Part 14 – Which Is Far Too Full Of Washing
Sebastian, standing at the end of the drive under a black umbrella, was the most welcoming thing I had seen all day. When I neared, he handed me the umbrella, wrapped a large towel around my slumped shoulders, recollected the umbrella and lead me up the drive.
“There is hot cocoa and a fire waiting for you inside.” The man soothed.
I shivered.”Th-thanks.”
Squeezing my shoulder warmly, he inquired: “Where has Master Waif gone off to?”
I knew he was only teasing, but I lost it. I blubbered.
“He’s gone.” Sniffle – slurp! “He ran away.” Oh great. A snivelling wail and a snot-dribbling nose. Perfect end to a great day.
Sebastian produced a handkerchief out of nowhere. “Do not fret, Ms. Baxter. All will be well soon.”
I hoped so.
~*~
Once we entered the foyer, we found the entire house in an uproar. Apparently the “predicament” with the washing machines had grown completely out of proportion. And when I say “out of proportion,” I mean I’ve never seen the meaning of the term so literally. It was everywhere. Laundry bags were stacked, one on top of the other, in tower-of-piza-like fashion, all around the entryway. Relatives waded through piles of soiled attire. Garments and insults flew back and forth. Things like T-shirts, pajamas, and ‘please settle down’s, as well as trousers and “WHO THREW THOSE PANTIES?”
“I’m afraid ‘soon’ will have to be slightly postponed.” Sebastian commented warily.
“No kidding.” If it was possible, my heart sunk even further. Aunts Bonny and Bethany both cackled and waved, swan diving through the heaps. Their youth was… inspiring.
As if things could get any worse, Basil waded through the upheaval towards me. “Geewiz!” He whistled. “This sure is a party. Is it always like this now?” A pair of spiderman underwear landed on my shoulder, and before I could react, Basil plucked it off and chucked it back in the direction it had come from. “Keep your repulsive undergarments to yourself! Hey Bridie, mind if I stay for the rest of the show.”
I sighed grudgingly. “Well, since you’re already here -”
“Superb!” He snapped his fingers and scrambled off. “Now, where did I see that br-”
“Basil!” I frowned. “How did this happen?”
Shrugging as he continued to walk away, he shouted: “I dunno. I just came when I heard the screams.”
Julia and her father appeared just then. “You’re here to fix this, are you?” Despite the havoc, Uncle Christopher was completely pristine from head to toe. Even his top hat was perfectly aligned. He looked… stately. With his usual brooding manner, he hung over me, waiting.
“Um…” I blinked. “Ow!”
That’s right ladies and gentleman, I had just been pinched by my own butler. Sebastian gave me cheeky grin. He made a motion with his hands. Go on.
“I mean of course.” Throwing back my shoulders I marched into the throng. I had not waded two steps when a run-away laundry bag bowled me over. Cousin Angus chased after it, cackling, a laundry basket over his head.
Gasping like a fish, I managed to wheeze: “Help. Oxygen… necessary… for life!”
Two strong hands grasped me by the waist and righted me. Hale. The room suddenly went from stuffy to suffocating. He had seen that.
A smile. “Let’s get this cleaned up, shall we?” He brushed a stray sock off my shoulder.
” ‘Kay.” Getting harder to breath. I took a shaky step forward to address the room. “Um, hallo everyone?”
I caught Hale attempting to stifle a smile.
A sound shattered the chaos, and every motion stopped as a voice that chilled every bone screeched: “ICE CREAM!”
The silence was so this you could cut it with a knife. Everyone headed for the kitchen. I’ve never seen such a somber precession headed towards frozen treats.
As he passed, I grabbed Basil by the shirt. “You’re sticking around.” I said, firm. “And what on earth have you got on your head?”
Basil righted the long johns wrapped around his cranium. “It’s a turban. I wear a turban now. Turbans are -”
“To whom does it belong?” I growled.
He frowned, scratching under the butt flap. “Judging by who was running after me, it was probably one of the fat octopus ladies.”
“Great. We’re going to give that back once we’re finished, but now I am in need of your assistance.”
Basil’s bottom lip protruded. “But I was gonna get some ice cream.”
“Not now. This is important and a part of agreement.”
“Oh yes I need to talk to you about that.”
“Good. Stick around. Besides, I’m pretty sure Mrs. Post’s homemade ice cream contains a certain red species of round vegetation.
~*~
Once what could be managed was sent to the Roseville Laundromat, and the washing machine mechanic was notified, we set to work. Every available tub was filled with hot water and soap. The maids had been sent outdoors with a mile of clothesline, to be used once we had finished washing. Irons sat at the ready.
Some may think it out of the question that the head of such a mansion should help with the laundry, but this was a special crisis. Every hand was needed to aid the household. Except the guests, who had proved their usefulness in the foyer incident. Besides, I had never tried it, but I’m pretty certain that ‘Death-by-Tomato’ wasn’t among my favorite ice cream flavors.
This day wasn’t about to get any easier. Before the first load even made it into the tub, I had soap suds in my hair and sleeves soaked to my elbows. Basil insisted on having facial hair composed of bubbles, simply to torment me, and wouldn’t take of his turban until I reminded him it needed to be cleaned for a reason, and he had no idea where it had been. He doused it quite thoroughly. During his violent washing he also managed to soak me from head to toe. Darcy returned just as I was preparing to place Basils head in the washtub and hold it there.
“Whoa, Bridie, enough homicide.” She held me back by my soggy sweater. “Ew, you’re wet! What happened?”
“He did.” I growled.
A smirk came from Basil.
Breath, Bridie, breath. “How did you get home?” I asked. “Did you get caught in the storm?”
“What storm?”
