Winter in Thrush Green Read online

  Miss Watson had felt so sick and so faint that she had been unable to speak. Sam had departed with his offspring, wishing her good afternoon civilly. Since then her mind had been in turmoil.

  Should she ring the police on this shred of evidence? Was it, in fact, evidence? There must be thousands of pairs of gloves like that. But she was sure that she had recognised Sam as he had bent suddenly in the cloakroom. Was she justified in confiding her suspicions to the police? If only dear Agnes were here, how helpful she could be!

  As her agitated thoughts coursed through her throbbing head the bell rang at the front door, and she went to answer it.

  'Why, come in, Mr Piggott,' she cried. 'What brings you here?'

  That evening a police car splashed along the watery lane to Nod and Nidden and stopped outside Sam Curdle's caravan.

  The next morning Sam appeared before the magistrates and was told that he would be called before Quarter Sessions at the county town to answer his serious charge.

  That same day Albert Piggott was treated to so many pints by the regular customers at 'The Two Pheasants' that he fell asleep in the stoke-hole of St Andrew's at half-past two and did not wake unI'll the great clock above him struck five. It was as well, he thought muzzily, as he stumbled homeward, that Nelly Tilling was spending the day at her sister's.

  If Nathaniel Patten's memorial were to be erected in rime for his birthday on the fifteenth of March, then haste was needed, said Edward Young, who had been in communication with the young sculptor whom he much admired.

  Consequently, a meeting was called of Thrush Green Entertainments Committee, when the design was to be approved and the sculptor definitely commissioned.

  The meeting was to have been held, as usual, in the village school, but the tortoise stove had developed a mysterious crack which let out fumes and smoke in the most unpleasant manner. Miss Watson, in some perturbation, had mentioned this to Harold Shoosmith when he called to return three balls, a rubber quoit and a gym shoe which had landed in his garden.

  'We'll have it at my house,' he said, with secret relief, for the thought of being wedged into the infants' desks for an hour and a half on a bleak January evening had cast its shadow before. 'There's plenty of room, and I'll send a message round.'

  He rang the rector last of all.

  'Come and have supper here first,' he said. 'The meeting's not until 8.15, and as far as I can see there will only be about half a dozen of us.'

  The rector was delighted to accept. Mrs Butler had just told him that she thought there would be enough of yesterday's corned beef hash left for his evening meal, and he had been resigned to his lot. Although he was not a greedy man, the thought of good food and good company greatly cheered him.

  He arrived at a quarter past seven and the two men had a splendid steak and kidney casserole and apple tart which Betty Bell had come back specially to cook. The rector thought wistfully how competently Harold managed his domestic affairs, and remembered his own meagre fare and dismal surroundings which he seemed unable to alter.

  'Do you know anything about this young man of Edward's?' enquired Charles Henstock later, as they toasted their toes and waited for the rest of the committee members. 'You know, I'm devoted to Edward, and have the greatest admiration for his work–they tell me he has a wonderful flair for domestic detail in his housing plans. But, just occasionally, I wonder if he is not a trifle too advanced in his ideas for the rest of us. Those walls of his–all different colours–and that pebble dash square he has let into his doorstep 'for excitement of texture,' I think it was, seem a little out of this world sometimes. The Thrush Green world, I mean. I suppose we're rather stick-in-the-mud, but we really don't want a jagged piece of metal that looks like a heron with the stomach-ache put up for ever on the green, do we?'

  'We certainly don't,' said Harold forcibly. 'But I don't think you need to worry. After all, it's for that very purpose that the committee is meeting tonight. To protect Thrush Green from dyspeptic herons, or–worse still–a bunch of bladders of lard in stone all lumped together and called "Bounty," is exactly what we're here for, my dear Charles.'

  The rector appeared somewhat comforted and sipped his excellent coffee.

  'I must confess,' he said, expanding under the influence of shared confidences, that I am relieved that Ella wasn't asked to tackle the job. She is a most gifted person, believe me, most gifted. But I find that strong rugged effect in her work a little overpowering. I fear I'm stall at the stage of admiring flowered chair covers, and liking water-colours on the wall.'

