(9/20) Tyler's Row Read online

  Suddenly, the unearthly howling of a dog split the silence, followed by a sharp yapping, and then the unmistakable shindy of a dog fight just below the window. More barking added to the din.

  Peter sat up, jerked from slumber.

  'What the devil's going on?'

  'I don't know. It's only just started.'

  Before he had time to get out of bed to investigate, there was the sound of a window opening next door. Mrs Fowler was obviously making her own investigations.

  'Push off!' screamed the lady, beside herself. 'Get off home! Be off with you!'

  There was the sound of another window opening. Sergeant Burnaby, it seemed, had also been disturbed, despite his deafness.

  'Stop that hollering!' commanded the sergeant, in a voice that had made itself heard under heavy shell-fire in its time. 'How d'you expect law-abiding Christians to sleep with that racket going on?'

  'If I had a gun,' said Peter grimly to Diana, 'I'd train it on our neighbours in turn, so help me. As it is, I suppose I'd better lean out and read the riot act.'

  'Not for a minute,' begged Diana. Who knows what he might say in the heat of the moment!

  'You mind your own business,' yelled Mrs Fowler, evidently retreating for a moment, but returning to her post bearing something that chinked against the window fastening.

  The dog-fight seemed to be continuing a little further down the garden, but there were whimpering sounds and more barking near at hand, as if a dozen or more dogs were still close to the house.

  A sloshing noise, followed by wild yelping and what sounded like a stampede of elephants, indicated that Mrs Fowler had tipped the water from the bedroom ewer over her unwelcome guests.

  'Let that be a lesson to you!' she shouted, slamming shut the window with such force that all four cottages in Tyler's Row shuddered.

  There was an answering slam from Sergeant Burnaby's window, and then silence from each side of the Hales' abode. Outside, the noise of snuffling, whining and yelping went on, but with slightly less energy. Mrs Fowler's activity with the water jug seemed to have had some effect. Certainly the two main contestants seemed to have retired, probably to carry on their dog-fight in some other quarter of the village.

  'I suppose that dam' dog of hers is on heat,' said Peter gloomily. 'How long does that last?'

  'About three weeks, I believe.'

  'That's jolly. I suppose we'll have all the dogs of the neighbourhood growling and prowling round, like the hosts of Midian. Do the garden a power of good, that will!'

  He sighed gustily.

  'I wonder if we've been fools to come here? I must say I never envisaged this sort of persecution when we took on the tenants. What d'you think, Di?'

  He sounded unusually downcast, and Diana rallied herself to speak cheerfully, although she too was full of doubts lately.

  'It will turn out all right. They are bound to settle down before long. You've told them. It's up to them to have a little sense. I can stand it, if you can. We've put all we can spare into this place, and we'll jolly well see it gives us pleasure—neighbours or not.'

  'That's how I feel. I just can't bear to think I've landed you with this lot. After all, I'm out all day. You're the one who has to put up with it, and you've got enough to worry you just now without these two pests.'

  'Forget it,' said Diana comfortingly. 'Let's go to sleep.'

  To the faint sound of mingled whimpers and snuffles, the Hales sought slumber.

  The next morning a collection of dogs of all shapes and breeds were visible through Mrs Fowler's hedge, clustered hopefully at her back door. There were plenty of paw marks on the Hales' garden beds, and two of Diana's cherished penstemons were broken down.

  She was understandably nettled, but tried not to show it before Peter, who was worried enough anyway. He drove off to school, and Diana set about her domestic chores.

  The morning was punctuated by commotions from Mrs Fowler's side of the hedge. Every time she opened the back door, she emerged either with a stick or a jug of water to send off the amorous invaders.

  At the same time she let fly a stream of invective which quite unnerved Diana. She wondered how soon it would be before Sergeant Burnaby retaliated.

  She did not have long to wait.

  A peremptory rapping at the back door came about ten o'clock. On opening it, Diana faced Sergeant Burnaby, very spruce, his waxed moustache tilted heavenward and his yellow face unusually stern.

  'Come in,' said Diana, with a sinking heart.

  'Thank you, ma'am. I shan't keep you long. My business won't take more than a minute or two.'

