(8/13) At Home in Thrush Green (5 page)

'Well, we'll keep in touch about it,' replied Ella, with rare diplomacy, and she and Dimity rose to depart. The ladies of the house followed them to the front door.

The pavement was now spotted with rain, and Ella began to struggle into her raincoat. Dimity, less well protected, looked dismayed, but turned up the collar of her summer suit.

'You simply must borrow Father's umbrella,' fluttered Miss Violet, darting to a cylindrical vessel, decorated with improbable bulrushes, which stood in the corner of the hall. 'It was a present from the lodge of his Freemasons. He valued it highly, and we always lend it to our friends on just such an occasion as this.'

It was certainly a handsome object, made of heavy black silk, with a splendid malacca handle embellished with a gold ring.

'I hardly like to take charge of it,' admitted Dimity. But the umbrella was already being opened above the three steps leading down to the pavement, the rain was increasing every minute, and she accepted the umbrella's protection gratefully.

The three sisters waved goodbye, and then retired behind the front door, no doubt to discuss the dreadful possibility of having to purchase tickets for Joan's buffet lunch.

'Well, thank God we weren't staying to lunch,' said Ella when they were safely out of earshot. 'I'm going back to eggs and bacon. Like to join me?'

'I mustn't, Ella, many thanks. Charles and I are having some chicken in a casserole, and I've a horrid feeling I forgot to switch on the oven before coming out.'

'You'd better drop into lunch with the Lovelocks,' said Ella, 'if that's the case.'

And the two friends departed cheerfully.

The rain grew heavier, and by midday the gutters were gurgling, the thatched eaves were dripping, and the puddles in Thrush Green's school playground grew larger every minute.

Miss Watson, the headmistress, and her devoted assistant Agnes Fogerty surveyed the scene anxiously.

'You would think,' said Miss Watson tartly, 'that parents would have the sense to provide their children with mackintoshes, especially when the weather man specifically forecast rain in the south.'

'He's often wrong,' protested Agnes.

Miss Watson gave one of her famous snorts, much mimicked by the naughtier of the pupils.

'Well, it can't be helped. Those who go home to dinner must hurry along as best they can. Obviously, this has set in for the day.'

Little Miss Fogerty supervised the departure of the few children who went home for their meal, organising the sharing of umbrellas, buttoning the raincoats of those prudent enough to sport them and exhorting her charges to: 'Hurry home, and keep out of the puddles,' a forlorn hope, as well she knew. Meanwhile, Miss Watson and the remaining assistant attended to the distribution of school dinner.

It was impossible for the children to take their break in the playground after the meal, and conditions were just as bad when afternoon playtime came. Out came the dog-eared comics, the jigsaw puzzles, the dominoes and draughts which featured so monotonously in the winter. The past spell of fine weather had made both staff and pupils forget the frustration of wet days indoors.

Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty were quite out of sorts at the end of the afternoon session, and thankful to return to the peace of the schoolhouse which they shared.

'Well, I'm glad to be home,' said Dorothy Watson, kicking off her shoes and putting up her feet on the settee.

'Me too,' agreed Agnes. 'I'll put on the kettle.'

'No, no!' protested Dorothy, not stirring. 'I will get tea in a moment.'

'You will stay there, and rest your poor hip,' responded Agnes firmly. She looked like a mouse trying to be ferocious.

'You spoil me,' murmured her headmistress, and closed her eyes.

The rattle of the tea things brought her back to consciousness. She lowered her legs to the floor, and sat up with a sigh.

'Oh, Agnes, what should I do without you?'

'Manage very well, I'm sure, just as you did when you were here on your own,' Agnes reassured her.

'It has just occurred to me,' said Dorothy, accepting her cup of tea, 'that it is Ray and Kathleen's wedding anniversary the day after tomorrow. I always sent them a card, but since their last dreadful visit here I haven't done so. Their behaviour was so appalling, I really haven't felt inclined to get in touch, but now – well, I don't know –' Her voice trailed away into silence.

Little Miss Fogerty broke it with unaccustomed energy.

'I should send a card, Dorothy dear. After all, he is your only brother, and we are getting too old, all of us, to harbour hard feelings. I'm sure he and Kathleen would be very touched to have a generous gesture made to them.'

Miss Watson still looked doubtful. The 'last dreadful visit' she spoke of had taken place in this very room, when Ray and Kathleen had been invited to tea, had been particularly trying, in Miss Watson's view, and had, moreover, brought in their large and obstreperous dog which capsized the tea table, wrecked the drawing room and frightened everyone.

Tempers had risen, harsh words had been spoken, Ray and Kathleen had flounced off, vowing never to return, and Dorothy had told them flatly that the arrangement suited her perfectly.

Agnes, whose heart was more tender, had grieved over the rift and was delighted to see that Dorothy too was beginning to be willing to offer the olive branch.

Things had been strained between Ray and Dorothy for some time, and the open quarrel was only the culmination of two or three years' coolness. The headmistress had broken her hip in a fall in the playground, and after the operation had expected to recuperate with Ray, but no invitation had been forthcoming, much to her shocked amazement. Little Miss Fogerty, then living in lodgings, had offered to take up temporary abode at the schoolhouse, for a few weeks, until Dorothy was more mobile.

