It became foggy, and as evening fell the fog became thicker, causing it to fall dark earlier than usual. I trotted upstairs to the second floor to see if I could catch sight of the lamp lighting man as he came round to light the street lamps, to provide light at night up and down the streets of Hackney. There! He was working his way from the direction of Mare Street, just barely visible beyond the flat rooftops of the neighbouring terraced villas. I watched him from the window at the top of the stairs, my front paws against the sill and my nose pressed against the multi-paned window, momentarily entertained as the lamp lighter set his little ladder against a lamppost, and climbed it, reaching upwards with his wand of flame, igniting the gas in the lamppost and creating a sputtering halo of light. When I first came to Darnley Road I had been intrigued by gas, which gave us light instead of the use of candles. Inside the house the gas lighting sputtered and plopped, and I knew it could be dangerous, but we were never in the dark, and candles were unnecessary, except for the servants’ quarters, unlike in the country where gas lighting wasn’t always available and everyone used candles or awful-smelling oil lamps. We didn’t have anything like this at Master Rowland’s, or even at Wayletts in Stanford Rivers, but there we didn’t have streets paved with cobbles and a raised path paved with flagstones for walking on, either. In Hackney, all the streets were lit up at night, but that was because it was a modern place to live, and all the streets were well paved and the houses had water piped in, so the servants only had to turn on a tap, leaving the hauling of numerous heavy pails of hot water from the kitchen to bathrooms an unnecessary task.
Once the lamp lighter was out of sight I had a job to do. I had to go outside into the back garden, so I searched for Jessie, finding her in her bedroom, and gave her my silent stare. When she asked, “Do you want to go outside?” I did my dance routine in acknowledgement. Willingly she followed me down the stairs to the main, front door, and let me out, and she left it to, just open by a little crack. I did what I had to do, my looing, and then I went over to the holly bush. I didn’t have to sniff a lot to find what I was looking for, because it was quite rank in its smell. I was surprised that it was still there, but other dogs didn’t have access to my garden, but then again, I wondered why the rats hadn’t taken it away. Boys o’ boys, mmn, mmn, mmn. I was overjoyed to find Cook’s missing roast beef, still where I had tossed it. I picked up the rather ripe-smelling, maggoty joint of meat and entered the house by nudging the door open, and I then tiptoed across the hall with my weighty prize, and then ran up the staircase (past my handsome portrait), hoping no one had heard me, and I then headed straight for my master’s bed. I carefully deposited the evil roast upon the middle of the bed, nudging it beneath his dressing gown where it might not be seen straight away. You are now wondering, why do this to your master? I was not intending on insulting Augustus, or wanting to offend him in any way, but was only bringing attention to the fact that a piece of old, cooked meat had never reached our dining-room table, and the very first person who should be questioned would be the cook.
A short while later, when everyone had retired to their beds, I heard, we all heard, Augustus shout in a most angry voice, “I say, look here! Sakes alive! What on earth is in my bed?”
I decided to keep my head low and out of sight, but the short and long of it is that it was questioned as to how the roast had found its way upstairs, and I was accused, and naturally so. But also it was questioned: where had I got the piece of meat from? The answer had to be supplied by the cook, Eliza. She was questioned immediately, and she had no intelligent answer. I was held blameless, as it was perceived that it was only natural, that I, being a dog, would find a smelly roast that had been loafing about the property, and would want to jump onto a bed with it. It’s what dogs do. It had not been forgotten that just before we had left for our holidays, beef curry had been served in place of roast beef, vegetables, and gravy, oh, and let’s not forget the Yorkshire puddings. Jessie had remembered the change in fare.
Once the lamp lighter was out of sight I had a job to do. I had to go outside into the back garden, so I searched for Jessie, finding her in her bedroom, and gave her my silent stare. When she asked, “Do you want to go outside?” I did my dance routine in acknowledgement. Willingly she followed me down the stairs to the main, front door, and let me out, and she left it to, just open by a little crack. I did what I had to do, my looing, and then I went over to the holly bush. I didn’t have to sniff a lot to find what I was looking for, because it was quite rank in its smell. I was surprised that it was still there, but other dogs didn’t have access to my garden, but then again, I wondered why the rats hadn’t taken it away. Boys o’ boys, mmn, mmn, mmn. I was overjoyed to find Cook’s missing roast beef, still where I had tossed it. I picked up the rather ripe-smelling, maggoty joint of meat and entered the house by nudging the door open, and I then tiptoed across the hall with my weighty prize, and then ran up the staircase (past my handsome portrait), hoping no one had heard me, and I then headed straight for my master’s bed. I carefully deposited the evil roast upon the middle of the bed, nudging it beneath his dressing gown where it might not be seen straight away. You are now wondering, why do this to your master? I was not intending on insulting Augustus, or wanting to offend him in any way, but was only bringing attention to the fact that a piece of old, cooked meat had never reached our dining-room table, and the very first person who should be questioned would be the cook.
A short while later, when everyone had retired to their beds, I heard, we all heard, Augustus shout in a most angry voice, “I say, look here! Sakes alive! What on earth is in my bed?”
I decided to keep my head low and out of sight, but the short and long of it is that it was questioned as to how the roast had found its way upstairs, and I was accused, and naturally so. But also it was questioned: where had I got the piece of meat from? The answer had to be supplied by the cook, Eliza. She was questioned immediately, and she had no intelligent answer. I was held blameless, as it was perceived that it was only natural, that I, being a dog, would find a smelly roast that had been loafing about the property, and would want to jump onto a bed with it. It’s what dogs do. It had not been forgotten that just before we had left for our holidays, beef curry had been served in place of roast beef, vegetables, and gravy, oh, and let’s not forget the Yorkshire puddings. Jessie had remembered the change in fare.
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