(6/13) Gossip from Thrush Green Read online

'How right you are,' agreed the rector. With his modest stipend, it was a blessing to have Dimity to remind him of the need for frugality.

  He looked round his study when his wife had departed to the kitchen. Since his marriage, Dimity had done her best to mitigate the austerity of this sunless room where so much of his work was done.

  She had put a rug down by the desk, to keep his feet from the inhospitable cold linoleum which covered the floor of the room. She had bought some shabby but thick curtains from a village jumble sale, to take the place of the cotton ones which had draped the study windows ever since he had taken up residence years ago.

  There was always a small vase of flowers on the side table, at the moment complete with pheasant's eye narcissi and sprigs of young greenery from the garden. An electric fire had been installed, and although Charles himself never thought to switch it on, used as he was to a monastic chill in the room, Dimity would tiptoe in and rectify matters on icy mornings.

  He was a fortunate man, he told himself, to have such a wonderfully unselfish wife, and one who had the gift of making a home in the straitened circumstances in which they lived.

  He thought of her suggestion about transferring his things from his present room to the upstairs one above the kitchen. Frankly, he disliked the idea. The very thought of carrying all his books up the steep stairs, of getting new shelves built, of sorting out his archaic filing system, and of asking someone to help him to manhandle his desk and armchair and all the other heavy furniture which was needed in his work, appalled him.

  And yet Dimity was quite right, of course. That room was certainly much lighter and warmer. They would not need the electric fire as they did here. In the end, he supposed, they would save money. But what an upheaval! Could he face it?

  He looked again at the results of Dimity's labours on his behalf. How it would please her to have him safely ensconsed in that pleasant back room! Surely, it was the least that one could do, to give way to one who was so unselfish and loving!

  Charles leapt to his feet on impulse, and traversed the dark wind tunnel of a corridor to find Dimity in the comparative warmth of the kitchen at its end.

  'My dear,' he cried, I've decided that your idea of moving the study upstairs is a wonderful one! As soon as we get back from Yorkshire we'll transfer everything, and meanwhile I'll think of someone to ask to make some shelves while we're away.'

  Dimity left the onion she was chopping on the draining board and came to hug her husband.

  'What a relief, Charles dear! It will be so much better for you, I know. You really are a good man.'

  Her face was radiant.

  'I ought to be a lot better,' replied Charles. One can only go on trying, I suppose.'

  That afternoon, when Charles had mounted his bicycle to go down the hill to Lulling to visit the vicar, Dimity went across the road to see Ella at the cottage which she had shared for many years with her redoubtable friend.

  She found her threading her ancient handloom on the table in the sitting room window.

  'Hello, Dim,' she greeted her friend. 'Look at this for organisation! I'm getting ahead with my scarves for Christmas. Any particular colour you fancy?'

  Dimity swiftly went over the plentiful supply of Ella's scarves which were already stocked in a drawer. Pink, fawn, yellow, grey—now, what hadn't she got?

  'I think a pale blue would be lovely,' she said bravely. 'It goes with so many colours, doesn't it? Thank you, Ella.'

  She sat herself on the well-worn sofa, and watched Ella's hands moving deftly at her task.

  'I've brought some good news,' she began.

  'Won the pools?'

  'Alas, no. But Charles has agreed to move his study upstairs.'

  'Well, it's about time too. I wonder he hasn't had double pneumonia working in that morgue of his. Want a hand shifting stuff?'

  'Well, not at the moment, Ella dear. But perhaps later. We don't propose to do anything until we come back from our holiday.'

  'Tell me more,' demanded Ella.

  Dimity explained about Edgar and Hilda, and the hoped-for help of Lulling's vicar and old Jocelyn.

  'Thrush Green will be empty for most of May then,' said Ella. 'What with the Hursts away, and you two gallivanting in Yorkshire.'

  'Oh come!' protested Dimity, 'that's only four of us. And in any case, the new couple will be at Tullivers then. Think how nice it will be to have some fresh faces here.'

  'Depends on the faces,' replied Ella. 'Frankly, I prefer old friends. For all we know, these two outsiders are going to cause more trouble than Thrash Green bargains for.'

