(9/13)The School at Thrush Green Read online

  Ray, ill at ease, had now gone to the window, removing himself, man-fashion, from all source of trouble.

  'There were one or two items that Ray was always so fond of,' said Kathleen, looking somewhat sharply at her husband's back. 'He often talks of that silver rosebowl his mother always cherished, and her silver dressing-table set.'

  'I cherish those too,' said Dorothy.

  'And I don't suppose that any of the carpets or curtains will fit the new place,' continued Kathleen happily. 'So do bear us in mind if you are throwing anything away.'

  At this point, a desperate howling from Harrison pierced the air, and Ray leapt at the excuse to hurry outside.

  'He's probably seen a cat,' said Kathleen. 'Hateful creatures!'

  Agnes, full of fears, betook herself to the window. There certainly was a cat in sight, but to her relief it was only Albert Piggott's, an animal which could well take care of itself, and was now sitting smugly on the garden wall, gloating over its imprisoned enemy.

  'We must be on our way,' announced Kathleen. She drained her glass, much to Agnes's relief, and began to fidget with her gloves and handbag. 'Who would have thought it was half-past six?'

  Ray returned, and seemed glad to see preparations for departure.

  'Is he all right?' asked Kathleen anxiously. 'We don't want him unsettled with a journey before him.'

  'Just a cat,' replied Ray, in what Agnes felt was an extremely callous manner. Just a cat, indeed!

  'It was good of you to break your journey,' said Dorothy, her feelings now under control. 'We'll keep you in touch with our plans. I can't see us moving from here much before the late summer.'

  'But won't the new head want it?' queried Ray.

  Dorothy explained about the sale of the house.

  'I wonder,' began Kathleen, making her way to the front door, 'if it would suit us, Ray?'

  'We are quite happy where we are, dear,' Ray said firmly. 'Besides, it would be a terrible upheaval for Harrison. He's so used to his present daily walkies, and no one could be better with him than our local vet.'

  'Of course,' said Dorothy, as she kissed them in farewell, 'it would save us taking up the carpets and curtains if you took over, and we might even come to some arrangement about the kitchen dresser. Mother's silver, of course, means too much to me to part with.'

  Deafening barking put a stop to all further conversation, and the two drove off with much waving and hooting.

  'Well,' said Dorothy, with infinite satisfaction, 'I think I had the last word there!'

  Half an hour later, the two ladies were sitting with their feet up, going over all the problems of the day.

  'One thing after another,' said Dorothy, 'and then Ray and Kathleen on top of everything. Really, it's as much as I can do to be civil to her. If I weren't so devoted to Ray, I could say a great deal more than I do.'

  'She is rather trying,' agreed Agnes. 'I suppose it's partly because she is delicate.'

  Dorothy snorted. 'Delicate my foot! She's as strong as an ox, and always was. A great pity they didn't have half a dozen children to take her mind off herself. As it is, they make a fool of that awful animal.'

  'Not a very tractable dog,' said Agnes, with considerable understatement.

  The telephone rang, and Dorothy padded out to answer it.

  'Probably some irate parent,' she commented on her way out. 'Just to add the final straw to the camel's back.'

  Agnes could not hear much of Dorothy's side of the conversation, but at least she sounded pleased. Agnes closed her eyes, and promised herself an early night after the hazards of the day.

  'The car's arrived!' cried Dorothy, returning. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks glowed.

  'How splendid!' said Agnes, sitting up.

  'I can fetch it tomorrow after school,' went on Dorothy. 'Isn't it marvellous? And it's a white one!'

  Agnes did not like to dampen her friend's high spirits by pointing out that it was exactly why they had waited so long, but smiled kindly at her.

  'I think I shall ask Harold to accompany me,' said Dorothy. 'Do you mind if I slip round now and have a word?'

  'Of course not,' said Agnes, deciding that this would be just the time to feed the little cat. 'And don't be surprised if I have gone up to bed. I'm terribly tired.'

  'No wonder,' said Dorothy. 'Me too, but this last bit of news has made up for all the day's annoyances. Now we can really start to make plans.'

