Laughing House by Warwick Deeping (grave mercy .txt) 📕

are there.”

What a morning we spent! Peter had a notebook, and he made notes of everything. He listed every room, and I who had never counted up the number of cells in this beehive was astonished at the number. Thirty-three. I will give the list: On the ground floor: hall, a large room in itself, cloakroom, downstairs lavatory with wash-basin, dining-room, drawingroom, morning-room, library, study, billiard-room, kitchen, scul lery, butler’s and housemaids’ pantries, staff-room, laundry-room, coal cellar, wine cellar, staff lavatory. On the first floor: twelve bedrooms, one bathroom, one lavatory, and large linen cupboard. On the second floor: eight bedrooms, one bathroom and one lavatory. Yes, thirty-three rooms, with etceteras! And Peter had a joke with me.

“Did you know the number, sir?”

I did not.

“What on earth did you do with them all?”

I explained to him that in the good old days the House had served a large family and staff and given house parties of magnificent proportions, and that bevies of relations had come to stay, and that in my father’s time he and the family were rarely alone. Peter grinned at me.

“Quite like an hotel, Uncle.”

“Well, I suppose in a way it was.”

“What’s more, the house may have liked it.” I pondered that saying. Houses are to be lived in, houses may love to be lived in. The more the merrier may be their motto.

We went round the stables, the two cottages, and out houses. All had been cleaned up. I saw Peter making notes. He said: “If we used those loose-boxes and put in sliding doors we could garage eight cars. That’s important.” The lad had foresight. As to the cottages they could be used as staff-quarters, if other accommo dations could be found for the gardeners.

Our next job was to inspect the Army huts. There were four of the damned things, two on the lower lawn, one near the stables, and another perched up behind the house. They were “Nissens,” curved corrugated iron, and to make ‘matters more difficult the two ends were not boarded up but built of bricks and breeze-blocks. The one near the stable had a concrete floor. The two on the lawn would have to go, for this was our tennis-court, but the two others might be useful for fuel storage and additional garage space. But how were we to get the labour to remove those eyesores on the lawn? And should we be expected to purchase them? Peter sucked the end of his pencil.

“We might use the bricks and the breeze-blocks. And even the iron might come in. We shall have to get ‘em down somehow. Damn it, I wish I had two legs.”

“Well, perhaps we can pick up some labour. If we sold the things the purchaser might remove them.”

“M-yes.”

He was still sucking his pencil.

“I say, sir, why not try for a derequisition?”

“Now?”

“Why not? There’s a chance. Do you happen to know anybody who might help?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I do. I’ve just remembered. Tony Parsons is something of a noise at the War Office. He used to come and shoot with me.”

“Oh, fine! Try it, Uncle.”

XI

I WROTE to Colonel Anthony Parsons, emphasizing the point that our proposed country hotel would not be merely a profit-making concern, but would give service to those of our own class who needed rest amid peaceful surroundings, and who could not afford super-luxury prices. I must admit that I was not very hopeful, for, judging by gossip, the War Office was autocratic and non-consenting in most matters, but I received a reply from Parsons by return. He said that he would see what could be done, and that it seemed to him that my request was reasonable and valid.

Peter, meanwhile, had appropriated my small study, and was covering the desk with plans and estimates, and he asked me to confer with him.

“Don’t think I’m being bossy, Uncle.”

“Go ahead, my lad.”

“We shall have to get a licence, you know.”

“For repairs?”

“Yes, I wasn’t meaning that. An hotel licence, and if possible a victualler’s licence.”

I confessed to gross ignorance.

“Why a victualler’s licence?”

“Because it will help with rations, and enable us to take people for a few days without using their ration books. Otherwise—”

As he explained it all I began to realize the lad’s thoroughness and efficiency. He had made a plan of the house’s accommodation, and he asked me to sit down and censor it.

“You see, Uncle, you come first. The big bedroom you used to use, and the library if you choose it.”

I had not considered the question. Should I desire to share the house with a crowd of strangers, or stay on in Rose Cottage? For the moment I was undecided.

He looked at me questioningly.

“You are the CO., and what you say goes.”

“I’ll think it over, Peter.”

“If you left Rose Cottage we could use it for staff.”

“Isn’t it too far off?”

“Not for the young, if the young are keen.”

He was a little apologetic over the next point.

“Then Sybil and I. We could manage on the top floor. A bedroom, and a sitting-room.”

“Of course,” said I. “I suppose you—”

“Yes, we shall. I’d like to have Sybil down, if she can manage it. She’s got ideas on the female side.”

“Most necessary,” said I.

“May I send her a line?”

“By all means.”

He drew two sheets of paper towards him.

“I have some plans out. Accommodation. I’d like you to vet them.”

“Go ahead.”

“About bedrooms. Reserving one for you and one for us, and two temporarily for staff, keeping the cot tages in view we can count on sixteen bedrooms. Eight double, eight single. Twenty-four guests on an average.”

“Would that pay us?”

“I think so. But wait a bit, Fve got some figures out. Let’s finish the accommodation.”

