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

The rector looked sad, and Harold adopted a rallying tone.

  'Cheer up! It may never happen. Cross that bridge when you come to it, and all that.'

  The rector nodded, and put down his empty glass.

  'In any case,' went on Harold, 'I'd sooner face Edward than Mrs Thurgood.'

  Isobel put her head round the door. 'Ready for lunch?'

  'Always,' smiled Charles.

  The mild weather continued, and heart-lifting signs of spring were everywhere.

  Yellow tassels of the hazel catkins fluttered from the hedge. Yellow aconites, with ruffs of green, appeared with the snowdrops. Yellow early dwarf irises and early crocuses were about to burst into bloom, and over all spread the kindly yellow sunlight.

  Soon yellow primroses would star the woods, and the daffodils would blow their trumpets in the gardens of Thrush Green. Yellow, gold and green, spring's particular colours, would bring hope again after the bleak black and white of winter.

  On one of these hopeful mornings, Winnie Bailey and Jenny were discussing the possibility of a lunch party for a few of their old friends.

  'We can't seat more than ten,' said Winnie, 'and as far as I can see it will really be a hen party.'

  'And what's wrong with that?' asked Jenny.

  'Nothing, I suppose. I mean I must ask the three Lovelocks, and Ella and Joan Young. They've been so good, fetching and carrying for me through the bad weather. I think Dimity would come too, but that means two men as well. What do you think?'

  'I'd let the men fend for themselves that day,' said Jenny. 'Besides they wouldn't want to be swamped by all of us women.'

  'Fair enough. Well, that's eight counting us. What about Dotty and Connie?'

  'Ideal,' responded Jenny. 'Now, it's just the food to think about.'

  'I'll ring them today and arrange a date,' said Winnie, 'and then we can work out some menus. Something soft, I think.'

  'Soft?'

  'Jenny, dear,' explained Winnie patiently. 'Half of us have lost a great many teeth, and the other half have unreliable dentures.'

  'I never thought of that,' confessed Jenny.

  'You don't when you've got plenty of your own,' said Winnie sadly.

  'We might have tapioca,' suggested Jenny.

  Winnie snorted. 'I'm not sinking to tapioca, teeth or no teeth,' she declared.

  It was that same night which hid some very mysterious goings-on in the peaceful confines of Thrush Green.

  Later, no one could recall anything unusual during the hours of darkness. Joan Young had stirred at about three in the morning, being obliged to visit the bathroom, much to her annoyance. Harold Shoosmith had padded downstairs at much the same time to switch off the porch light which had been forgotten. Nelly Piggott, asleep in the back bedroom of her home, was dead to the world from twelve until six in the morning, and Albert, in the only other upstairs room, facing the green, was equally oblivious to what was happening across the road.

  For something certainly had happened, and it was Albert who made the discovery.

  It was nearly half past six when he awoke to the sound of Nelly moving about below. He heard the kettle being filled, the stove being riddled, and the cat mewing for its breakfast.

  He also became conscious of the squeaking and banging of the church gate. Someone had left it open, he thought morosely. One of them Cooke lot as like as not.

  It was beginning to get light as he crossed the road to shut the gate. Behind him the appetizing smell of rashers frying wafted from the kitchen, and he looked forward to his breakfast.

  The gate was damp. There might have been a shower in the night, but the air was mild and it was going to be another pleasant spring day.

  Albert sniffed the morning freshness with relish, and was about to return to his cottage when he noticed a strange object in the church porch.

  At first sight he thought it might be a large basket or trug left by the flower ladies. So often, heady with the floral displays they had just created, the church floral arrangers left their impedimenta behind, and Albert was quite used to retrieving secateurs, unwanted twigs, lengths of wire and, as in this case, baskets of varying size and shape.

  Grumbling to himself, Albert reopened the gate and made his way to the church porch. The sight which met his eyes stopped him dead in his tracks.

  The object certainly was a basket. It was a large one with a kind of hood covering half the base, and it was lined with a tartan blanket. Fast asleep in this shelter lay a curled-up dog, no more than a puppy.

