Order From Chaos

“I see you've at least managed the salad,” said Siegfried, sitting down at the table. “It will be nice to have a housekeeper, but there's really no reason that two grown, professional men cannot provide themselves with a meal.”

“I agree,” said Tristan, helping himself to the salad.

“Are those my forceps?” asked Siegfried, horrified.

“They're perfectly clean, and they work admirably.” Tristan placed them back in the bowl. “I couldn't find anything else. The kitchen's in a bit of a state, you know.”

Siegfried stopped in mid-chew, with a peculiar look on his face. “Tristan, you did wash these greens first, I presume.”

“I gave them a rinse,” he replied nonchalantly. Siegfried spat the mouthful out.

“I've got enough grit in my mouth to polish a gemstone.” He threw his brother a disparaging look. “I can see you'll need taking in hand, when it comes to following simple instructions.” He jumped up and went back to the kitchen, returning with a covered platter, and setting it on the table with a flourish.

Tristan lifted the cover, then carefully replaced it and bowed his head.

“I didn't know you were in the habit of saying grace before meals,” said Siegfried.

“I believe it's always been the custom to offer prayer with burnt offerings,” said Tristan, keeping a perfectly straight face.

Siegfried colored. “Never mind that, the outside's just a little overdone. I had to take a phone call; which reminds me, as soon as we're finished here, we have a pig to see at the Baker's place. We'll need to look sharp, and be back in time for me to see to Mrs. Hall's interview.” Siegfried sharpened the knife with his usual theatrical flair, and cut into it. Bloody juices ran out over the rim of the plate.

“Are we eating it, or operating on it?” asked Tristan brightly.

Siegfried looked at it ruefully, then went over to the French doors, and tossed the roast into the garden. “I suppose the dogs deserve a nice dinner, now and again.” He brushed off his hands. “Let's have a look at what we can scare up for ourselves in the kitchen.”

The kitchen was a shambles. Every level surface was covered with the detritus of cooking. The cabinets, on the other hand, were relatively bare. Siegfried pulled a tin out of the pantry.

“Bully beef will do. Perhaps with some bread and butter.” He looked in the bread box. “No bread. Well, crackers then.” He opened the can of corned beef and upended it over a plate. It slid out with a squelch and a wet thump. He divided it between two plates and added some crackers on the side. Tristan poked it with a fork.

“I wasn't really hungry anyway,” he said.

The Baker's sow was a gigantic Hampshire. Normally happy and active, she was now wobbling drowsily around her pen. As they watched, she staggered into the feed trough, backed up clumsily, and finally collapsed into a heap. Siegfried went into the pen, thermometer in hand.

“Tristan, stand by, will you?” he said over his shoulder. Tristan was still on the other side of the fence.

“Go on, young man. Daisy's a right nice old girl. Nowt but a softy. Now then, Mr. Farnon, got summat ta learn this here young feller?” called the good natured farmer.

“That's my brother, Tristan, Mr. Baker. He's starting university shortly, to become a veterinarian like myself. I thought I'd have him accompany me on my rounds, get a little experience while he's staying with me.” He straightened, squinting at the thermometer. “Perfectly normal.” He groped around his pockets, found his stethoscope, and listened to the pig's chest and abdomen. He felt under her jaw, looked at her eyes, and checked her feet.

“How long's she been like this, Mr. Barker?”

“Every day this week. Seems fine in mornin', wanders in afternoon all fuzzy like, then she's like this.”

“A little scouring, not off her feed, no temperature, no swelling or rash. Heart and lungs are fine. I'm not sure what to make of it, but it certainly appears to be affecting her nervous system.” The pig gave a gigantic sigh, followed by a belch.

“She bears a passing resemblance to Gobber Newhouse after he's had a few,” said Tristan with a laugh.

Siegfried was by his side in a flash. “Kindly do not make silly remarks like that when you're with me in a professional capacity,” he hissed. “Right, Mr. Barker,” he said loudly, “I did hear a bit of rumbling in her stomach, so I'll leave a tin of this powder with you, and check on her tomorrow. Be sure and ring me if there's any change.” He began to gather up his things.

“I've got summat for ye, Mr. Farnon,” said the farmer, disappearing into the house and returning with a large bottle. “Some of the first cider this year.” Siegfried thanked him and handed the bottle to Tristan, then snatched it back. “Get my bag, please,” he said, heading back to the Austin.

On the way home, Tristan picked up the bottle and looked it over. “Shall we sample this tonight?” he asked eagerly.

Siegfried laughed. “One thing you'll need to be wary of, Tristan, and that's the locally produced wines and spirits. They've a worse bite than any animal you'll encounter.”

“Funny how they make a nice drink from a lot of rotten apples lying around on the ground,” said Tristan thoughtfully.

Siegfried yanked the steering wheel around to the right and sent the car around 180 degrees, narrowly avoiding a fence and throwing Tristan up against the car door, which fortunately held.

“Some sort of warning would be nice next time,” Tristan observed.

“I know what's wrong with that pig!” shouted Siegfried enthusiastically. They hurtled back down the road to the Baker farm.

“Mr. Farnon? I knew you'd miss this!” said the farmer, holding up Siegfried's stethoscope. Siegfried grabbed it and stuffed it in his pocket, giving Tristan a sidelong glance. Tristan looked up at the sky thoughtfully.

“Never mind that. Have you been turning your pig out?”

“Oh, aye. She loves to wander and root. I give 'er a bit of space.”

“Anywhere near the old orchard?”

The farmer thought. “She might get that far. Comes when called, like a dog.”

