(7/13) Affairs at Thrush Green (21 page)

'I really think that my
muscles
have toned up very well,' she told Dorothy Watson, it's just that I seem to get so
tired
these days, and I have lost so much weight that my skirts are slipping down.'

'You know what I think,' responded her friend. 'You are half-starved, my dear, and it's time John Lovell noticed it.'

'But I see him regularly every six weeks,' protested Agnes, 'and he is delighted with my arthritis. He says my blood is very much purer than it was, and I'm making excellent progress.'

'Towards the grave, at this rate,' commented Dorothy tartly. 'I really think you should go and see him. You're right down to skin and bone, Agnes, and far too pale.'

'Well, I'm due to see him again in a fortnight's time. Weil see what he thinks then.'

But it was in the same week, a golden one of mellow September sunshine, that little Miss Fogerty gave a small cry, rather like a kitten's, and slid to the floor from the breakfast table.

Dorothy Watson was much alarmed. She knelt beside her unconscious friend and tried to remember all the right things to do to resuscitate the fainting.

She had a fleeting memory of a railway poster seen in childhood of how to cope with those electrocuted. It showed a railwayman, complete with splendid moustaches, lying comatose, whilst another in gold braid—presumably the station master—was loosening the patient's collar as shown in Figure One.

Agnes's collar did not need loosening, and Dorothy was just about to put a cushion under her head when Miss Fogerty opened her eyes and said quite lucidly:

'It must be time for school.'

'That can wait,' replied Miss Watson. 'You lie there, my dear, while I fetch a rug.'

'Thank you,' agreed Agnes, with such docility that Dorothy's alarm grew.

She hurried upstairs for a travelling rug and took the opportunity of looking from the bedroom window across to John Lovell's surgery. It was with relief that she saw his car was already there, but Miss Pick's, his secretary's, was not.

Miss Pick, although an excellent secretary, was overanxious to spare her employer, so she frequently kept patients from talking to him on the telephone. It did not endear her to those in emergencies such as the one now confronting Dorothy.

Agnes appeared to be dozing when she returned. She tucked the rug round her, closed the door carefully, and made her way to the telephone in the hall. She did not want Agnes to hear the conversation.

John Lovell answered himself.

'I'll bob over now,' he said, 'before surgery. I'll leave a note for Miss Pick, but no doubt I'll be back before she arrives. Just keep her warm and lying down.'

He was heartily reassuring after examining the patient, and accompanied her upstairs to her bedroom.

'Bed for the rest of the day,' he told her, 'and I'll be over this evening.'

Dorothy followed him downstairs. She was fond of this conscientious doctor, and grateful for his prompt arrival, but this was not going to deter her from speaking her mind.

'I can't help thinking, you know, that this results from that diet you prescribed. She seems to have been taken off all really nourishing food. She's lost far more than a woman of her size can stand, and her job is
most
demanding. I put this collapse down to weakness and anaemia.'

John Lovell smiled indulgently.

'Well, we'll see later. She seems to have been making pretty good progress so far under my treatment.'

Miss Watson curbed any further comment. It could wait until Agnes was seen again this evening.

She mounted the stairs again to see that her old friend had all that was needed for the next hour or so. The school bell was now ringing, and Agnes would be anxious.

Miss Watson explained what had happened to the only other member of staff at Thrush Green School.

She was a fresh-faced young woman in her probationary year, and listened to her headmistress with some concern.

She was genuinely fond of little Miss Fogerty and sad to hear of her sudden illness, but she felt even more anxious about her own ability to cope with the infants' class in her absence.

'I shall take your class and mine together,' Miss Watson told her, 'until 1 can get the office to send me a supply. I know that Mrs Billing is free at the moment, and perhaps we can persuade Mrs Trent, who is due here for the half-day tomorrow, to stay on.'

She went with her young assistant to see her settled in at the new classroom across the playground where Agnes usually held sway.

The children seemed awed by the news of Miss Fogerty's indisposition, but considerably elated at having a new teacher.

They began to converge upon her desk, full of news about their own illnesses, but Miss Watson soon put a stop to that.

'You must stay in your desks until Miss Potter tells you to come out,' she commanded. 'I shall want to hear what good children you have been at the end of the day.'

'I was sick last night,' announced a smug six-year-old in the front row. 'All over the clean counterpane. My mum said a swear word.'

Miss Watson leant towards Miss Potter.

'Keep them busy, dear,' she whispered. 'That's the secret.'

She departed towards her own quarters, checked that her double class was obediently reading in semi-silence, and went to the school telephone in her own tiny office.

She rang Isobel Shoosmith, her good next door neighbour, and told her what had happened to her old college friend.

'To be frank, I'm not surprised,' said Isobel. 'She's been looking pretty groggy for weeks. At least this will make her rest. Don't worry. I'll go and see her now, and I can stay with her until you get over at playtime. Betty Bell's here, and Harold is about too, so don't worry if you are held up.'

Much relieved, Dorothy Watson put down the receiver, and went to resume her duties.

True to his word, Doctor Lovell came again before evening surgery and spent a quarter of an hour with his patient. At Agnes's request, Dorothy waited below until he had finished.

'Well, how is she?' she asked anxiously, when he appeared in the sitting room.

'Nothing that a rest and good food won't cure,' he told her. 'She's very run down, and needs fattening up. I think perhap's she's been more than usually conscientious about her diet.'

'Agnes is always conscientious,' said Dorothy. She could have added a great deal more, but was wise enough to refrain.

'And I want her to take some iron tablets. Here's the prescription. And of course, no going to work for a week at least.'

'What about the diet? Should she try and keep to it?'

'Well, no. I'd see she has plenty of milk, and a good light diet—eggs, fish, that sort of thing. I'll keep in touch.'

