‘The lamps throw out a surprising amount of light. It’s quite bright and cosy if you have a few of them going at once, along with some candles ...’ He trails off, seeing my dumbfounded face.
‘But why?’ I ask.
‘My aunt didn’t bother having the house wired, and I used to find it mysterious and romantic having the lamps and candles, so I continued with the tradition when I moved in.’
She didn’t bother having the house wired.Another even more worrying thought enters my head. ‘Does that mean there isn’tanyelectricity?’
Dain shakes his head and chuckles darkly. ‘If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to live in the nineteenth century, you’re about to find out.’
‘But how do you cook? And what about heating?’
‘There’s a wood-burning stove in the kitchen. It’s pretty efficient, and the fires are good for heating the place. If I can’t be bothered lighting them, I put on more clothes or have a jug bath.’
The words ‘jug bath’ nearly set me off into a full-blown panic. The Victorian era wasn’t exactly known for its mod cons.
‘Please tell me there’s plumbing at least?’Please, please, please don’t make me use an outdoor toilet, I pray silently.
Dain shrugs. ‘Kind of. It’s the full-immersion experience. As I said, I don’t do things by halves.’
I gulp.Oh my god.He’s a total eccentric born in the wrong era. ‘You’d better give me the rest of the tour,’ I say in a deadly quiet voice.
Chapter 16
No study, however interesting, interfered with [Emily’s] bread,
which was always light and excellent.
(Elizabeth Gaskell,The Life of Charlotte Brontë)
A little while later, after the tour, I sit alone in my bedroom, trying to keep calm. To say I’m processing what I’ve seen is an understatement.
Dain showed me his kitchen. It looked like it was out of a Dickens novel: a scrubbed wooden table and a fully functional old Aga. No microwave, fridge, dishwasher, or washing machine in sight. I was relieved to see there was a large enamelled cast-iron sink but immediately noticed there were no taps. He told me that he gets his water from a tap outside in the garden, boils a kettle on the stove, and pours hot water into the sink for washing dishes or clothes. ‘The stove is quite efficient. It only takes ten minutes to boil the kettle.’
More efficient than turning on a hot tap? I think not.
But I didn’t say anything, wanting to get the lie of the land before I blew a gasket, so to speak.
The upstairs bathroom was ... interesting. It contained nothing but a free-standing roll-top copper bathtub placed in the middle of the room on a black-and-white-tiled floor. Surrounding it were black walls, and upon one hung an ornate full-length gold-framed mirror. The aesthetic was undeniably edgy, if impractical, since, again, there were no taps.
I went into the room and touched the top of the tub. ‘Is this a nineteenth-century original? It looks too shiny.’
Dain leaned against the doorframe. ‘Sadly, no. I tried to bid for one in a local auction, but I got out of my depth pretty early on. It went for over 2,000 quid.’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘This one is faux copper, much cheaper.’
‘Ah. And how does onebathe,may I ask?’
‘It’s a bit of a process heating the water for a full bath, as you can imagine. So I only do that once a month, like they used to back in those days.’
‘Right. And how do you wash for the rest of the time?’
He gestured to the bath. ‘Stand in there, wet a flannel, and soap up, then pour a jug of warm water over my head. Does the trick. It’s connected to a drain, so at least I don’t have to bail the water out.’
I tried not to react in visible horror and said through gritted teeth, ‘I think I might need more than one jug.’
I didn’t get to see where Dain slept. We passed a closed door on the way back downstairs, and he mentioned that it was his room, but he didn’t open it. So of course, now I’m imagining it to look like some kind of vampiric lair. The way he’s choosing to live is both amazing and crazy, so I wouldn’t be surprised if it was.
