The front door is on the latch; a voice
calls us in.
Mr Woodruff is sitting in an ornately
carved chair ready to go, a little travel bag of things by his sandaled feet,
his walking stick propped up between his legs, hands draped over the top.
Mrs Woodruff shuffles in from the kitchen
wiping her hands on a dishcloth.
‘Lovely! You were quick. Caught me on the hop, actually. Just a minute whilst I
get my face on.’
She disappears out back again.
Mr Woodruff smiles at us.
‘Busy?’
‘Yep. Always, these days.’
He nods.
‘Sorry to call you out like this, but I’ve
become so weak these past few days, I didn’t think I’d make it into a taxi, let
alone out of it the other end. And the wife doesn’t drive...’
‘Not to worry.’
He hands us a letter from the GP; I read
all about his condition, whilst Rae goes off to get the carry chair.
It’s all pretty straightforward. I fold the
letter back up and put it in my pocket.
‘Don’t lose it, will you?’ he says.
I pat the pocket.
‘Safe as.’
I feel his pulse and give him the once
over.
‘How are you feeling now, Mr Woodruff?’
‘I’ve been better.’
Rae comes back with the chair.
‘Here comes the cavalry,’ says Mr Woodruff.
‘I like your paintings,’ says Rae, opening
the chair next to him and laying out the blanket.
A group of three in heavy gilt frames. Through
a muted fog of smoke damage and craquelure, you can just make out the subjects:
hunting scenes, for the most part. Strange, elongated horses stretching out in
mid-air, muscular sight-hounds bounding along with flaring eyes and teeth; a
stag crashing through ferns.
‘I found them,’ says Mr Woodruff. ‘When we
moved in.’
‘What do you mean, found them?’
‘We’d just bought the place – I’m talking
fifty years ago, now. Course, the first thing you do when you move in is change
it all round to suit yourself. It was all a bit of a wreck when we took it on,
but I didn’t mind, I’ve always been quite handy. So I stripped it right back to
the nubbins. It was all pretty good and sound, but I like to start
with a blank canvas, you know? Anyway, I was just marking out some plaster
board for the ceiling when I dropped my pencil and saw it roll along and drop through
a gap in the floorboards. When I looked
a bit closer, I found out it wasn’t so much of a gap as the edge of a little
trapdoor – why I hadn’t noticed it before I’ve no idea. I suppose if you’re not
expecting something you don’t often see it. Anyway, it was all nailed shut, but
I forced it open and at the bottom of a little run of steps was this secret
room under the floor – not so much an attic as a little hidey-hole, if you
follow. And in this hidey-hole was a whole load of stuff. Those paintings and a
few more, a box of porcelain and silverware, this chair I’m sitting on now, a
real Aladdin’s cave. Some of it I sold over the years, but some I couldn’t part
with. Strange, isn’t it?’
Mrs Woodruff comes back into the room.
‘Ready?’ she says.
4 comments:
Whoa, that's cool! I've always dreamt of finding something like that... Plus it must have been refreshing for you to have a nice, easy job like that one. Kind of like finding your own stash of treasure :)
It was an amazing story - and one that I have to admit creeped me out a bit. I suppose it was the thought of this very specific collection of objects being hidden like that. Especially the chair, for some reason. I wouldn't have felt quite so easy sitting in afterwards - but Mr Woodruff didn't seem at all bothered!
I don't have any paintings under the floorboards Spence,but you should see the one I've got in the attic.
If it's anything like the original I'm sure it's a work of art. (And doubles up as a humane method of mouse control...)
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