Siegfried handed him another tin. “She'll be better tomorrow, Mr. Baker, I guarantee. Unless I miss my guess, she's been stuffing herself with windfall apples. They're half fermented on the ground already, and her gut's done the rest. She's tipsy, Mr. Baker. Let her sleep it off, then give her the stomach powder, and the other as well. I'm afraid you'll have to choose some other, confined area for her to roam for now.”

“Since you come back, n'all, might as well give you brass now.” He reached in his pocket and brought out two coins. “No charge for t'other?” he asked, nodding his head toward Tristan.

“Oh, I always see that he gets what he deserves,” said Siegfried, with a wink.

The return visit to the farm had made them late returning to Skeldale. Siegfried looked at his watch. “We have exactly fifteen minutes until Mrs. Hall shows up. I have heard wonderful things about her from her last employer, who moved to Taunton a few weeks ago. Ran the household like clockwork, cooked the most delicious meals, turned her hand to just about everything that needed done. We must put on a good front, Tristan.” He looked around. “A bit of tidying is in order, I think. I'll pick up out here and...,” he rushed into the surgery,.. “you take the kitchen.”

“Siegfried! That's not fair! I can't possibly clean up that...”

“You're wasting time arguing, Little Brother,” he called from the waiting room.

Tristan stomped down the hallway in disgust, muttering to himself all the while.

“And I diagnosed that pig, you know!” he called as a parting shot. He knew Siegfried wouldn't answer.

The doorbell jingled promptly at three o'clock. The dogs flew to the door, barking and falling over one another. Siegfried waded through and opened the door.

“Mr. Farnon?”

“Yes, yes, you must be Mrs. Hall. Come in!” He shoved a pair of muddy Wellington's aside with his foot. “Quiet, you lot!” he shouted at the dogs. The dogs stood still for a moment, surveying the situation. The woman fixed them with a stare, and they slunk off.

Mrs. Hall was an older woman, with a rather severe countenance, sharp blue eyes, and hair neatly pulled back into a bun. She took in her surroundings at a glance; the long hallway, with a rug that obviously contained at least a pound of dust and dirt; the grandfather clock, about ten minutes slow; and, of course, the faint aroma of barnyard and scorched lamb which pervaded everything.

“I'm afraid we've been a bit busy lately,” began Siegfried.

“I see,” said Mrs. Hall. Which could have meant anything.

“Now we've already discussed several matters over the telephone, and you have excellent references of course. And we do need someone rather quickly, as the practice takes a good bit of my time. You needn't worry about the surgery, by the way, we'll take care of that. Just the usual household duties, answering calls for us, that sort of thing. Well?” Siegfried was reeling things off in his usual frenetic manner. Mrs. Hall, on the other hand, had barely moved or blinked.

“I'd like to see kitchen, please.”

“Oh, yes, certainly,” said Siegfried. Tristan was just coming down the hall. “Ah, my younger brother, Tristan. He'll be staying here when he's not at school.”

“How nice to meet you, Mrs. Hall, is it? I've heard marvelous things about you! It'll be wonderful to have an award winning baker with us! Did you know, Siegfried, that Mrs. Hall's jam tarts won a prize at the fair last year?” Tristan was pouring on the charm.

“Only second prize,” replied Mrs. Hall, but there was an undisputed shine in her eye.

Siegfried was holding his breath as they went into the kitchen. Considering the state it had been in, he was amazed to see that most of the mess had been cleared up. Tristan beamed at his brother.

Mrs. Hall opened a few cabinet doors, tightening her lips at the complete lack of anything resembling food.

“Shopping and baking is first on list,” she said, looking around. She went over to the stove, then tugged on the oven door.

Which fell open, and disgorged a clanging heap of pots, pans, crockery, and implements. Siegfried shot Tristan a black look.

Then Mrs. Hall looked at the kitchen table.

“Mr. Farnon,” she said, “we don't feed cats at table.”

“That was our lunch,” said Tristan sadly.

The plates of corned beef were still there, silently congealing.

Mrs. Hall pressed her lips together again. “Well, Mr. Farnon, just one or two things more. I only work for respectable households, so I'll not want any doings here.”

“Doings?” mouthed Tristan.

“Mrs. Hall, I can assure you that we are gentlemen. We may have the occasional lady caller for tea or a sherry, but it will be no more than that. You do know, of course, that the nature of our work requires late nights on occasion, and I do pay visits to Mother...” said Siegfried, thinking rapidly.

“Also, if you haven't a Hoover, I'll be needing one.”

“Of course we have one, Mrs. Hall. I'll see if it's...working. You mean to say you'll take the position?”

“T'would be unchristian not to.” She smiled.

Siegfried escorted her out, then turned on Tristan. “You imbecile! Couldn't you think of a better solution than hiding everything in the oven?”

“Lucky she didn't see the dead cat in the icebox, waiting for a PM,” said Tristan. “By the way, you've been to see Mother several times since I've been here. You're awfully keen all of a sudden.”

“It is my duty,” answered Siegfried, shifting uncomfortably.

“Perhaps I should come too. Does she ask after me?”

“Not really,” said Siegfried, turning and heading toward the sitting room.

Tristan looked nonplussed. “I wonder why?”

“She's probably enjoying a breather, Little Brother,” said Siegfried, pouring them each a drink. “You did break the trellis and flatten her prize rose bush, climbing in the window.” He handed Tristan a glass. “And you convinced the neighbors you were an exchange student from some foreign country and couldn't speak English.” He sat down with a sigh. “And you fell asleep in church and fell right out of the pew into the aisle.”

“There is that,” said Tristan thoughtfully.

“At any rate, my comings and goings are none of your concern.” He looked around. “Thank goodness we've found someone like Mrs. Hall to bring order to this chaos. Here's to a much more tranquil household in future,” said Siegfried, holding up his glass.

“Yes, to future tranquility,” said Tristan.