They'd find out where Letitia Blacklog is living now.
And they'd go there - but not as themselves... They'd go together - or separately?
Emma... I wonder?... Pip and Emma... I'll eat my hat if Pip, or Emma, or both of them, aren't in Chipping Cleghorn now..."
Chapter 15 DELICIOUS DEATH
In the kitchen at Little Paddocks, Miss Blacklog was giving instructions to Mitzi.
"Sardine sandwiches as well as the tomato ones.
And some of those little scones you make so nicely.
And I'd like you to make that special cake of yours."
"Is it a party then, that you want all these things?"
"It's Miss Bunner's birthday, and some people will be coming to tea."
"At her age one does not have birthdays.
It is better to forget."
"Well, she doesn't want to forget!
Several people are bringing her presents - and it will be nice to make a little party of it."
"That is what you say last time - and see what happened!"
Miss Blacklog controlled her temper.
"Well, it won't happen this time."
"How do you know what may happen in this house?
All day long I shiver and at night I lock my door and I look in the wardrobe to see no one is hidden there."
"That ought to keep you nice and safe," said Miss Blacklog, coldly.
"The cake that you want me to make, it is the -" Mitzi uttered a sound that to Miss Blacklog's English ear sounded like Schwitzebzr or alternatively like cats spitting at each other.
"That's the one. The rich one."
"Yes.
It is rich.
For it have I nothing!
Impossible to make such a cake.
I need for it chocolate and much butter, and sugar and raisins."
"You can use this tin of butter that was sent us from America.
And some of the raisins we were keeping for Christmas, and here is a slab of chocolate and a pound of sugar."
Mitzi's face suddenly burst into radiant smiles.
"So, I make him for you good - good," she cried, in an ecstasy.
"It will be rich, rich, of a melting richness!
And on top I will put the icing - chocolate icing - I make him so nice - and write on it Good Wishes.
These English people with their cakes that tastes of sand, never never, will they have tasted such a cake.
Delicious, they will say - delicious -" Her face clouded again.
"Mr. Patrick.
He called it Delicious Death.
My cake!
I will not have my cake called that!"
"It was a compliment really," said Miss Blacklog.
"He meant it was worth dying to eat such a cake."
Mitzi looked at her doubtfully.
"Well, I do not like that word - death.
They are not dying because they eat my cake, no, they feel much much better..."
"I'm sure we all shall."
Miss Blacklog turned away and left the kitchen with a sigh of relief at the successful ending of the interview.
With Mitzi one never knew.
She ran into Dora Bunner outside.
"Oh, Letty, shall I run in and tell Mitzi just how to cut the sandwiches?"
"No," said Miss Blacklog, steering her friend firmly into the hall.