(5/13) Return to Thrush Green Page 16

  The nights seemed to be as hot as the days, and when the full moon shone through Harold's window, he Hung off the sheet which was his only covering, and wandered about the house.

  A field of corn stretched towards Nidden, and ran hard by his boundary hedge. He leant from the window, relishing a faint breeze that ruffled his hair refreshingly.

  In the moonlight the corn was silvered, glowing with an unearthly sheen. In the heat of the day, he had heard the ripe ears crackling under the fierce sun. The harvest would be early this year, although the farmers were already predicting a light yield. What would be in the field next, he wondered? And would Isobel be here by then to see it?

  An owl's cry trembled upon the air, and soon he saw the bird swoop silently from a lone oak, sailing downwind upon its rounded wings. What a vast number of lovely things one could see at night, normally missed by having one's head on the pillow! A restless night had its compensations, he decided.

  He crossed the landing, and went to see Thrush Green from the window of the front bedroom. The moonlight was so bright that he could see all the houses clearly. It gleamed upon Nathaniel Patten's bald bronze pate, and edged the folds of his frock-coat with silver. A cat was sitting on the plinth at his feet, washing its face.

  Harold's eye travelled from Ella's cottage on his far right across the grass, along to Winnie Bailey's, and then next door to Tullivers where, he hoped, Isobel was having a less wakeful night. She had been to see yet another house that afternoon, although on this occasion she had gone alone.

  Harold felt deeply sorry for her in this fruitless search, and his mind turned, once again, to the problem that concerned him. How much simpler it would be if she would marry him and live here! But would she want to? And could he ask her, so soon after her husband's death?

  He had no doubts now about his own feelings. More than anything in the world he wanted to marry Isobel, and he could think of nothing else.

  Harold sighed, and returned to his restless pacing about the house. He knew his own feelings well enough, but what were Isobel's?

  18. Hope for the Curdles

  JOAN YOUNG, mindful of her promise to Molly about looking out for an opening for Ben, now set about the task with extra zeal.

  With her parents back in Ealing, she had more time to devote to her own affairs. She heard of several jobs, but somehow none seemed quite right for Ben. She was beginning to despair, and told Edward so.

  'I'm seeing Tim Collet this afternoon,' he said. 'I'll have a word with him.'

  Collets was a family firm of agricultural engineers in Lulling. It had been in existence for over a hundred years. Originally a blacksmith's, such simple tools as scythes, bill-hooks, horse ploughs and pig troughs figured largely in the early years of the firm. More sophisticated equipment such as threshing machines and harvesters soon came along, giving way eventually to the complicated monsters, costing thousands of pounds, which modern farming demanded.

  The business was now run by two Collet brothers, Tim and Bob. They were shrewd and hard-working, and employed a dozen or so skilled men. It was the sort of work which Ben would enjoy and would be capable of carrying out. Joan only hoped that there might be a vacancy.

  Luck was with them. Tim Collet told Edward that the man in charge of the yard was leaving at Michaelmas, and he was promoting another elderly employee to take his place, so that there would be a job available.

  'I was going to advertise it,' said Tim, 'but if young Curdle wants to apply tell him to come and see me as soon as possible. I knew the old lady pretty well, and Ben too. You could trust him anywhere, which is more than you can say for some of'em these days.'

  When Edward told Joan this news, she broached another subject which had been in her mind for some days.

  'Edward,' she began, 'if Ben gets this job—'

  'Could they have the top flat?' finished Edward for her, and then laughed.

  'You're too clever by half,' said Joan.

  'Not really. I thought of it when I was talking to Tim. It would be a great help to us if Molly were here to give you a hand. There's bound to be more to do when the parents live here, and I'm sure she would want to have a little job too.'

  'I'll write tonight and tell them the position. We certainly couldn't have better tenants,' agreed Joan. 'But will the flat be ready by September?'

  'Pretty well, I think. If not, we can put them up, I'm sure. Unless Ben insists on sleeping at Albert's, of course!'

  'Poor Ben! We'll make sure that doesn't have to happen. And in any case, I expect Nelly's in the spare bed.'

