(19/20) Farewell to Fairacre Read online

  'It's fine by me, Amy. I'm looking forward to it.'

  'So am I. We'll pick you up on Good Friday morning then, and come back on Monday afternoon. Suit you?'

  'Perfectly.'

  'And did you enjoy the concert at Rousham?'

  'How did you know about that?'

  'I met Miriam and Gerard in Caxley. They said you were there.'

  Was anything private, I wondered sourly?

  'With that handsome John Jenkins,' continued Amy.

  'That is quite correct,' I replied.

  'Oh, good!' said Amy, with unnecessary enthusiasm. 'See you on Good Friday morning then, if not before.'

  She rang off, and I went to close the kitchen window. The wind had sprung up, and squally rain showers were on the way, according to the radio weather man.

  It was almost dark when I heard someone knocking at the front door. Normally people come to my back door, usually calling out as they come.

  I opened the door to find John Jenkins there, with a book in his hand.

  'Come in out of this wind,' I said.

  'I thought you might like to look at this. There's a nice account of Rousham in it.'

  It was a handsome volume dealing with country houses and I said that I should enjoy reading it.

  I rather hoped that he would depart. His car was at the gate, and I imagined that he was on his way elsewhere. However, he lingered, and I invited him to sit down, and offered coffee. The children's marking would have to wait.

  While the kettle boiled I rummaged in a very superior square biscuit tin, a Christmas present, and wondered why the lids of square biscuit tins never go on properly first time. Almost as frustrating, I thought, pouring boiling water on to the coffee, as those child-proof medicine containers where you have to align two arrows in order to prise off the lid. So useful in the middle of a dark night. And anyway, a child could undo the thing with far more ease than I could.

  John was well settled into an armchair, but leapt up politely as I entered.

  He seemed very much at ease and admired the cottage. I told him how lucky I had been to inherit it.

  'You must come and see mine,' he said. 'Are you busy next week?'

  I told him that the end of term was looming up, and perhaps I might be invited during the Easter holidays?

  He brought out a pocket diary immediately, and my heart sank at such efficiency. I could see that there would be no escape.

  The Thursday or Friday after Easter was fixed for me to take tea at his house, and half an hour later he left.

  By now, the rain was lashing down. In the light from the porch it slanted in silver rods across the wind-tossed shrubs.

  He ran down the wet path, raised his hand in farewell, and a moment later the car moved off.

  Thankfully, I removed the tray and took out my neglected school work.

  I was just getting down to the correction of such sentences as, 'My granny never had none neither,' when I heard someone at the front door again.

  John must have forgotten something. I put aside my papers, and made my way, cursing silently, to the door.

  When I opened it, the light fell upon a wispy figure drenched to the skin, with dripping hair and frightened eyes.

  'You'd better come in,' I said, following Minnie Pringle into the kitchen.

  CHAPTER 9

  Minnie Pringle's Problems

  Minnie Pringle stood as close as she could to the kitchen heater and dripped steadily from hair, hands and hem-line. If she had just emerged from a river, she could not have been more thoroughly soaked.

  'I saw your light,' she said, as if that explained everything.

  'I'll get you a towel and something to put on,' I told her. 'Strip off and dump your things in the sink.'

  I left her shivering and fumbling with buttons, and went to find underclothes and dressing-gown. When I returned she was sitting on the rush matting on the kitchen floor.

  Her back was towards me as she struggled to pull off a wet stocking, and I felt a pang of pity at the sight of her boniness. She might have been a twelve-year-old child, rather than the mother of several children, and pregnant with yet another.

  Her normally red hair was now darkly plastered to her head, and dripped down upon her bent back. I noticed dark marks on the shoulders and stick-like upper arms. Could they be bruises? Had Ern really attacked her?

  I put the towel round her, and the fresh clothes on the back of the kitchen chair.

  'Rub yourself down well,' I said, 'and get dressed. I'm going to make some coffee for us both.'

