(5/13) Return to Thrush Green Read online

  Bertha put two small eggs carefully beside the fish.

  'We prefer scrambled eggs, Nelly. These two, well beaten, should be ample for us all.'

  'There won't be enough,' said Nelly flatly.

  'We add a little milk.'

  'Horrible!' protested Nelly. 'Should never be done with scrambled eggs. Butter's all you need, and a little pepper and salt.'

  'Not butter!' gasped Bertha. 'We always use margarine in cooking. Butter would be most extravagant!'

  Nelly began to see that she would certainly need to visit the Fuchsia Bush to supplement the starvation diet being planned.

  'Vegetables?' she managed to ask.

  'Plenty of spinach, Nelly, in the garden, and I thought some rhubarb for pudding. There is still some growing by the cold frame. I will leave out the sugar for you.'

  'Very well, ma'am,' she said as politely as her outraged sensibilities would allow.

  She finished drying the breakfast things, and went, basket in hand to fetch the spinach and rhubarb. On her return, she found half a cupful of granulated sugar awaiting its union with the rhubarb, and about half an ounce of margarine.

  Nelly left the spinach to soak, and wiped the thin sticks of rhubarb. They were well past their best, and showed rusty marks when she chopped them.

  For the rest of the morning Nelly seethed over the appalling ingredients which were to make a lunch for four people.

  'Not enough for a sparrow,' she muttered to herself, as she went about her chores. 'And all windy stuff too. If those old scarecrows is doubled up this afternoon, it won't be my fault, and that's flat!'

  She cooked the food as best she could. It grieved her to be using margarine instead of butter, but there was nothing else to use, and mighty little of that.

  Miss Violet had set the table. The heavy Georgian silver gleamed, the glasses sparkled, and handmade lace mats lay like snowflakes on the polished mahogany.

  Nelly carried in the dish of fish and scrambled egg and placed it before Miss Ada at the head of the table. Her face expressed scorn.

  'I took the liberty, ma'am,' said Nelly, 'of picking a sprig of parsley to garnish it.'

  Miss Ada inclined her head graciously.

  'You did quite rightly,' she said. 'It all looks delicious.'

  Nelly returned to the kitchen and surveyed the teaspoonful of food upon her plate. At that moment, the cat leapt through the window.

  'Here,' said Nelly, handing down the plate, 'try your luck with that.'

  Delicately, with infinite caution, the cat sniffed at the food. A rose petal tongue emerged to lick the fish tentatively, then the cat shuddered slightly, and turned away.

  'And I don't blame you,' said Nelly. She threw the scraps out of the window, and watched a gaggle of sparrows descend upon them.

  'What I could do to a nice fillet steak!' mourned Nelly, preparing to carry in the dish of sour rhubarb, unadorned by any such rich accompaniment as cream or custard.

  Later, when Nelly had washed up and had been complimented upon her cooking by the three old ladies, Nelly tried to forget the whole shocking experience. Never again, she told herself, never again! Not if they went down on their brittle old bended knees would she be party to such a travesty of cooking! It was more than flesh and blood could stand.

  It was hardly surprising that Albert found her exceptionally snappy that evening. Nelly had suffered much.

  Part Three

  Safe Arrival

  17. Living Alone

  MISS WATSON's enforced rest gave her plenty of time to think. Not that she did not think in her normal state, but this was thinking at a different level.

  She was a healthy busy woman, who ran her school and her home with competence. Her mind was always occupied with such diverse matters as ordering fresh stock, arranging a parents' evening, supervising the new probationer-teacher, as well as remembering to order an extra pint of milk because the Henstocks were coming to coffee, to send the spare-room bedspread to the laundry, and to ring the hairdresser to see if she could fit in a permanent wave on a Saturday morning.

  These day to day activities left little time for such things as general reading, although she conscientiously tried to keep abreast with present-day writings on education. She rarely visited the theatre in term time, and her travels had been limited to less expensive areas in Europe. She kept up with a few old friends, and saw Ray and Kathleen several times a year, but this was the first occasion when she had been thrown upon her own resources and had experienced solitude, without activity, for hours at a time.

