(6/13) Gossip from Thrush Green Page 17

  'Oh, something about changes in the air, and Anthony much perturbed about decisions to be made.'

  The two sisters looked disappointed.

  'That could be anything from altering the site of the compost heap in the churchyard, to replacing those dreadfully shabby hassocks in the Lady Chapel,' said Ada.

  'Or some little matter of church ritual,' added Violet, putting her knife and fork neatly across her empty plate.

  'Maybe, maybe!' agreed Bertha airily. 'Well, time alone will tell.'

  She rose and collected the plates. When she returned she was bearing a dish full of glossy black cherries.

  'A present from dear Colonel Fisher yesterday evening,' she said, 'when you were both in the garden. I thought I would keep them as a surprise for dessert today.'

  'Do you remember how we used to hang them over our ears?' said Violet, picking up a pair. 'We used to pretend the black ones were jet ear-rings and the red ones were ruby.'

  The three old faces glowed at the memory, Anthony Bull's affairs forgotten in the excitement of this delicious surprise.

  'I remember it as if it were yesterday,' declared Ada. 'You were always the pretty one, Violet, with your fair hair. The red cherries suited you best.'

  'We were all pretty children,' said Bertha firmly, though no one would think so to see us now. Still, we are clean and healthy, and I suppose that is something at our age.'

  They enjoyed their cherries, removing the stones politely from their mouths, behind delicately curved bony hands.

  Later they stacked the china and silver in the kitchen to attend to later, and went into the sunshine to rest.

  The sun warmed their old bones and Bertha yawned.

  Violet began to giggle.

  'Do you know, Bertha dear, your tongue is as purple as a chow's!'

  'Really? No doubt yours is too after eating black cherries.'

  The three old ladies put out their tongues and surveyed each others. Laughter shook their thin frames, and for a brief moment they reverted to the three pretty little girls who had played in this same sunlit garden, wearing starched pinafores and cherry ear-rings, over seventy years earlier.

  A week or two later, the problem of Dotty Harmer's convalescence arose. Ella Bembridge had offered to have her at her cottage, but Winnie Bailey, secretly fearing that Ella's home might not provide the peace which Dotty would need for a week or two, suggested to her old friend that the invalid might stay with her.

  'The spare room is empty, as you know, Ella dear, and Jenny is longing to do a bit of spoiling. We are both in the rudest of health now, and it would be a real pleasure to have Dotty. You've done more than your share with Flossie and the other animals.'

  Ella gave in with good grace.

  'Well, to tell you the truth, I am rather behind with my weaving, and the garden's been neglected. Not that I mind much, first things first, you know, but if you're quite sure, I'm happy about it.'

  It was arranged that Harold Shoosmith and Isobel would collect Dotty, and Flossie would be transferred to Winnie's to be reunited with her mistress.

  And so, one August afternoon, Harold and Isobel set off in the car, which had been polished for the occasion, to fetch their old friend.

  She still looked remarkably frail and her steps were faltering as she made her way to the car on the arm of matron—a high honour not lightly bestowed. But Dotty's spirit was unquenched, and she chattered cheerfully all the way along Lulling High Street, up the hill, and past Ella's cottage, the gap left by the destroyed rectory, and the grass of Thrush Green.

  Winnie welcomed her with a kiss and Flossie with ecstatic barking. Harold and Isobel promised to call the next morning, and then withdrew, leaving Winnie and Dotty alone in the sitting room.

  Dotty's thin hands were caressing Flossie's long ears as she gazed happily about her.

  'I can't tell you how good it is to be here. They were so very kind to me at the hospital, but I pray that I may never need to go there again.'

  Well, I hope you will stop with me for as long as you like,' said Winnie. 'You must get your strength back, you know.'

  'My strength?' exclaimed Dotty in amazement. 'But I am quite strong now, Winnie. I shall thoroughly enjoy staying overnight here, but of course I must get back to the animals tomorrow morning.'

  'We'll talk about that later,' said Winnie diplomatically. But now I am going to ask Jenny to make the tea.'