  And the two ladies parted to pursue their errands.

  15. Agnes Is Upset

  THE choice of presents for the departing teachers was now becoming a pressing problem for those responsible.

  Miss Robinson's task was probably the simplest. The tenpenny pieces came in apace, and were stored in a small biscuit tin which was decorated with illustrations from The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady. So often had it been opened that the hinge had given way, but it still shut firmly, and Miss Robinson was proud of the number of coins it enclosed.

  The children much enjoyed the secrecy surrounding this project, and had all sorts of suggestions ranging from a puppy to keep them company, to two electric blankets. Miss Robinson still thought that two bouquets and two boxes of chocolates would fit the bill far better, as the rector had suggested.

  Charles Henstock, as chairman of the governors, had been surprised to find how determined his fellows were to present the ladies with a clock.

  'Always have given a clock,' said the oldest member of the governors. 'Useful too.'

  'Excellent idea,' said another.

  The good Charles, remembering Harold and IsobePs suggestions, was somewhat taken aback by this solid attack.

  'I wondered if a piece of china or glass might be acceptable.'

  'Such as?'

  'Well, a nice decanter, say.'

  There was a sharp indrawing of breath from the only teetotaller on the committee.

  'Or a fruit bowl,' added the rector hastily.

  'I still think a clock would be best,' said the first speaker. 'What do the PTA people suggest?'

  Charles remembered, with relief, that the Parent-Teacher association were combining with the governors in this matter, and put in a word.

  'We must consult them, of course. Now I have your suggestions here, and have noted that the general feeling is that a clock of some kind would be your choice.'

  'A decent-sized one,' said the oldest member firmly. 'None of those fiddle-faddling things you can't see without your glasses. Something with a good big face. We're none of us getting any younger.'

  Hearty agreement broke out, leading to discussions of arthritis, the afflictions of themselves and aged relatives, and general denigration of the National Health Service.

  'Well, ladies and gentlemen,' said Charles, patting his papers together. 'I think we've done very well for this evening, and with your permission I will get in touch with Mrs Gibbons and then report back to you.'

  The meeting dispersed slowly, and as the rector crossed the green to his car, he overheard the oldest governor explaining to his companion about the efficacious properties of a potato, carried in the pocket, for warding off the pains of rheumatism.

  'Better than the Health Service any day!' he assured his friend.

  Mrs Gibbons, on behalf of the PTA, had already gone ahead with her plans to get a suitable picture of the school for the unsuspecting teachers.

  She had first approached Ella Bembridge, who had lived at Thrush Green for many years, and was recognised as the most artistic resident there.

  But Ella was not much in favour of the idea, and said so in her usual gruff way.

  'I was quite taken aback,' said Mrs Gibbons, reporting on the interview to the Gauleiter that evening. 'She said she gave up "finicking about" with water-colours thirty years ago. She's now besotted with stitched rugs evidently.'

  'I should get a decent photograph,' advised her husband, whose practical approach to all problems had led him to his present position of eminence. 'That chap at Lulling, by the butche
r's, seems to know his stuff. He did a good job at the Rotary Club dinner.'

  'I suppose that would be best,' said his wife doubtfully. 'Not very imaginative, of course.'

  'The two ladies won't want anything imaginative. A nicely-composed photo, by a local chap, should be very acceptable.'

  'I'll put it in hand straightaway,' promised Mrs Gibbons, and did so.

  There were times when she found the Gauleiter's down-to-earth advice a great comfort.

  It was about this time that Dorothy and Agnes heard about their successors.

  To Agnes's delight the young man with the National Trust tie had been appointed as headmaster.

  'Such a cheerful young fellow,' she said, 'with short hair too.'

  'Short hair is back in fashion,' Dorothy told her.

  Agnes suddenly remembered the cropped red hair of the stranger who had been so interested in the architecture of Lulling High Street. Who could he have been, she wondered?

  'And I think the young woman who will take your place,' went on Dorothy, 'should do very well. Mind you, no one can really take your place, Agnes.'

