(9/13)The School at Thrush Green Page 19

  'What's up then?' she enquired of her colleague who was engrossed in filing her scarlet fingernails rather too close to a tray of meringues.

  'Search me,' was the answer. 'But we do see a bit of life here, don't we?'

  It was six o'clock before Nelly and Gladys met again. The owner of The Fuchsia Bush, Mrs Peters, had gone home early in the afternoon to totter to bed with a blinding migraine.

  The rest of the staff had also gone, leaving Nelly to lock up the premises, and this she was doing when a tearful Mrs Lilly appeared.

  'No sign of her,' she cried. 'D'you think I could ring Mr Henstock?'

  'You come in and sit down,' said Nelly, unlocking the door, 'and I'll get the number.'

  Charles Henstock was much perturbed to hear of Doreen's disappearance. He supplied Anthony Bull's telephone number, and expressed the hope that all would be well.

  'I feel quite guilty about all this,' he told Dimity. 'I know that Anthony would never blame me for any trouble that has cropped up, but I wish I hadn't suggested her to the Lovelock girls. I fear that they may have overworked her.'

  'You did what you thought was right at the time,' Dimity comforted him. 'After all, you were not to know how matters would turn out.'

  Meanwhile, Gladys Lilly rang Anthony Bull, who said that he would go down the road immediately to make enquiries of his neighbour, and would ring back.

  The two friends sat in the empty restaurant awaiting the call.

  'I must pay for these telephone calls,' said Gladys. 'I'd feel better about it, if I could. And what about Albert's tea? You ought to be getting off home by rights. What a nuisance I am!'

  Nelly did her best to allay Gladys's fears. By now, she too was imagining the worst - abduction, seduction, incarceration, even murder!

  'They say,' said Gladys, 'that Miss Violet said the chap was exceptionally tall and had cropped hair. Head like a bullet, she said, though she never saw much else.'

  'Which way did he go, I wonder?'

  'Ran off down the garden to that lane as runs along the back of these places here. That's when she had a glimpse of him. Must have left his car out there, I suppose.'

  'Well, he'd need a car or something to carry all that stuff from the Lovelocks! Never see so much silver under one roof in all the time I was in service,' said Nelly. 'I used to dread silver-cleaning days in that place, I can tell you.'

  At this moment, the telephone rang, and Gladys leapt to answer it.

  Nelly watched her face crumple as she listened to the voice at the other end of the line.

  'Oh dear, sir! What a terrible thing. Now I really don't know which way to turn.'

  There were soothing sounds coming from the other end, while tears began to course down poor Gladys's face.

  'Yes, sir. I'm sure you're right. It's just that I'm that upset that she told me a lie.'

  She mopped her face with a handkerchief. The other hand quivered as it held the telephone. Nelly's kind heart was touched at this display of motherly concern.

  'Well, thank you, sir, for all your help,' sniffed Gladys. 'You've been real kind, and I shan't forget it. I'll do what you say. I'm sure you're right.'

  There were a few more murmurs from the other end, and Gladys put down the receiver.

  'She never went to Jane's at all,' sobbed Gladys. 'Nothing better than a liar. Me own daughter - and brought up chapel too!'

  Nelly gave what comfort she could, but Gladys was almost too distracted to take in Nelly's kind words.

  Eventually, Nelly accompanied Gladys to her home, in the hope that the truant had returned, but the house was empty.

  'Mr Bull said I was to go to the police,' she said. 'What d'you think, Nelly?'

  'I think,' said that sensible woman, 'that you need a cup of tea. I'll put the kettle on, pop up and see to Albert, and be back with you within half an hour. Then we'll walk up to the police station together.'

  'Oh, Nelly!' cried Gladys, tears starting afresh at such kindness. 'How I ever got on before I met you, I can't think!'

  'Well, I'm glad to be of help,' said Nelly, making her departure.

  Gladys came with her to the door. The kettle was beginning to sing, promising comfort.

  'What I truly fears now,' admitted Gladys, 'is that them Lovelocks was right. I bet our Doreen left that window open, and I bet it was that chap of hers that done it. I wonder if I ought to tell the police?'