  'How is she?' asked Jenny when Winnie appeared in the kitchen.

  The same old Miss Harmer,' Winnie told her, with a smile.

  'Oh dear!' cried Jenny. 'That means we might have trouble!'

  Dotty's niece, Connie Harmer, had kept in touch with her aunt's Thrush Green friends throughout Dotty's illness, and had driven some fifty miles from her home at Friarscombe to see the old lady in hospital.

  She was a sturdy woman in her forties, with auburn hair now streaked with grey, and a square weatherbeaten face. She was as much attached to the animals as was her aunt, and perhaps this was why she had never married, finding the human race, and particularly the male of the species, very much inferior to her own charges.

  The Henstocks, Ella Bembridge and Winnie Bailey were old friends of hers, and were glad to see her when she came to see Dotty in her hospital bed. She was frank with them all.

  It's like this. I'm quite willing to have dear old Aunt Dot to live with me, but will she come? If she's too groggy to cope alone at Lulling Woods, I'd certainly consider selling up and making my home with her, if that seems the right thing to do, but I don't relish the prospect, and that's the truth. In any case, I'd need a month or two to make arrangements for some of the animals, and selling the house would take time.'

  'Let's see how things go,' said Winnie, at whose house this conversation took place. 'It's best that she convalesces here, near Doctor Lovell, and we'll all keep in touch. But somehow, Connie, I can't see any of us persuading Dotty to leave that cottage of hers.'

  'Nor me. Ah well, she's lucky to have such noble friends around her, and you know I'm willing to take on any permanent responsibility when the time comes. I've always been very fond of Aunt Dot, crazy though she is at times.'

  'That goes for us all,' Winnie told her.

  Luckily, Dotty was soon persuaded to continue to stay at Winnie's for at least another week, and appeared to have forgotten her resolve to rush back to the animals by the next morning.

  It was one of the disconcerting things about the invalid at this time. She was vague about time. 'Let's say more than usually vague,' amended Charles Henstock, and although Doctor Lovell was optimistic about the full recovery of his patient, even he admitted that Dotty would be better in the permanent company of someone like her reliable niece.

  It was while she was still recuperating that Lulling was agog to learn that the Misses Lovelock had been summoned to the local police station to view some pieces of silverware which had come into the hands of the police.

  Full of hope, the three sisters tottered along one bright morning, stopping only by the Corn Exchange to read some extraordinary messages, written in chalk, on the walls of that building. The words were not familiar to the three ladies, but the content of the slogans was. The writer presumably did not approve of the Prime Minister nor of the country's police force.

  'But, Violet,' said Ada in bewilderment, 'does one spell that word like that?'

  'Ada dear,' said Violet, with some hauteur, 'it is not a word that I find myself needing to spell.'

  Bertha, as usual, took charge.

  'We must draw the attention of the officer on duty to this defacement, when we call in. I'm sure he will deal quite competently with the matter, correct spelling or not. It is not the sort of matter for ladies to concern themselves with.'

  'Should you end your sentence with a proposition, Bertha?' asked Violet innocently.

  But she was ignored, and the three mounted the steps of the police station.

  Sadly, there was only one of the Lovelocks' lost objects am
ong the display set out on a trestle table in a back room with Police Constable Darwin on guard.

  'Father's rose bowl!' cried Ada.

  'What a miracle!' cried Violet.

  'Given to him on his retirement!' cried Bertha. 'How wonderful of you to recover it.'

  They walked slowly round and round the table, gloating over the beautiful objects before them.

  'And where did you find all these lovely things, officer? So clever of you.'

  'Well, miss,' said Police Constable Darwin, 'I'm not at liberty to say, but it wasn't us chaps at Lulling as came across this lot. But several people, besides you ladies, have lost stuff around here, so it's our turn to show it.'

  'And have the other people found theirs here?'

  'You was the first to be asked,' the constable told them.

  'Well, that is most gratifying. Most kind. We feel quite honoured, I assure you. Now, are we allowed to take home Father's rose bowl?'