  'Do sit down,' invited Diana.

  'No, thank you, ma'am. I'll say what I have to say standing. I only come because I respect your wanting to 'ave a bit of dignity over Mrs Fowler's and my upsets. This 'ere bawling that she does is no way to go on.'

  Diana, remembering the Sergeant's stentorian bellows in the night, found herself speechless.

  'I'm here to lodge a complaint,' went on the old man, 'a formal complaint. If your blasted tenant can't keep her blasted bitch under control I give fair warning I'll take the matter to the police.'

  This was said in Sergeant Burnaby's most polite tones, and Diana was hard put to it not to show her amusement.

  'Sergeant Burnaby,' she said, in the cooing voice which had melted many men's hearts, 'you are making yourself so unhappy—and us too, you know—by taking offence at every little thing which goes wrong. Of course it's annoying to have all these dogs about, and I intend to visit Mrs Fowler to see what can be done about it. We can't have our sleep broken as we did last night, but please, Sergeant, try to be a little more forbearing. We've simply got to shake down together peaceably. You must see that.'

  Diana thought she detected a little shame in the old soldier's countenance, but his answer was as belligerent as ever.

  'I've done my best, ma'am, as you know. That woman's more than flesh and blood can stand, and that dam' dog of 'ers has caused my garden to be turned into a fair wilderness with all them others rooting about. I means it when I says I'll see the police!'

  Diana put a hand upon his arm pleadingly.

  'Now don't do anything hasty. I shall see Mrs Fowler myself. We all want an end to this unpleasantness.'

  The old man stumped towards the door, his back as straight as a ramrod, his moustache bristling.

  'Well, I've made my complaint. I can't do more. But she'd better watch out!'

  Diana abandoned her soft womanliness and assumed a sterner tone.

  'Sergeant Burnaby, you must do your part in a little give-and-take. As my husband has told you, if you can't settle happily at Tyler's Row it may be best for you to find somewhere else to live.'

  If Diana expected a change of attitude, she was to be disappointed. The old man said nothing, but gave her a glance so full of venom that she felt shocked.

  The door slammed behind him. It was plain that Sergeant Burnaby was unrepentant.

  Later that day she called upon Mrs Fowler with much the same result. It had needed considerable courage to visit her neighbour, but Diana felt that it must be done.

  Eight dogs waited hopefully in the garden, and watched Diana as she approached.

  'Better come in, I suppose,' said Mrs Fowler sourly, eyeing the expectant crowd. 'It's about them, no doubt.'

  She shut the door behind her visitor and motioned Diana to a battered sofa.

  'Yes, it is, I'm afraid,' said Diana. 'Not only on our behalf, but on Sergeant Burnaby's as well.'

  Mrs Fowler gave a contemptuous laugh.

  'Should've thought he could have done his own dirty work.'

  Diana decided to ignore this, and pressed on.

  'It's very difficult when you have a bitch, I know—' she began.

  'I won't have that word mentioned in my house,' said Mrs Fowler loftily. She folded her arms across her pink cardigan and glared at poor Diana. 'I always say lady-dog. It's politer.'

  'Just as you wish,' agreed Diana ha
stily. She was devoutly thankful that Peter was not present, or she might have broken down. 'I just wondered if you knew that there is something available for bitch—I mean, for lady-dogs—which can be put on them when they're on heat. It keeps the dogs away, and is so simple.'

  Diana's innocent suggestion brought a blush to Mrs Fowler's withered cheek, but whether it was caused by outraged modesty or plain temper it was difficult to guess.

  'I know the stuff. My niece brought me a tin last night.' She turned round to root among a number of medicine bottles and aerosol tins on the dresser, and held up a large yellow canister proudly. Bright red letters across it said: KUM-NOT-NY.

  'Haven't had time to use it yet,' went on Mrs Fowler, 'and I don't know as I intend to. Nature knows best, my mother always said.'

  Diana, who had now recovered from the shock of the name, decided that a firmer line was needed.

  'I should certainly use it immediately, or I fear Sergeant Burnaby will be sending for the police. My husband and I are sympathetic to your difficulties, but they can be overcome, and you really can't want to upset your neighbours like this. If you don't want to use this stuff, then why not put the dog into kennels? It's often done.'

