(6/13) Gossip from Thrush Green (23 page)

'I shall certainly not append my signature. I do not intend to kow-tow for the sake of a cup of tea which I can brew for myself rather better next door.'

'I was thinking of the visitors, Bertha,' ventured Violet.

At that moment, the chiming of the church bells changed to one steady tolling of the tenor bell.

'We must step lively,' said Bertha, quickening her pace. 'It looks as though our hall clock must be running slow.'

During the sermon, Violet allowed her gaze to dwell on the glowing glass of the famous window. To be sure, she had never been able to see with absolute clarity just what the pictures showed. She knew that the incidents depicted were the draught of fishes, Jairus's daughter, and the miracle of water turning into wine. The illustrated pamphlet told her so. The colours were really magnificent, but there were so many pieces of glass in each picture, and all so intricately interposed, with those squiggly worms of lead everywhere, that she had often wondered if that really was a net full of fishes (Herring, perhaps? Surely not in the Sea of Galilee?) or simply the lower part of the fishermen's robes. Not perhaps the most
practical
garment for a fisherman, when one came to consider it.

Thus musing, she let her eyes pass from the mystery of the windows to the frank and handsome face of dear Anthony Bull as he stood declaiming in his beautiful voice.

What an actor he would have made, thought Violet! Such a presence, such manly beauty, such clarity of diction! And he really gave very sound sermons, nothing too highbrow and yet not patronisingly simple, as though his congregation was composed of non-intellectuals. This morning's subject, for instance, on the theme of good fellowship and the need to consider the feelings of others in everyday life, was being very well expressed.

She only hoped that Bertha, who could be rather unnecessarily tart at times, was listening attentively. How lucky they were in Lulling to have such a fine vicar! He really deserved a larger and more knowledgeable congregation than this quarter-filled church.
A better house,
thought Violet, was how it would be put in theatrical circles. Certainly, such a star performer, she decided, admiring a graceful gesture of his hands, deserved a truly discriminating audience, and no doubt he would have one someday.

Meanwhile, it was to be hoped that he would remain the vicar of Lulling for many a long day, delighting them all with his outstanding looks, his kindly manner and the genuine goodness of his way of life.

Sunday lunch at the Lovelocks' was always cold. Violet had set the table before going to church. Starched linen, heavy silver and Waterford glass dressed the table with splendour. It was a pity that the meal set upon it was so sparse.

Six thin slices of corned beef were flanked on one side by a Coalport dish containing sliced cold potatoes, and on the other by equally gelid carrots. A beautiful little cut glass bowl contained beetroot in vinegar. Liquid refreshment to accompany this inspired course consisted of lemon barley water in a glass jug covered with a lace cloth beaded round the edge.

'A very good sermon this morning,' commented Bertha, chewing her corned beef carefully with her few remaining teeth.

'Such a pity there were not more to hear it,' agreed Violet. 'I was thinking so in church.'

'Well, we appreciate dear Anthony even if we are only a few,' said Ada. 'I think we can pride ourselves on being discriminating here in Lulling. We are very lucky to have him.'

Bertha cut a ring of beetroot carefully in half.

'But for how long, I wonder?' she said.

Her two elderly sisters gazed at her with curiosity. Had Bertha heard a rumour? And if so, from whom? And why had they not been told?

Bertha attempted to assume an air of nonchalance under their scrutiny. She was not very successful.

'Oh, it was just a chance remark of Mrs. Bull's when I saw her at the draper's yesterday. She was buying some hat elastic.'

'Bertha, people don't buy
hat
elastic these days!' cried Violet.

'Well, no, but I imagine she needed it for her undergarments, and one wouldn't want to ask for
knicker
elastic in a public place.'

'
Knicker
or
hat,
' pronounced Ada, 'is beside the point. What did she say?'

'Oh, something about changes in the air, and Anthony much perturbed about decisions to be made.'

The two sisters looked disappointed.

'That could be anything from altering the site of the compost heap in the churchyard, to replacing those dreadfully shabby hassocks in the Lady Chapel,' said Ada.

'Or some little matter of church ritual,' added Violet, putting her knife and fork neatly across her empty plate.