  And as it happened, Ella was to be proved right.

  5. The Henstocks Set Off

  THE last day of April closed in golden tranquillity. Warm and calm, from dawn until sunset, there had been promise of the summer to come.

  The daffodils and early blossom in the Thrush Green gardens scarcely stirred all day, and the bees were already busy, their legs powdered with yellow pollen.

  Joan Young, wandering about their small orchard, thought that she had never seen such drifts of daffodils there before. They surged around the wheels of Mrs Curdle's ancient caravan, and she remembered, with a sudden pang, that this would be the first year without Curdles' Fair to enliven May the first.

  What must Ben be thinking? He never mentioned the fair in her presence, but she knew that Molly wondered if he grieved over the loss.

  For that matter, all Thrush Green mourned the passing of their much-loved fair. Now old Mrs Curdle lay at rest across the green she knew so well, and this reminded Joan of something else.

  She returned to the house and called upstairs to Molly.

  'Help yourself to daffodils. There are masses just now, and if Ben wants some for his mother's grave, tell him to pick all he wants.'

  Later that evening she saw Ben carrying a fine bouquet across to the courtyard. He had paid his tribute to his grandmother every May day since the old lady's death, and Joan liked to think that his loyal affection was shared by all Mrs Curdle's friends at Thrush Green.

  Much to the consternation of everyone, the question of Dotty adopting a child cropped up once more.

  She broached the subject herself one morning when she called at the rectory.

  'You know it's weeks now since I wrote to four or five reputable adoption societies, and still no result. Isn't it dilatory? Here I am, hale and hearty, and all prepared to share a good home with some child in need—male or female—and all I've had have been acknowledgements of my letters.'

  'But, Dotty dear,' began Dimity, 'these things always take time.'

  Charles, more bravely, spoke his mind.

  'I think you should reconsider the whole question of adoption, Dotty. You may be hale and hearty, but you are getting on, and I don't think any adoption society would allow a child to settle with you. And naturally, a home that can offer two parents is going to be preferred.'

  Dotty snorted impatiently.

  'I have filled in a form or two, come to think of it, and of course I had to put my age and status on them. And a rather strange fellow came to see me.'

  That, thought Dimity, would be enough to put anyone off. Dotty's kitchen alone would strike horror into the heart of anyone trying to find a home for a stray cat, let alone a young human being.

  'Are you sure he was from one of the societies?' asked Charles. 'Some very odd people call at houses these days to see if they are worth burgling later.'

  Dotty dismissed this alarmist suggestion.

  'Oh, he showed me some papers and a card which guaranteed his claims. I rather forget which society he represented, but I gave him a cup of coffee. He left most of it,' she added. 'Rather a waste of Dulcie's good goat's milk, I thought, but dear old Flossie finished it up when he had gone.'

  She patted the cocker spaniel at her feet with affection. Flossie's tail thumped appreciatively on the rectory floor.

  'I feel obliged to say this,' said Charles. 'I am positive that this idea of yours�
�though well-meant, and typical of your generosity, Dotty my dear—is quite wrong, and I can't help feeling that no adoption society would find you a suitable person to bring up a child.'

  'And why not?' demanded Dotty, turning pink with wrath. 'I should put the child's interest first every time. There is plenty of room in my cottage, and all those lovely animals to enjoy. And of course I intend to leave my possessions, such as they are, to the child when I die.'

  The kind rector sighed, but stuck to his guns. As Dimity, and all his parishioners knew well, his gentle manner cloaked an inflexible will when it came to doing his duty.

  Give up the idea, Dotty. Why not invite a younger relative or friend to share the cottage and to help you with your charges. What about Connie? You enjoy her company.'

  Connie was Dotty's niece, a cheerful single woman in her forties, who lived some sixty miles west of Thrush Green and occasionally called on her aunt.

  'Connie has quite enough to do with her own small-holding,' replied Dotty. 'And now she has taken up breeding Shetland ponies, and could not possibly find time to move in with me—even if she had the inclination.'

  She reflected for a moment.

