(12/13) The Year at Thrush Green Read online

  'No bother,' said Ben, stooping for a bag. 'The car's this way.'

  Halfway home Ben uttered the words he felt must be said. 'Molly and I were real upset to hear about your mother.'

  'I know, I know,' replied Carl, his voice suddenly husky. 'I can't believe it myself. Still expect to get a phone call or a letter. Somehow I can't believe she's really gone. She sent all sorts of loving messages to you both.'

  There was silence as they sped westward, until Ben spoke again. 'Bill and Jane Cartwright were saying that there are a couple of old people in the home who remember your mother. I'm sure they'd like to tell you about her, if you felt like it.'

  Carl's face lit up. 'That's good news! I want to find out all I can about her connections with Thrush Green and Mrs Curdle.'

  'If only Gran were still alive,' said Ben, 'she'd be able to tell you so much. She had a memory as sharp as a razor. A tongue to match too, at times!'

  The men laughed, as Ben raised a hand from the wheel and pointed to a distant church tower.

  'In ten minutes' time we'll be home!'

  The arrival of Carl Andersen was one item of news at Thrush Green, but a more dramatic one was centred on Dotty Harmer.

  Flossie was a trifle stronger after her injection, and although Dotty was still anxious about her, the general feeling was one of relief.

  As Betty Bell told Isobel and Harold one morning, 'They're all breathing again at Lulling Woods.'

  But three days later there was more sensational news.

  It appeared that Connie had made her usual morning visit to Dotty's bedroom and found it empty. It was seven o'clock, just getting light on a misty September morning.

  Connie quickly searched Dotty's bathroom, sitting-room and kitchen. All were empty.

  Clad only in her nightgown and slippers she ran into the damp garden. Sometimes Dotty wandered down to see her beloved hens and goats, no matter how skimpily clad.

  But all was quiet, and the garden deserted. However, the gate to the fields beyond stood open, and Connie went through to survey the scene.

  No one was in sight.

  She ran back to tell Kit. Dotty could not have gone far, she felt sure. These days she only wandered a few hundred yards from her home, but she had been known to get as far as Lulling Woods that summer, stopping to rest every now and again. That time Connie had been with her, and very worried too about their distance from home. Dotty, however, had been adamant that she could easily get back, and was so violent in her reaction to Connie's anxiety that Connie had fallen silent, and simply supported her strong-willed aunt on the return journey whenever the old lady seemed to flag.

  On her return to Dotty's kitchen, Connie noticed that Flossie was comfortably ensconced in her basket, but Bruce was nowhere to be seen. Could Dotty have taken him for a run? Could he have escaped and Dotty had gone to look for him?

  Kit was shaving when Connie returned with her troubles.

  'I'll ring the Shoosmiths first,' he said. 'They would spot her if she has wandered towards the green. Then we'll try to get Betty Bell on the phone. She'll keep a look-out in the Lulling Woods area. I'll be with you in a tick.'

  Within a few minutes the calls had been made, and the two had dressed and were out on their mission.

  At Betty Bell's house, hard by Lulling Woods, no sooner had she replaced the receiver when she heard joyous barking at her kitchen door, and was almost floored by the exuberance of an excited Bruce who was delighted to come across a dear friend.

  Betty shut him in her scullery, with a handful of biscuits, and rang Connie's number but, as she feared, they were already out. Shrugging on an old coat, she went to seach for Bruce's mistress.

  Harold and Isobel were greatly perturbed at the news, and both dressed quickly and set out, one towards Nidden and the other towards the hill which led to the town. It was Harold who decided, as he set off, to call at the Piggotts', for their cottage had a good view of the field path from Lulling Woods which Dotty used when making her way to Thrush Green.

  The couple were at breakfast, and the delicious smell of fried bacon and tomatoes made Harold realize how hungry he was.

  Albert pushed aside his half-finished repast and got to his feet with surprising speed.

  'I'll have a look now,' he said, and Harold suddenly realized that beneath Albert's crusty exterior there was a genuinely soft spot for Dotty.

