(10/13) Friends at Thrush Green (11 page)

The sun was beginning to sink behind Lulling Woods, and midges hovered in gauzy clouds over the river. In an hour or so the owls would be out, and the bats and moths, all busy above the glimmering water in their search for food. The river creatures of day and night might be different, thought Charles, setting off for home, but the river was unchanged in its steady progress eastward and the music of its voice.

Charles strode along the footpath until it emerged into the most westerly road of Lulling within a mile or two of the vicarage. He was calmer and more refreshed than when he had set out, but his mind was not entirely at ease.

It was the plight of Violet Lovelock which worried him. He had kept his word and returned to see Bertha again, hoping that she might have faced the fact that she had been at fault, and determined to overcome her weakness.

But his visit had been in vain, as he suspected it would be. Bertha was as evasive as ever, admitted nothing, was even more autocratic than was usual, and now that she was up and about appeared to be determined to go out as soon as possible.

Violet had been unable to get Charles alone on that occasion, but cast him appealing looks which rent poor Charles's kind heart. Later, he had spoken to her on the telephone, urging her to call at the vicarage whenever she felt the need. She had sounded resigned and exhausted, which Charles found even harder to bear than her earlier agitation and tears, but there seemed little more that he could do.

As he walked up the High Street of Lulling in the failing light, he came to the Lovelocks' house and paused. There were lights in the drawing-room. They were not very bright lights, to be sure, probably just one or two table lamps containing low-watt bulbs, just enough to give adequate light to the sisters' knitting or crossword puzzle.

On impulse, Charles mounted the steps and knocked. Footsteps approached, and there was a rattle as the chain on the door was removed. Bolts were shot back, the door opened, and Violet stood silhouetted against the dim light of the hall.

'Oh Charles!' she cried. 'How lovely to see you. Do come in.'

Her two sisters fluttered to their feet as Charles came into the drawing-room, expressing delight and offering sherry or coffee.

Charles declined and apologized for disturbing them.

'The fact is,' he explained, 'I simply saw your lights on and couldn't resist calling to see you.'

'How very kind,' said Ada.

'Very kind,' echoed Bertha.

The room seemed stuffy and chilly at the same time, but Charles told himself that it was probably his own walk in the fresh air that made this present situation so enervating in contrast.

The usual polite enquiries were exchanged about health, gardens and the like, until Bertha announced with some pride:

'Tomorrow I am taking Ada and Violet to lunch at The Fuchsia Bush.'

There was a gasp from Violet, and a puzzled look from Ada; it was quite apparent that this was the first they had heard of it.

'Are you sure, dear?' enquired Ada.

'I had prepared a little chicken in a casserole,' said Violet.

'No, no!' said Bertha, with some vehemence. 'I
particularly
want to go next door tomorrow.'

There was a pause.

'Very well,' said Violet at last. 'I'm sure we should all enjoy it.'

'I must be off,' said Charles. 'Dimity will wonder where I am. So good to see you looking so well.'

Violet accompanied him to the front door. 'One moment,' she whispered. 'I will walk part of the way with you.'

She returned to the drawing-room briefly, and then joined Charles. He was surprised to see that she did not put on a hat or gloves, as was her wont, but simply drew on a jacket which was hanging in the hall. Charles helped to arrange it round her skinny shoulders, and they descended the steps into the deserted street.

'I felt I must have a word with you,' began Violet, as they set off towards the vicarage. 'You have been
such
a support through this awful time, and 1 just wanted you to know that I am feeling so much better about the whole affair.'

'Is she over it? Faced things? Or has John Lovell seen her?'

'No, no, nothing like that. She still refuses to admit anything, but I have made up my mind that we can only do so much and no more. It's I who have faced things, Charles.'

She slowed to a stop. It was now almost dark. Moths fluttered around one of the street lamps which were beginning to come into light along the High Street. A black-and-white cat trotted purposefully under the shadow of the shop fronts, intent on its nightly business. In a nearby front garden, the night-scented stocks sent out a heady perfume.

'I shall keep a sharp eye on Bertha, and accompany her whenever she goes out. Luckily, I don't think she is able to slip away unnoticed. And if she transfers any more things to her bedroom, I shall simply ignore it.'

'Has she said any more about the will?'

'Not a thing. But I am quite prepared to have a private word with Justin if she broaches the subject again.'

'I don't think you can do more at this stage,' agreed Charles, 'and I must say I am so relieved to hear that you feel that you can cope with her.'

'What else can we do? She is my sister, and I am devoted to her, infuriating though she is at the moment. I know I can ask you for help, and if need be I can speak to Justin and John Lovell. Meanwhile, I live in hope that she will come to her senses.'

She gave a sudden shiver.

'You are getting cold,' said Charles anxiously. 'The wind is quite chilly. I think you should go back, and I will come with you to the door.'

'No, no, indeed! It is only a few steps, and I shall hurry back. But I wanted to tell you how things are. No better really for Bertha, but much more settled for me.'

'Call on me if ever you are worried,' replied Charles, and watched her scurry back to her home.

Later that evening he told Dimity about his visit to the Lovelocks' establishment.

'You are not still worrying about Bertha's little weakness?' said his wife. 'It is general knowledge, you know, and most people are very understanding about it.'

'I hadn't quite realized,' replied Charles, somewhat taken aback, 'that the Lovelocks' affairs were generally known.'

'Good heavens, Charles,' cried Dimity, 'you've lived in Lulling long enough to know how news gets about! All that I bother about is seeing you so worried. I suppose poor Violet has been unburdening herself to you!'

'I'm truly sorry I've been a worry to you,' said Charles. 'I should have realized that you are ever-watchful. But I really think that things will be easier now in that unhappy household.'