  'And what's wrong with that?' responded Harold sturdily. 'But I agree with you that Ella's well out of it. She would have "had a bash," as she so elegantly put it, I feel positive. She's a brave woman and I can quite see why Dimity relies upon her.'

  The rector looked up quickly.

  'I sometimes think it is the other way round,' he said. 'Beneath that timid manner of Dimity's there's a very strong and fine character. For all that Ella bullies her–or appears to–I think she feels a deep affection for Dimity, and takes more notice of her gentle suggestions than we realise.'

  'You're probably right,' agreed Harold. 'You're a better judge of character than I am.'

  'I've known them both for many years now,' replied the rector. 'I have the greatest respect for them,' he added, with a careful preciseness which reminded Harold of one of Jane Austen's heroes.

  'I gather it's reciprocated,' commented Harold drily, 'even if Ella doesn't go to church more than twice a year.'

  'One can't expect everyone to be as devoted as Dimity,' answered the rector reasonably.

  'She's as devoted to you as she is to the church,' said Harold quietly, and watched his friend's face grow pink and decidedly alarmed.

  'I think you do her a wrong there,' said the rector hesitantly. 'She is a deeply religious woman and would attend services whoever might be in charge.'

  'I've no doubt about that,' said Harold, rising to his feet to make up the fire. 'But she also finds pleasure in your company.'

  He pointed a log at the perturbed rector and waggled it for emphasis.

  'You underestimate your charms, Charles, as I've told you before.'

  The rector was saved from answering by a thunderous knocking at the front door. They heard Betty Bell hurrying from the washing-up to answer it, and the sound of a booming voice which set the dinner gong vibrating.

  'Ella,' said Harold. One did not need to live long at Thrush Green before recognising that voice.

  Ella and Dimity entered, closely followed by Edward Young and Doctor Bailey. The rector greeted them with his usual warmth, hiding his inner agitation with considerable success.

  'There are only the six of us,' said Harold. 'Shall we stay by the fire?'

  There was a chorus of assent.

  'Though that question does remind me of Violet Anderson's last dinner party,' said Ella, 'when she cut a veal pie and said: "I do so hope you like veal" and we all meekly muttered "Yes." As a matter of fact, I very nearly said: "No, I loathe it; so count me out and I'll have a banana," but I bit it back.'

  'Good manners frequently drive one to dishonesty,' agreed the rector. 'It's a nice point to consider–whether one should offend one's host or one's conscience.'

  Edward Young took out an enormous envelope and began to undo it rather fussily.

  'Perhaps it would be as well to look at the designs at once,' he began, a little pompously.

  I'll read the minutes, and apologies, if I may,' replied the rector mildly, and the younger man bowed his head curtly. As an ambitious man, fast climbing his professional tree, he was beginning to be a little impatient of such petty matters as the minutes of Thrush Green committees.

  The rector dispatched the usual business competendy, and then looked towards the envelope.

  'We're all looking forward to seeing the designs,' he said. 'I take it that the young man is really interested?'

  'Oh, very, very,' answered Edward, tugging at the envelope. 'He i
s an interesting fellow and has just finished some outstanding murals for a new nursery school.'

  'Oh, how sweet,' cried Dimity. 'What about? Animals and things?'

  'I shouldn't think so,' said Edward, looking as shocked as if Dimity had made an improper suggestion. 'He's very mature in his approach, for his age, and he realises that young children see through the facade of accepted nursery illustration to the elemental truths.'

  'Oh, for pity's sake,' implored Ella, 'stop talking like a second-rate psychologist and let's see what the chap's done! You're putting us off before we start.'

  Edward had the grace to turn pink, realising that the rest of his hearers silently agreed with Ella's forthright plea.

  'I made him understand,' he went on, 'that we preferred a traditional bronze figure as near to a photographic resemblance as he could manage. He found the pictures that you sent of great help, sir,' he added, with unusual deference, to Harold.

  'Good,' said Harold. 'You seem to have handled it admirably.'

