THE LANDLADYROALD DAHL
Billy Weaver had travelled down from
London on the slow afternoon train, with achange at Swindon on the way, and by thetime he got to Bath it was about nineo’clock in the evening and the moon wascoming up out of a clear starry sky overthe houses opposite the station entrance.
But the air was deadly cold and the wind
was like a flat blade of ice on his cheeks.
“Excuse me,” he said, “but is there afairly cheap hotel not too far away fromhere?”“Try The Bell and Dragon,” the porter
answered, pointing down the road. “Theymight take you in. It’s about a quarter of amile along on the other side.”
Billy thanked him and picked up his
suitcase and set out to walk the quartermile to The Bell and Dragon. He had
20 never been to Bath before. He didn’t know
anyone who lived there. But Mr
Greenslade at the Head Office in London
had told him it was a splendid city. “Findyour own lodgings,” he had said, “andthen go along and report to the BranchManager as soon as you’ve got yourself
settled.”Billy was seventeen years old. He was
wearing a new navy-blue overcoat, a new
brown trilby hat, and a new brown suit,and he was feeling fine. He walked briskly
down the street. He was trying to do
everything briskly these days. Briskness,he had decided, was the one common
characteristicofallsuccessful
businessmen. The big shots up at Head
Office were absolutely fantastically brisk
all the time. They were amazing.
There were no shops on this wide street
40 that he was walking along, only a line oftall houses on each side, all them
identical. They had porches and pillars
and four or five steps going up to theirfront doors, and it was obvious that once
upon a time they had been very swanky
residences. But now, even in thedarkness, he could see that the paint was
peeling from the woodwork on their doors
and windows, and that the handsome

white façades were cracked and blotchy fromneglect.
Suddenly, in a downstairs window that was
brilliantly illuminated by a street-lamp not six
yards away, Billy caught sight of a printed
notice propped up against the glass in one of
the upper panes. It said BED AND
BREAKFAST. There was a vase of yellow
chrysanthemums, tall and beautiful, standing
just underneath the notice.
60
He stopped walking. He moved a bit closer.
Green curtains (some sort of velvety
material) were hanging down on either side of
the window. The chrysanthemums looked
wonderful beside them. He went right up andpeered through the glass into the room, andthe first thing he saw was a bright fire burningin the hearth. On the carpet in front of the fire,a pretty little dachshund was curled up asleep
with its nose tucked into its belly.
The room itself, so far as he could see inthe half-darkness, was filled with pleasantfurniture. There was a baby-grand piano anda big sofa and several plump armchairs; andin one corner he spotted a large parrot in a
cage. Animals were usually a good sign in aplace like this, Billy told himself; and all in all,it looked to him as though it would be a pretty
decent house to stay in. Certainly it would be
more comfortable than The Bell and Dragon.
80
On the other hand, a pub would be morecongenial than a boarding-house. There
would be beer and darts in the evenings, andlots of people to talk to, and it would probably
be a good bit cheaper, too. He had stayed acouple of nights in a pub once before and he
had liked it. He had never stayed in any
boarding-houses, and, to be perfectly honest,
he was a tiny bit frightened of them. The
name itself conjured up images of waterycabbage, rapacious landladies, and apowerful smell of kippers in the living-room.
After dithering about like this in the cold for
two or three minutes, Billy decided that hewould walk on and take a look at The Belland Dragon before making up his mind. He
turned to go. And now a queer thing
happened to him. He was in the act of
stepping back and turning away from thewindow when all at once his eye was
100 caught and held in the most peculiar
manner by the small notice that was there.
BED AND BREAKFAST, it said. BED AND
BREAKFAST, BED AND BREAKFAST,
BED AND BREAKFAST. Each word waslike a large black eye staring at him
through the glass, holding him, compellinghim, forcing him to stay where he was andnot to walk away from that house, and thenext thing he knew, he was actually
moving across from the window to thefront door of the house, climbing the steps
that led up to it, and reaching for the bell.
He pressed the bell. Far away in a backroom he heard it ringing, and then at once
– it must have been at once because hehadn’t even had time to take his finger
from the bell-button – the door swung
open and a woman was standing there.
Normally you ring the bell and you have
120 at least a half-minute’s wait before thedoor opens. But this dame was a like a
jack-in-the-box. He pressed the bell – andout she popped! It made him jump.
She was about forty-five or fifty years
old, and the moment she saw him, shegave him a warm welcoming smile.