  To the accompaniment of sniffs behind me as Minnie set about her toilet, I busied myself preparing a ham sandwich for my guest. The sink was slowly filling up with sodden garments as we worked, and my head was buzzing with conjectures.

  What could have happened? Why had she come to me? Usually, in times of domestic crisis she went to her mother at Springbourne or to her aunt Mrs Pringle at Fairacre. Why me this time?

  And what on earth was I to do about her? Obviously, she would have to stay the night, and as luck would have it, the spare bed was made up. As soon as I had made the coffee I would fill a hot-water bottle, but the first thing was to get this poor drowned rat dry, and sitting by my fire with a hot drink.

  Within ten minutes we were studying each other before the blazing hearth in my sitting-room. Minnie's teeth still chattered, but she looked pinker than on her arrival, and her hair blazed as brightly as the fire.

  I began a little questioning as she grew more relaxed.

  'I run off. Ern was real rough this time,' she volunteered.

  'But what about the children?'

  'My mum's got 'em.'

  'Couldn't you have stayed with them?'

  She considered this for a moment. 'She never wanted me. She said to go back to Ern. She said my place was with him, but I ain't going back. He knocked me about terrible this time.'

  It sounded as though 'being knocked about' was a regular and accepted part of Minnie's marital condition. This time, obviously, Ern had gone beyond the limits of matrimonial behaviour.

  'Did you come straight here?'

  She looked shocked. 'Oh no! I never wanted to push meself in, like. I went to Auntie's.'

  'Mrs Pringle?'

  'That's right. But it's her Mothers' Union night, and there wasn't no one there. Uncle Fred was out somewhere too. It was all dark. So I come on here.'

  This meant that she had been out in the downpour for the best part of two hours, roaming at least five or six miles in the darkness. I think I was more appalled than she was. This poor little pregnant waif really raised some problems, as well as pity.

  She was obviously physically exhausted, although she seemed as usual mentally. She was also ravenously hungry, and I returned to the kitchen to refill her cup and to make a second sandwich. I was seriously perturbed about the possibility of a miscarriage.

  My medical skills are sketchy at the best of times, and coping with anything in the gynaecological line would certainly be beyond me. I resolutely put such a possibility from my mind, as I carved ham.

  But someone really should be told where she was. I imagined that Em, poor husband though he was, should be informed, but I knew there was no telephone in Minnie's house. Nor was there in her mother's, nor at Mrs Pringle's.

  Minnie was dozing when I returned, but roused herself and attacked the second sandwich with energy.

  Half an hour later she was asleep in my spare bed. I washed out the threadbare clothes in the sink, draped them on the clothes horse in front of the fire, and tottered to bed myself.

  It was some time before I fell asleep. How to help Minnie was my main concern. It did not seem right to bother her doctor. Ern had been visited by the police before, and I wondered if I should ask for their help again. They had enough to worry them, I decided, with real crime at its present rate, without concerning themselves with this type of domestic upset.

  On the other hand, it was obviously unthinkable to send Minnie ba
ck to Ern's vicious attacks. In the end, I decided that I must consult Mrs Pringle as soon as I saw her next morning, and meanwhile Minnie must have the sanctuary of my cottage.

  ***

  It dawned on me in the morning that this was Wednesday, and Mrs Pringle would be doing her domestic duties at my home. She and Minnie could get together about future plans during the afternoon.

  I left Minnie in bed with a tray of breakfast and strict instructions to stay indoors until her aunt arrived. She seemed to understand, and I set off for school.

  'So that's where she got to!' exclaimed Mrs Pringle when I unfolded my tale. 'Ern was at his wits' end when he turned up at his mother's.'

  'At his mother's?' I echoed, thoroughly bewildered. How on earth could Mrs Pringle have met Ern's mother anyway, during the rainstorm which had kept most of us indoors last evening?

  'We had a real big service of the Mothers' Union at Caxley parish church. Beautiful singing, and the sausage rolls afterwards fairly melted in your mouth.'

