(6/13) Gossip from Thrush Green Read online

  And with a sigh of relief, and no regrets at all, Jenny turned back to her happy solitude.

  Jenny's weather forecast was correct. The rain had gone, leaving a sodden countryside and dripping trees and gutters, but above the sky was clear and blue and there was a freshness in the air that made one think of autumn.

  'Bit parky coming along,' cried Betty Bell, bursting in upon Harold and Isobel Shoosmith still at the kitchen breakfast table. 'Are you late or am I?'

  'We've been taking our time,' replied Isobel. 'Lots of letters this morning. But we've finished now, and we'll get out of your way.'

  'No hurry,' said Betty. 'I called to see Miss Harmer as I came by. Actually, I popped in last night after I'd done the school. She don't look right to me.'

  'Oh dear! Is she eating properly?'

  'Seems to be. I mean, she'd got a bowl of cornflakes this morning with some brown sugar on it, and Dulcie's milk. Nourishing, I should think, if you can face goat's milk and brown sugar. Which I can't, and that's a fact.'

  'Shall I go down there, Betty?'

  'I don't think I would today. She'd think I'd been telling tales, see? Anyway, Miss Connie comes this afternoon, and stays there tonight, so she'll have company.'

  Betty tugged off her coat and hung it on a peg on the back of the kitchen door.

  'If you haven't got any particular plans for me,' she said, 'I thought I'd have a bash at the china ornaments in the drawing room. They look a bit grubby.'

  As the china ornaments were Chinese porcelain, very old, beautiful and valuable, it was hardly surprising that Harold winced. 'Having a bash' was exactly how Betty attacked her work.

  Isobel, with habitual aplomb, coped beautifully with this kind offer.

  'I'd rather hoped to turn out the spare room today, Betty. I'll come up and help you turn the mattress and we'll make up the bed.'

  'Right,' said Betty, rummaging in the cupboard for the carpet sweeper, handbrush, dustpan, polish, dusters and other equipment for the onslaught. 'See you pronto.'

  She lugged the paraphernalia into the hall, and then returned.

  'You know them two next door are going to leave next year?'

  'Yes,' said Harold, folding his newspaper.

  'And Albert Piggott's givin' up half his job?'

  'Yes,' said Harold.

  'And the Hursts are going to America again?'

  Harold nodded.

  'And they're not going to put up another house for poor Mr Henstock? Ain't it mean? There's going to be an ugly great clinic place there. Heard anything about that?'

  'Not a word,' said Harold, rising from the breakfast table. 'And you don't want to believe all you hear, Betty.'

  'Sorry I spoke!' said Betty, flouncing from the room.

  Husband and wife exchanged rueful glances.

  Charles Henstock polished his old car during the morning, ready to visit the Bishop promptly at two-thirty.

  The Bishop detested unpunctuality and was not above saying so. Charles respected the great man's principles, and was determined not to offend.

  'Let me just see how you look, dear,' Dimity said, before they set off.

  She scrutinised her husband from his pink and shiny bald head to his old but gleaming shoes.

  'Very nice, Charles, but do remember to pull up your socks before you go in. The Bishop is always so beautifully turned out. He's as immaculate as Anthony Bull, and that's saying something.'

  'Anthony has a great advantage. He is a fine-looking fellow. Anything would look well on him. The last time I saw him he was tending his bonfire, and he still looked as though he had just emerged from a band box.'

  Dimity privately thought that Anthony Bull's stipend allowed him to buy expensive suits made by his tailor, while dear Charles was obliged to purchase his off the peg. However, she did not voice this unworthy thought.

  'Well, you look very well yourself,' she told Charles comfortingly, 'and now we must be off.'

  The rain had freshened the countryside, and the shabby hedgerows of late summer were now sparkling with moisture. Already the ploughs were out, turning over the bright stubble into long wet chocolate furrows.

  Dimity noted the yellowing leaves already showing on the beech and wild plum trees. Soon autumn would be upon them, and although she loved the mellowness, the rich colouring and the joys of bringing in the harvest fruit and vegetables, she felt a little shiver of apprehension about the cold weather to come.

