(4/13) Battles at Thrush Green (19 page)

'Would you like to come in?' she asked. 'Sit down or anything?'

'No, thank you,' replied Miss Watson. 'I must go home. As for the parcel, I will give it to her myself later. There are one or two things to explain.'

She nodded politely, and set off into the darkness.

'She's aged a lot,' said Mrs White to her husband when she had closed the door.

'It's end of term,' replied Mr White sagely.

16 Getting Justice Done

T
HE
members of the parochial church council met in the dining-room at the rectory, and tried gallantly to look warm in that bleak apartment. The more prudent of them had added cardigans or waistcoats to their attire before setting out, and the aged churchwarden flatly refused to remove anything but his hat, with a courage which his fellow members secretly admired.

There were two vacant chairs, and the rector explained the matter at the outset.

'This meeting has been called, in the first place, because I have received the resignations of Mrs Cleary and Mr Hodge. I very much hope that they can be persuaded to change their minds, and we are here to discuss ways and means of meeting the views of the objectors.'

'I suppose it was to be expected,' said Miss Watson. She looked pale and dejected, thought Harold Shoosmith sitting opposite her. Glad to have a break from those children, he supposed. He'd sooner be in trade than teaching, that was sure!

'It grieves me very much,' said the rector, 'to have this split among our good people.'

'You can't call eight a split,' broke in Harold.

'A disagreement then,' amended the rector. 'I wondered if you would think it a good idea if one of us met the objectors, or invited them to meet us, as a body, to see if we couldn't come to some amicable arrangement?'

'Sound 'em out, you mean?' said someone. 'Who are they anyway?'

The rector consulted the list while various voices recited names around the table.

'Besides Mr Hodge and his wife, and Mrs Cleary, there are Mr and Mrs Jones from "The Two Pheasants" and John and James Howard, and Martin Brewer.'

'You may not have noticed,' quavered the aged churchwarden, 'that John and James Howard work for Mr Hodge, and live in one of his tied cottages.'

'Surely,' said Miss Watson, 'he wouldn't interfere in their religious convictions?'

'No, I'm not saying that. But they'd do as he told 'em.'

'And Martin Brewer,' pointed out someone else, 'works at Mrs Cleary's shop.'

'I thought he had a job as a van driver for the laundry,' said the rector, looking bewildered. 'I'm sure he calls here. A very pleasant young fellow, and understands all about decimal coins.'

'He doesn't drive now,' said Harold. 'He was disqualified for twelve months after an accident.'

'Deserved it too,' said the churchwarden. 'Doing seventy round the new estate. Dreadful!'

'Only according to the radar trap,' said another. 'I don't hold with those things. It isn't British, catching people when they're not looking.'

A heated debate might well have broken out, but the rector, familiar with the signs, banged the table and restored order.

'So Mrs Cleary gave him a job?'

'That's right. He's weighing up corn and grit and that, and loading the van for her.'

'I like oyster shell best,' said someone conversationally. 'My hens won't touch anything else, though my old dad used to sweep up the grit from the road, I remember, and our chickens at home seemed to thrive on it.'

'And you think,'
said the rector, regaining control with some effort, 'that Martin might have signed because he felt grateful to her, or some such thing?'

'Could well be,' said Harold. 'Who does that leave?'

'Mr and Mrs Jones. I know he has been very forceful about it.'

'Only because of his Auntie May,' said the churchwarden. 'He thought the world of her. She's buried up near the yew tree. Nice bit of pink sandstone, she's got over her.'

'It occurs to me,' said Harold suddenly, 'that Mrs Cleary's family grave, and the Hodge graves are all close to the yew tree, and if the Jones's Auntie May is there too, we may be able to leave that small area undisturbed and still go ahead with levelling the rest.'

There was a respectful silence as the council digested this.

'What a happy thought!' said the rector.

'And Mr Jones's Auntie May,' said the churchwarden, 'was a Hodge, of course. That's why she's there.'

'A Hodge?'

'Yes. May Hodge. Pretty girl, she was. Married Jones's uncle, and brought up Jones when his mother died. Now, she
was
a one! Proper harum-scarum! D'you remember that time she climbed up the rookery, George?'