  Albert set off along the lane towards Lulling Woods, while Harold descended the short hill, made sure that Dotty was not wandering in the road at the bottom, returned to Thrush Green and made a systematic tour all round it.

  Early morning traffic was beginning to stir. A school bus was waiting for older children at a corner of the green. There were a few lights in upstairs windows where people were only just stirring, for the morning was chilly and overcast.

  There were lights downstairs at the Two Pheasants, for Mr Jones was an early riser, and was clearing up the night's debris from the bar, ready for the day's business.

  A few dogs were straying around the green, let out for their early morning run, but Harold noticed that Bruce was not among them. Kit had warned him that Dotty's dog was missing as well as his mistress.

  Harold met his wife not far from the Youngs' house near the turning to Nidden.

  'Not a sign,' said Isobel.

  'No luck with me, either,' said Harold. 'I'll try Kit on the phone. It looks as though the police will have to be called.'

  'Dotty will be furious!' said Isobel.

  'Better furious than run over,' responded Harold, as they made their way back to the warmth of their home.

  Kit and Connie had just returned when Harold rang to report from his end. All were now in a state of extreme anxiety, and Kit was particularly alarmed at his wife's distress. Connie, usually sturdily calm in any situation, was in tears and beside herself with worry.

  'Definitely time to get the police,' agreed Kit, speaking to Harold, as he watched Connie mopping her eyes. 'I'll be in touch immediately, if she turns up, but meanwhile I'm getting on to the police station.'

  By this time, Betty Bell had made her way into Lulling Woods. It was murky and rather frighteningly silent. In the open fields leading to the wood things were stirring. A rabbit had lolloped away at her approach. A lark was singing above, and small birds were twittering in the hedges.

  But there was something sinister about Lulling Woods in its early morning stillness, and Betty was filled with foreboding. She had set off so hurriedly that she was still in her bedroom slippers, and their shiny soles skidded on the carpet of pine needles.

  As a child, she remembered, she had always been frightened if she was alone in this wood, and had always hurried along the main path. When she was with her friends she was happy to play in the little side paths or the bracken, but occasionally her mother had sent her with a message to the Drovers' Arms which was situated at the further end of the woods, and then young Betty had fairly scampered between the tall trees which bordered the main path in order to get to open country again, and the haven of the remote public house.

  Today, worried as she was, the wood seemed doubly menacing. Trees dripped, brittle sticks broke beneath her tread making frightening cracks of sound among the silence. There was no sign of movement anywhere, no birds, no beasts and, above all, no comforting human presence.

  She stopped for a moment to get her breath. Her heart seemed to be the only thing in motion, and then she heard a distant sound. It was a high-pitched voice. It might have been a child crying, but with a flood of relief Betty realized that it was Dotty calling for the truant Bruce.

  Almost in tears, she began to run through the wet bracken, calling as she went.

  She found Dotty on her hands and knees at the entrance to what was probably a fox's hide-out. She was scrabbling with her hands at the opening, and peering shortsightedly into the aperture.

  Betty knelt to help her up, but the old lady pushed her aside.

  'There may be a trap there, you see. Bruce ha
s run off and I'm so afraid he may have been caught in a trap.'

  'He's with me,' Betty cried, 'he's quite safe. He's in my scullery.'

  She was appalled at the state Dotty was in. Her dressing-gown and the nightgown protruding at its hem were soaking wet and covered in mud. One slipper had vanished, and blood was oozing from a scratch on her ankle. Her hands too were bleeding where she had been trying to scrape away the loose earth. She was trembling with cold and exhaustion, but made no effort to cease her labours.

  'Those wretched Cooke boys set traps,' she told Betty. 'They go down at night. I've seen them myself, and spoken to them too pretty sharply, but they take no notice. I wish my father were alive, he would—'

  She broke off, and turned to Betty. Suddenly, she looked as if she had returned to this hostile frightening world from one of her own. Pathetically, like a hurt child, she began to cry, and put her muddied arms round Betty's neck.

  'I wish he were alive,' she whimpered. 'I do wish my father were alive.'