  'And Ern's mother was there?'

  'Yes. She's always been a good member in the Caxley branch. Never misses a meeting, despite the shop.'

  I was beginning to get lost again, but Mrs Pringle explained that Ern's mother, when a girl, had been in good service south of Caxley, and had been left a sizeable amount of money by her appreciative employer. This she had wisely invested some years ago in a little corner shop which continued to thrive.

  Ern hoped to inherit it eventually, but had proved such an unsatisfactory son to his upright widowed mother, that she was having second thoughts.

  'She told Ern so straight. She's always kept a good hold on Ern, and don't hesitate to put him right when he does wrong.'

  'Will he take notice of her?'

  'That he will!' said Mrs Pringle grimly. 'She give him a taste of her tongue last night evidently, and she's going over tonight to sort things out. I told her I'd do the same with Minnie when she turned up.'

  I was much relieved, and said so. I also told her that I had wondered who to turn to for help.

  'Ern's mother and I can cope with this, don't you worry,' she said, heaving herself from the front desk where she had rested her bulk. 'I said to Ern's mother, "Well, here we are at a Mothers' Union meeting, and us mothers should stand together." I know our Minnie isn't much of a mother, but she is one after all.'

  She plodded off to the lobby, and I heard the sound of children entering.

  I returned to my own duties with feelings of unusual gratitude to my old adversary.

  When I arrived again at my Beech Green home, I found that Mrs Pringle had ironed Minnie's outfit, and the kettle was ready for our cups of tea.

  Minnie looked much healthier after her night's sleep, and remarkably clean in her newly laundered clothes. I looked out a scarlet cardigan, destined originally for the next jumble sale, to augment her flimsy attire, and though it clashed horribly with her sandy hair, this was no time to worry about sartorial detail, I felt.

  Mrs Pringle had obviously given the girl the promised 'talking to', and our drive back to Fairacre was unusually silent. It was a relief to drop them, and to return to the peace of my own home, and the papers I had neglected the evening before.

  What, I wondered, as I prised Pussi-luv from the tin for Tibby's supper, would happen when Ern and Minnie met again?

  ***

  The end of term was not far off, and I seemed to have done very little. The children were always somewhat under par at this time of year. Illness had kept several away. The weather had not helped, and we all looked forward to a warm spring and summer to refresh us in body and spirit.

  There was one particular event in the future which gave us all some cheer. Henry Mawne had suggested another trip to the Cotswold falconry, and then a visit, that same day, to the Cotswold Wildlife Park near Burford.

  Now that our numbers had risen, thanks to the arrival of the two new families, it would be necessary to hire a single-decker bus, and this meant that we could also take several parents who would act as assistants to Mrs Richards and me.

  Our earlier visit to the falconry had been paid for by Henry Mawne, and very grateful we were to him. On this occasion, it was only because he knew the staff well that we were able to visit privately and have the complete attention of the people there.

  Henry and I worked out the cost per child or adult, and the result was relayed to the children. Of course, they all wanted to go. I sent a note to each household explaining the conditions, time and price, and the response was almost unanimous.

  The only children who were not on the list were the three Cotton children. I was surprised at this. Alice had been the keenest child to come when the outing was first mooted, and the two boys seemed equally excited at the idea. Even the Coggs' children were coming, paid for, I suspected, by the vicar. It was puzzling.

  Perhaps the Cotton parents did not approve of outings, even educational ones, during school hours? Perhaps their children were travel-sick? Perhaps the family was short of money? Whatever the reason, I did not feel that I could enquire too closely, although I was sorry that the three children would not be among those going.

  It was Mrs Pringle who threw some light on the affair.

  'Mr Lamb's in a bit of a taking about them Cottons. Don't like to be hard on a family, but he's given 'em a lot of credit, and they don't seem to be making much effort to pay their debts.'

