The Burry Man's Day Read Online Free PDF

something out.’ Robert Dudgeon looked at me stonily but seemed ready to listen. I thought for a moment or two.
    ‘Surely someone else in the village could step in,’ I said at last.
    ‘It’s hard work, madam, it takes a load of stamina and willpower to keep going all the day long. It would be a very bad thing if someone tried and failed. A very bad thing.’
    ‘You mean bad luck?’
    ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about,’ said Mr Dudgeon, and shuddered.
    ‘But isn’t it almost as bad if no one does it at all?’ I said. Perhaps if I kept him focused on this aspect he would come round of his own accord. His face showed me that he was struggling, but he won himself over in the end.
    ‘It’s worse. It’s the blackest bad luck you could have, but it can’t be helped.’
    ‘And can’t you think of someone, anyone, who feels as strongly as you do about it? Who would just make himself find the stamina no matter what? Do you pass it down the generations? Do you have a boy you could play the heavy father with?’ His face was clouding as I spoke, and I should have known better. One should always know better now, since the war, than gaily to ask a man of fifty if he has sons.
    ‘He didn’t come home, madam,’ said Mr Dudgeon and we sat a while in silence.
    ‘I say, what about Mr de Cassilis!’ I was half joking and was delighted to get a smile out of Mr Dudgeon in spite of himself. ‘He seems keen enough, judging by what we just saw, doesn’t he? And he certainly has a vested interest.’ The more I thought about this, the more the idea grew on me. ‘There might be a bit of talk about an incomer taking over,’ I said. ‘But if we can swear the inner circle to secrecy, once the burry suit is on, it will be too late for anyone to do a thing about it. And no one would go as far as to rip it off again, now would they?’
    He was still shaking his head but at least he seemed to be thinking, his eyes darting back and forth over the pattern in the rug.
    ‘Are you having an idea?’ I asked, eagerly. ‘Is there someone?’
    ‘Eh? Oh no, there’s no one I can think of, madam. But . . . mebbes it’ll be all right after all.’ He was looking at me without seeing me, plotting furiously at something or other.
    ‘You can do it?’ I asked. He chewed his lip for a bit before answering.
    ‘I think so,’ he said. ‘Aye, I can. I’m sure I can, madam, yes.’
    We chatted on for a bit about this and that, his work on the castle roof, the determination of Cad and Buttercup to live here. I had not been used to think of myself as handling servants well – my own run rings around me – but after all, I had been mistress of my house for over fifteen years now and I must be almost exactly what Mr Dudgeon was used to, compared with Cadwallader at least.
    So I fairly bounced downstairs to the Great Hall ten minutes later. On entering it, I found the guests departed and Cad, Daisy and Buttercup sitting on the table, for want of anywhere else to rest themselves, looking dejected.
    ‘Was any blood shed?’ I asked. ‘I heard no klaxons.’
    ‘All very well for you,’ said Daisy. ‘You escaped. I’ve had “fresh air and exercise” in one ear and “the demon drink” in the other for a solid half-hour, Dan.’
    ‘So much for your sip of something delicious, darling,’ I said to Buttercup. ‘Expect to be damned in every pulpit come Sunday.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Buttercup. ‘But even the ones who drink seem to disapprove of me anyway. Father Whatsisname was fearfully sour.’
    ‘They think you’re divorced,’ I told her.
    ‘They’re a little premature,’ said Cadwallader, but at Buttercup’s pout, he shoved her with his elbow and said: ‘I’m only joking, Droopy,’ and Buttercup cheered up and beamed.
    I took pity on them at last and told my news.
    ‘Miracle worker!’ said Buttercup. ‘What did you say to him?’
    ‘Oh, I haven’t told you about Dandy’s new-found talent for . . . well, everything, have