  'There, there,' cooed Betty, patting the trembling back. 'You come home with me, and see old Bruce. You'd like to see Bruce, wouldn't you?'

  Dotty nodded, tears still coursing down her cheeks. Slowly Betty led her back to the path, and even more slowly to the warmth of her kitchen, and Bruce's rapturous welcome.

  Some half an hour later, Kit made a second call to the police station, telling the sergeant on duty that all was well, and that the missing, both human and animal, were now safely at home.

  'That's good news, sir,' said the police officer heartily. 'We can't have anything happening to Miss Harmer, she's a bit special.'

  'She certainly is to us,' agreed Kit.

  Carl Andersen's tall figure was soon a familiar sight in Thrush Green and Lulling. He seemed very happy to be back, and greeted his friends warmly.

  One morning he called at Rectory Cottages to see Bill and Jane Cartwright. As it happened, they were both outside the conservatory, attending to the geraniums which flourished in the sunshine.

  They welcomed him enthusiastically and all three sat on a garden seat near by to catch up with the news from each side of the Atlantic.

  Jane said how sorry they had been to hear about his mother's death, and added, 'A very nice couple have come to make their home here. They knew your mother when they were working near by, and I'm sure they would love to tell you about the old days, if you've time.'

  Carl assured them that he would look forward to meeting them.

  'No time like the present,' said Jane, consulting her watch. 'Let's see if they're around now.'

  The three went inside, and Jane tapped at a door which was immediately opened.

  Introductions were made, and Bill and Jane returned to their duties, leaving Carl to talk to the Millers.

  He was thin and tall, and she was short and plump. Both, it appeared, had been in service at Nidden Hall, a large estate between Thrush Green and Woodstock, when they were young, and that was when they had been acquainted with Carl's mother.

  'She was a lovely girl,' enthused Mrs Miller. 'She could have had anyone. There was a young fellow at Eynsham who was very keen, wasn't he, Dad?'

  'I've heard about him,' said Carl, with a smile. 'I gather that if Mrs Curdle hadn't persuaded my mother to wait for a letter from my father, I might have been a local boy.'

  'So you know about Mrs Curdle?' cried her husband. 'Now she was a character, and no mistake.'

  Carl explained that she had been godmother to his mother, and that he owed his existence and his American citizenship to her wise counselling long ago.

  'We lost touch, of course, when your mother left Woodstock, and then when we retired we came to live at the foot of the hill here, in one of the old cottages. They had to be pulled down, and though we were offered a council flat, we didn't really fancy it, and the rector suggested we might like to come here. He's a good man.'

  'I heartily agree. I hope to call on him soon.'

  'Come and have a cup of tea one afternoon, and I'll look out any old photos I can find. I believe there are one or two groups with your mother in them, and we'll see what we can remember between us.'

  And so it was left, Carl making his way a little later to the Youngs' house, where he had been invited to lunch.

  One or two children were straggling across the grass from Thrush Green school, and among them were George and Anne Curdle.

  Shrieking with excitement they rushed to the tall figure and threw their arms around his legs.

  'And what are you two up to? Playing hookey?'

  'No, going home to dinner. Mum likes us home midday as we live so close. Most of the others stay to school dinner.'

  'It's not half as good as mum's!' pronounced Anne.

  'And you get more,' asserted George. 'You coming to see her?'

  'Later on. The Youngs are giving me lunch.'

  'That'll be good too,' George assured him. 'Mrs Young makes smashing jam tarts.'

  They parted at the gate, and within minutes Carl was ensconced in the Youngs' sitting-room with a glass of sherry.

  'I've just been meeting some old folk who remembered my mother,' he volunteered.

  Edward was instantly alert. 'Did you go into the sitting-room?'

  Carl looked a little surprised. 'No. Jane and Bill were in the garden, so we sat there. Come to think of it, it was just outside that communal room.'

  'I'd like your opinion of it sometime,' said Edward. 'Some of us are wondering if it is too small.'

  'Sure. Any time,' agreed Carl.