“Please come in,” she said pleasantly.
She stepped aside, holding the door wide
open,
and
Billy
found
himself
automatically starting forward into thehouse. The compulsion or, moreaccurately, the desire to follow after her
into that house was extraordinarily strong.
“I saw the notice in the window,” he said,
holding himself back.
“Yes, I know.”“I was wondering about a room.”“It's all ready for you, my dear,” she said.
She had a round pink face and very gentle
140 blue eyes.
“I was on my way to The Bell andDragon,” Billy told her. “But the notice inyour window just happened to catch myeye.”“My dear boy,” she said, “why don't youcome in out of the cold?”“How much do you charge?”“Five and sixpence a night, including
breakfast.”

It was fantastically cheap. It was less thanhalf of what he had been willing to pay.
“If that is too much,” she added, “thenperhaps I can reduce it just a tiny bit. Do you
desire an egg for breakfast? Eggs are
expensive at the moment. It would besixpence less without the egg.”“Five and sixpence is fine,” he answered. “Ishould like very much to stay here.”“I knew you would. Do come in.”160
She seemed terribly nice. She lookedexactly like the mother of one’s best schoolfriend welcoming one into the house to stayfor the Christmas holidays. Billy took off hishat, and stepped over the threshold.
“Just hang it there,” she said, “and let me
help you with your coat.”
There were no other hats or coats in thehall. There were no umbrellas, no walkingsticks – nothing.
“We have it all to ourselves,” she said,
smiling at him over her shoulder as she led
the way upstairs.
“You see, it isn’t very often I have thepleasure of taking a visitor into my little nest.”
The old girl is slightly dotty, Billy told
himself. But at five and sixpence a night, who
gives a damn about that? – “I should've
thought you’d be simply swamped withapplicants,” he said politely.
180“Oh, I am, my dear, I am, of course I am.
But the trouble is that I'm inclined to be just ateeny weeny bit choosy and particular – if you
see what I mean.”“Ah, yes.”“But I’m always ready. Everything is always
ready day and night in this house just on theoff-chance that an acceptable young
gentleman will come along. And it is such apleasure, my dear, such a very great
pleasure when now and again I open thedoor and I see someone standing there who
is just exactly right.” She was half-way up thestairs, and she paused with one hand on thestair-rail, turning her head and smiling down
at him with pale lips. “Like you,” she added,
and her blue eyes travelled slowly all the way
down the length of Billy's body, to his feet,and then up again.
On the first-floor landing she said to him,
200 “This floor is mine.”
They climbed up a second flight. “And thisone is all yours,” she said. “Here’s your room.

I do hope you’ll like it.” She took him into asmall but charming front bedroom,
switching on the light as she went in.
“The morning sun comes right in thewindow, Mr Perkins. It is Mr Perkins, isn’tit?”“No,” he said. “It’s Weaver.”“Mr Weaver. How nice. I’ve put a waterbottle between the sheets to air them out,
Mr Weaver. It’s such a comfort to have a
hot water-bottle in a strange bed withclean sheets, don’t you agree?
And you may light the gas fire at any time
if you feel chilly.”“Thank you,” Billy said. “Thank you everso much.” He noticed that the bedspread
had been taken off the bed, and that the
220 bedclothes had been neatly turned backon one side, all ready for someone to getin.
“I’m so glad you appeared,” she said,
looking earnestly into his face. “I was
beginning to get worried.”“That’s all right,” Billy answered brightly.
“You mustn’t worry about me.” He put his
suitcase on the chair and started to openit.
“And what about supper, my dear? Did
you manage to get anything to eat before
you came here?”“I’m not a bit hungry, thank you,” hesaid. “I think I’ll just go to bed as soon as
possible because tomorrow I’ve got to get
up rather early and report to the office.”“Very well, then. I’ll leave you now sothat you can unpack. But before you go tobed, would you be kind enough to pop into
240 the sitting-room on the ground floor andsign the book? Everyone has to do that
because it’s the law of the land, and we
don’t want to go breaking any laws at thisstage in the proceedings, do we?” Shegave him a little wave of the hand andwent quickly out of the room and closed
the door.
Now, the fact that his landlady appeared
to be slightly off her rocker didn’t worry
Billy in the least. After all, she was not
only harmless – there was no question
about that – but she was also quite
obviously a kind and generous soul. He
guessed that she had probably lost a sonin the war, or something like that, and had
never got over it.