  I made no comment. It was easy for Mrs Pringle - or anyone else in the village, for that matter - to start a hefty scandal with the words, 'Miss Read was saying'. You get remarkably canny when you live in a village and 'Least said, soonest mended' is the best motto.

  Nevertheless, this snippet, whether true or not, gave me plenty to think about, and I became more alert to the problems of the Cotton children in my care.

  About a week before the great day out, Henry arrived at school one afternoon in a state of anxiety.

  'Can we fit in one more on the bus?'

  I assured him that we could.

  'It's my wife's cousin. A nice enough woman, but never gives one any notice. Rang up last night to say she was coming over from Ireland and would stay indefinitely. It's thrown my housekeeper into a panic, I can tell you.'

  I could well believe it. Anyone proposing to stay indefinitely, when uninvited anyway, must pose a few household problems.

  'You don't think she means to stay permanently when she says indefinitely?'

  'Heaven alone knows! She is what one calls fey. All rather Celtic-twilight and gauzy scarves round the head. Very clever though. Paints very well, and helps at the Abbey Theatre sometimes. But quite unpredictable.' He sighed gustily. 'Anyway, that's one day arranged. I must try to think up further entertainment.'

  'Would you like to bring her to tea one day? A Saturday or Sunday would suit me best.'

  His face lit up. 'Wonderful! I know she'd like that. I've told her all about you, and she is very keen to meet you.'

  'I'll ring you when I get home,' I promised, 'and we'll arrange something.'

  He departed looking positively jaunty.

  And what, I wondered, had he said to this Irish lady when he had told her 'all about me'?

  I looked forward to our meeting with considerable interest, but touched with a little trepidation.

  To my surprise, Mrs Pringle returned my ancient red cardigan which I thought I had given to Minnie on that much-disturbed night.

  It was freshly laundered, and looked so spruce I seriously thought of keeping it for myself after all.

  'Our Minnie,' said Mrs Pringle, 'has settled down again quite nice with Ern, thanks to his mum.'

  'I expect you helped too,' I said magnanimously, 'by talking to Minnie.'

  'Hardly. Goes in one ear and out the other, with that girl. Nothing between her ears to stop any advice staying in her head. No, give credit where it's due, Ern's mother was the one what settled things.'

  'How did she manage that?'

  'She told him she was changing her wi
ll the minute she heard about any more upsets. He's banking on getting his hands on that shop of hers, and her savings. That really shook him, she said.'

  I said that covetousness occasionally had its advantages.

  'Mind you,' went on Mrs Pringle, ignoring my comment, 'she's made him go to the doctor too.'

  'What's the matter with him?'

  Mrs Pringle buttoned up her mouth, and I guessed that I should be denied full knowledge of Em's visit to the doctor.

  'It's not the sort of thing a single lady like you should know about,' she said primly. 'It's to do with Married Life and a Man's Urges.'

  'In that case,' I responded, 'I'm sure you are right to say little. But did he really see the doctor?'

  Mrs Pringle looked affronted. 'Ern's mother would never had said he did, if he didn't have,' she stated flatly. This sounded the sort of sentence with which I continually grappled, but I did not propose to go into that now.

  'Ern's mother is the soul of truth. Lives by the Ten Commandments and signed the pledge too. If she said Em went to the doctor, then he done just that.'

  I apologised for my doubts.

  'No offence meant and none taken,' she said graciously. 'Anyway the top and bottom of it is that Minnie shouldn't be put in the family way again, after the present little stranger comes to light.'

  'I'm glad to hear it. She has quite enough children as it is.'

  Mrs Pringle began to move towards the door.

  'Well, we'll just have to see,' she replied gloomily. 'You can't take anything Minnie does for granted. After all, Ern isn't the only man in her life. It makes you think, don't it? You be thankful you're single, Miss Read.'

  'I am,' I told her.

  The proposed tea party took place on the following Sunday, and Amy had come over to help with my entertaining. James was away on yet another business trip, and Amy said that she could not wait to meet a fey Irishwoman in gauze scarves.