  'Well you certainly didn't think we'd stand for a great lump, reeling and writhing and fainting in coils, with holes in its middle, did you?' demanded Ella, still belligerent.

  For answer Edward handed her a large sheet of paper and she was momentarily silenced. He passed others to the rest of the gathering and they studied the plans with interest.

  Harold saw, with overwhelming relief, that the suggested design was reassuringly life-like. The young man proposed to show Nathaniel in a typical pose, either reading from a book or studying a plan for one of his own mission schools. If the picture were anything to go by, he had exactly caught the chubby amiability of the frock-coated missionary and made an attractive job of it.

  'What exactly is an elevation?' asked Dimity.

  'What are the arrows for?' asked Ella.

  'Is this a different suggestion?' queried the rector.

  Edward patiently answered all the questions that were fired at him. There were several designs, each slightly differing in stance and size, but all acceptable to the committee.

  Finally they decided upon the one which Harold had liked, and then the important question was asked.

  'Can he get it done in time?' asked Harold.

  'He says he can,' said Edward. 'He's absolutely free at the moment and he works at white-heat once he starts.'

  'More than the local builders will,' commented Ella. 'I suppose they'll be doing the plinth to this young man's design. I bet he's ready first.'

  'We haven't settled that incidentally,' replied Edward. 'He gives three suggestions here, if you notice. They're all quite low, to suit the character of the green.'

  'Quite right,' said the rector. 'One doesn't fancy a Nelson's column or even a stone armchair perched up by the chestnut trees on Thrush Green. This looks most suitable.'

  'Three steps up,' commented Ella, 'and in York stone. Very nice too. Rather like George Washington who used to stand on the grass outside the National Gallery. Still does, for all I know.'

  'One can't help feeling it was a trifle tactless of the Americans to present us with a reminder of the general who overcame us,' observed the rector thoughtfully. 'But on the other hand I think we showed exemplary civility in accepting it and giving it such a place of honour in our capital city.'

  'A case of no offence meant and none taken, let's say,' said Harold, with a smile. He handed back the papers to Edward Young, who was busily making notes for the sculptor's reference.

  'I think we all agree that a bronze statue, in position four, is the best choice?' he asked, looking round the company.

  'With plinth number one,' cried Edward, still scribbling rapidly. 'If I may say so, I think you've made an excellent choice, and I can assure you that the work will be first-class. I'll tell him to get on straight away.'

  'Please do,' said the rector, 'and tell him we are delighted with his plans.'

  Edward Young suddenly looked a little diffident.

  'There is the question of money,' he said. 'The materials will be expensive, as you know. I wonder if it would be possible to advance something to this young man?'

  'I don't get paid till I've finished,' said Ella flatly.

  'But he may be very poor," pointed out Dimity compassionately.

  'I think that would be in order,' said the rector, looking across at Harold Shoosmith. 'It is often done, I know, in this sort of matter. Shall we take a vote on it?'

  Ella snorted, but raised her hand with the rest.

  'Right,' said Harold bnskly, I'll see to that, if you like, as I'm treasurer, I believe. You'll have to let me know how much, of course. Meanwhile, what about a drink?'

  He made for the corner cupboard where he kept his bottles, and the meeting ended to the clinking of glasses and the chatter of six old friends, all well content with the evening's work.

  18. Spring Fever

  THE day after Dotty Harmer came home from hospital, Ella made her way across Thrush Green, down the little alley between 'The Two Pheasants' and Albert Piggott's cottage, and so reached the footpath that threaded the meadow and finally wound its way to Lulling Woods.

  It was one of those clear mild days which come occasionally in mid-winter and lift the spirits with their hint of coming springtime. Catkins were already fluttering on the nut hedge behind Albert's house and the sky was a pale translucent blue, as tender as a thrush's egg-shell.

  Two mottled partridges squatted in the grass not far from the pathway, like a pair of fat round bottles. Ella looked upon them with a kindly eye. They mated, she had been told, for life, and though she did not think much of married bliss, yet she approved of constancy.