  In this present vague post-operation daze, she found reading irksome, and radio and television equally tiring. She was content to lie back and let her mind dwell upon a great many aspects of life which, until now, she had largely ignored.

  It was something of a shock to realise that one was not completely self supporting. So far in her life, she had managed her affairs without needing to ask for any help, other than such specialised aid necessary for coping with tax affairs and other money matters, or the occasional legal problem which dear old Justin Venables in Lulling managed with easy experience.

  She had never before suffered such physical weakness as now engulfed her, and it was unnerving to find that she needed help to cope with such everyday matters as bathing, dressing and moving about the house. She felt confident that she would be back to normal in a few weeks, but then how could one be sure that other similar accidents might not occur, as one grew older? It was a sobering thought. If the present mishap had occurred when the school had closed, and she had been alone, how long, she wondered, could she have lain there unattended?

  Thank heaven for dear Agnes! It would have been impossible to return to her own home without Agnes's help. She dwelt now upon the sterling qualities of her staunch assistant. Her presence in the house, particularly at night, when she felt at her most vulnerable, was wonderfully consoling, and although she had been careful not to disturb Agnes's much needed slumber, it was a great comfort to know that she was there if the emergency arose.

  Soon, of course, she must face the fact that Agnes would return to Mrs White's. But need she?

  Miss Watson toyed with the idea of inviting dear Agnes to share her home permanently. It would be to their mutual advantage, she felt sure. The only thing was the uncomfortable fact that Agnes might not want to give up the independence she so much enjoyed.

  Miss Watson turned over the problem in her mind, with unusual humility. What right had she to expect Agnes to want to live with her? She had been more than fortunate to find a friend so unselfish that she was prepared to look after her for these few weeks. It was asking too much of her to expect that she would want to remain.

  And yet Agnes would be the perfect companion! She grew fonder of her as the years passed. She was a fine person, loyal and kind, much more noble, in every way, than her headmistress, thought Dorothy sadly.

  No, it would not be fair to ask her, she decided, with a sigh. Agnes might well agree simply because she felt that she was needed to help, ignoring her own feelings.

  She was so unselfish. It was very uplifting to live with a saint, but it had its problems.

  Next door, Harold Shoosmith was also in a state of turmoil. Isobel would soon be arriving, and he hoped that he would be able to greet her without showing the real depths of his feelings. It was quite alarming to find how often his thoughts turned to her, and he was beginning to fear that the observant residents of Thrush Green might guess the cause of his preoccupation.

  He was about to cross the green one morning, to mow the grass at Tullivers, when Dotty Harmer appeared, looking even more agitated than usual.

  'You haven't seen Flossie, by any chance?' she called, hastening towards him.

  'Flossie?' queried Harold.

  'My dog. My little spaniel. She's run off, you see.'

  'No, I'm sorry. I will keep an eye open for her.'

  'It's so upsetting,' continued Dotty, hitching up a stocking with a claw-like hand. 'I fea
r she must be on heat, and I hadn't realised it.'

  She peered at Harold sharply.

  'I don't embarrass you, I trust?'

  'Not in the least,' responded Harold. 'I have been aware of the facts of life for some years now.'

  Any gentle sarcasm intended was lost upon Dotty, in her present state of perturbation.

  'Of course, of course! But it is so annoying. She may have gone along to Nidden. There is a collie dog there, at the farm, to whom she is rather partial. The results of such a liaison would not be acceptable to the Kennel Club, I fear, but there it is.'

  'Well, I'll certainly keep a look out, but it might be as well to call at the rector's, or Miss Bembridge's. They might catch her before she gets into the traffic at Lulling. Would you care to use my telephone?'

  'You are most kind! Most kind! But I think I will walk across while I'm here. Besides, I am disturbing your activities.'

  'I was only going to cut the grass at Tullivers,' said Harold.

  Dotty's wrinkled countenance lit up with pleasure.

  'All ready for Isobel? She will be grateful, I'm sure.'

  She fluttered off in the direction of Ella's house, leaving Harold to his thoughts.

