The Lady At Number 34
Flash fiction
“A cup of tea, Mr. Brewster?” Mrs. Hannigan had applied fresh lipstick and buttoned her cardigan before climbing the four flights to the corner room where her new lodger had chosen to sleep. “…and a slice of Madeira?”
The crockery clinked slightly as she tipped her head to listen for an answer.
The landing was short, with a broad leaded window that looked down precariously at the driveway below. The wind had risen in the night and it moaned slightly with the effort of winding through the chimney pots out on the roof.
“Having a little rest,” Mrs. Hannigan said quietly, half to herself. “Very tired, I expect after all that…” she started to stoop. “I’ll just leave it here on the…” She managed to get the tray onto the floor without spilling too much into the saucer. “There.” Straightening up was almost as difficult. “Don’t worry, Mr. Brewster, I’ll pick that up later.”
She leaned against the frame and placed her ear to the door for a moment.
“I’ve a nice piece of salmon for tea…” She wasn’t sure if there was a sound from beyond or if it was just the old house grumbling. “If you’ve an appetite…” She turned to go, then hesitated, her voice little more than a whisper now “…I’m sure you have.”
The stairs were spongy and shallow, and she descended slowly with a hand on the banister all the way. Mrs. Artwhistle next door but one had to have her hip done last year after a nasty fall.
Mr. Cuthbertson was on the settee in the hall with a newspaper.
“He’s not up yet — Mr. Brewster — “ Mrs. Hannigan explained from the half landing, pausing before taking the last half-dozen stairs. “Having a little lie-in, I think.”
Mr. Cuthbertson did not lookup.
“Such a nice young gentleman, but he does seem to burn the candle at both ends — isn’t that what they say? I think it is…” She came down the last two squeaky stairs and walked to the front door, her slippers making a sloshing noise on the parquet.
“Are you going out this afternoon, Mr. Cuthbertson, at all? The rain’s finished for the day now, I suspect.”
Mr. Cuthbertson jumped at the sound of the latch drawing back on the heavy front door. He got up and walked calmly across the hall, pausing to look at Mrs. Hannigan for a moment before disappearing into the garden.
“Meow…” he said.