  The rectory had always been so bleak. Surely, wherever they went would be more comfortable than their last domain!

  Perhaps the Bishop would give Charles some firm idea of his plans for their new home. It was certainly most disconcerting to be kept in such suspense.

  However, Charles knew her views well enough on this matter, and it was useless to try to make him assert himself. Charles was Charles—sweet, far too humble and a living saint. She would not have him changed one iota!

  'If you drop me at the back of Debenham's,'she said, 'I can go through their bed-linen department, and you won't hold up the traffic by trying to stop at their main entrance.'

  Charles did as he was told, promised to pick her up again at four o'clock, and set off, feeling a little nervous, to his appointment.

  The Bishop lived in a fine red-brick house at the end of a long drive bordered with lime trees.

  Charles parked his car in as unobtrusive spot as possible beside a flourishing prunus tree, and tugged at the wrought-iron bell pull by the white front door.

  A very spruce maid welcomed him and showed him into the Bishop's drawing room.

  'I'll tell the Bishop you are here,' said the girl. 'At the moment he is telephoning.'

  She departed, leaving Charles to admire the silver cups on a side table, and the oar hanging above the fireplace. The Bishop was a great oarsman, Charles remembered, a true muscular Christian. Perhaps that contributed to his good looks, thought Charles, and bent to pull up his wrinkled socks as Dimity had told him.

  The solemnly ticking grandfather clock by the door said two minutes to the half hour when Charles heard the Bishop approaching.

  He stood up as the door swung open.

  'My dear fellow! I hope I haven't kept you waiting. You are wonderfully punctual. Come into my study. We'll be unmolested there.'

  He strode through the hall, followed by the good rector who admired the clerical grey suit which clothed those broad shoulders and neat waist.

  He certainly was a handsome fellow.

  But at least, thought Charles, I remembered to pull up my socks.

  Connie Harmer arrived at much the same time as the Bishop invited Charles to take a seat in the study.

  She found her aunt resting obediently on her bed, kissed her affectionately and enquired after her progress.

  Connie's expression was as calm and competent as ever, but inwardly she was much alarmed. Dotty looked old and haggard. Her lips and cheeks wore a purplish tinge. She was definitely vaguer in manner than at her last visit.

  'I'm dying for a cup of coffee,' said Connie, pulling off her driving gloves. 'I'll bring you one too.'

  Dotty nodded dreamily in agreement, and Connie went downstairs.

  Her first job was to ring Doctor Lovell. His receptionist promised to tell him the minute he returned from his rounds. Then she put on the kettle, and thought hard while it came to the boil.

  Well, the time had come. She had made her plans, and friends had offered a good price for her house and land. Aunt Dot had always been good to her, and she could live very happily here in her cottage, bringing only a few of her most cherished animals to share the rest of their lives with Dotty's.

  She carried the tray upstairs and put it down on the bedside table.

  'There we are, Aunt Dot. And when you've finished it, we're going to have a little talk about the future.'

  At four o'clock Dimity waited in the vestibule at the rear entrance of Debenham's, surrounded by parcels.

  Charles arrived soon after and they piled everyth
ing into the back of the car in great haste, as a van man drew up, practically touching Charles's back bumper with his own, and putting his head out of the window to address the rector.

  From his accent he would appear to be a Glaswegian, thought Charles, and so—perhaps fortunately - his message was entirely incomprehensible to southern-English ears. His demeanour, however, was threatening and abusive, and Charles and Dimity were relieved to drive off.

  'I was going to suggest that we had a cup of tea at Debenham's,' said Charles, 'but it wasn't a good place to park evidently. We'll stop at the Oak Tearooms instead. Anyway, they have quite the best toasted tea cake in the district.'

  Dimity knew better than to question her husband while he was driving in traffic, and it was not until they were safely ensconced among the oak panelling and chintz curtaining of the renowned tea rooms that she began.

  'And how did you find the dear Bishop?'

  'As upstanding as ever. He enquired most kindly after you. Ah! Here comes the girl!'