  Mrs Fowler bridled.

  'And who's going to pay for that, may I ask?'

  'The dog is your responsibility,' replied Diana steadily. She got up from the little-ease of a sofa, and made her way to the door. Mrs Fowler looked thoughtful.

  'I might have a word with my niece when she brings the children to tea,' she said, in a less belligerent tone of voice.

  'Do,' replied Diana. 'And please remember that we all want to sleep at nights —all of us— in Tyler's Row.'

  Luckily, Diana's words bore fruit. She saw the niece depart, after tea next door, complete with children and the dog. Kum-not-ny must have been applied with a heavy hand, for no dogs followed the little group towards the bus stop, and Tyler's Row was destined to have peaceful nights for over a fortnight.

  Diana saw the family waiting for the bus when she went to the post office with her carefully written postcard asking for domestic help, on one or two mornings a week, times and wages to be arranged.

  'I'll put this up first thing tomorrow,' promised John Lamb. 'I'm sure you'll be suited without much bother.'

  He watched Diana depart, and put the card carefully on one side. He must look out for Bob Willet. This was just the job his missus was looking for, he knew.

  There was not much that John Lamb did not know in Fairacre.

  By eight-thirty the next morning Mr Willet knew about the post, as he returned from his early duties at the village school. After a brief word with Mrs Willet, he collected the bird-table and made his way to Tyler's Row. Diana was dusting, but went out into the morning sunshine to admire the bird-table.

  'It's really splendid,' she cried. 'Do you want to put it up now?'

  'Better wait till Mr Hale's here,' advised Mr Willet. 'I'll call back this evening, if it's convenient. I'll be going up to choir-practice and I should be back here by eight or so. Mr Annett's written a descant to "Pleasant are Thy courts above." We're doin' it Sunday.'

  'How clever of him,' commented Diana.

  'Well, that's as maybe. It's my belief he's tone-deaf when it comes to makin' up tunes. This 'ere fairly pierces yer eardrums. Atonal, he called it. That's one way of describing it, I suppose.'

  'Modern music does take some getting used to,' agreed Diana diplomatically.

  'I was having a word with John Lamb,' said Mr Willet. 'He tells me as you need a bit of help here. I was wondering if Mrs Willet might come and see you? She's looking for a light job, and you wouldn't get nobody better, and that's the truth.'

  Diana gasped with pleasure. She had met Mrs Willet at the Women's Institute, and frequently in the lanes of Fairacre. This seemed heaven-sent.

  This is good news. Would Mrs Willet like to call here soon and have a look at the work? At the moment I am paying Mrs Jones twenty-five an hour. She might like to know.'

  'Twenty-five?' said Mr Willet, puzzled.

  'New pence.'

  'Ah!' Mr Willet's brow cleared. 'Five bob! This decimation gets you down, don't it? By the time I've decimated shillings and pence, I don't know if I'm on my head or my heels. D'you have trouble decimating, Mrs Hale?'

  'It's getting easier. It's pints into litres and ounces into grammes I'm dreading.'

  'Well, now. What about Mrs Willet comin' next Tuesday, to see the job?'

  'Fine,' said Diana, then checked suddenly. 'No, sorry, I have to go to hospital that day.'

  She regretted the disclosure the minute she had made it. Mr Willet's face crumpled with concern. She hoped he would not mention the matter to others. However, nothing could be done.

  'Nothing serious,' she said lightly. 'Just a routine check.'

  'Good. Good,' said Mr Willet, looking relieved. 'Then perhaps Monday would be better?'

  'Ideal. Would two o'clock be a good time?'

  'Do fine. We've washed up and had a bit of a ziz by then. Forty winks, after a bit of dinner, is a very good thing, Mrs Hale.'

  He put the bird-table in the porch, and surveyed it with his head on one side.

  'Looks a treat, don't it?' he said disarmingly. 'I enjoyed making' that.'

  'We'll enjoy using it,' Diana told him, with conviction.