  It wore a collar from which a long piece of rope led to the iron ring of the church door handle. Albert bent to look more closely, fumbling with the dog's collar to see if there were any signs of identification. There was none.

  Albert stood up and reviewed the situation. It was a nice little dog, a white Highland terrier, obviously well cared-for, and in an expensive basket. What worried Albert was its complete inertia. It had scarcely stirred when he had moved its collar round. It had not so much as blinked an eye. Could it be ill?

  Deciding that there was nothing to be done immediately, Albert began to shuffle back to his breakfast. The dog was in a safe sheltered place, deeply asleep, and Albert needed time to come to terms with this extraordinary situation. Perhaps Nelly could help?

  Nelly put Albert's breakfast on the hob to keep warm and returned with him to the church porch.

  'The little love!' she exclaimed on seeing the sleeping puppy.

  'But what's to be done?' asked Albert. 'The police?'

  Nelly was on her knees stroking the white head. 'Poor little soul! It don't seem to be very lively.' She looked up at Albert. 'Why don't you see Dotty? She's the best one for a job like this. She'll know what to do.'

  'I'll go down straightaway,' said Albert.

  Nelly struggled to her feet.

  'Not till you've had your breakfast you won't,' she said firmly. 'For one thing, Dotty won't be up, and more important, there's a good plate of food waiting for you.'

  Even in a crisis Nelly's first thoughts were of her cooking.

  The lunch party which Winnie planned took longer to arrange than was first envisaged.

  One would have imagined that collecting eight women guests, all apparently free from regular outside employment or the demands of young children or invalids at home, would be a simple affair.

  Winnie spent the best part of two days trying to find a time which was convenient to all.

  Bertha Lovelock had a doctor's appointment. The dentist was doing something which demanded Violet's attendance and co-operation. Ella Bembridge had an embroidery class. Joan Young, as a magistrate, had to go to her duties on the bench.

  Only Dotty and Connie, it seemed, were delightfully free to come whenever it could be arranged.

  At last the date was fixed for i March, which, as they all reminded each other over the telephone, was not far off, and wasn't it incredible how time flew? Here we were almost at the end of February! Almost into March! Quite astounding.

  Much relieved to have the date settled, Jenny and Winnie got down to the serious business of catering for a lunch party for ten elderly ladies with, possibly, dental troubles.

  'I suppose a nice round of beef is out?' said Jenny wistfully. 'Can't beat a nice roast, with Yorkshire pudding and horseradish sauce.'

  'I know, but I think something in a casserole, or some minced dish would fit the bill. What about a really luscious fish pie? With shrimps in it?'

  'I know for a fact Miss Harmer's averse to fish. Percy Hodge took her down a lovely trout last summer, and she never gave him so much as a thank-you.'

  'Oh dear! Shepherd's pie? A dish of minced beef?'

  'Not very festive, is it? Mince, I mean. Sounds like school dinners.'

  Winnie was obliged to agree, and silence fell.

  'Tell you what,' said Jenny at last. 'What about those tube things you like? Pasta things stuffed with mince? We shouldn't need potatoes with those, but have lots of interesting vegetables.'

 
'Cannelloni?' cried Winnie. 'Why, I think that's a very good idea, Jenny.'

  'And the cauliflowers are lovely just now,' continued Jenny, 'and we've lots of our own spinach in the freezer and runner beans.'

  'And a starter? Something simple, I think.'

  'Grapefruit?'

  'Too acid for Ella. Let's have half an avocado pear apiece. Always looks rather luxurious, and should suit everyone.'

  'Particularly the Lovelocks,' agreed Jenny. 'They'd never pay out for an avocado pear, even if they split it three ways!'

  Much cheered they began to draft the menu.

  Nelly Piggott had to depart for her work at the Fuchsia Bush, but Albert made his way to Dotty's cottage as St Andrew's clock chimed half past eight.

  He guessed that Dotty would be about, and he was right. He found her clearing away her breakfast things, and twirling a spoon which she had just removed from a jar of honey.

  'Want to lick it?' asked Dotty hospitably.

  Albert shuddered, and Dotty put the spoon into her own mouth with evident relish.