Miss Watson, with commendable restraint, made no comment on this complete reversal of Agnes's treatment, and saw him to the door with sincere thanks for his help.

'As I thought,' she said aloud, as she straightened the sitting room curtains, 'half-starved and anaemic! Poor little Agnes!'

The warm September sunshine continued, and Agnes was soon able to sit out in the garden and enjoy her much-needed rest.

It was during this fine week that Charles Henstock found himself the bewildered owner of a dog.

It all began with the arrival of the milkman bearing a pint of gold top Jersey milk and an urgent message from Tom Hardy of the water-keeper's cottage.

'He's ill abed, sir,' said the milkman, 'and says could you come? He said something about hospital tomorrow, but I couldn't hear it all, him speaking so low and that river fair rushing by. I said I'd tell you. He don't write all that well, and of course there's no telephone.'

'Don't worry,' said the rector. 'I've a short service to take in half an hour and I'll go down there immediately after.'

The milkman departed, and Charles told Dimity about it.

'Probably wants a lift to the hospital tomorrow,' said Dimity. 'Are you free?'

'I'm sure I can manage it,' answered the rector. 'I shall be glad to help old Tom in any way.'

He was at the cottage by eleven o'clock. It meant leaving the car a little distance away, and walking across the spongy turf to Tom's door.

This time he did not bother to knock, but entered by the back door, and began to mount the stairs.

'You there, Tom? I'm coming up.'

A grey muzzle pushed its way through the banister railings. Polly made no noise, but her plumed tail wagged in greeting.

'In here, sir,' called Tom.

He was propped up on pillows and looked unusually sallow.

'And what have you been up to?' enquired Charles, drawing a chair to the bedside and sitting down. The Welsh collie put her head on his knee, and he stroked her silky neck automatically as he studied the dog's master.

'Doctor wants me to have some tests in hospital. Something in my stomach, he says. Probably have to have it out, I shouldn't wonder.'

'And you want a lift? I'm quite free to take you.'

'No, no. That's all arranged for me. It's Polly.'

'Polly?'

The dog looked up with her one bright eye and one opaque, and wagged her tail on hearing her name.

'My neighbour, Mrs Johnson, she's been seeing to me, and she was going to have Poll, but her bitch had six pups yesterday, and she'd go for Poll and anyone else she thought'd upset the pups, so the only person I could think of was you, rector. Polly's always taken to you, and she's a good obedient animal. I dare not leave her here, she'd fret so, even if she was fed regular, and I don't hold with kennels. She'd pine away there, that I do know.'

Charles saw, with great pity, that tears were rolling down poor Tom's furrowed cheeks. He was obviously very weak and the anxiety about the dog was more than he could bear.

Charles patted Tom's hand.

'Of course I'll have her,' he said heartily, 'and for as long as you like. Dimity loves dogs as much as I do, and we'll take the greatest care of her. I take it as an honour to have been asked.'

Tom gave a great sigh of relief.

'Well, I don't mind now what they do to me. As long as old Polly's in safe hands, I'm content. You know, sir, you truly are a man of God.'

'I should like to think I was,' said the rector humbly. 'Now, Tom, I'm going to get us both a cup of tea. I can find my way round your kitchen. I know everything's clearly labelled. Then you can tell me what I should know about Polly's diet and her routine before I take her off.'

'You stay here, Poll,' said Tom. He was calmer now. The tears still glistened on his face, and he made no attempt to dry them.

Charles went downstairs and waited for the kettle to boil. He admired again the simple, purely functional, furnishings. The tea pot stood by the kettle. The canisters on the mantelpiece were clearly labelled. A few plates, a mug or two and a cup and saucer were lodged on the rack over the sink. The drawer of the scrubbed kitchen table held a few knives, forks and spoons. Life could not be simpler, thought Charles, and found the place deeply tranquil.

The milk was still on the step, and Charles poured it into the two mugs straight from the bottle.

'Sugar?' he called up the stairs.

'Not for me,' came the reply.

He mounted carefully, a mug in each hand.

They sipped in silence. Outside the River Pleshey splashed and gurgled. A blackbird chattered, and in the distance could be heard a pheasant's sharp croak.

'My, that does you a power of good,' said Tom, putting his mug carefully on the stool by the bed. 'And now I'll tell you what Poll likes. Best of all she likes company, and that's why I couldn't leave her alone, for all Mrs Johnson promised to feed her. She eats anything you've got, scraps and that, and there's a sack of biscuits and some tins in the cupboard downstairs. I'd be obliged if you'd take 'em, sir. I'd feel better if you did.'

'I'll do that willingly,' said Charles. 'What about exercise?'

'She don't need much these days, like me,' replied Tom. if she can potter about after you in the garden, she won't hurt. And you'd best take her lead. It's hanging on the kitchen door.'

He fondled the dog's ears.

'I do hope she won't be a bother. If I tell her you're her master for a bit she'll understand.'

'I'll go and get the lead and take the mugs down,' said Charles, deeming it best to leave the two old friends together for a few minutes. 'Anything else I can get you?'

'No, thank you all the same, sir. Mrs Johnson will be down in an hour, and she's coming with me to the hospital tomorrow.'

'I'll come and see you as soon as they'll let me,' promised Charles, setting off with the mugs.

He rinsed them at the sink, and replaced them on the rack. There was no sign of food anywhere for Tom, and he presumed that Mrs Johnson would be bringing him a light meal.

He found the dog food and the lead and took the latter upstairs.

Tom fastened it to Polly's collar.

'Now you do as I told you,' he said earnestly. 'You're Mr Henstock's dog till I come back.'

Much to Charles's relief Tom seemed quite calm, and Polly came with him without any fuss.

'Good luck, Tom. I'll ring the hospital tomorrow and tell you how Polly's settled in.'