  Her mind turned from the partridges, naturally enough, to the possibility of Dimity marrying. Nothing had been said between the two friends, and Ella often wondered if she had imagined a situation which did not, in fact, exist. But ever since the day when she had faced her own fears she had held fast to her principles. If Dimity chose to leave her, then she must wish her all the happiness in the world and make her going easy for her. It was the least one could do in gratitude for so many years of loyal friendship, and the only basis on which that friendship could continue.

  Dotty's door was opened by Betty Bell, who had offered to stay at the cottage unI'll Dotty was fit to live alone again. She still went to work as usual for Harold Shoosmith, for Dotty was quite capable of pottering about and amusing herself, but her friends were relieved to know that Betty slept there and could keep an eye on her eccentric charge.

  'Well, tell me all the news,' said Dotty, when Mrs Curdle had been scooped off the armchair and Ella settled in it. 'What's been happening at Thrush Green?'

  'You've heard about Sam Curdle, I suppose?' asked Ella. 'He's coming up at the Quarter Sessions next month–and it's a funny thing, Dotty, but it seems that he might have been your egg-thief too.'

  'Really?' said Dotty agog. 'Oh, how I wish I'd caught him in father's man trap! No one would have felt in the least sorry if I'd caught Sam Curdle, even if his leg had been broken.'

  'A peculiarly unchristian attitude,' pronounced Ella, taking out her shabby tobacco tin in order to roll a cigarette. 'It seems that Paul Young and that fat friend of his–Christopher Someone–have had a hidey-hole in one of Harold Shoosmith's trees, and they saw Sam go to your hen house one afternoon.'

  'There!' said Dotty, slapping her thin thigh which was covered by a brown hand-woven skirt. 'What did I tell you? If I'd had my man trap we'd have had this all cleared up months ago.'

  She pounced on another aspect of Ella's account.

  'But what were the children doing in Harold Shoosmith's garden? Surely they knew they were trespassing? Children seem to have no idea of the difference between right and wrong these days. Not enough caning, my father always said–and he was invariably right. I was caned every Saturday night when I had my hair washed,' added Dotty, with some pride.

  'What on earth for?' asked Ella, astonished.

  'I screamed, dear. Screamed and screamed, and my father
thought it unnecessary.'

  'But if you were caned,' persisted Ella, shocked at the thought, 'you probably screamed more.'

  'Oh, I did indeed!' Dotty assured her blandly, 'but I think my father felt that I then had something to scream for. It gave him some comfort, I feel sure.'

  Ella drew in a large breath of rank smoke and blew it forcefully down her nostrils. Mrs Curdle, who had been hanging about on the hearthrug waiting her chance to get back on the chair, departed in high dudgeon to the kitchen, her tail erect.

  'Harold Shoosmith knew they used the tree as a meeting place,' said Ella, 'but he didn't mind. It gave them a lot of innocent fun, he said, and they did no harm.'

  Dotty grunted with disgust at such softness.

  'Come to that,' continued Ella, taking up the cudgels on Harold's behalf, 'you'd have looked pretty silly if those boys hadn't been trespassing and heard your bell.'

  Dotty had the grace to admit it.

  'I've sent Mr Shoosmith,' she said conspiratorially, 'half a dozen bottles of last season's home-made wine–all different. Betty Bed took them up this morning and she says he was quite overcome.'

  And well he might be, thought Ella grimly. She had sampled Dotty's wine as well as her other concoctions, and knew, to her cost, that the local ailment called 'Dotty's Collywobbles' could be appallingly painful. She made a mental note to warn Harold against sampling his present.

  She smoked in silence, while Dotty rattled on, delighted to have someone to talk to.

  'I can never thank him enough,' said Dotty warmly. 'So very kind, so attentive–Thrush Green is all the nicer now that he lives here. Does Dimity still see a lot of him?'

  The question starded Ella.

  'As a matter of fact, they're out together now,' said Ella. 'Otherwise Dim would have come with me. Field Club again, you know. They've gone to see some prehistoric barrows in Bedfordshire, I think. Unless it was Berkshire,' added Ella, who had never been geographically inclined.