  'So good for one,' said Dotty when she had removed the spoon and flung it into the sink. 'Now, Albert, what brings you here so early?'

  Albert told her. Dotty listened attentively until he finished his account.

  'And it is still asleep?'

  'Well, it was when I had a look just afore I come down, but I think it had moved round in its basket. Looked more lively-like.'

  'Very odd,' mused Dotty. 'I shall get Kit to bring me up as soon as he's ready, and we will bring the poor thing here. Leave it with me, Albert. I will get in touch with the police, and the vet too, if need be.'

  'But what about old Flossie?' he asked, nodding to Dotty's ancient King Charles spaniel, a former derelict who had lived happily with Dotty for many years.

  'Flossie won't make any trouble,' said her mistress. 'She's got quite enough to worry her with her arthritis, poor love, and in any case, her sight is not what it was.'

  'You don't want fightin' and all that,' pointed out Albert.

  'There will be no hostility in this house,' Dotty told him firmly. It might have been her redoutable old schoolmaster father speaking, thought Albert, as he went on his way.

  Within an hour Kit, Connie and Dotty had met Albert in the church porch, and stood surveying the puppy. It was now attempting to get out of its basket, but was very wobbly on its legs. It was also whining in a very pathetic manner.

  'I think,' said Dotty, 'the poor thing has been sedated.'

  'Been what?' asked Albert bewildered.

  'Drugged. He's now coming round.'

  'He?' echoed Albert, peering short-sightedly.

  'Indeed it is. A fine young dog,' insisted Dotty, 'and I think the best thing to do is to take him to my kitchen and give the poor chap some hot milk.'

  All four set about transferring the animal and his basket to the waiting estate car, and within minutes Albert was watching it make its way home.

  'Be all right with Dotty,' he murmured to himself as he shut the church gate firmly.

  ***

  Dotty was at her most energetic in her kitchen. The newcomer had been given a light meal, a long drink of water, and been introduced to Flossie.

  She had behaved admirably after the initial sniffing had been done. She wagged her plumed tail and then repaired to her basket and fell asleep. Flossie was accustomed to stray animals in the kitchen, from orphaned lambs, goat kids and ailing kittens, to injured birds and small reptiles. She took the newcomer's presence philosophically.

  Dotty settled down to her telephoning and rang her old friend, the local vet. She explained the position and requested an early visit.

  'I'm going to Percy Hodge about midday. He's got a cow off colour. I'll pop in and see you between twelve and one.'

  'Oh good,' exclaimed Dotty, 'you could have some lunch with me.'

  'Very kind of you,' replied the vet hastily, 'but I really can't spare the time.'

  He had once suffered from 'Dotty's Collywobbles' after drinking one of Dotty's brews, and had learnt to be prudent.

  Her next telephone call was to Lulling police station, a charming building near the great parish church of St John's.

  The local police had a reputation as good gardeners as well, of course, as of being exemplary officers, and the police station was adorned with climbing roses and wisteria, and tubs of fine fuchsias each side of the front door, as well as hanging baskets dripping with lobelias, geraniums and petunias in the summer.

  In February there was not quite the same pressure on the force's horticultural pursuits, so Dotty was attended to by the sergeant on duty within seconds.

  He listened to Dotty's account, and put a few questions.

  'In good health, you say, madam?'

  'Splendid, apart from some drowsiness still after sedation.'

  'And you would like us to take it into custody? I mean, into care?'

  Dotty became agitated. 'No, no, no! I am quite capable of caring for him here, as you know. All my animals thrive. It is simply that I want you to have the facts so that the owners can be found.'

  'We'll do our best, madam,' replied the sergeant, holding the telephone some distance from his ear.

  'I can't think why the poor little thing has been abandoned,' went on Dotty, in full blast now. 'He has obviously been looked after very well, coat in excellent condition, nose just the right degree of dampness, and the most expensive basket and rug. It is a complete mystery, officer. A complete mystery!'

  The sergeant acknowledged a mug of coffee being put before him by one of his younger colleagues, rolling his eyes heavenward at the same time to show how much he was enduring.

