Hole and Corner by Patricia Wentworth Page B

going to be all right. There were old willow-pattern plates on the dresser, and dishcovers with little crouching lions on them. There was a row of Toby jugs on the ledge above the range. The smell of bacon meant that there was food in the larder. She loved Jane’s kitchen.
    The first thing to do was to make up the fire, and the next to put the kettle over it. It began to sing at once in the most encouraging way. It was the singing of the kettle that made her feel how very cold, and hungry, and frightened she had been, and how very, very glad she was to be here.
    There were two other doors besides the one through which she had come. The farther one stood open into the scullery. The nearer one let in a draught of cold air as she opened it. It led into the larder—a very superior larder with a stone floor and wide shelves. On the bottom shelf there was a loaf of brown bread, half a pound of butter, a canister of tea, a little jug of milk, two eggs, two bananas, a sugar-basin half full of lump sugar, and a piece of bacon cooling down in the liquor in which it had been boiled.
    A passionate affection for all this food welled gratefully up in Shirley. The only question was, how much of it could she decently eat? She considered this whilst she found a knife and fork and a teapot, tipped the bacon on to a plate, and set everything out on the table. Two eggs and two bananas looked like Jane and a maid each having an egg and a banana for Sunday breakfast, or if there wasn’t a maid who lived in, it looked like two breakfasts for Jane. Just enough and nothing wasted seemed to be Jane’s motto. And just where did an unfortunate starving half-sister who was running away from the police come in?
    The contents of the larder rather confirmed all her worst fears about Jane. There was, to be sure, the piece of bacon. It looked terribly good, but there wasn’t very much of it. Supper for one to-night, lunch for three tomorrow, and supper for three to-morrow evening—no, it just couldn’t be done.
    The kettle changed its singing tone to a boiling one. She made the tea, and then firmly boiled one of the eggs. If she didn’t have something to eat—and not a snack but lots and lots and lots—she couldn’t possibly confront Jane at midnight. Any village shop will sell you food out of its back door on a Sunday. She would leave one egg for Jane’s breakfast, and a banana, and just not bother about anything else.
    She had never enjoyed a supper so much in her life. The half cold bacon, the brown bread, the butter, and the egg all tasted too marvellous for words. She ate a great deal of the bacon, and she drank three cups of tea, allowancing herself rather strictly with the milk so as to leave some for breakfast. It was a lovely lingering meal and the kitchen was as hot as a toast, and the police, and Mrs Huddleston, and London were all as comfortably remote as something read in a book a long time ago. Her grey coat hung across the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Presently she would have to think about it again and get that blighted diamond brooch out of the hem, but not just now.
    When she had finished her supper she put everything tidily away and washed up. It was now about a quarter to ten. If Jane kept early hours, she might come in any time after ten. Shirley thought suddenly about the telephone. Was there one in the house or not? If there was, she could ring Anthony now, at once, before Jane got in. Perhaps he would come down and see her—perhaps he wouldn’t. Anyhow she must let him know she was here.
    She took the lamp and went over the house. There was a dining-room, and a drawing-room, and some crooked stairs, two bedrooms in front and a tiny one at the back, and quite a big room over the kitchen which had been turned into a bathroom. Only one bed was made up, the one in the room over the drawing-room. The sheets and pillow-cases were clean, and there were two hot-water bottles keeping