  'She'd be a fool if she wasn't,' said Edward.

  As it happened, at that moment Nelly was a long way from the spare bed, but busy in the Misses Lovelocks' kitchen washing up greasy plates.

  The end of her six weeks' sojourn was in sight, and Nelly had heard, with considerable relief, that die usual help was returning to her dudes before long.

  She had sworn privately never to cook another meal in that house. However, she had been prevailed upon to cook 'a nice little piece of lamb', which turned out to be an extremely fatty breast of that animal, with peas and new potatoes from the garden.

  It was apparent from the infrequent entertaining that was done, that this would be the last occasion when Nelly would be called upon to demonstrate her art, so she swallowed her pride and set about making the best of a cut of meat which she despised.

  Winnie Bailey, Ella Bembridge and Dotty Harmer were coming to lunch, and the amount of meat available, in Nelly's opinion, would just about feed two, rather than six. She herself had said swiftly that she was obliged to have something light, and would prefer a dry biscuit and a small piece of cheese if that was all right?

  Miss Ada graciously gave her consent, and with her own hands put two water biscuits and about a quarter of an ounce of dessicated Cheddar cheese on a plate, and put it in the larder for Nelly's repast.

  Nelly contrived to make a substantial stuffing of onions, bread crumbs and herbs, and rolled the breast of lamb, hoping that the guests had had large breakfasts.

  'And welcome they are to that,' said Nelly, to the attentive cat, as she thrust the meat tin into the oven, and then set about making a bread pudding, sparsely furnished with a few sultanas which Miss Ada had counted out earlier.

  As she handed round the vegetables at lunch time, she listened to the conversation with much interest. Dotty Harmer's dog, Flossie, was the subject of much questioning.

  'I'm afraid so,' said Dotty. 'The vet said she could be aborted, but I don't like the idea.'

  'Of what?' asked Miss Violet, who was slightly deaf.

  'Of abortion,' shouted Dotty.

  'Pas devant la bonne,' murmured Miss Ada, but Dotty was in no mood for such niceties.

  'Why not?' she demanded. 'Abortion is a perfectly normal medical fact. Not, as I said before, that I approve of it. I told the vet that Flossie must just go ahead and have them. I am quite capable of looking after her, and her offspring, and I'm sure I shall find good homes for them.'

  She cast speculative glances upon her fellow guests, who quailed. Dotty, with animals to place, was rightly feared by all Lulling and Thrush Green.

  'I'm quite sure you will,' said Miss Bertha soothingly. 'If we weren't so near the road, and were more capable of giving a puppy exercise, I'm sure we might have offered to have one.'

  'But as it is,' chimed in Miss Ada, 'it is quite out of the question.'

  'Indeed it is,' agreed Miss Violet.

  'The pudding, Nelly. Would you see if it is ready?' requested Miss Ada, and Nelly was obliged to leave this fascinating conversation and return to the kitchen.

  'It's like a mad house in there,' she confided to the cat. 'Well-bred they might be—all six of 'em—but they sound half-barmy to me, the things they talk about!'

  ***

  At the village school, unconfined joy reigned. It was the last day of term.

  In Miss Fogerty's new classroom the cupboards were packed to bursting point with bo
oks, folders and boxes belonging to the children. Other, less obliging shapes, such as hanks of raffia, snarls of cane and balls of wet clay swathed in damp dishcloths, were also tidied away, with considerable difficulty, into their allotted place.

  As always, just as Miss Fogerty, breathless with lodging the last object into the last space, was about to congratulate herself on finishing an awkward and arduous job, one of the children drew her attention to half a dozen large flower vases which should be stowed away.

  'They will have to stay on the windowsill,' decreed Agnes. 'Stand them by the fish tank, dear, and you, Jimmy Todd, may go early with the goldfish so that your bucket isn't jogged by anyone on the way home.'

  Jimmy Todd, the envy of the class, had a fish tank of his own, and was to look after Freeman, Hardy and Willis for the entire holiday.

  'I hope,' little Miss Fogerty had confided to Miss Watson, 'I sincerely hope that the boy is trustworthy. He is inclined to be a trifle irresponsible at times.'