  'Of course, if I could buy that small paddock of Percy Hodge's, there might be an incentive for Connie to bring the ponies there. I must say I should enjoy their company.'

  'And Connie's too, I trust.'

  Dotty shrugged her thin shoulders.

  'Oh, Connie's quite a reasonable gel. David brought her up very sensibly without too much money to spend, but I don't want Connie. And I'm quite sure Connie doesn't want me!'

  She rose to her feet, hitched up her wrinkled stockings, and set off for the door, followed by the faithful Flossie.

  'I'm quite sure all your advice is for the best, Charles,' she told him. 'But I know what I want, and I don't intend to give up my plans just yet. Have a good holiday in Yorkshire. I shall call on Edgar and Hilda when they have settled in, and bring them a goat's cheese which is already maturing nicely in the larder.'

  And on this gruesome note she left them.

  The possibility of some poor unfortunate child finding itself adopted by Dotty was an absorbing topic of conversation for the residents of Thrush Green and Lulling.

  All agreed that the idea was typical of Dotty—generous but outrageous. However, the general feeling was summed up by Willie Bond, Willie Marchant's fellow postman.

  'No one in his right mind's going to let the old girl have a child living in that pig sty. Stands to reason, these adoption people know what they're up to. She doesn't stand a snowball's chance in hell.'

  It gave his listeners some comfort.

  Equally absorbing was the strange behaviour of Percy Hodge during the indisposition of Winnie Bailey's Jenny.

  The present of eggs was followed by some lamb chops, a box of soap, a large tray of pansy seedlings which Winnie felt obliged to bed out in pouring rain, and several bunches of flowers.

  Jenny was bewildered by these attentions, and somewhat scornful.

  'What will people think? Silly old man! Making me look a fool.'

  'Not at all,' replied Winnie. 'It's most thoughtful of him. I'm sure it's all done in a purely friendly spirit.'

  'Well, I'm not so sure he isn't missing his Gertie's cooking,' said Jenny bluntly. 'Looking around for a housekeeper, I'd say. I'm half a mind to snub him soundly, cheeky old thing! As if I'd ever leave you!'

  'Don't worry about it,' begged Winnie. 'Just accept the situation, and be polite to him. Time enough to worry if he pops the question.'

  But despite her calm exterior, Winnie herself was a little perturbed. Jenny, she suspected, had summed up the position very neatly. If, of course, her feelings changed, marriage to Percy might be a very good thing for dear unselfish Jenny. He was a kindly fellow, affectionate and thoughtful. He had a sizeable farm and a pleasantly situated farmhouse which Jenny would enjoy cherishing. No, thought Winnie, of course she would not stand in Jenny's way if that was what she wanted one day in the future, but how she would miss her if that situation arose!

  Comment at The Two Pheasants was less polite.

  'No fool like an old fool,' quoted one of the customers.

  'You'd think old Perce would count his blessings being a peaceful old widower,' said another sourly. It was well-known that his own marriage was fraught with acidity, acrimony and the results of too much alcohol.

  Albert Piggott grunted his agreement. He knew about wives too.

  'Not that Jenny wouldn't do well for herself,' he conceded. 'Percy's a warm man. Got a bit in the building society, and some in the post office. He told me so himself one day. And then his Gertie was a rare one for managing. I bet she left a nice little nest-egg. No, if Jenny's got any sense she could do worse than plump for old Percy.'

  'What Jenny does is one thing,' announced the local dustman, pushing across his glass for a refill. 'What I hates to see is a chap of Percy's age making sheeps' eyes at a gal. Looks a right fool he does, mincin' along with a ruddy bunch of flowers in his hand. Don't seem to care what people say, neither. I told him straight: "You be a bigger fool than you look, Perce Hodge, and that's sayin' something!" But he only smirked. Hopeless, that's what he is! Absolutely hopeless!'

  'Ah! He's got it bad,' agreed Mr Jones, the landlord. But there, that's love. Takes you unawares like. Now drink up, please gentlemen! You can all see the clock!'

  And the affair of Percy and Jenny had to be discussed later in the night air of Thrush Green.