He turned to a contemporary, wheezing with ancient laughter.

'We are most grateful,'
cried the rector above the asthmatic noises, 'for bringing this to our attention. And how do you feel about Mr Shoosmith's suggestion that the area near the yew tree could be left?'

There were general murmurs of approval.

'That part,' said Miss Watson, suddenly coming to life, 'is so close to the new graveyard, which I think we agreed would remain as it is, that surely some beds with shrubs could make an attractive corner by the Hodge and Cleary graves, and at the same time provide a partial screen for the new graveyard.'

'It was supposed to be a privet hedge,' said the churchwarden. 'I well remember the row about green or golden, but the war came, you know, and we never got round to it.'

'I'm sure Miss Watson's idea could form the basis of an excellent scheme,' said Harold. 'But first things first. What about our eight objectors?'

'May I propose,' said Miss Watson, 'that some of us – or the rector himself, better still – approach them and see how they react?'

'Get 'em to withdraw their resignations,' growled George. 'Silly lot of nonsense! Old Percy Hodge is a useful chap and Mrs Cleary's all right when she's not on her high horse. I say, let the rector talk to 'em. The others will follow.'

'I should be only too happy to do what I can,' said Charles. 'This estrangement has been a great grief to me. And, of course, the sooner we get unity, then the sooner the faculty may be granted. If the objectors remain adamant, we must face considerable delays and considerable expense, as we are well aware. Nothing would please me more than to be able to resolve our differences here, at Thrush Green, without the unhappiness of going to court.'

'Then I propose that the rector sounds them out,' said Miss Watson.

'I'll second that,' said George.

'And what about some rough plan of the graves' area?' said Harold. 'Wouldn't it be a good thing to have something to show our objectors? They might be able to suggest further improvements.'

'Perhaps Miss Watson would help?' said Charles. 'It was her idea.'

'And Mr Shoosmith,' suggested another. 'He knows his onions when it comes to gardening.'

Thus it was left. Miss Watson and Harold would draft a rough plan for the rector to show the objectors, and it was left to him to see if some compromise could be arranged.

The meeting dispersed. Harold and Miss Watson walked together across the moonlit green.

'I go away tomorrow,' she told him, 'but I'll think about shrubs and so on which follow each other through the year, and perhaps we can meet when I get back in a few days' time.'

'I don't suppose Charles will have much time before that to do his visiting,' agreed Harold. 'Christmas keeps him pretty busy. No holiday for clergymen!'

They reached the school house gate.

'I hope you enjoy your break,' said Harold politely.

'Thank you,' replied Miss Watson. 'For once, I shall be glad to leave Thrush Green.'

As the rector had forecast, Christmas was mild and damp, and four of his parishioners told him to expect a spate of funerals within the next few weeks. It seemed to give them some satisfaction to impart the knowledge, which the good rector accepted with mingled resignation and fortitude.

Winnie Bailey spent the day with the Young family, in their handsome house so near her own. Ella and Dotty joined the Henstocks for tea, and the Hursts had gone to Frank's son in Wales for Christmas, leaving Tullivers and the cat in the care of Winnie Bailey.

In the week that followed, the inhabitants of Thrush Green turned, with some relief, to their usual way of life. Apart from dozens of Christmas cards blowing to the floor in every passing breeze and generally holding up the daily dusting, the main problem was to find a new way of presenting the remains of the turkey.

'I think curried turkey is the best way of finishing it up,' said Dimity one morning, when she was taking coffee at her former abode with Ella and Winnie.

'Not bad,' agreed Ella, 'but I prefer it with mushrooms and white sauce. Easy to do too. Or shepherd's pie, of course.'

'The fact is,' said Dimity, 'that
any
turkey dish, after five days of it, tends to pall. I'm
longing
for a steak and kidney pie!'

'I didn't buy a turkey this year,' said Winnie.

'Then you're extremely lucky,' her friends told her.

'And now we've January to look forward to,' sighed Ella. 'Talk about the January blues! What with the bills, and the general damp and gloom, and so long to wait for spring – it does get one down!'