  'I'm afraid not, miss. It'll have to be exhibited in court, see, when we've picked up the thieves. There's still a lot missing. If you notice, miss, all this is the big stuff, salvers and bowls and that.'

  With commendable delicacy he ignored a seventeenth century toilet set, with a pair of silver chamber pots to match, and directed the Misses Lovelock's attention to trays, teapots and other tableware, including the rose bowl, which stood at the farther end of the table.

  'We reckon this is only about a quarter of what's missing. The smaller stuff's probably been passed on. Melted down already, I don't doubt.'

  There were horrified gasps from the ladies, and Police Constable Darwin hastily tried to make amends for his gaffe.

  'But let's hope not. After all, this lot's turned up. Keep your fingers crossed, ladies. Anyway, I'll mark this rose bowl down in the book as belonging to you. Want another look round to make sure?'

  'No, thank you, officer. You have been most helpful. There was just one other little matter,' added Bertha, the natural spokesman of all three.

  'Yes, miss?'

  'Have you been on outside duty this morning? On your beat, I believe is the correct expression?'

  'Well, no, miss. I was detailed by Sergeant Brown to stand by this lot this morning. Very valuable stuff here. But I'll pass on any message.'

  Bertha wondered if this fresh-faced young man would really be experienced enough to deal with the unpleasant matter of the Corn Exchange's graffiti, but she decided swiftly that he had probably been adequately trained and was quite used to seeing—and perhaps even hearing—the phrases written on the wall.

  'We just wanted to direct your attention, officer, to some quite dreadful messages written with some prominence on a public building near by.'

  'Oh, them scribbles on the Corn Exchange,' replied the constable, with relief. He had begun to wonder just what else these old tabbies were going to disclose. 'Don't you worry about them. One of the Cooke boys, no doubt. Anyway, young Armstrong's been told off to clean it up, so everything's under control.'

  'I'm delighted to hear it,' said Bertha graciously.

  'In very bad taste to deface a building with such words,' added Ada in support.

  'And not even correctly spelt,' said Violet, adding her mite.

  'I think,' said Bertha ominously, it is time we returned home.'

  17. Housing Plans

  THE first two weeks of the summer holidays were spent by Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty in recuperating from the rigours of the term.

  They also managed to fit in a number of personal arrangements which had been postponed during term time. Miss Watson had her hair permanently waved, one troublesome tooth extracted and two filled, and had several shopping expeditions for new corsets and other underwear.

  Miss Fogerty, whose hair was straight 'as a yard of pump water', as she said, dressed it in a neat bun, and washed it herself. She did, however, need to visit the dentist who luckily only found one filling which needed attention. Her modest shopping resulted in a new flowered overall for school use, a pair of light sandals, and a petticoat. She was sorely tempted to buy a navy blue jersey suit, reduced in the summer sales, but with the possibility of helping with the purchase of a shared home she decided it would be imprudent to spend too lavishly.

  The friends had reserved rooms at their favourite Barton guest house on the front for two weeks from the middle of August, and both ladies looked forward to the break eagerly. The discussion of money affairs about the buying of a permanent home there did not take place until a day or two before their departure. Dorothy Watson had obviously given the matter much thought.

  'Now, I know just how independent you are, Agnes dear, and I very much appreciate your offer to help in buying a place to share, but I've decided against it.'

  'But, Dorothy - ' protested Agnes, but was cut short. Miss Watson was at her most decisive, a schoolteacher at her firmest and fairest.

  'It's like this. I should like to buy the house so that I can alter my will and leave it, with any other little things of value I might have, to be shared between my three nephews. I do not intend to leave anything to Ray and Kathleen apart from my mother's tea service which I know Ray would like. They have quite enough as it is, and I consider that they have forfeited any claim on my property after their dreadful behaviour. But I like the three boys, and I think they are making their way in the world quite splendidly, despite their parents.'

  'Yes, I do see that, Dorothy, but nevertheless—'

  Miss Watson drove on relentlessly.