  'He is only seven,' pointed out her headmistress. 'But there's no need to think that he is not perfectly capable of caring for the fish. He has sensible parents, and a little responsibility may work wonders for him.'

  Miss Fogerty had her doubts. Secretly, she deplored handing out responsible jobs, such as fish minding and blackboard cleaning, to those who had not earned the honour by worthy and decorous behaviour, but as Jimmy Todd was the only child with a spare fish tank she bowed to the inevitable.

  He was sent on his way ten minutes before the others, plastic bucket in hand and fervent protestations of concern for his charges on his lips. Miss Fogerty's last glimpse of him was at the school gates where he had stopped to peer anxiously through the butter muslin which Miss Fogerty had tied over the top of the pail.

  She gave a sigh of relief.

  'I'm sure they will be quite safe with Jimmy,' she said aloud.

  'Jimmy Todd,' said a child in the front row, 'has got three cats as likes fish.'

  Miss Fogerty quelled her with a glance.

  'All stand. Hands together. Close your eyes. Close them, I said, Billy Bates, not cross them! Any silly nonsense like that, and you stay in, last day of term or not!'

  Fortunately, Miss Fogerty's discipline held, and prayers were said reverently. It was as well, she thought, bidding the children goodbye, as she was due to go to tea with Isobel in five minutes' time.

  The hot weather continued, day after day, week after week. The heat was almost overpowering as Agnes made her way to Tullivers, thankful for the deep shade of the chestnut avenue.

  'One could really do with a parasol,' she said to Isobel, when they were seated in the shade with the tea-tray before them. 'My grandmother had a beautiful cream one, with lace and frills, I remember. Those Victorians had some excellent ideas.'

  'My grandmother,' said Isobel, 'had a dove-grey silk one, and the knob on the handle was of pink china, with a tiny picture of Brighton Pier at the top. I wonder where that went eventually?'

  'To a jumble sale, no doubt,' responded Agnes, accepting a teacup.

  'And now tell me what you are doing this holiday,' said Isobel. 'I know you have been invited to go to the sea with Miss Watson. Is that soon?'

  'She goes next Saturday. Her brother and his wife are taking her down, and staying for a week in this nice quiet hotel that Dorothy likes at Barton-on-Sea. Then I'm going down for the next week, while Ray goes with Kathleen to her sister's, and then they are bringing us both back here.'

  'It will do you good to have some sea air, especially if the weather holds.'

  'It will do Dorothy good too. There are some nice flat cliff top walks which she can manage now, and easy paths down to the sands.'

  'And after that?'

  'I shall have a week or so here catching up with all sorts of things I've been meaning to do, and then I shall spend a few days at my cousin's at Cheltenham.'

  'And I hope a few days with me if you can spare die time,' said Isobel. 'As far as I can see, I shall be going back before long, and this may be the last time I can offer you hospitality in Sussex. With any luck, I shall have found something near here very soon, and it will be a joy to be near you permanently.'

  'I should love to come,' said Agnes, and meant it. Isobel's home was as luxurious as her own bed-sitting-room was spartan. Not that she was discontented with her lot. She had been with the Whites now for a number of years, and appreciated their high standards of cleanliness and responsibility, and their kindness on the rare occasions when she had been obliged to stay in bed because of ill-health.

  But it was good to exchange her skimpy bedclothes for Isobel's fluffy blankets and fat eiderdown. It was bliss to have a soft bath towel large enough to envelope her whole body, and wonderful to have exquisite meals served on Isobel's pretty china, instead of on the thick white plates from Mrs White's kitchen.

  And then there was the warmth of Isobel's company to enliven her. There had never been anyone quite so dear to her as Isobel, and she enjoyed every minute of her company. Indeed, it had crossed her mind once, when Isobel had first mentioned that she wanted to live near Thrush Green, that she might be invited to share Isobel's home. But, on the whole, she was glad that the matter had not arisen.