  Joan, veering away from controversial matters, asked about his flight, and soon the conversation became more general.

  'I've invited Winnie Bailey to join us,' said Joan, 'and Harold and Isobel. They are just arriving, I see.'

  During lunch Carl found himself answering a good many questions from Winnie who sat beside him. Was he well looked after at the Bear? Was the food good?

  He was able to assure her that he was thoroughly spoilt, and much enjoying his stay.

  'Is it busy at the moment?'

  'Not as busy as the manager would like, I gather,' responded Carl. 'A party came in last night, but they haven't a great many regulars just now.'

  'What a pity,' said Winnie, still hoping for news of that mysterious interior designer who sometimes shared a table with this handsome American.

  'So there's no one there whom you met last time?' persisted Winnie.

  'Not at the moment,' agreed Carl. Winnie thought that he looked faintly amused, and wondered if he had guessed what was behind her enquiries. The man was no fool, and no doubt knew as well as she did how quickly rumours fly about.

  'I believe you knew Mrs Curdle as well as anybody here,' said Carl, carrying the conversation into her own territory. 'Do tell me, was she as formidable as photos make her look? My mother adored her, but was also very respectful, and Ben tells me that it didn't do to cross her in any way.'

  'That's right,' said Winnie warmly. 'She was a woman in a thousand, and we were lucky to be counted among her friends. If you've got time later, I will show you the bouquets she made for us every year, and find some photographs too.'

  'And I believe Dotty Harmer's father wrote a piece about her for the local paper,' Harold added. 'I came across it when I was looking up some facts about Nathaniel Patten some time ago.'

  The mention of Dotty at once changed the topic of conversation to the recent worry about the old lady, and her lucky rescue by Betty Bell.

  'It seems to me,' observed Carl, 'that life in Thrush Green is pretty exciting.'

  'We find it so,' said Edward, smiling at his wife.

  October

  Busy most part of the Afternoon in

  making some Mead Wine, to fourteen Pounds

  of Honey, I put four Gallons of Water,

  boiled it more than an hour with Ginger and

  two handfulls of dried Elder—Flower in it,

  and skimmed it well.

  James Woodforde

  Dotty
Harmer took some time to recover from her ordeal, but once she began to feel stronger she chafed at the delay in getting on with her usual autumn collections of fruit and herbs for the winter ahead.

  'I'm missing the sloes and those nice crab-apples on the way to Nidden, and I intended to make a really large amount of rose-hip syrup this autumn. It really is most frustrating.'

  Connie promised to gather all that she needed for the store cupboard, and did her best to support the doctor's ruling that the patient must have a few days in bed.

  At first, Dotty had been too exhausted to argue, and lay back on her pillows dozing or reading. Flossie was glad to be allowed at the foot of the bed, and the two old ladies rested together.

  As the days passed, Flossie was the more amenable invalid, while Dotty grew more vociferous about all she had to do, and more anxious about the welfare of the hens and goats at the end of the garden.

  'We're managing quite well,' Connie assured her, 'and Albert comes down regularly night and morning, so you've nothing to worry about.'

  But the climax came when Winnie Bailey arrived one misty afternoon, bearing a freshly made pot of bramble jelly for the invalid.

  'It's a wonderful year for blackberries,' Winnie told her.

  'And I'm going to go out and pick some for myself,' said Dotty firmly. 'No matter what John Lovell says. I'm all right!'

  She looked so fierce as she said this that Winnie felt some alarm. She said so to Connie when she was making her farewells out of Dotty's hearing.

  'If she says she's going out then she will,' said Connie resignedly. 'We've been lucky to keep her in bed for these few days. You know Aunt Dotty.'

  'Indeed I do,' responded Winnie.

  Betty Bell, quite rightly, was acclaimed as a heroine for her double rescue effort, and the finest azalea to be had in Lulling was given to her by Kit and Connie.

  She was modest about her achievement. 'Well, if it hadn't been me then someone else would have found her, I've no doubt. Willie Marchant would have been along pretty soon, on his way to the Drovers' Arms.'