  'Find the girl first,' advised Nelly, 'and what follows will have to be faced when the time comes. See you in half an hour.'

  She set off to puff up the steep hill to Thrush Green.

  What a day it had been, one way and another! And not over yet, thought Nelly.

  19. The Drought Breaks

  NATURALLY, the news of the Lovelocks' burglary was common knowledge, within twenty-four hours, in Lulling and Thrush Green.

  Comment on the incident varied considerably. It was felt at The Two Pheasants that 'them old girls asked for it, showing all that stuff openly for any passer-by to covet'.

  Winnie Bailey, and other Thrush Green friends, were profoundly shocked that such a thing should have occurred, and that the three sisters had been robbed again.

  Young Cooke, who did most of the caretaking work now at St Andrew's, said that in his view 'nobody should own all that valuable stuff, and the chap as took it was only evening out wealth, like, and good luck to him.'

  At this, Albert gave him a hefty swipe on the shin with the broom which had been supporting him, and a string of curses, of Anglo-Saxon derivation, which surprised even young Cooke.

  It was sometime later that the possibility of Doreen Lilly being mixed up in the affair was being mooted abroad with great relish.

  Nelly Piggott, unable to keep such richness to herself, mentioned it to little Miss Fogerty when they happened to meet on the green.

  'Her mum's real upset,' said Nelly, with evident satisfaction. 'That Doreen'll do anything that fellow tells her, despite the way he's treated her. So Mrs Lilly tells me. She reckons he's behind this, and one or two people have said they've seen this Gordon around here recently.'

  'What does he look like?'

  'Tall chap. Red hair, what there is of it. He's a skin head, or was. Then he was in jail, you know, so his hair would still be short. Rosa, down The Fuchsia Bush, reckons he came in earlier this summer.'

  Agnes remembered the young man screened by the trunk of a lime tree in Lulling High Street. Perhaps not an architectural student after all? Perhaps something far worse?

  'He left her with that baby, you know,' continued Nelly. 'Treated her awful, but it never made no difference to Her Love. When he called her back, she just come. There's nothing so wonderful as Love, is there, Miss Fogerty?'

  Agnes tried to recall who it was who had said that she felt that a sound bank balance and good teeth were really more important, but refrained from uttering these sensible sentiments, in the face of Nelly's maudlin expression.

  She bade her farewell as calmly as she could, but hurried back to Dorothy, seriously perturbed.

  'But, Agnes dear, I really see no need to rush to the police,' said Dorothy. 'Should this young man happen to be the burglar, and Rosa's tale needs corroboration, then perhaps your evidence - very slight evidence too - might be needed. After all, he didn't look particularly felonious, you say?'

  'No, indeed,' replied Agnes, although she did not like to tell Dorothy that somehow she still imagined criminals with shaven heads, attired in suits with broad arrows all over them, and shackles round their ankles attached to heavy weights. Perhaps a subconscious memory from her comic-reading days?

  'In fact,' volunteered Agnes, beginning to feel calmer, 'he looked rather like a student of some sort. Rather scruffy, of course, but most young men do these days, don't they?'

  'They do indeed,' agreed Dorothy. 'Now we must get on. We have the PTA meeting tomorrow night, and we must look respectable for the presentation. I shall go up and wash my hair.'

  She made her way towards the door,
checked by the window, and said, 'There's dear little Tim, waiting for his supper. Shall I give him something, or will you?'

  'I'll do that,' said Agnes, bustling towards the kitchen. 'You carry on with your hairwash.'

  She went, humming happily, to cut up Tim's supper, all fears of suppressing vital evidence now forgotten.

  The hot spell of weather began to show signs of ending. During the next day clouds began to gather in the west, and little breezes shivered the leaves.

  By the time Agnes and Dorothy were dressing in their best for the great occasion, there were distant rumbles of thunder to be heard.

  'It seems much cooler,' commented Agnes, as she followed Dorothy down the stairs. 'I wonder if I should bring my cardigan.'

  'You look so nice as you are,' said Dorothy, 'that a cardigan dragged over it would quite spoil the effect.'

  Grateful though Agnes was to be told that she looked nice, she was a trifle put out at the suggestion that her cardigans were usually 'dragged on'. However, this was no time to take offence at such a small matter, and she gave Dorothy a smile.