Hale burst through the back door of the laundry room with mock enthusiasm. “The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and the laundry is hanging out to dry!”
Basil stopped creating a bubble wig long enough to notice Hale. He frowned. “Who are you?”
Was it my imagination, or had Hale’s prevailing grin faded just a little?
“If you’ll remember correctly, my name is Hale.”
Basil crossed his arms over his chest. “Never heard of you.”
“I’m Darcy’s brother. Bridie’s friend.”
I was given an unintelligible glance from Basil. “Bridie’s neighbour.” A blob fell from Basil’s wig. “Not related to Darcy in any way.”
“Good to know.”
The boys partook in a greeting of the common kind: they shook hands.
I was afraid that this exchange would turn into a staring contest, but fortunately the washing continued.
“Hey Bridie,” Hale said, a while later, amidst idle chitchat. “What are you planning on doing this week?”
Oh you know, solve a murder mystery; avenge my grandfather. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Well, Darcy and I need to take a trip to the city in a couple days, to pick up some things. Would you like to come?” His hands paused in the wash tub, waiting. An uneasy smile played across his lips.
“Sure.” I heard myself say. At least, I think it’s my voice I hear, but it’s suddenly so small.
The smile reached his eyes then, sincere. “Great.”
“We’ll let you know when we plan on going, as soon as the week clears up a bit.” Darcy splashed soap suds in my direction. I splashed back. “Okay.” Hale flicked water at both of us.
Bubbles flew, water splashed, and clothing got soaked, washed, washed, and hung to dry.
We stopped for dinner, which consisted of tomato soup, then set to ironing straight afterwards.
Darcy set to it like a pro, and Hale with surprising ease, but Basil turned a single shirt inside and out five times before beginning to iron — holding the appliance backwards.
“At least you haven’t burned yourself yet.” I sigh, finally moving over to help. Before I can grab the shirt, Basil deftly turns the shirt right side out and begins ironing properly. “Ah.” He smirks at my dumbfounded expression. “I thought you’d never come over to help me.” This he whispers secretively, leaning over the ironing board.
“So you don’t need my help.” I say. Basil whips through another shirt like he’s been ironing his whole life.
“Pff, naw.” He scoffs. “I’ve been helping my aunt iron my whole life.” Folding the shirt that had taken him fifteen minutes just to start, he begins on the next one, obviously entirely capable. “I just needed to speak to you privately.” I follow his wary glance around the room. Darcy and Hale dutifully iron nearby, and the maids and staff hurry about, washing the few last filthy garments, folding what didn’t need to be ironed, and helping to iron what did. Everyone was busy. No one seemed to notice the troublesome boy from next door speaking in undertones over an ironing board to the girl who despised him.
“You see,” He continued. The iron moved a little to close to my finger and he gives me a cocky grin when I meet his gaze. “I’m not sure I’m sold on this whole thing.”
I purse my lips angrily. “You’re backing out.”
“Nah-ah-ah-ah!” He wags a finger at me. “Not so fast. I just want to remind you that you still owe me something.”
Darcy is suddenly beside me, as though she knew all along what he was saying. “What do you want?” She asks, business-like. Like I’m about to make an important deal and she’s my ever-advising secretary. Which is pretty close.
Basil stroked his chin. “I don’t know… what do you think is a good exchange?”
“We’ll pay you.” Then she coughs. “She’ll pay you.”
Grabbing he by the elbow, I pulled her aside, hissing. “Darcy, I don’t even have a job.”
She looked at me seriously, placing her hand on my shoulders, and says quietly and slowly, “Bridie, you’re a millionaire.”
There was a moment of complete silence, as though even the washing had gone quiet in a moment of solemnity for my stupidity, which was only broken by Basil’s howling and spirited thigh slapping.
“Oh.” Was all I could manage through mortal embarrassment. “I forgot.” Breathing seems impossible through the heat that creeps through my body. I send what I hope is a deathly glare in Basils direction. I’m unable to meet his gaze. He’s laughing so hard his eyes are mostly closed anyway.
Once he manages to compose himself, wiping away a tear, he says: “I don’t want your money anyway.”
I let out an impatient huff. Breathe, Bridie, breathe. “What do you want then. What. Are. You. Here. For.” I want to scream. Maybe cry. His bruise has faded a little. I could darken it.
“I dunno.” He shrugs, then looks me dead in the eye. “I’ll think of something.”
What does that mean? I hope he doesn’t see me shiver.
“You’re in then?” Darcy asks. “For sure?”
He cocks his head and gives me a smug grin. “For the laughs.”
So he can laugh at me, I think. This is all at my expense. Who got the better end of the deal, I wonder?
He’s laughing at me now, I see. That classic smile, laughing down at me He’s so tall, like he always was. I was always short. So small. The room feels suffocating now. Too full of people. I’m so small.
“Bridie, are you going to help more?” Darcy sounds distant.
“No!” I don’t mean to shout. What’s wrong with me? I say it again, quieter this time. “No.”
Darcy and Hale look surprised, concerned. Basils eyes are on me, calculating. Judging.
I need to leave. Now. Before I have a meltdown. Again. For everyone to see. Gathering what’s left of my dignity I hold my head high. “If you’ll forgive me,” I manage to say. “I will be retiring. I never quite got my hot cocoa.”
~*~
December 2, 2004
My Dear Bridie,
Today was a busy day. Many people underestimate the capabilities of a six year old. You withstood endless amounts of Christmas shopping, the loss of a most beloved stuffed rabbit, hours of snow-play, the bullying of older children, and suffered through a breakdown as soon as we made it home. I don’t blame you. Even I felt especially grumpy after today. There is only so much a person can take. I hope that in the future, both you and I will become more aware of how much we can handle. To think our only reward for such agony was a cup of hot cocoa.