With the library reserved for me we should have a large hall, dining-room, drawingroom, smoking-room, and an additional lounge, and the billiard-room for games and dancing.

Dancing!

“Well,” said he, “we don’t want to be too humble. Newlands Corner under Roper Spyres used to have a jolly Saturday night show. So might we, some day, but that will be for you to decide.”

The next items he produced dealt with the staff and their wages. He budgeted for:

3 in Kitchen.

2 Chambermaids.

2 Waitresses.

2 Gardeners.

1 Chauffeur-gardener and handyman.

Their post-war wages might amount to 1,350.

The figure staggered me, but Peter was careful to emphasize the fact that his estimates were hypothetical. So were his other figures with respect to expenditure.

Rates, 150.

Fuel and Light, 150.

Living at 1 per head: with the use of home-grown food:

24 guests, 11 staff, roughly 1,800.

He emphasized the approximate nature of this figure, and he was a little embarrassed over the next item.

“I have put us down at three hundred and fifty pounds, sir. If you think—”

“That sounds very modest, Peter.”

“But we shall be getting our keep. You see, in the early days one is ready to sing small. Sybil’s not greedy.”

I nodded.

“I pass that. What next?”

“Hotel car. We ought to have one. Say one hundred pounds tax, insurance, and running expenses. We might make a profit on hiring.”

“Yes.”

“Garden, seeds, tools, etc. I have left that to you.”

“Put it at fifty pounds.”

“Then there will be staff insurances and fire, etc. With Beveridge and all that it may be a considerable item, but we don’t know where we are yet.”

“And what is the gross figure?”

“Round about four thousand pounds.”

I scratched my head.

“My post-war income, my lad, looks like being about twelve hundred a year.”

“But, Uncle, your income will be your own.”

“Do you mean that when we get going: we could cover the four thousand?”

“Of course. Here is a rough estimate.”

He put it before me.

24 Guests:

5 at 10 o o a week.

10 ” 700 “

9 ” 500 “

Total 165 o o a week.

Per year: 5,800 O o.

That startled me.

“That’s if we are full up all the year.”

“Do you know the hotel position as it is at present?”

“Well—”

“Waiting list for most. People booking months ahead. Then there could be other sources o profit, sale of wine,, spirits and beer. Hire of car. Garden and farm produce for which the hotel would pay you. Another item against us would be laundry, breakages, repairs, etc. I put our takings roughly at six thousand pounds.”

“A gross profit of two thousand pounds.”

“Yes. Knock off ten shillings in the pound and you make a profit of a clear thousand.”

“Well I’m damned,” said I.

“If you like, Uncle! But we shall all have jobs, and the old house might chuckle.”

I have always been rather bored by figures, and at my school I was most unpopular with the maths, expert, but I began to feel the fascination of figures as they manifested in reality. There was a pattern here, like the human prospect which these figures symbolized. Value for value, profit and loss, an adventure in mild finance, I -the proprietor of a country hotel. And, as Peter had suggested, I was to be the provider of ducks, geese, poultry, eggs, fruit, vegetables, and so ease the food problem.

Problem indeed! The prospect was as wild with problems as the garden was with weeds.

The whole house needed redecorating.

Lavatories were to be installed in every bathroom to double the sanitary comfort of the place. Queueing for W.C.‘s is poor play.

Only half the bedrooms had running water. And if we could buy basins, which we found we could, where was the plumber?

We should need more cutlery, kitchen equipment, and what-not.

Towels! Dishcloths! I had a stock of these, but with thirty or more people in the house…

Sugar, tea butter, jam! Could we start from scratch?

Glass for some of the windows, glass for the green houses, glass for the orangery.

Labour to remove those damned huts.

The whole thing seemed rather impossible.

Moreover, were we not just playing with possibilities? It seemed to me most unlikely that the house would be derequisitioned.

Peter had wired to Sybil, and Sybil had replied that she could obtain leave for the following weekend.

Well, I had two very pleasant partners in this wild cat adventure, for I will admit that I was scared. Almost, I found myself hoping that the House would not be granted its freedom. But this was pure pol troonery, and the sight of Peter hobbling about on his crutches moved me to feel ashamed. Was I going to funk the issue and foil the young in their adventure?

I suppose a cynical world would have grinned at me and listed me as an old fool who was being exploited by two young gold-diggers. Of one thing I was con vinced, and that was of Peter’s integrity. I had grown fond of the lad, and I think he was fond of me.

In fact his approach to the whole subject was humane and enlightened. When he quoted me-the prices that some hotels were charging I remarked upon the reason ableness of the figures in his estimate, an average of a guinea a day.

“I know how you feel about it, Uncle.”

“How?”

“That we are not out for plunder. After all, people have had a pretty tough time, and I know you would like to feel—”

“That we shall be doing a good job,”

“Yes, just that.”

This was hardly the attitude for an opportunist and an exploiter.

I received the official communication on the very morning that Sybil was joining us.

The House was to be derequisitioned, and a valuer would be sent down to discuss dilapidations,