Search Results for 'godfrey'

“I must say,” said Godfrey, “Toasters notwithstanding… your english really is coming along splendidly!”

Anna tapped on Godfrey’s door, pushed it open a crack, and informed him that she’d locked Elizabeth in the downstairs lavatory but was unsure if she’d be able to cajole her back to her bedroom.

“Drat!” exclaimed Godfrey, “What on earth was she doing downstairs? You know I can’t bear seeing her when she’s sick! And why weren’t you watching her as I instructed?”

“Well, I was, sir, but I heard a commotion outside by the pool. I was on my way to investigate, when I heard a loud knock on the front door. By the time I got there, Liz had answered it, so I slammed the door shut, and locked Liz in the lavatory, and came straight here for further instructions.”

“Who was at the door?”

Anna hadn’t noticed, but didn’t like to say. “Oh it was someone selling toasters only.”

“Unhand me, you insubordinate wench!” cried Liz. “How very dare you manhandle me like that!” Liz struggled weakly to free herself of Anna’s vice like grip on her arm.

“Godfrey told me to make sure you stayed in bed,” the new maid hissed, “So you don’t spread your germs to the rest of us. Please,” she started wheedling, “Come back to bed like a good girl.”

Liz sputtered in rage, her face turning an alarming shade of puce. “How dare….” she started, and then doubled over. “Take me to the lavatory this instant!”

“My key won’t work! Let me in!” shouted Finnley, banging loudly on Liz’s front door.

She saw a slight movement at the dining room window and spun around, just in time to see the new maid’s face furtively disappearing behind the curtain.

And then, with a shock of horror, Finnley realised what must have occurred.

“That stupid girl can’t even cook toast! You can’t just discard me after all these years of faithful and devoted service. Goddamit let me in!

“And,” she added loudly, “there is dust!” Finnley spat the word dust with great emphasis and contempt in her tone. “I saw it. I saw it when the curtain moved!”

“Well,” she said eventually, “I’m not one to stay where I am not wanted!” And just as she was about to turn away, somewhat huffily, the front door opened an inch. And then stopped.

“Finnley Finnley! is that you?” hissed Liz croakily from behind the crack.

“Liz? “

“Finnley, thank goodness! You’ve got to help me! I’m sick as a dog and Godfrey is no good … he is completely under the spell of that awful new … “

Suddenly, the door slammed shut.

“We don’t make chutney anymore, Godfrey, we make plum liqueur instead. Bollocks to jam, too.”

Liz’s smile melted away when Roberto entered the living room, he was covered in dust and spider webs. What flustered her most wasn’t the trail of dirt and insects the gardener was leaving behind him, but that he was not in India.

Liz threw knives at Godfrey with her eyes, a useful skill she had developed during her (long) spare time, but he dodged them easily and they sank straight into the wall with a thud.
Finnley rolled her eyes and ordered one of the guy from the TV crew to take the knives off the wall. “Don’t forget to repaint afterward”, she said with a satisfied smile.

Godfrey leaned closer to the door. Liz felt words of frustration gather at her lips.

“I think I slept too much long,” Roberto said with his charming latino accent. At that time, Liz could almost forgive him not to be in India. “Funny thing is I dreamt I was doing yoga in India, near Colombo.”

Godfrey raised his eyebrows and gave Liz a meaningful look, telling he had been almost right all along. He relaxed and smirked. She hated it.

“Well, that must be a clue”, Liz said with a look at the butler. “Godfrey, Roberto needs to be in India, and we need to go with him. Book the plane tickets.”

“Well, technically, Colombo is in Sri Lanka, not India,” said Finnley.
“Small detail,” countered Liz.

“What do I do with the knives?” said the TV crew man.
Liz looked at the knives, then at Godfrey.
“I’ll take them back, they can always be useful where we are going.”

“What about the interview?” asked the woman from the TV.
“We’ll need a charter,” said Finnley who liked very much to give orders.

“The mansion to yourself?” snorted Liz. “You, Godfrey, will be going on ahead to make sure everything is ready for us. We’d like a nice leafy garden and a balcony, and do make sure we have a really good cook.”

“And we want first class tickets,” added Finnley. “Because we are worth it,” she added defiantly, noticing the various raised eyebrows. “I’ll go and find Roberto then shall I?”

“That’s a very good question, Finnley. Where the devil is he anyway? Godfrey, perhaps you should go and find him, and lay the law down a bit about wandering off the thread while on duty.”

“Funnily enough,” said Godfrey, clearing his throat, “Roberto appears to have fetched up in Mumbai. He was spotted a few days ago chasing chickens and trying to stuff them into a story thread. I was, ahem, going to mention it…”

Liz was just about to start complaining about always being the last to know what was going on, when a thought struck her about how marvelously fortuitous it was that she wanted Godfrey to go on ahead to India, and to also look for Roberto ~ who was conveniently in India!

“… the mansion to yourself? Don’t forget the journalists and the documentary movie, Godfrey,” said Finnley with a smirk.

The door bell rang and Finnley left Liz confused by the present the maid had brought her from Bali. It was the statue of a man in a strange position. Liz had no clue what he was doing, but the statue was so big she could imaging using it as a stool with small silk cushion to make it more comfortable. It was made of wood. Liz touched the head of the statue and felt a momentary lapse.