  Jeremy, naturally, was an interested observer of Percy's attentions, and frequently enquired about them.

  Winnie did her best to evade his questions, but he was a persistent young man, and sometimes caught her off guard.

  'What will you do if Jenny goes to live at the farm?' he asked one evening, looking up from an ancient jigsaw puzzle which Winnie had unearthed for his pleasure.

  'I don't suppose she will go,' answered Winnie equably. Jenny seems very happy here.'

  'But it may be the last chance she gets of getting married,' pursued Jeremy. 'I mean, she's quite old. Do you think she'll have any babies?'

  'Was that the door bell?' asked Winnie, playing for time.

  'No. You see, you have to be pretty young to have babies. Paul told me all about having them last holiday.'

  He searched among the box of pieces and held up a bit of blue sky triumphantly.

  And how much, wondered Winnie, did Paul Young impart to his friend of this particular subject? And had Phil been informed?

  'Do you think Jenny knows about babies?'

  'I'm quite sure she does,' said Winnie hastily.

  'Well, it all sounded pretty odd to me when Paul told me, but I was jolly glad to know what that button in your stomach was for at last.'

  'Really?' said Winnie, much intrigued.

  'Didn't you know? It blows up like a balloon, and when it pops, a baby is there.'

  'Indeed?' observed Winnie politely.

  'I'm surprised you didn't know,' said Jeremy severely. 'I should have thought Uncle Donald would have told you, him being a doctor. He must have seen it happen.'

  'Probably,' said Winnie, 'but he was always very careful not to discuss his patients with me.'

  'Ah! That's it, of course! But you will let Jenny know what happens, won't you? She might not be sure.'

  'I am positive that Jenny knows all that is necessary,' said Winnie, 'and in any case, arrangements between Mr Hodge and Jenny are entirely their affair. It's something we should not discuss.'

  Jeremy looked at her in mild surprise.

  'But everyone, absolutely everyone is talking about it in Thrush Green!' he told her.

  And that, thought Winnie, could well be believed.

  'Time for supper,' she said briskly, and made her escape to the kitchen.

  The day of the Henstocks' departure for Yorkshire dawned bright and windy. Great clouds scudded across the sky before an exhilarating south-wester.

  Dimity and Charles packed their
luggage into the car in high spirits. The ancient Ford had been polished the day before, and gleamed with unusual splendour.

  Before they set off, Dimity called at Ella's to give her the key and a number of agitated last-minute directions.

  'There are six tins of evaporated milk in the larder, for the cat, but there is one opened in the fridge which should be finished up. And there's plenty of pig's liver in the freezer, Ella dear, if you don't mind taking out a small packet the night before you need it. I've left scissors as well as a knife and fork with her plates, and perhaps—'

  'My dear Dim,' said Ella, 'calm down! I know where everything is, and that cat won't starve, believe me. Now, you two go and have a real break, and forget all the duties here. They'll be waiting for you when you get back—you know that.'

  'We really will relax,' promised Dimity. 'You can't imagine how we've been looking forward to it. You know the house will be empty until Wednesday? Hilda and Edgar are breaking their journey at Coventry to see a cousin in hospital.'

  'I'll keep my eye on things,' Ella assured her, ushering her firmly down the garden path. 'Now off you go, and I'll see you the minute you get back. Have a lovely time.'

  She watched Dimity flutter across the road and enter the gloomy portal of the Victorian rectory, then turned back to tackle the daily crossword.

  'Poor old Dim,' she said aloud, as she searched for a pencil. 'Do her a world of good to see the back of that dreary house.'

  She little thought that her words would prove to be a prophecy.

  ***

  The bright breezy weather continued in the early days of May, much to the satisfaction of Thrush Green gardeners, zealous housewives who rushed to wash blankets, and Miss Fogerty and Miss Watson who had the inestimable relief of seeing their charges running off steam in the open air at playtimes.

  'I think I really must find some new toys for the wet day cupboard,' observed Agnes to her headmistress. They were enjoying their morning coffee in Agnes's new classroom, and the infant mistress was surveying a pile of torn comics and incomplete jig-saw puzzles which were due to be deposited in the dustbin.