The Grimm Dossier

Chapter 12 - The Maid

West Coast
Devonshire, Dartmoor
St George, Skirrid Inn
4 November 1898, 11:44 a.m.

Dishes clinked and the first patrons had been animating the taproom since the early hours of the morning. Four men sat huddled at one of the tables, chatting about the weather and the progress of some construction work. When the doctor and Kyle came downstairs, the gentlemen had at least nodded in a friendly manner. One of them had even offered to sit with them. Their sleeves were pushed up, their clothes dirty and their faces were as dirty as the air around them. The doctor, in his curt manner, declined, but Kyle intervened. He explained to the gentlemen that they might be able to keep them company tonight, but that they would prefer a solid breakfast first. This caused a joke or two, but at least not indignation.

Meanwhile, Kyle sat on one of the hard chairs. After sliding back and forth several times and finding a reasonably comfortable position, he sipped his cup of fresh black tea. This morning Elly had kindly brewed him a whole pot and by God, he needed it badly. Straw had been poking through the scratchy sheet somewhere, almost all night so that at some point he wanted to scream in frustration into the stained pillow. He was dead tired and took far too long before he finally fell into an unsatisfactory sleep. Now white curls of fragrant steam rose above the cup while his gaze lingered somewhere on an indeterminate spot on the wall.

Elly had dished up a small platter of sausage and cheese, plus toast and porridge. "Please," remarked Elly in a light-hearted tone. Meanwhile, she placed a small jar and a small basket of fresh bread on the table with the brunch that had been laid out. "I made the jam myself. The elderberries are especially sweet this year," she told me proudly, wiping her palms on her apron. Today, too, the young girl looked weary, even if her easy manner knew how to cover it up well. No doubt it had to be exhausting now that Mr. Andrews was gone and Mrs. Andrews was obviously not yet able to give her a hand.

"Do they have to entertain the inn alone now?" asked Dr. Archer as he looked at the food on offer, finally deciding on a couple of slices of toast. Elly's smile faded, then she peered briefly over her shoulder as if to make sure no one heard. 

"Ms. Andrews hasn't been in particularly good health for a little while now." she related in a somewhat matter-of-fact tone, "And since Mr. Andrews passed away so suddenly, Ms. Andrews has been very..." she searched for the right words, ".... Despondent? Her loss is very great." Elly glanced to the side. To where the mourning picture stood with the candles already relit.

At that moment, something rattled in the kitchen. A metallic sound clanged like an alarm, and Elly's eyes snapped open. "Oh no! My stew!" she groaned, her skirt waving like a waving flag behind the girl as she hurried into the kitchen.

At the neighboring table, one of the villagers sitting there had probably picked up the current topic of conversation.

"She's getting worse and worse. She hasn't been herself for the last few months. But now she talks to almost no one." Sounded a voice with rolling coils in the room and one of the men shook his head.

"True enough. But who's surprised? She lost her husband." countered another in a milder voice.

 The third, a blond, on the other hand, laughed and patted his thigh.

"I'm sure my wife wouldn't mourn me like that."