  ***

  Betty Bell, always exuberant, seemed to bring Isobel Fletcher's name into the conversation more frequently than Harold could have wished, but he had the sense to hold his tongue on these occasions. There was no point in adding fuel to the fire, he told himself.

  But, one morning, Betty arrived in a rare state of indignation.

  'D'you know what?' she demanded. 'That fat Nelly Piggott's been trying to get my job off of me!'

  'What, here?' asked Harold, alarmed.

  'No, no! I'd see you was looked after,' said Betty, as though indulging a backward child. 'No need for you to worry. No, that besom—excuse my French—has been crawling round Miss Fogerty, I hear, and would have gone in to see Miss Watson too, if Miss Fogerty hadn't put her foot down. The very idea!'

  'She wasn't successful, I take it,' ventured Harold.

  'I should hope not!' snorted Betty. 'Why, I keeps that place beautifull Beautiful, I tell you! Toffee papers, squashed chalk, bubble gum and all. You could eat your dinner off of the floor when I've done with it.'

  'I'm sure you could,' Harold agreed, wondering why anyone should be expected to want to eat dinners from floors or, for that matter, why it should occur to anyone to serve dinners in such a peculiarly uncomfortable position.

  'And if I sees her about,' went on Betty wrathfully, 'I shall give her a piece of my mind!'

  'I shouldn't bother,' said Harold, alarmed at the prospect of a noisy row on Thrush Green.

  'Or the flat of my hand,' added Betty, and flung out of the room.

  ***

  There was sudden activity at the Youngs' house. Edward's plans had been passed with unusual rapidity, and the builders, whom he had alerted earlier, were beginning to move in with all their paraphernalia.

  Milly and Robert decided that they would make their way back to Ealing.

  'I've no excuse for lingering,' said Mr Bassett. 'Thrush Green has put me on my feet again, and we shall only be in your way with the building going on. It's time we went back and put our affairs in order.'

  'We shall miss you,' said Joan, 'but you'll be back for good before long. What a marvellous thought!'

  'For us too,' said Milly. 'We've been blessed with two wonderful daughters. This would have been a terrible time for us without you to help.'

  A week later, Edward drove them to Ealing in their own car, with Joan following behind. They settled the parents in the house, and were relieved to find that Frank had taken an hour or two off work to welcome them home, and to give Robert the latest news of the business.

  'I shall be relieved to have them near us,' said Joan, as they drove back to Thrush Green together. 'How long do you think it will be before the stable block is ready?'

  'Quicker than builders usually are!' promised Edward. 'I'll see to that!'

  It was mid-July before Isobel was freed from her affairs in Sussex.

  She arrived on a sunny afternoon, and spent an hour with her new next-door neighbour, Winnie Bailey, before unlocking the door of Tullivers.

  Isobel looked tired, Winnie thought, as she poured tea for them both, but then she had had a long journey and probably a good deal of worry in the last few weeks.

  'No, still nothing definitely settled,' said Isobel, in reply to her query. 'You know how it is with selling a house. If my present would-be buyers can sell their own, all's well. But they're waiting to see if their buyer can sell his. How far back the queue stretches, heaven alone knows.'

  'And it only needs one to default, I suppose, for the whole chain to collapse?'

  'Exactly. Never mind, here I am, and Williams and Frobisher have sent me four possibilities, so I shall go ahead and enjoy looking at them. Better still, it's lovely to think I have so much more time to spend in Thrush Green. Tell me how everyone is.'

  Winnie told her about the Youngs' plans.

  'Lucky Bassetts! I envy them the stable conversion. If I didn't want a small house and garden, I think I'd rush across and plead for the top floor flat! Someone's going to have a nice home there.'

  Winnie went on to tell her about Ben and Molly Curdle, the Henstocks, Ella, and finally, Harold.

  'He's worked so hard in the garden,' said Winnie. 'The lawn looks immaculate, and the roses at Tullivers are the best at Thrush Green.'

  'Let's go and see it,' cried Isobel jumping up. 'I feel a new woman after that tea. Once I've unpacked, I shall go to see Harold. He must have been working so hard.'