  'Of course, I shan't see you left without a roof over your head, Agnes dear, should I go first. The house will be left so that you can stay there for as long as you wish, and when you have done with it, then the three boys shall have it.'

  'Oh, Dorothy, you are too good! But I pray that I may go first.'

  'First or second, Agnes, hear me out. I've given a great deal of thought to this matter. Now, if you insist on putting something towards this venture—'

  'I do. I do indeed!'

  'Then I suggest that you could contribute to the furnishings which we are bound to need. No carpet or curtain ever seems to fit a new home, and I'm sure we shall need various extras, and possibly redecoration, although I think we should share that expense.'

  'I agree wholeheartedly with anything you suggest,

  Dorothy, but it really isn't enough from me. At least I can pay rent, surely?'

  'I was coming to that. If you feel that you can pay the same amount as you do here, Agnes, it would be a very great help, believe me. Now, what do you think?'

  'I think you are being uncommonly generous, as always, Dorothy.'

  'Well, it seems the simplest and most straightforward way of arranging things. I thought I might go and put the matter to Justin Venables. He will deal with things if we do find somewhere, and I should like him to know what we have in mind. Will you come with me? I only hope he won't retire before we've finished with his services. One wonders if those youngsters in the firm have quite the same wisdom as dear Justin.'

  'Of course I will come. And I don't think we need to have any doubts about the junior partners, Dorothy. I am sure that Justin has trained them quite beautifully.'

  'Let's hope so,' said Dorothy. 'And now that that's over, I think I'll go and look out some of my clothes ready for packing.'

  'And so will I,' replied little Miss Fogerty.

  The two ladies retired to their bedrooms, one congratulating herself on a difficult matter successfully dealt with, and the other to think, yet again, about the boundless generosity of her friend.

  The abrupt conclusion of Percy Hodge's courtship of Jenny had occasioned plenty of comment at the time, but as the weeks had gone by other topics had taken its place until Percy's suit had almost been forgotten, if not by Jenny, at least by the majority of Thrush Green's inhabitants.

  It was some surprise then to Harold Shoosmith when Betty Bell, crashing about his study with the vacuum cleaner, shouted the information that Percy was looking elsewhere for a wife.
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  To tell the truth, Harold had not heard clearly for the racket around him, and was on the point of fleeing to more peaceful pastures.

  Betty, seeing that she might be baulked of her prey, switched off the machine and began to wind up the cord.

  'Percy! You know, Percy Hodge as was hanging up his hat to Jenny at Mrs Bailey's,' she explained.

  'What about him?'

  'I just told you. He's courting someone else now.'

  'Well, good luck to him. No harm in angling elsewhere if he hasn't succeeded in landing his first fish.'

  'I don't know as Jenny'd care to be called a fish,' said Betty, bending down to wind the cord carefully into figures of eight on the cleaner's handle.

  Harold watched this manoeuvre with resignation. If he had asked Betty once to desist from this practice which cracked the cord's covering he had beseeched her twenty times. It made no difference. At some point in her career, Betty had decided to wind cords in a figure of eight style, and stuck to it.

  'Well, who is it, Betty? Come on now. You know you're dying to tell me. Someone we know?'

  'You might, and you might not. Ever been up The Drovers' Arms?'

  'Beyond Lulling Woods? No, I can't say I have. Does the lady live there?'

  'Works there. Name of Doris. She cleans up, and helps behind the bar of a Saturday. She's from foreign parts, they say.'

  Really? What, Spain, France, or further afield?'

  Betty looked shocked.

  'Oh, not that foreign! I mean she speaks English and goes to our church. No, she's from Devon, I think, or maybe Cornwall. A long way off, I know, but speaks very civil really.'

  'And you think Percy calls there? It may be that they keep the sort of beer he prefers.'

  'Percy Hodge,' said Betty, setting her arms akimbo and speaking with emphasis, 'was always content to have his half-pint at The Two Pheasants. What call has he got to traipse all the way to The Drovers' Arms, unless he's courting?

  Besides, he's always carrying a great bunch of flowers, and he gives 'em to this Doris.'