Sorry. I am evidently incapable of the drabble form. Forgive my verbosity. *bows*
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“Filthy weather.” She squinted at the wall of snow that rendered blackout curtain redundant. Nature had provided a thicker drapery that the thin moon did nothing to enliven. “Even the bombers are frozen out.”
“Small blessings.” Bertram Wooster twitched the cloth out of her chilled fingers. “Go to bed, Angela. You’ll be warm there.”
Or as warm as one could be, these January days. Even with Angie and her family moved in (their own house being sans-front-wall - a sort of remodel via Kraut rocket] the now-double coal ration was still on the scant side, need being judged against a normal winter and not the bone-chiller blowing though tonight.
“Me?” Angela pulled away. “Question is why you’re still up. I’ve got a husband out there – her nod took in the blacked-out London streets - but you…”
“Jeeves is due in.” The words came rushing out ahead of Bertie’s brain’s lethargic plod. If he hadn’t been the idiot his Aunt Agatha had inevitably declared – back in the days when she had been around to make that announcement? Well, a decade of domestic content had done what a childhood of matronly terror could not achieve.
Angie, however, just rolled her eyes. “Really, Bertie. You’d think he was your employer, the way you hang on the man. If he’s on the night train you should have told him stay at the station until a decent time of morning.”
“He said his sister gave him eggs.”
His cousin was still grousing. Best up the ante.
“Also butter and jam.”
“Oh!” Her smile said – sans words – that *that* made things quite *quite* different. She glanced from Bertie, to the kitchen, to the thin pulp mystery Bertie had been reading. “Do you think you might take that down to the lobby? Just in case, you know, we might miss the bell?” Bustling around, she snatched up Bertie’s sweater and a lap robe from the sofa. “It would be dreadful to leave the dear man waiting outside in this weather.”
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Date: 2013-05-04 04:07 am (UTC)###############
“Filthy weather.” She squinted at the wall of snow that rendered blackout curtain redundant. Nature had provided a thicker drapery that the thin moon did nothing to enliven. “Even the bombers are frozen out.”
“Small blessings.” Bertram Wooster twitched the cloth out of her chilled fingers. “Go to bed, Angela. You’ll be warm there.”
Or as warm as one could be, these January days. Even with Angie and her family moved in (their own house being sans-front-wall - a sort of remodel via Kraut rocket] the now-double coal ration was still on the scant side, need being judged against a normal winter and not the bone-chiller blowing though tonight.
“Me?” Angela pulled away. “Question is why you’re still up. I’ve got a husband out there – her nod took in the blacked-out London streets - but you…”
“Jeeves is due in.” The words came rushing out ahead of Bertie’s brain’s lethargic plod. If he hadn’t been the idiot his Aunt Agatha had inevitably declared – back in the days when she had been around to make that announcement? Well, a decade of domestic content had done what a childhood of matronly terror could not achieve.
Angie, however, just rolled her eyes. “Really, Bertie. You’d think he was your employer, the way you hang on the man. If he’s on the night train you should have told him stay at the station until a decent time of morning.”
“He said his sister gave him eggs.”
His cousin was still grousing. Best up the ante.
“Also butter and jam.”
“Oh!” Her smile said – sans words – that *that* made things quite *quite* different. She glanced from Bertie, to the kitchen, to the thin pulp mystery Bertie had been reading. “Do you think you might take that down to the lobby? Just in case, you know, we might miss the bell?” Bustling around, she snatched up Bertie’s sweater and a lap robe from the sofa. “It would be dreadful to leave the dear man waiting outside in this weather.”