  Part Three

  Settled, With Some Sunshine

  14. Amy's Invitation

  THE fact that Diana Hale had to go to hospital was soon general knowledge in Fairacre. To give Mr Willet his due, he mentioned this interesting item of news to his wife alone. Whether she inadvertently let the cat out of the bag, or whether Sergeant Burnaby or Mrs Fowler overheard the conversation in the garden, or whether, as is quite likely, that mysterious communication system, the village grapevine, which works with a life of its own, was to blame, no one can tell, but the village knew quite well that on Tuesday next Mrs Hale was going to hospital.

  Why, and which one, were matters of debate. Some said the appointment was at Caxley-Cottage, others Up-the-County, and those who guessed aright plumped for Oxford. These last admitted that there were so many hospitals in Oxford that it was anyone's guess which it would be. By the law of elimination they cancelled out That Bone Place (Orthopaedic) and That Loony Place (Nervous Diseases), on the grounds of Diana's physical activity and her obvious mental composure. Further than that they were unable to go, to their infinite regret.

  The reason for the visit engaged the villagers' interest pleasurably. Heart trouble and hernias, goitre and gall-stones, diabetes and deafness were all discussed with lively conjecture, and gruesome accounts of relatives' sufferings when similarly afflicted.

  Even the school children discussed the subject, seriously and with sympathy. I overheard two of them, as they squatted on their haunches by a sunny wall, waiting to come into school.

  'What's up, d'you reckon, with that new lady up Tyler's?'

  'Nothin' much. Havin' a baby, I expect.'

  'Get away! She's too old. She must be sixty or seventy. My mum says you can't have a baby after forty.'

  'That's where she's wrong then. Our mum had our Linda when she was forty-three. So there!'

  There was silence for a moment before Mrs Hale's case was resumed.

  'Don't expect it's an operation. More like getting old. Bits of you wears out, like an old bike doos.'

  'She ain't all that old. Not much more'n Miss Read.'

  'Well, she's no chicken! I bet she's got bits of her wearin' out pretty fast.'

  Too true, I thought, tottering into the playground to call them in. I felt decrepit for the rest of the day.

  On Wednesday morning Mrs Pringle told me, with evident disappointment, that Mrs Hale had been seen busy weeding the borders on Tuesday evening.

  'Can't be much amiss there,' grumbled the lady. Then her eye brightened.

  'Unless the doctors have missed something,' she continued. 'Some of these young fellers-no more than bits of boys-simply
give you a quick prod, here and there, and look at your tongue, and that's it. Easy enough to miss the Vital Symptom.'

  'I feel very sorry indeed for Mrs Hale,' I began severely, about to embark on a short pithy lecture on the theme of prying into the affairs of others, but Mrs Pringle forstalled me as successfully as ever.

  'Oh, so do I. So do I. There's not one in the village as doesn't feel the same. Mrs Fowler reckons it's liver. Sergeant Burnaby reckons it's a judgement, whatever that may mean, and John Lamb says he's never been one to talk about women's ills and then shut up like a clam!'

  'Sensible man,' I said.

  'I wonder what that poor soul's doing at this very minute,' pondered Mrs Pringle lugubriously.

  'Minding her own business perhaps,' I retorted tartly.

  And, for once, I had the last word.

  More news came from Tyler's Row within the week. Mrs Willet was going to work for Mrs Hale!

  'She's very lucky,' I said feelingly to Mrs Pringle when she told me.

  'She is indeed. Five shillings an hour!'

  I had meant that Mrs Hale was lucky, and said so.

  'Well, yes,' Mrs Pringle conceded doubtfully. 'Alice Willet's a good worker and a very nice little carpet beater, considering her arms.'

  Mrs Willet's arms, compared with Mrs Pringle's brawny ones, are certainly rather wispy, but I was not surprised to hear her praised as a carpet beater. As far as I could see, Mrs Willet would be competent at anything she undertook, and I said so.

  Mrs Pringle seemed to resent my enthusiasm, and began to look mutinous. Before long, I knew from experience, spontaneous cumbustion would occur in her bad leg, and we should all suffer.

  'Alice Willet,' said Mrs Pringle heavily, 'doesn't have what others have to put up with.'

  This barbed remark might have referred to me, or to the children, or to us both, but prudence kept me silent. With only the slightest limp Mrs Pringle made her way to the lobby.