  'I'm sure it was a labour of love,' said Winnie.

  But Isobel, leading the way, did not appear to hear.

  Now that Isobel had arrived, Harold's happiness grew daily, but he was anxious not to call too frequently at Tullivers, and so lay open the unsuspecting Isobel to the wagging tongues of Thrush Green.

  Isobel, as it happened, was not so unsuspecting as Harold imagined. She was used to the admiration of men, and liked their company. An exceptionally happy marriage and a wide circle of friends had given her ease of manner with the opposite sex, and Harold's feelings, although carefully concealed, were guessed by the sympathetic Isobel.

  In such a small community it was inevitable that they saw each other frequently, and they enjoyed each other's company more and more.

  Isobel took Harold to see some of the places which she had known well in her girlhood around Stow, north of Thrush Green, and he accompanied her to look at one or two of the houses which Williams and Frobisher had recommended.

  On the whole, it was a dispiriting job. The houses which were large enough to house the furniture which Isobel wanted to keep, were usually much too large, with endless corridors, high ceilings, and a formidable number of stairs. Those which were of manageable proportions were sometimes thatched, which Isobel disliked, or the rooms were small and stuffy.

  'What I want is something in between,' sighed Isobel, as they emerged from one such cottage, Harold almost bent double to miss striking his head on the porch. 'I'm beginning to wonder if I shall ever find what I want.'

  'Cheer up,' said Harold. 'I went through all this too when I was looking. It's disheartening for you, but I must confess I'm thoroughly enjoying myself.'

  Isobel laughed. 'Well, I should have given up long ago if you hadn't been such a support. It's made all the difference to have some company.'

  Harold seemed about to speak, thought better of it, and opened the door of the Alfa Romeo for her.

  'Are you feeling strong enough to face "a bijou residence set like a gem amidst panoramic views"?' asked Isobel, consulting her papers.

  'I can face any amount of them,' replied Harold bravely.

  'Right,' said Isobel, letting in the clutch. 'It's about three miles from here.'

  'And after that,' said Harold, 'I'm taking you to lunch at the Fleece. You need to keep up your strength when house-hunting
.'

  ***

  Little Miss Fogerty was as delighted as Harold to have Isobel at Thrush Green, and visited Tullivers frequently.

  Miss Watson was now back at school, limping about her duties with a stick, and thankful to be of some use again. Agnes was very anxious about her, and insisted that she returned to her bed for a rest after school dinner and this Miss Watson agreed to do, with surprising meekness.

  Now that she was back, the supply teacher departed, much to the relief of all.

  'I'm quite sure she did her best,' Agnes told Dorothy earnestly. 'She was very sincere and conscientious, and most diligent in reading reports, and the leaders in The Times Educational Supplement, but I think she found the children rather a nuisance.'

  'A case of putting the cart before the horse,' agreed Dorothy. 'It's good to be back on our own.'

  It also meant that Agnes had more time to see Isobel, and the two old friends had much to talk about. It was clear to Isobel that Agnes still worried about Miss Watson being alone in the house.

  'She's still very unsteady,' she told Isobel. 'One stumble, and she'd be quite helpless, you know.'

  'You must let her do as she wishes,' comforted Isobel. 'After all, it could happen anyway, whether you were in the house or not. I'm sure she will be sensible. Lots of women have to live alone. Look at me!'

  'But do you like living alone? I mean, I'm quite glad to know that the Whites are under the same roof as I am when I go up to bed. It makes me feel safer.'

  'No, I can't say that I like living alone,' said Isobel thoughtfully. 'But then I'm not used to it yet.'

  'Perhaps,' ventured Agnes, 'you might, in time, of course, marry again.'

  'I can't imagine it,' said Isobel. 'At our age, Agnes dear, one doesn't think about it. No, I think I shall be quite happy if I can find a little house here, and know that I'm safely among friends. One really can't ask for more.'

  The hot weather continued, one blazing day following the other. Harold Shoosmith reverted to his practice of taking a siesta, as he had throughout his working life overseas, and most of Thrush Green did the same.