He told her a little of Violet's attitude, and of her reaction to Bertha's strange ways.

'It certainly sounds more hopeful,' said Dimity, folding up her sewing in preparation for bed time. 'Now I shall get a hot drink. You look tired and cold, as well you might with the Lovelocks' burdens upon you.'

She kissed the top of his shiny bald head as she passed his chair on the way to the vicarage kitchen, and wondered if his parishioners really knew how completely he lived for them.

8. Term Begins

GLADYS Lilly had performed her cleaning task at the school house with exceptional zeal and speed, and Thrush Green was pleased to see a large removal van draw up at the Lesters' gate one morning.

'They've got a lovely sofa,' Jenny told Winnie Bailey as they made the beds together. She was standing at the window, plumping up a pillow as she gazed across the green. 'Like my old folks had, only their springs had gone. And I wonder what's in them crates?'

'Jenny, do come on! I've left the gammon boiling, and it will be all over the stove.'

Jenny wrenched her attention from the Lesters' affairs, and returned to the bed-making reluctantly.

'I wonder what they'll find missing at the end of the day,' she remarked, as she tucked in sheets in an efficient hospital corners' way. 'It's usually something small like the tea strainer, or the washing-up brush.'

'Bound to be something vital,' agreed Winnie.

Of course the rest of Thrush Green was equally enthralled by the Lesters' arrival. Joan Young and her husband Edward reminded each other of the upheaval they had experienced when settling Joan's parents into their new abode.

Muriel Fuller, sorting out material with Ella Bembridge, told her of the horrors she had endured when it came to packing up her old school's property, and her own personal belongings as well.

'It's not so much what you want to
keep,'
she said, 'as what you simply
have
to throw away. I nearly had a nervous breakdown. Doctor Lovell was so understanding. He said I'd been living with my nerves for years.'

'You wouldn't be much use without them,' said Ella bluntly, and Muriel withdrew into affronted silence.

Isobel Shoosmith, the soul of hospitality, would have liked to ask the Lesters for morning coffee, but in view of Harold's earlier remarks about doing too much for their new neighbours decided to leave any invitations until later in the day. It was possible, she thought, that Harold himself might make overtures over the hedge.

But the most concentrated attention came from Albert Piggott who had taken up a strategic position in the churchyard. Ostensibly, he was weeding round the edges of the plot, and had a bucket beside him in which he occasionally deposited a handful of grass, chickweed or groundsel. The more virulent intruders such as young brambles, stinging nettles and the like, Albert ignored. Young Cooke could get on with those—what was he paid for?

Albert noted a nice plain green carpet going in, followed by a set of book cases and two upholstered arm chairs. Getting the sitting-room done first, thought Albert with approval. They'd need a good rest this evening. A number of tea chests were carried in next; they clanked rather noisily, and Albert surmised that they held kitchen equipment.

He moved round inside the churchyard wall to get a better view, just in time to see a single divan bed being hoisted from the pantechnicon. Now would that be for one of the children or for the master or his wife? Albert watched closely from behind a tombstone erected to 'Ezekiel West 1798–1860, Beloved By All' (an assertion which Albert had always considered unduly optimistic) and was rewarded by seeing three more single divans following the first.

Albert considered this to be a very sensible arrangement. He and Nelly had separate beds, in fact they had separate rooms, and Albert appreciated it. Nelly snored, although she hotly denied it.

Having satisfied himself about the sleeping arrangements, Albert left Ezekiel West's resting place, and shifted to 'Patience Wellworth, Devoted Wife and Mother' whose dates of birth and death were obscured by some tendrils of ivy which Albert had no intention of removing. Resting his arms on the top of Patience's granite cross, he observed with pleasure that the landlord of The Two Pheasants was opening his doors.

At the same moment, he became conscious of a large object being manhandled through the school house's front door, to the accompaniment of warning shouts. It was a large double bed, and Albert's conjectures were now thrown into confusion.

He put down his half empty bucket and sought solace in the pub.

Betty Bell, returning from her labours at the Shoosmiths' that morning, called to see Dotty Harmer on her way home. As well as her regular visits to that house, Betty often 'popped in', as she said, to keep an eye on the old lady, although this was not so vital now that Kit and Connie were there to look after their eccentric relation.

Dotty was busy trying to rake dead leaves from the surface of her little pond. She was not being very successful, and the half-dozen displaced ducks were squatting moodily nearby, occasionally giving a protesting quack.

She abandoned her task and motioned Betty to the garden seat, taking her place beside her. Betty was not surprised to see that Dotty's shoes and stockings were soaking wet, and that she had a streak of mud on one cheek.

'I'd let Mr Kit do that job,' said Betty. 'It's too much for you. And you ought to get your shoes off. Catch your death, you will.'

'Don't fuss, Betty,' responded Dotty, 'you're as bad as Connie. A little dampness never hurt anyone. After all, we are three parts water I believe, and originally evolved from water creatures.'

'Some time ago,' Betty pointed out reasonably. 'You on your own?'

'Kit and Connie are getting back for lunch,' said Dotty. 'Which reminds me, I'm supposed to turn on the oven.'

'Well, let's go and see to it,' said Betty, used to Dotty's vague ways, 'and I'm going to see you take off them wet shoes, and give you a cup of coffee. I don't suppose you've had any?'

'Well, no,' admitted Dotty, 'I've been rather busy.'

Betty shepherded the old lady into the kitchen, peered into the oven, turned it on, and then filled the kettle. Within ten minutes, Dotty's stockings and shoes were removed and replaced with dry ones, and the coffee was made.

'Is this the milk?' queried Betty, sniffing at a small jug. 'Smells a bit off to me.'