So a few minutes later, after unpacking his
suitcase and washing his hands, he trotted
downstairs to the ground floor and entered
260 the living-room. His landlady wasn’t there, but
the fire was glowing in the hearth, and thelittle dachshund was still sleeping in front of it.
The room was wonderfully warm and cosy.
I’m a lucky fellow, he thought, rubbing his
hands. This is a bit of all right.
He found the guest-book lying open on the
piano, so he took out his pen and wrote down
his name and address. There were only twoother entries above his on the page, and, as
one always does with guest-books, he started
to read them. One was a Christopher
Mulholland from Cardiff. The other was
Gregory W. Temple from Bristol. That’s
funny, he thought suddenly. Christopher
Mulholland. It rings a bell. Now where on
earth had he heard that rather unusual namebefore?
Was he a boy at school? No. Was it one ofhis sister’s numerous young men, perhaps, or
280 a friend of his father’s? No, no, it wasn’t anyof those. He glanced down again at the book.
Christopher Mulholland, 231 Cathedral Road,
Cardiff. Gregory W. Temple, 27 Sycamore
Drive, Bristol. As a matter of fact, now hecame to think of it, he wasn’t at all sure thatthe second name didn’t have almost as muchof a familiar ring about it as the first.
“Gregory Temple?” he said aloud,searchinghismemory.
“Christopher
Mulholland? …”“Such charming boys,” a voice behind him
answered, and he turned and saw hislandlady sailing into the room with a large
silver tea-tray in her hands. She was holding
it well out in front of her, and rather high up,
as though the tray were a pair of reins on afrisky horse.
“They sound somehow familiar,” he said.
“They do? How interesting.”
300“I’m almost positive I’ve heard those names
before somewhere. Isn’t that queer? Maybe it
was in the newspapers. They weren’t famousin any way, were they? I mean famous
cricketers or footballers or something likethat?”“Famous,” she said, setting the tea-tray
down on the low table in front of the sofa. “Ohno, I don’t think they were famous. But
they were extraordinarily handsome, bothof them, I can promise you that. They
were tall and young and handsome, mydear, just exactly like you.”
Once more, Billy glanced down at thebook.
“Look here,” he said, noticing the dates.
“This last entry is over two years old.”“It is?”“Yes,
indeed.
And
Christopher
Mulholland’s is nearly a year before that –320 more than three years ago.”“Dear me,” she said, shaking her headand heaving a dainty little sigh. “I would
never have thought it. How time does fly
away from us all, doesn’t it, Mr Wilkins?”“It’s Weaver,” Billy said. “W-e-a-v-e-r.”“Oh, of course it is!” she cried, sitting
down on the sofa. “How silly of me. I do
apologise. In one ear and out the other,that’s me, Mr Weaver.”“You know something?” Billy said.
‘Somethingthat’sreallyquite
extraordinary about all this?”“No, dear, I don’t.”“Well, you see – both of these names,
Mulholland and Temple, I not only seem toremember each one of them separately,
so to speak, but somehow or other, insome peculiar way, they both appear to besort of connected together as well. As
340 though they were both famous for thesame sort of thing, if you see what I mean
– like … like Dempsey and Tunney, forexample, or Churchill and Roosevelt.”“How amusing,” she said. “But comeover here now, dear, and sit down beside
me on the sofa and I’ll give you a nice cupof tea and a ginger biscuit before you go
to bed.”“You really shouldn’t bother,” Billy said.
“I didn’t mean you to do anything like that.”
He stood by the piano, watching her as
she fussed about with the cups andsaucers. He noticed that she had small,white, quickly moving hands, and red
finger-nails.
“I’m almost positive it was in thenewspapers I saw them,” Billy said. “I’llthink of it in a second. I’m sure I will.”
There is nothing more tantalising than a
360 thing like this which lingers just outside theborders of one’s memory. He hated to giveup.
“Now wait a minute,” he said. “Wait just a
minute. Mulholland ... Christopher Mulholland... wasn’t that the name of the Eton schoolboy
who was on a walking-tour through the WestCountry, and then all of a sudden ...”
“Milk?” she said. “And sugar?”“Yes, please. And then all of a sudden ...”
