Just -- William | Page 2

find one."
"I'm sure I never touched no lipstick, miss," said Emily in a tone of one rebutting a monstrous accusation.
"But lipsticks don't just disappear. Where are they?"
The deadness of Emily's face flickered for a second into life, then went dead again.
"Would you like me to hazard a guess, miss?"
"Yes, if it would get us any nearer my lipsticks."
"You remember William was Big Chief Firewater all yesterday, and I know he was looking for some war paint."
Ethel stared at her, horror-stricken.
"Emily," she moaned, "you don't mean that my three beautiful lipsticks--"
"It's only a hazard, miss."
The horror in the blue eyes changed to anger.
"That boy--" said Ethel.
She turned back into her bedroom, and again the slamming of a door seemed to shake the Browns' house to its foundations.
Emily looked at the slammed door, shrugged her shoulders and turned to go downstairs.
"Emily!"
This time the voice was that of the master of the house, raised on a note of wrath.
Mr. Brown stood at the foot of the staircase.
He held a shoe in one hand and a boot-brush in the other.
"Yes, sir?" said Emily.
"Who's covered the boot-brush with shaving cream?" roared Mr. Brown.
"I'm sure I can't think, sir," said Emily.
"This house gets more like a madhouse every day," said Mr. Brown. "Next thing someone'll try to shave with shoe cream."
Again just for a second something seemed to disturb the woodenness of Emily's expression.
"Mr. Robert's already tried it," she said.
"Has he?" said Mr. Brown, and his expression, too, lightened momentarily, as if the mental picture thus summoned afforded him some slight compensation for his own wrongs. Then he resumed his mien of outraged paterfamilias.
"Send William to me at once," he said sternly.
"He's out, sir," said Emily.
"Out?" said Mr. Brown. "He hasn't had breakfast yet."
"He said he'd be back for that," said Emily.
"What does he mean by going out at this hour?" thundered Mr. Brown. "It's only--" He looked at his watch, and his majestic wrath faded into the testy anxiety of the business man afraid that he'll be late at the office. "It's eight-thirty. Why isn't breakfast ready?"
"It's almost ready, sir," said Emily. "I had a bit of trouble with the refrigerator."
"If I've said it once I've said it a hundred times," said Mr. Brown. "I must have breakfast at eight sharp. Can't anyone keep to a schedule in this house? You know perfectly well that if I miss that fast train I have to stop at ten stations on the way to town and--" Quite suddenly the Browns became too much for Emily. This happened on an average once every three months. She would endure them--and in her heart of hearts adore them--for weeks on end, and then quite suddenly they would become too much for her. Her face worked in an alarming fashion, like something set in motion by a complicated piece of clockwork, and a sound issued like the whirling of rusty wheels.
"All right," she said in a choking voice. "I've slaved for you all ever since Mr. Robert was a baby -- if I don't suit--"
Mr. Brown laid down the shoe and shaving cream on the bottom step and raised his hands in a gesture that expressed sympathy, reassurance and surrender.
"It's all right, Emily. I'm sorry if I spoke hastily. We appreciate all you do for us more than I can say. It's only that damned slow train. I mean, that slow train. It upsets me for the whole day if I can't have breakfast--" --again his voice rose on a note of grievance--"at eight sharp. You understand, don't you?"
"Yes, sir," said Emily almost cheerfully, some deep need of her nature satisfied by the little scene.
Mr. Brown coughed, cleared his throat, picked up his shoe and the shaving cream and retreated to the kitchen:
"Emily!"
The door of the bedroom next to Ethel's had opened and Mrs. Brown emerged.
She was a placid, good-looking woman--with a placidity that had miraculously survived twenty-two years of Mr. Brown and eleven years of William, and with looks that obviously had once held the blue-eyed, red-haired glamour that was now her daughter's.
"Oh, there you are, Emily," she said, as though surprised and pleased to find Emily on the landing, and quite unaware of the little scene she had just overheard.
"Everything all right?"
Emily heaved a deep sigh, anxious to erase the memory of the slight sign of cheerfulness she had allowed to escape her.
"As right as it'll ever be in this house, mum," she said dolefully.
Mrs. Brown smiled and let her hand rest for a moment on Emily's shoulder. "Now, Emily, you know it isn't as bad as all that."
"If you say so, mum," said Emily, in a tone of patient suffering, and added, "Mr. Heppleback's been about the window and the breakfast's nearly ready."
"Good!" said Mrs. Brown, glancing at her watch as she began to go downstairs.
Emily noticed the