  'Well, I must admit my new cardigan doesn't quite go with this blue dress. I try to tell myself it tones, but I know really that it clashes.'

  'Blue is always difficult to match,' said Dorothy. 'Now how do I look?'

  She turned around slowly on the front door mat.

  'Superb!' announced Agnes. 'Every inch a headmistress!'

  'Then in that case,' said Dorothy, head held high, 'we will go over.'

  The partition had been pushed back, throwing Miss Robinson's and Dorothy's room into one. Already the place was crowded and to the ladies' discomfiture a round of clapping greeted their entrance.

  The rector ushered them to the seats of honour, beside himself and Mrs Gibbons, facing the throng. Gauleiter Gibbons, looking very spruce in a Prince of Wales check suit, was flanked by the other members of the PTA committee, the school governors and Mrs Cooke, the formidable matriarch of the Cooke family, who had joined the party uninvited and whom nobody dared to move away.

  Agnes, much embarrassed by all this publicity, tried to shut her ears to the eulogies which Mrs Gibbons and the rector poured forth.

  Dorothy, on the other hand, appeared to be relishing the list of her virtues which was now being given to an attentive audience. Agnes envied her aplomb. She herself was trembling with fright, and praying that she did not burst into tears at the crucial moment.

  'And we hope,' concluded Mrs Gibbons, proffering a large and obviously heavy parcel, 'that you will both think of us when you use it.'

  Dorothy rose, and gave a small jerk of the head, summoning Agnes to join her, and the two ladies held the package between them.

  'Undo it now!' hissed Mrs Gibbons. 'Everyone wants to see it.'

  Obediently, Dorothy put it on her own desk, now in command of Mrs Gibbons, and began to unwrap the clouds of tissue paper. Agnes stood at one side, excited at the sight.

  There was a murmur in the hall, as the final swathings were unfolded, and a cut glass fruit bowl was displayed.

  'Ah!' sighed the audience rapturously. Dorothy held the beautiful object aloft, and Agnes gave a genuine smile of delight.

  'Madam Chairman, Mr Henstock, ladies and gentlemen,' began Dorothy, swinging gracefully into her prepared speech. 'What can I say? Except to give you our heartfelt thanks.'

  She continued, mentioning the happy years both had spent at the school, the kindness and generosity of the parents and governors, and the wrench that it would be for both of them to leave Thrush Green.

  The rector looked a little bewildered, as well he might, for it had been planned that he should hand over the governors' present of a clock as soon as the fruit bowl had been unwrapped.

  However, Dorothy's prompt, and somewhat lengthy, reply had taken him by surprise, and short of halting her peroration which would have been uncivil, and anyway pretty well impossible, the rector was obliged to await the lady's conclusion with as much grace as he could muster in the face of his fellow-governors' agitation in the front row.

  At last, Dorothy came to the end of her speech of thanks amidst polite applause. The rector arose and lifted the governors' package from beside his feet.

  'And I have the great privilege,' he said, bowing politely to the two ladies, 'to present you with a small token of esteem and thanks from the governors of Thrush Green school.'

  He held out the parcel, not sure which lady should take it. But Dorothy, now realising that she had leapt in rather too prematurely with her thanks, motioned to Agnes to accept the second present.

  Agnes went forward diffidently, and a storm of clapping and some cheers broke out, completely dumbfounding that modest lady.

  There was no doubting the affection which prompted this spontaneous tribute, and Agnes's eyes filled with tears. Dorothy too, joined in the clapping, obviously delighted on her friend's behalf.

  'Speech!' yelled someone at the back, and little Miss Fogerty raised a trembling hand for silence.

  'Ladies and gentlemen,' she quavered. 'Dorothy has said all I want to say, but I am just going to add a heartfelt "thank you" for many happy years, and to let you see me unwrap this exciting parcel.'

  The applause grew again, accompanied by some energetic stamping at the back by old pupils, as Agnes undid the paper and held up a charming brass carriage clock for all to see.

  Taking heart from the obvious show of affection, Agnes added, 'This lovely present from the governors will be a memento of our friends at Thrush Green for many years.'