“Eton schoolboy?” she said. “Oh no, mydear, that can’t possibly be right because my
Mr Mulholland was certainly not an Eton
schoolboy when he came to me. He was aCambridge undergraduate. Come over here
now and sit next to me and warm yourself infront of this lovely fire. Come on. Your tea’s
all ready for you.” She patted the empty placebeside her on the sofa, and she sat there
smiling at Billy and waiting for him to come
380 over. He crossed the room slowly, and sat
down on the edge of the sofa. She placed his
teacup on the table in front of him.
“There we are,” she said. “How nice andcosy this is, isn’t it?”
Billy started sipping his tea. She did thesame. For half a minute or so, neither of themspoke. But Billy knew that she was looking at
him. Her body was half-turned towards him,
and he could feel her eyes resting on his
face, watching him over the rim of her teacup.
Now and again, he caught a whiff of apeculiar smell that seemed to emanate
directly from her person. It was not in theleast unpleasant, and it reminded him – well,he wasn’t quite sure what it reminded him of.
Pickled walnuts? New leather? Or was it thecorridors of a hospital?
“Mr Mulholland was a great one for his tea,”she said at length. “Never in my life have I
400 seen anyone drink as much tea as dear,sweet Mr Mulholland.”“I suppose he left fairly recently,” Billy said.
He was still puzzling his head about the two
names.
He was positive now that he had seen themin the newspapers – in the headlines.
“Left?” she said, arching her brows. “But mydear boy, he never left. He’s still here. Mr
Temple is also here. They’re on the third
floor, both of them together.”Billy set down his cup slowly on the table,
and stared at his landlady. She smiled backat him, and then she put out one of her whitehands and patted him comfortingly on theknee. “How old are you, my dear?” sheasked.
“Seventeen.”“Seventeen!” she cried. “Oh, it’s theperfect age! Mr Mulholland was also
420 seventeen. But I think he was a trifle
shorter than you are, in fact I’m sure hewas, and his teeth weren’t quite so white.
You have the most beautiful teeth, Mr
Weaver, did you know that?”“They’re not as good as they look,” Billy
said.
“They’ve got simply masses of fillings inthem at the back.”“Mr Temple, of course, was a little
older,” she said, ignoring his remark. “He
was actually twenty eight. And yet I neverwould have guessed it if he hadn’t toldme, never in my whole life. There wasn’t ablemish on his body.”“A what?” Billy said.
“His skin was just like a baby’s.”
There was a pause. Billy picked up his
teacup and took another sip of his tea,then he set it down again gently in its
440 saucer. He waited for her to saysomething else, but she seemed to havelapsed into another of her silences. He sat
there staring straight ahead of him into thefar corner of the room, biting his lower lip.
“That parrot,” he said at last. “You know
something? It had me completely fooled
when I first saw it through the window
from the street. I could have sworn it wasalive.”“Alas, no longer.”“It’s most terribly clever the way it’s been
done,” he said. “It doesn’t look in the least
bit dead. Who did it?”
“I did.”“You did?”“Of course,” she said. “And have you
met my little Basil as well?” She nodded
towards the dachshund curled up so
comfortably in front of the fire. Billy looked
460 at it. And suddenly, he realised that thisanimal had all the time been just as silent
and motionless as the parrot. He put out ahand and touched it gently on the top of its
back. The back was hard and cold, andwhen he pushed the hair to one side withhis fingers, he could see the skinunderneath, greyish-black and dry andperfectly preserved.
“Good gracious me,” he said. “Howabsolutely fascinating.” He turned away fromthe dog and stared with deep admiration at
the little woman beside him on the sofa. “It
must be most awfully difficult to do a thing
like that.”“Not in the least,” she said. “I stuff all mylittle pets myself when they pass away. Will
you have another cup of tea?”“No, thank you,” Billy said. The tea tasted
faintly of bitter almonds, and he didn’t much
480 care for it.
“You did sign the book, didn’t you?”“Oh, yes.”“That’s good. Because later on, if I happen
to forget what you were called, then I canalways come down here and look it up. I still
do that almost every day with Mr Mulhollandand Mr . . .Mr...”“Temple,” Billy said. “Gregory Temple.
Excuse my asking, but haven’t there been
any other guests here except them in the last
two or three years?”
Holding her teacup high in one hand,
inclining her head slightly to the left, she
looked up at him out of the corners of hereyes and gave him another gentle little smile.
“No, my dear,” she said. ‘Only you.'500© Roald Dahl
Reprinted by kind permission of David
Higham Associates‘The Landlady’ first appeared in ‘Kiss Kiss’