  The girl was approximately the same age as the rector, must have weighed thirteen stone, and was dressed in a rather tight flowered coat overall.

  'Could we have some of your delicious toasted tea cake? And a pot of China tea for two?'

  The waitress wrote busily on a little pad.

  'Any jam, honey or other preserve? We have our home-made apricot, mulberry and quince.

  'How lovely that sounds!' cried Dimity. Like a list of jams from Culpeper!'

  'We only keep our own, madam,' said the girl with some hauteur.

  'Then shall we try mulberry, dear?' asked Dimity. 'I don't think I've ever had it.'

  The waitress added MJ to her pad and departed.

  'And now tell me, what happened, Charles?'

  The rector began to look quite shy.

  'Did you know that Anthony Bull is leaving Lulling?'

  Really? Now you come to mention it, I believe Bertha Lovelock said something about it.'

  The rector's look of shyness was replaced by one of startled exasperation.

  'But how on earth could she know? It isn't general knowledge yet!'

  'Well, you know how things get about in a small community,' said Dimity soothingly. 'Anyway, where's he going? Not retiring surely?'

  'Far from it. He's been appointed to a splendid living in one of the Kensington parishes. Rather High Church, I gather, and a most beautiful building. Anthony will be just the man for it, the Bishop said. I'm so glad he has got preferment. I always felt that Lulling was only a stepping stone to greater things for Anthony.'

  The waitress reappeared with the tray and set out the teapot, milk jug, hot water container and a large dish covered with a silver lid.

  A small bowl containing a wine-coloured confection aroused Dimity's interest.

  'And this is the mulberry jam? What a beautiful colour.'

  'We make it on the premises,' replied the waitress, thawing in the face of Dimity's enthusiasm. 'We have a tree in the garden. It is reputed to be a hundred and fifty years old.'

  'How wonderful!'

  The waitress made off again, and Dimity applied herself to pouring out the tea.

  'But what about us, darling? Did he mention anything about our new house?'

  'He did indeed. I think two of those sugar lumps. They seem rather small.'

  'They're called fairy lumps, I believe,' said Dimity. 'Well, go on.'

  'I'm afraid there won't be a new house, my dear.'

  Dimity dropped the sugar tongs in her dismay.

  'Not a new house? Then where on earth are we to go?'

  Her husband had now bent down to retrieve the tongs from beneath the table. When he reappeared his face was very pink.

  'To an old one, Dimity. I have been offered the living of the four merged parishes, and we should live at Lulling Vicarage.'

  Dimity gazed at him open-mouthed.

  'Charles!' she croaked at last. 'I can't believe it! That lovely, lovely house!'

  'Don't cry, Dimity! Please don't cry,' begged Charles. 'Aren't you pleased?'

  Dimity unfolded a snowy handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

  'Of course I'm pleased. I'm just completely overwhelmed, that's all. Oh, Charles dear, this is an honour you so richly deserve. Won't it be wonderful to have our own home at last?'

  'I'm glad you are pleased. It means we shall still be among our friends, and I shall still be able to take services at St Andrew's.'

  'And when do you take over?'

  'Probably before Christmas. Anthony expects to be inducted in October or November.'

  'And then we shall be able to move in,' said Dimity happily. She spread mulberry jam in reckless bounty upon a slice of tea cake. 'What a blessing I didn't fall for some curtaining remnants this afternoon. They would never have done for the vicarage windows.'

  She looked with surprise at the jam dish,

  'Oh dear, Charles! I seem to have taken all the mulberry preserve.'

  'I think we might be able to afford some quince as well,' said Charles. By way of celebration, you know.'

  And he raised a plump hand to summon the girl.

  20. Looking Ahead

  AFTER the long dry summer, autumn came early to Thrush Green.

  The great leaves of the chestnut avenue turned golden and soon the boys from the village school would be collecting conkers.

  In the cottage gardens, Michaelmas daisies and goldenrod flourished, and Mr Jones began to wonder if his hanging baskets would last out their time before the first frosts came.