'Maybe, maybe!' agreed Bertha airily. 'Well, time alone will tell.'

She rose and collected the plates. When she returned she was bearing a dish full of glossy black cherries.

'A present from dear Colonel Fisher yesterday evening,' she said, 'when you were both in the garden. I thought I would keep them as a surprise for dessert today.'

'Do you remember how we used to hang them over our ears?' said Violet, picking up a pair. 'We used to pretend the black ones were jet ear-rings and the red ones were ruby.'

The three old faces glowed at the memory, Anthony Bull's affairs forgotten in the excitement of this delicious surprise.

'I remember it as if it were yesterday,' declared Ada. 'You were always the pretty one, Violet, with your fair hair. The red cherries suited you best.'

'We were all pretty children,' said Bertha firmly, though no one would think so to see us now. Still, we are clean and healthy, and I suppose that is something at our age.'

They enjoyed their cherries, removing the stones politely from their mouths, behind delicately curved bony hands.

Later they stacked the china and silver in the kitchen to attend to later, and went into the sunshine to rest.

The sun warmed their old bones and Bertha yawned.

Violet began to giggle.

'Do you know, Bertha dear, your tongue is as purple as a chow's!'

'Really? No doubt yours is too after eating black cherries.'

The three old ladies put out their tongues and surveyed each others. Laughter shook their thin frames, and for a brief moment they reverted to the three pretty little girls who had played in this same sunlit garden, wearing starched pinafores and cherry ear-rings, over seventy years earlier.

A week or two later, the problem of Dotty Harmer's convalescence arose. Ella Bembridge had offered to have her at her cottage, but Winnie Bailey, secretly fearing that Ella's home might not provide the peace which Dotty would need for a week or two, suggested to her old friend that the invalid might stay with her.

'The spare room is empty, as you know, Ella dear, and Jenny is longing to do a bit of spoiling. We are both in the rudest of health now, and it would be a real pleasure to have Dotty. You've done more than your share with Flossie and the other animals.'

Ella gave in with good grace.

'Well, to tell you the truth, I am rather behind with my weaving, and the garden's been neglected. Not that I mind much, first things first, you know, but if you're quite sure, I'm happy about it.'

It was arranged that Harold Shoosmith and Isobel would collect Dotty, and Flossie would be transferred to Winnie's to be reunited with her mistress.

And so, one August afternoon, Harold and Isobel set off in the car, which had been polished for the occasion, to fetch their old friend.

She still looked remarkably frail and her steps were faltering as she made her way to the car on the arm of matron—a high honour not lightly bestowed. But Dotty's spirit was unquenched, and she chattered cheerfully all the way along Lulling High Street, up the hill, and past Ella's cottage, the gap left by the destroyed rectory, and the grass of Thrush Green.

Winnie welcomed her with a kiss and Flossie with ecstatic barking. Harold and Isobel promised to call the next morning, and then withdrew, leaving Winnie and Dotty alone in the sitting room.

Dotty's thin hands were caressing Flossie's long ears as she gazed happily about her.

'I can't tell you how good it is to be here. They were so
very
kind to me at the hospital, but I pray that I may never need to go there again.'

Well, I hope you will stop with me for as long as you like,' said Winnie. 'You must get your strength back, you know.'

'My strength?' exclaimed Dotty in amazement. 'But I am quite strong now, Winnie. I shall thoroughly enjoy staying overnight here, but of course I must get back to the animals tomorrow morning.'

'We'll talk about that later,' said Winnie diplomatically. But now I am going to ask Jenny to make the tea.'

'How is she?' asked Jenny when Winnie appeared in the kitchen.

The same old Miss Harmer,' Winnie told her, with a smile.

'Oh dear!' cried Jenny. 'That means we might have trouble!'

Dotty's niece, Connie Harmer, had kept in touch with her aunt's Thrush Green friends throughout Dotty's illness, and had driven some fifty miles from her home at Friarscombe to see the old lady in hospital.

She was a sturdy woman in her forties, with auburn hair now streaked with grey, and a square weatherbeaten face. She was as much attached to the animals as was her aunt, and perhaps this was why she had never married, finding the human race, and particularly the male of the species, very much inferior to her own charges.