“hum!”
Liz started. “Oh you’re back”, she said to Finnley with a smile. Finnley looked at her suspiciously.

“Did you take something while I was answering at the door?”

“Oh! right the door. Who was that?”

“Journalists. They are here for the documentary movie.”

The fleeting state of bliss was gone. “Journalists? For me?”

“For who else?” asked Finnley, raising her eyes. “Godfrey?”

Godfrey might have heard the postman knocking at the door if he hadn’t had his earplugs in, and Roberto, had he been gardening as usual, might have seen the postmans’ approach. Liz, had she been downstairs in her sitting room, might have heard the knock. The postman knocked again, wondering whether to leave the parcel on the doorstep, or take it back to the office. He decided to leave it inside a large urn under the window, rather than carrying it back again, and made a mental note to mention it on his next visit to the house.

At that moment the trap in the ceiling opened revealing the dark attic.

“Is that smoke coming from the attic?” asked Godfrey, suddenly worried someone had started a fire up there.

“It’s looking more like mist,” said Liz who had suddenly forgotten about her unborn babies. “You know, in those mystery novels they add some when they want to create an atmosphere of suspens.”

Godfrey looked doubtful as the mist was continuing to pour down from the attic in slow motion, like the harbinger of a darker secret. A loud noise made them jump. A metallic ladder, apparently attached on the attic’s floor which was the corridor’s ceiling, unfolded quickly. It stopped just before hitting the floor.

They all looked at each others, waiting for someone to say something. Anything.

“Go have a look, Godfrey,” said Liz.
“Shouldn’t it be Walter? He’s from the police after all, if there is danger he should be the one to take the lead.”

Liz looked a bit uncomfortable.
“I’m not sure,” she said in a hum. “There might be some dark secrets I don’t want to reveal to outsiders.”

“Are you coming or what?” Said a voice coming from the attic.

“Finnley, go and tell Roberto to bring the ladder. I can’t possibly climb up through that trap door with those rickety steps, I want a proper ladder. And proper gardener to hold it steady. I wouldn’t trust any of you lot,” she said, glaring at them each in turn.

Finnley made a rude sign behind Elizabeth’s back, and clumped back down the stairs. Increasingly heated bickering between Liz and the Inspector ensued. Godfrey wandered off down the hallway tutting and shaking his head, and then darted into a spare bedroom and fell sound asleep on the bed.

Expecting a tongue lashing from Liz for being so long, Finnley was surprised that nobody noticed her return. She cleared her throat a few times trying to get their attention.

“Go and get yourself a spoonful of honey and stop making that ghastly croaking noise, Finnley!”

“The thing is, Liz,” replied the maid, “He’s gone.”

“Who?”

Exasperated, Finnley’s voice rose to an alarming falsetto. “The gardener! Roberto! He’s gone, and what’s more, he’s taken the sack with him!”

“Do get a grip, Finnley, he’s probably just taking the rubbish out. Now then, Walter, if you think I’ve forgiven you for that day when you….he’s taken what? What did you say?”

Elizabeth blanched, waving her arms around wildly as if she was drowning.

“I know a good gardener who’s looking for a job,” the Inspector said helpfully.

“You utter fool!” Elizabeth rounded on him. “My babies have been stolen and you talk about gardening! Never mind that German, or whatever it was you said you’re doing here, go and catch that thief!”

Raising an eyebrow, Finnley wondered if this was just another fiasco, or was it really a cleverly engineered plot?

While the others were posturing and staring at each other threateningly like a pack of territorial stray dogs, Roberto inched closer to the mysterious sack. Something had started to protrude through a ragged hole in the side of the hessian weave. With a surreptitious glance at the others, who were still glaring at each other ~ with the exception of Godfrey who was still eyeing the lone peanut ~ he took another step closer. He bent down, ostensibly to flick a bit of mud from his trouser knee, and peered at the thing poking out of the sack.

“Why, it’s a tiny furled leaf!” he gasped. “It’s sprouting!” Like a sack of old potatoes left to rot in a damp corner, forgotten and discarded, a pale shoot was striking out in search of light.

Roberto held back when Liz demanded that Finnley lead her to the attic forthwith, followed by the Inspector. Godfrey shuffled along after them, picking up the stray peanut and popping it into his mouth. As soon as the gardener heard their footsteps creaking on the first floor landing, he made his move. There was life in that sack and he was going to give it the chance to thrive, to grow and blossom.

He knew just where to plant it. It would take some time to reach that place, but he knew what he must do.

Roberto set off for The Enchanted Woods, with a determined smile and a spring in his step. He was going to save the characters and grow them himself, nurture them all back to life.

Finnley, who had also just then re-entered the room, saw her chance to not only get her own back on Godfrey and prove to him her meanness was not a facade, but also an opportunity to get some peace and quiet.

“Take those two,” she said, pointing towards Godfrey and Liz. “They are bound to know something.”

Godfrey paled and Liz let out a little gasp.

“Finnley, how can you do this!”

“Oh bugger it,” sighed Finnley, despondently wondering if she really was a nice person after all.

“She’s in the attic.”

“The attic? I didn’t know we had an attic,” exclaimed Liz. “How absolutely wonderful! I do hope you are keeping it clean, Finnley. Attics are notoriously bad for attracting dust.”