  'Leave it with me, Miss Harmer,' he said at last. 'I'd better send someone along to make a few notes later today. For our records, you know.'

  'Of course, of course. I shall be at your disposal for the rest of the day. If you are here about four I can offer you a cup of fresh herbal tea. I know you must not take alcohol on duty.'

  'Thank you, madam, but no doubt one of us will call before four.'

  He put down the telephone with a sigh. 'John,' he said to the younger policeman. 'There's a job for you up at Lulling Woods early afternoon. A Miss Dotty Harmer. And whatever you do don't eat or drink anything while you're there.'

  'Why not?'

  His superior officer told him.

  March

  ...daffodils

  That come before the swallow dares, and take

  The winds of March with beauty.

  William Shakespeare

  March came to Thrush Green like a lamb rather than a lion.

  The mild weather of February continued during the first few days of the new month. The sun shone, the birds began a flurry of mating and nest-building, and the flowers of spring began to appear in woods, meadows and cottage gardens.

  At Winnie Bailey's house the new month was greeted with more than usual activity, for this was the day on which her old friends were coming to lunch.

  After much cogitation and rearranging, the menu had been settled. Avocado pears would be followed by cannelloni served with spinach and runner beans from the freezer and cauliflower from the Women's Institute stall.

  The dessert course had proved more difficult. Jenny was loud in her praises of 'a good crumble-top', and cited the home-grown gooseberries and plums bottled last summer.

  'Rather searching perhaps?' mused Winnie, still anxious about the digestive efficiency of her aged guests. 'I think a well-sweetened apple meringue would be better, and perhaps a fruit jelly as well. And we must remember to order plenty of cream from Percy Hodge.'

  'Cream might be too rich,' commented Jenny, slightly piqued at being denied the pleasure of making a large crumble-top, and the undoubted compliments she would have received on bringing it to the table.

  'We might have yoghurt,' said Winnie doubtfully. 'What do you think?'

  'Things are quite fancy enough with avocado pears and cannelloni,' said Jenny firmly
. 'Yoghurt as well would put some of the old ladies into a proper tizz-wazz. They'll like a nice English dish like your apple meringue and cream.'

  And no doubt, she thought rebelliously, they would have preferred a nice gooseberry crumble-top if they'd been given it.

  By twelve o'clock on the great day the table was spread with a fine pink cloth and matching napkins. The silver was dazzling after Jenny's ministrations, pink candles added to the ensemble, and a low pot of dwarf pink tulips stood in the centre. The sun shone upon all this splendour, the cannelloni was ready for the oven, and Winnie and Jenny hovered by the windows awaiting their guests.

  Ella and Dimity were the first to arrive, each bearing a pot of recently made marmalade, and were greeted affectionately, and while they were being helped with their coats, Joan Young's car drew up and the three Misses Lovelock were assisted from it.

  'I'll fetch them,' Joan had said when she had heard about the invitation. 'The thought of having to hire a taxi would spoil the whole day for them.'

  This was probably true, Winnie realized, but only someone as forthright as Joan would have said so. And no one as generous, thought Winnie, would have so readily have offered to fetch the ancient sisters.

  Soon they were all ensconced in the sitting-room sipping sherry, or mineral water, or orange juice, while Jenny shuttled between the kitchen and the visitors, keeping an eye on the cooking.

  Dotty and Connie were the last to arrive, and the conversation turned naturally to the extraordinary affair of the abandoned dog.

  'Doing very nicely,' Dotty assured them. 'Very friendly, eats well, gets on with Flossie, though of course she finds him rather boisterous.'

  'But whose was he?' queried Bertha Lovelock.

  'Still a mystery,' Dotty told her. She dipped a finger in her orange juice and sucked it.

  'Do you think I might have a knob of sugar, or preferably a little honey in this?' she enquired. 'It seems a little sharp.'

  Without a word Jenny went from the room and reappeared bearing a pot of honey on a saucer flanked by a teaspoon.

  Oblivious of all eyes upon her, Dotty scooped out a spoonful and stirred it briskly into her glass. The spoon she sucked with relish before replacing it on the saucer.