  Ploughing and sowing was done, and the fields lay brown and bare. Busy housewives bottled the last of the fruit, the blackberries, the bramley apple slices, and the quartered pears, and added them to the richness of the earlier summer fruits in their store cupboards.

  Ella Bembridge added two more handwoven scarves to her Christmas collection, and decided that she must buy a replacement for the tweed suit she had had for ten years, not to mention a stout pair of brogues ready for the winter.

  Miss Fogerty and Miss Watson decided to go to their favourite guest house at Barton for half term at the end of October. At least three houses sounded hopeful, judging from the estate agents' information. Naturally, one expected them to over-egg the pudding a little, as Dorothy pointed out to her more trusting partner, but even so, things looked promising. It would be lovely to clinch a deal, and thank heaven they had no house of their own to dispose of, added Dorothy. With any luck, they should have a place of their own before the winter had passed.

  The news of Charles's new appointment gave enormous pleasure to everyone.

  'The ideal man!' said Harold. 'The Bishop's done the right thing.'

  'And we shan't really lose you,' as Ella said to them both. 'I mean, you'll be nipping up to take early service just as usual, and Dimity can still get the crib ready for Christmas at St Andrew's.'

  Connie Harmer arrived to cake up residence with her aunt during November. The old lady appeared to be delighted at the arrangement, and her doctor and friends who had feared that she might suddenly dig in her heels and refuse to countenance any change in her way of life, breathed sighs of relief and welcomed Connie in their midst. Dotty herself was so absorbed in the half a dozen new animals of Connie's that her health seemed to be much improved, though, no doubt, as Betty Bell pointed out, Connie's cooking, which was first-class, had a hand in the old lady's improvement.

  Doris, at The Drovers' Arms, displayed a pretty engagement ring, and Percy Hodge put up the banns at the end of November.

  'And thank heaven for that!' said Jenny to Winnie. 'I must write and tell Bessie she was dead right!'

  Albert Piggott continued to help at Dotty's and elsewhere when needed, and also found time to supervise Bobby Cooke's church duties. The young man received rather more kicks than ha'pence, but his upbringing had inured him to such discomforts and he seemed happy enough.

  The most encouraging news for Thrush Green and Lulling came one afternoon at the beginning of December when
a notice appeared on the door of The Fuchsia Bush in Lulling High Street.

  'This establishment will be open from 9.30 a.m. until 6.00 p.m. in future' read the astonished passers-by.

  'I hear they hope to get the Christmas shoppers in,' said Miss Bertha.

  And I heard that those evening meals never really caught on,' added Miss Violet.

  'About time they realised that it is tea people want,' said Miss Ada, voicing the view of all.

  It was during the last few frenzied days of Christmas shopping, when The Fuchsia Bush was certainly doing a roaring trade from four o'clock onwards, that Molly Curdle's baby was born.

  'Just think,' said Winnie Bailey to Jenny. 'It weighed nine pounds!'

  'Poor thing!'said Jenny. 'But at least it's a girl. I know Ben hoped it would be. I wonder what they'll call it? It was going to be another Ben, if it had been a boy.'

  'I have a shrewd idea that it will be "Anne" after Ben's dear old grandma,' said Winnie. 'If she grows up as splendid as her namesake she won't hurt.'

  One mild January afternoon a small entourage walked out from the Youngs' gate.

  Skipping ahead was young George Curdle, unnaturally clean and tidy, from his watered-down hair to his well-polished shoes.

  Behind him walked his mother, holding the new baby well-wrapped in the beautiful old shawl which had first enveloped Ben himself. Beyond his parents came Joan and Edward Young and Mrs Bassett, Joan's mother. Her father had promised to come to the christening tea, but did not feel equal to standing at the ceremony.

  The air was soft and mild. It had a hint of springtime in it, and some early snowdrops and aconites, near the churchyard gate, made an encouraging sight. Against the church wall a shower of winter flowering jasmine spilled its yellow flowers.

  As Ben passed his grandmother's tombstone he patted it approvingly, noting the name and date anew.

  'Pity she can't be here to see this one named for her,' he said to his wife.

  'Maybe she knows anyway,' was her reply, as they passed into the church porch.