  Isobel had so many friends already at Thrush Green, and would soon make many more. Agnes did not want her to feel obliged to invite her to meet them, as no doubt Isobel would do. It would be a strain, thought Agnes, to have to be sociable when one arrived home, jaded from school, longing simply for a rest with one's feet up, and a quiet cup of tea. Besides, it had to be faced, Isobel's circle of friends was not quite her own. No, it was far better as it was—to visit Isobel in her own home, when she had found it, and to remain in her own modest lodgings which suited her very well. Of course, she was lonely at times, she admitted, but then one simply had to get used to it. There were plenty of single women in the same circumstances and, on the whole, they were certainly better off than those poor unfortunate women who had made unhappy marriages, she told herself stoutly.

  But then she was more fortunate than most. The future looked bright. Dear Dorothy was fast returning to health and mobility, and she would always be grateful to her for giving her this lovely week's holiday which lay ahead. 'A small return, Agnes dear, for more kindness than I can ever repay,' is how she had put it.

  And then, beyond that, lay the happy prospect of having Iosbel actually living at Thrush Green!

  Little Miss Fogerty lay back in her deck-chair, and gazed at Tullivers' flowers shimmering in the heat. She was at peace with the world.

  Joan Young soon had a reply to her letter. There was nothing they would love more, wrote Molly, than to live in the top flat of the house which had always seemed like home to her.

  Ben could not believe in such luck, and was now waiting to hear from the Collets which day they would like to interview him. Reading between the lines, Joan gathered that he was in a high state of tension, poor fellow, and hoped that his ordeal would soon be over. So much depended upon it, he was bound to be nervous.

  He did not have to wait long. About ten days later, Molly, Ben and young George arrived at Lulling. Molly and George went to Albert Piggott's gloomy cottage while Ben, dressed in his best blue serge suit, and his dark hair brushed flat against his head, went to see Tim Collet, his heart beating nineteen to the dozen.

  Nelly was at her Lulling job, and Molly prepared midday dinner for the three of them, her mind engrossed with what was happening at Lulling. As soon as they had eaten, and she had washed up, she took George out of the way, before Nelly returned, and sat on one of the many seats on Thrush Green.

  The excessive heat had scorched the grass, and even the fully-grown trees were beginning to look parched and dusty. But there were a few daisies about, and a friendly collie dog, and these kept young George happily engaged, leaving Molly free to ponder on the joys that might be ahead.

  From where she sat, she had a clear view of the top of the hill, and longed to see their old van arrive wi
th Ben at the wheel.

  To her left lay the golden bulk of the Youngs' house, beyond the chestnut trees and the railings which ran along the front of the house. She could hear the noise of the builders at work, the chink of metal on stone, the rumble of a wheelbarrow, and an occasional voice as one workman shouted to another.

  If only they could live there! If only Ben had landed this job! She began to tremble at the thought of failure. It would be like getting to the gate of heaven and being turned back. There was nowhere in the world that she wanted to be more. This was home. This was her element, as necessary to her as air to a bird, or water to a fish. Without it she would be nothing, simply an adjunct to Ben's life, going where he went, and making the best of any of the places in which he settled.

  But here, at Thrush Green, life would be rich and vital. She and Ben would flourish like plants in a sheltered garden, and George would grow up in perfect surroundings, heir to all the joys of Thrush Green.

  The sound of the van chugging up the hill sent her flying across the grass, followed by young George.

  There was no need to say anything. Ben's glowing face said it all.

  'Oh Ben!' cried Molly, clinging to him, and struggling to control tears of relief.

  Ben patted her shoulder.

  'There! Let's go straight across to Mrs Young, Moll, and tell her the good news.'

  19 Miss Fogerty has a Shock

  NELLY PIGGOTT faced her last day's work at the Lovelocks' with mingled relief and apprehension.

  The job had been a frustrating one. It was not only poorly paid, but the parsimony of her employers had tried Nelly's patience to breaking point. It had been a considerable effort to hold her tongue under such extreme provocation, and only the thought of the comparatively short time she needed to endure it, had kept her from outspoken rebellion. No, she would not be sorry to leave this post.

  On the other hand, the outlook for any other work seemed bleak. This puzzled Nelly. She was known as a good worker and an exceptionally fine cook. Why was it that she was unable to land another job?