  'And no one,' Agnes replied loyally, 'can take yours.'

  They smiled fondly at each other.

  'Ah well,' said Dorothy, 'we've had a good run for our money, as they say, and now it's time for a change. What about a little spin in the car, as the evening is so lovely?'

  'A good idea,' replied Agnes, trying to look enthusiastic. 'Somewhere quiet, I think, don't you? What about the road to Nod and Nidden?'

  'As long as Percy Hodge has his dog under control,' said Dorothy. That disastrous encounter still rankled, but there was no point in raking up old memories, she told herself, as she collected the car keys.

  It so happened that Isobel Shoosmith made the journey to Barton alone, as the only day that fitted in with Ursula's plans was the day which Harold had fixed with a local tree-feller to take down an ancient plum tree at the end of the garden.

  This hoary monster had produced no plums for years, but still had enough life in it to send out dozens of healthy plum suckers which sprang up from the grass for yards around.

  It was a cloudless morning towards the end of May, and Isobel enjoyed her journey. The New Forest was fluttering with young leaves, the roaming ponies and cattle were as endearing as ever, and Isobel's spirits were high.

  She had always been fond of Ursula, and secretly missed her company now that she lived at Thrush Green. One thing, she told herself as she peered at a signpost, Ursula would be much more accessible at Barton than at her old home in Sussex, and the New Forest was a joy at any time of the year. Next time she would bring Harold down to meet her old friend.

  She remembered the aunt's road as soon as she saw it, and the white bungalow seemed little changed outside. Ursula was at the gate to meet her, and they embraced warmly.

  'So little changed,' said Isobel, eyeing the house.

  'Wait till you come inside,' warned Ursula, and sure enough chaos greeted the eye.

  There were tea-chests everywhere, the dining-room chairs were upturned on the table, and the sitting-room was shrouded in dust sheets. A man in a boiler suit, spanner in hand, was doing something to the pipes in the kitchen, and Ursula led the way into the garden at the back.

  Here there was a seat in the sun, and the two friends found a little peace.

  They went out to a nearby pub for lunch, and Isobel gratefully packed her inheritance in the boot of the car, well-wrapped up in a car rug. Both women were hoarse with exchanging news.

  'I shall ring you about half-past six,' she told Ursula. 'It's been a lovely day, and I'll tell you more then.'

  She had plenty to think about as she drove home. There the plum tree was down, the tree-feller had vanished, and Harold was ready for all the news.

  'She's selling the place, and I really think it might suit Agnes and Dorothy. To be honest, I don't know why she doesn't settle there herself. It's so convenient and easily managed.'

  'Probably prefers her own home,' responded Harold. 'People do, you know.'

  'I think she likes being near the daughters and the grandchildren,' said Isobel, 'and I must say moving is the most appalling upheaval.'

  'So did you say anything about our neighbours?'

  'Rather tentatively, but I did say that they were looking for something that way. Now I'm beginning to wonder if I should have done. Perhaps I shouldn't interfere?'

  'Nonsense!' said Harold robustly. 'You pop round and have a word with the girls, before you ring Ursula.'

  'I feel like Meddlesome Mattie,' she said, setting off reluctantly next door.

  She found the two friends busy weeding.

  'Must try and keep the place decent,' cried Dorothy, removing her gardening gloves. 'I see the plum tree has gone.'

  'Well, it was more of a nuisance than anything else,' said Isobel apologetically, 'and not a plum to be seen.'

  'Harold told us you had gone to see a friend,' said Agnes, coming up.

  'Yes, at Barton, strangely enough,' replied Isobel and launched into her tale. The ladies listened attentively.

  'And you say that she has just put it into the hands of Better and Better?'

  'I think that was the name. She said it was an excellent firm.'

  Agnes waited for Dorothy's snort, but none came.

  'You don't think me too interfering, I hope,' pleaded Isobel. 'It just seemed a marvellous possibility, and of course you need not take it – or even go and see it.' She was horrified to hear her voice babbling on apologetically.

