in a very lofty, imposing way, “Do you mind following me into the drawing-room, Constantia? I've got something of great importance to discuss with you.”