The Henstocks, Ella Bembridge and Winnie Bailey were old friends of hers, and were glad to see her when she came to see Dotty in her hospital bed. She was frank with them all.

It's like this. I'm quite willing to have dear old Aunt Dot to live with me, but will she come? If she's too groggy to cope alone at Lulling Woods, I'd certainly consider selling up and making my home with her, if that seems the right thing to do, but I don't relish the prospect, and that's the truth. In any case, I'd need a month or two to make arrangements for some of the animals, and selling the house would take time.'

'Let's see how things go,' said Winnie, at whose house this conversation took place. 'It's best that she convalesces here, near Doctor Lovell, and we'll all keep in touch. But somehow, Connie, I can't see any of us persuading Dotty to leave that cottage of hers.'

'Nor me. Ah well, she's lucky to have such noble friends around her, and you know I'm willing to take on any permanent responsibility when the time comes. I've always been very fond of Aunt Dot, crazy though she is at times.'

'That goes for us all,' Winnie told her.

Luckily, Dotty was soon persuaded to continue to stay at Winnie's for at least another week, and appeared to have forgotten her resolve to rush back to the animals by the next morning.

It was one of the disconcerting things about the invalid at this time. She was vague about time. 'Let's say more than usually vague,' amended Charles Henstock, and although Doctor Lovell was optimistic about the full recovery of his patient, even he admitted that Dotty would be better in the permanent company of someone like her reliable niece.

It was while she was still recuperating that Lulling was agog to learn that the Misses Lovelock had been summoned to the local police station to view some pieces of silverware which had come into the hands of the police.

Full of hope, the three sisters tottered along one bright morning, stopping only by the Corn Exchange to read some extraordinary messages, written in chalk, on the walls of that building. The words were not familiar to the three ladies, but the content of the slogans was. The writer presumably did not approve of the Prime Minister nor of the country's police force.

'But, Violet,' said Ada in bewilderment, 'does one spell that word like that?'

'Ada dear,' said Violet, with some hauteur, 'it is not a word that I find myself needing to spell.'

Bertha, as usual, took charge.

'We must draw the attention of the officer on duty to this defacement, when we call in. I'm sure he will deal quite competently with the matter, correct spelling or not. It is not the sort of matter for ladies to concern themselves with.'

'Should you end your sentence with a proposition, Bertha?' asked Violet innocently.

But she was ignored, and the three mounted the steps of the police station.

Sadly, there was only one of the Lovelocks' lost objects among the display set out on a trestle table in a back room with Police Constable Darwin on guard.

'Father's rose bowl!' cried Ada.

'What a miracle!' cried Violet.

'Given to him on his retirement!' cried Bertha. 'How wonderful of you to recover it.'

They walked slowly round and round the table, gloating over the beautiful objects before them.

'And where did you find all these lovely things, officer? So clever of you.'

'Well, miss,' said Police Constable Darwin, 'I'm not at liberty to say, but it wasn't us chaps at Lulling as came across this lot. But several people, besides you ladies, have lost stuff around here, so it's our turn to show it.'

'And have the other people found theirs here?'

'You was the first to be asked,' the constable told them.

'Well, that is most gratifying. Most kind. We feel quite honoured, I assure you. Now, are we allowed to take home Father's rose bowl?'

'I'm afraid not, miss. It'll have to be exhibited in court, see, when we've picked up the thieves. There's still a lot missing. If you notice, miss, all this is the big stuff, salvers and bowls and that.'

With commendable delicacy he ignored a seventeenth century toilet set, with a pair of silver chamber pots to match, and directed the Misses Lovelock's attention to trays, teapots and other tableware, including the rose bowl, which stood at the farther end of the table.

'We reckon this is only about a quarter of what's missing. The smaller stuff's probably been passed on. Melted down already, I don't doubt.'

There were horrified gasps from the ladies, and Police Constable Darwin hastily tried to make amends for his gaffe.

'But let's hope not. After all, this lot's turned up. Keep your fingers crossed, ladies. Anyway, I'll mark this rose bowl down in the book as belonging to you. Want another look round to make sure?'