  Dorothy cut her short. 'It was a great kindness, and Agnes and I would love to drive down to see it whenever your friend – '

  'Ursula.'

  'Ursula can show us round. Or of course, the estate agent can do his duty at last.'

  Isobel explained about the telephone call she was about to make, thanked the two for being so understanding, received thanks for being so thoughtful, and returned to her own home in a state of extreme agitation.

  'What you need,' said Harold looking at her kindly, 'is a nice little snifter before you ring Barton.'

  And he went to pour out two of them.

  Naturally, before the week was out, it was common knowledge in Thrush Green and Lulling that Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty had found a home at Barton.

  Some said an aunt of Isobel's had left her the property. Others maintained that it was a relative of Harold's who was selling the house. One or two actually got it right, and said that a friend of Isobel's was the vendor. All trusted that the good ladies would be very happy in their new abode.

  'And we haven't even seen it yet,' cried Dorothy, when she heard the gossip. 'Really, one despairs of trying to keep anything private in this place.'

  'It is aggravating,' agreed Agnes.

  Both ladies were tired after a day at school. Dorothy's legs were aching, and Agnes's head throbbed. It was at times like this that they longed for the end of term, to have the various leaving parties behind them, and to set off to a quiet life of retirement. Would it ever come?

  At that moment, Agnes's sharp ears heard a small mewing sound. She hurried to the french window and saw the tabby cat looking hopefully at her.

  'Ah! The dear thing's here,' she cried, turning sharply to go and fetch its early supper. She caught her foot in the hearth rug and fell sprawling.

  'Oh, Agnes!' cried Dorothy. 'Are you hurt?'

  Agnes struggled up.

  'No, no,' she said, somewhat shakily. 'How clumsy of me.'

  'You shouldn't rush about so after that animal,' exclaimed Dorothy, her anxiety on Agnes's behalf showing as irritation. 'It's a perfect pest. And anyway, how do you think it will manage when you have abandoned it?'

  At these appalling words Agnes felt her eyes fill with tears, and hurried from the room. In the privacy of the scullery she prepared the cat's food, and a few salt drops mingled with the tinned meat in the enamel dish.

  It was that word 'abandoned' which hurt most. There was something so cruel
and callous about it, and of course Agnes had tortured herself quite enough already thinking about the cat's future. And to call her tabby friend 'a perfect pest'! It was more than flesh and blood could endure.

  She put the plate outside in its usual position, and the cat came trustingly towards it. But this evening Agnes could not bring herself to stand and watch this normally happy sight. Conscious of her tear-stained face, and complete inability to control her emotion, she rushed down the garden, and betook herself to the privacy of the field beyond.

  Here she sat down on the grass behind the hawthorn hedge, and abandoned herself to the grief which engulfed her. It was insufferable of Dorothy to behave in this way! For two pins she would tell her that the idea of sharing a retirement home was now absolutely repugnant to her. A vista of long grey years giving in to Dorothy's bullying suddenly assailed her mind's eye. Could she bear it?

  Why should she part from her dear new friend? If she stayed at Thrush Green she could keep it. After all, she had lived very happily for many years in digs at Mrs White's. There must be other lodgings where a well-behaved cat would be welcome.

  Agnes's sobs grew more violent as she grew more rebellious. Her small handkerchief was drenched, and her head throbbed more painfully than ever.

  It was at this stage that Isobel, who had been depositing vegetable peelings on her compost heap, came through the wicket gate at the end of the garden to see what the strange noise was about.

  She was appalled to see her old friend in such a state of despair, and dropped to the grass beside her.

  'But what is it? What has happened?'

  She put her arm around Agnes, and felt hot tears dampening her shoulder. The colander, which had held the peelings, rolled away unnoticed, as Agnes's distress increased in the face of her friend's sympathy.

  From an incoherent jumble of sobs, hiccups and comments about Dorothy's remarks and the cat's pathos, Isobel began to understand the real nature of Agnes's anguish, and was seriously perturbed.

  It was even more alarming to hear Agnes's ramblings about her future, and the possibility of refusing to leave Thrush Green if it meant parting from the cat.