'I cheer myself up,' said Dimity, 'by tidying a cupboard. It makes me feel so virtuous and efficient.'

'I buy a new pair of shoes,' said Winnie.

'A packet of bourbon biscuits peps me up,' said Ella. 'Or putting out a new tablet of soap. Very therapeutic, putting out a new tablet of soap, I find.'

'As good as a day in the garden?' asked Winnie.

'Far better, in January,' replied Ella emphatically. 'Have some more coffee? I asked Dotty to come up, but she doesn't seem to want to be sociable these days. Worrying about that confounded court appearance, I suppose. One thing, the Cooke boy is home again, I hear, and getting over the mumps. That must ease poor old Dotty's conscience.'

Winnie said nothing. Dotty's confidences would never be disclosed, but she knew that she would never forget the depths of misery in which she had found her old friend on that dark afternoon.

'Well, a court case
is
worrying,' said Dimity. 'I think we're all worried for her. It will be a good thing when it comes up in a fortnight or so, and we can all forget the wretched business.'

There was one person who was more worried than most about Dotty's case, and that was the clerk to the Lulling magistrates. A comparative newcomer to the area – he had moved from a busy London court a mere ten years earlier – he could not be expected to know the ramifications of relatives, employers and employed, and other complications of rural communities.

To give him his due, he readily discovered the difficulties within a few months of taking up his appointment. He tackled his job with outstanding ability and good humour, and was readily accepted by a community which normally took some time to acknowledge a newcomer as 'one of us'.

He was used to the occasional 'sitting back' of a magistrate in cases where the defendant was known to, related to or employed by that particular justice. The case of Dotty Harmer was creating even more trouble.

Six of the twelve Lulling magistrates stated roundly that they could not possibly sit in judgement upon Dotty. Not only had all six been instructed – painfully, sometimes – by Dotty's notable father at the local grammar school, which would not have mattered greatly, but all knew Dotty from childhood days.

'Used to play tennis with her, didn't we, Bob?' said one farmer to his fellow magistrate. 'She never did get round to serving over-arm, but she was deadly at the net.'

The fishmonger cried off because Miss Harmer was one of his best customers 'owning all those cats'.

Another justice was her builder. Another had been employed by her family for a time. Another claimed that he was 'a sort of cousin' and poor Mr Pearson, the clerk, could see it was going to be hell's delight to find three justices willing to hear the case.

Urgent telephone calls to the remaining six justices brought little help. One was waiting to go into hospital, and a third, the youngest newly-appointed matron, confessed that she had just discovered that she was to have a baby. At that moment, Mr Pearson's coffee arrived, and he suspended operations to fortify himself.

Really, he thought, stirring pensively, it was all very fine for Lord Chancellors to urge the appointment of young females to the bench, but it did complicate things! He stopped stirring as a thought struck him. If she had only just discovered her condition, then it was reasonable to suppose that her confinement was some months distant. Consequently, there seemed to be no reason why she should not attend court on the day of Dotty's case. He resolved to try the last three justices, and to ring back to Mrs Fothergill if he could not gather three together.

He finished his coffee and tried again. This time he was lucky. Mr Jardine could come. His wife, he believed, knew Miss Harmer at the Field Club, but he had only met her once. No, he had no objection to sitting. Dam' it all, if one were to sit back every time someone slightly known appeared before one, it would be impossible to conduct a court at all!

Mr Pearson agreed heartily, thanked Mr Jardine sincerely, and set about the ensnaring of Lady Winter.

That lady said that she had a great many engagements on at the time of Dotty's case. When was it? One moment, she would consult her diary. It was not very convenient as she was organising a Charity Ball that evening and would be getting her hair done. Would Mr Pearson care to come? The tickets were five pounds each and she was personally making the punch.

Mr Pearson, with his usual diplomacy, turned down the invitation, and then threw himself into urgent pleading, explaining the terrible predicament he was in. Lady Winter, who had a soft spot for the clerk, allowed herself to be persuaded, and agreed to make her hair appointment in the late afternoon instead of the morning. No, she had not the pleasure of knowing Miss Harmer, although she had heard of her father. Who hadn't?