  At which, she sat down, smiled across at Dorothy, and thanked heaven that her tears had not actually run down her cheeks throughout her ordeal.

  'You were absolutely splendid,' Dorothy told her later that evening, when they had regained the peace of the school house.

  'And so were you,' Agnes said loyally. 'I could never have made such a wonderful speech.'

  'I didn't find it easy,' admitted Dorothy. 'Thank goodness it's over. But you know what I shall always remember?'

  'Mrs Cooke among the governors?'

  'No, dear. The well-deserved tribute to you that came from every heart.'

  Before midnight, as Dorothy and Agnes were seeking sleep, the storm broke.

  The thunder had become louder as the evening had worn on, but it was past eleven o'clock before the rain began.

  It fell in a heavy deluge. Great drops spun like silver coins as they hit the parched earth. Within minutes, it seemed, little rivulets gushed along the gutters and down the steep hill to Lulling.

  Agnes stood by her bedroom window to watch the transformation. The roofs of Thrush Green glistened. Rain dripped from Nathaniel Patten's shoulders, and from the heavy foliage of the chestnut avenue.

  The playground was already awash, and the tombstones ranged round St Andrew's churchyard stood wet and shiny like so many old men in mackintoshes.

  There was little wind, just this ferocious cascade from the heavens, and Agnes felt the overpowering relief which the plants and trees, and the thirsty earth itself, must be experiencing.

  The scent of water on stone, grass and soil, filled her with joy. The hot weeks, so warmly welcomed at first, had held Thrush Green, men, animals, trees and all living things, in a relentless grip of drought for too long.

  Now release had come. Agnes held out her hands to catch the raindrops, patted them on to her hot forehead, and went contentedly to bed.

  The Misses Lovelock were still without their silver, and still without help in the house.

  They took these reverses remarkably well, and looked out a canteen of cutlery of somewhat inferior calibre, which had been in use by the domestic staff in the old days, and trusted that their usual tableware would reappear before long.

  The police gave them little hope as the days passed. There was a rapid and well-organised turnover of such objects, the Lovelock ladies were told. The young man probably passed on his haul within an hour or two of collecting it, and there was no sign of his whereab
outs.

  The only development was a grubby postcard from Doreen to her mother. The postmark was so faint and smudged that it was quite illegible, but the message was clear:

  Me and the boy are all right. Don't worry. I will write again.

  Love,

  Doreen

  'You see,' said Gladys to Nelly, 'there's not a word about this Gordon, or about coming back. But she's with him all right. I don't doubt that, and I suppose I'd better take this card to the police.'

  Nelly agreed that it would be the proper thing to do. She felt very sorry for Gladys, and for the Lovelock sisters, blaming herself partly for furthering the introduction of the truant to the three old ladies.

  Charles Henstock was equally concerned, and had rung his friend Anthony Bull several times to ask if he had heard anything at his end. But nothing occurred to give him comfort. Wherever Gordon, Doreen and the child were, was a mystery, and all that could be done was to wait and hope.

  The thunderstorm which had ended the drought, also seemed to have ended the summer as well, for it was followed by a period of cool rainy weather during which Agnes had recourse to her cardigan again.

  Most of the residents of Thrush Green greeted this return to semi-winter philosophically, grateful for the refreshment of their gardens, and freed from the bondage of those exhorting them to save water.

  Albert Piggott and Dotty Harmer took pleasure in the new pool, admiring their handiwork. Dotty wondered if another six or so ducks would give added glory, but Albert was less enthusiastic.

  'They makes a mort of mess,' he observed dourly, watching a dozen webbed feet transferring water, pondweed and general slime from the pool to the freshly-laid stones.

  'No, no, Albert!' protested Dotty. 'They are simply behaving naturally. You can see the dear things are really happy. I should like to give a few more ducks the chance to enjoy it. There must be a lot of deprived ducks about.'

  Albert thought of the few weedy specimens kept in a pen at Perce Hodge's farm, but forbore to tell Dotty of their plight. She'd have them down before you could turn round, he thought, surveying the muddy stones around the pool. His labours were already being spoilt. No point in hastening the process.