The offer was gratefully accepted, and when Dorothy realised how well the two got on together, she suggested that Agnes settled in permanently. The arrangement worked perfectly, but it meant that there was now no spare bedroom at the schoolhouse. In the past, Ray had often dropped in, and expected to stay overnight. Now he was offered the sofa, or directed to Lulling's premier hostelry, The Fleece. Looking back, Agnes feared that she had unwittingly been the means of upsetting Ray.

'Write a card now,' urged Agnes, 'and I will run across to catch the five-thirty collection. Even with the post as it is, it should get there on Friday.'

'I suppose so.'

'And I'm sure they would appreciate such
a gracious
act,' pursued Agnes. 'They must know they were in the wrong bringing that poor animal – Harrison, was it? – into this house uninvited. I'm sure they've often felt guilty about it.'

Dorothy had her doubts about that, but the idea of appearing gracious and forgiving appealed to her. And, in any case, as dear Agnes pointed out, they were all getting too old to continue a silly quarrel.

She rose to get her writing case, and scrabbled busily among its contents.

'I know I have some National Trust cards here somewhere. '

She withdrew a folder and spread out the contents on the sofa.

'Now which do you think, Agnes? Bodiam Castle or Mottisfont Abbey? Perhaps Bodiam. All that water round it is so attractive.'

She opened the card, and began to write. Agnes looked on with immense satisfaction, and sipped her tea. After five minutes the card was ready for the post, and Dorothy passed her cup for refilling.

'Well, I hope I've done the right thing. I simply said: "Happy remembrances. Hope all goes well with you both. Agnes joins me in sending love".'

'Perfect,' said her friend. 'I'll go over with it at once. Willie Marchant has been known to collect a few minutes early.' Willie Marchant was Thrush Green's thin postman. Willie Bond was the fat one.

'Still pouring, Agnes dear. Put on your raincoat. And a thousand thanks. I'll clear away the tea things.'

Agnes hurried off, and a minute later Dorothy saw her scurrying across the wet grass to the post box on the corner of Thrush Green.

Had she been wise to write? Would she hear from Ray and Kathleen? Come to that, did she really want to?

Of course she did, she told herself briskly, packing the tray carefully. They were her own flesh and blood after all.

But the response to her gracious gesture was to be rather more overwhelming than Dorothy envisaged.

As the wet day turned into an equally wet and dreary evening, Winnie Bailey across the green was talking to her nephew Richard on the telephone.

Could he drop in for tea on Friday, he asked? He was only in the area for another week, and was hard pressed for time.

'It will suit us perfectly, Richard,' replied Winnie. 'About four?'

'Yes, yes. I'm sure I can get there by then. Don't worry if I'm a little late. And by the way, I have some exciting news for you.'

'What is it?'

'I'm married.'

'Good heavens, Richard! You've taken my breath away! Do bring her with you on Friday!'

'Can't be done. She's in London, but I'll tell you all about it when I see you. I've been run off my feet with these lectures, some in Birmingham, a couple at the University of Buckingham, and two more here in Oxford.'

'You do work hard,' said Winnie.

The pips went before she could say more.

'Till Friday,' cried Richard, and rang off.

Winnie returned to her sitting room still bemused. What staggering news! And how long had they been married? And why hadn't he told anybody?

What an odd fellow he was! Donald had always said so, and added that he was the most self-centred young man he had ever come across. She was afraid that this was quite true.

She fell to speculating about the new bride. Would she be a quiet submissive little thing, dazzled by Richard's undoubted eminence in his field, and willing to sacrifice her life to his? Or perhaps she had a job, equally important? The fact that she was remaining in London while Richard was on this lecture tour might mean that she too was busy with her own career. Richard would probably choose someone with plenty of brains as a partner.

What amazingly clever children they might have, thought Winnie, her thoughts racing several years ahead. She recalled spending a short holiday, as a young woman, with a dear friend who lived in Sedley Taylor road in Cambridge. A good many of the houses were lived in then by newly-married university men, and the roads were busy with young children on tricycles and what were known then as fairy cycles. All seemed to be wiry, energetic infants, with spectacles and sandals, and their vocabularies appeared to Winnie to be much in advance of their tender years. Privately, she referred to any precocious children she met later as 'tiddly-widdly children'. Richard had always been one of them, to her, from the time he first sat up in his pram.

When Jenny put her head round the door to say goodnight, Winnie told her that Richard would be coming to tea on Friday.

'And Jenny, some terrific news! He's married.'

Jenny looked suitably astonished.

'Well, I never! I wonder what she's like, poor thing?'

She vanished before Winnie could reply, but as she rolled up her knitting and switched off the lights, Winnie could not help feeling that Jenny probably shared Donald's opinion of the bridegroom.

The upstairs lights went on one by one as Thrush Green prepared for bed.

Winnie undressed, still excited by the news of Richard's marriage. Jenny was wondering if she had enough cheese in the larder for the cheese scones she planned to make.

Edward Young tossed and turned, fuming at the weather which was holding up the steps, the ramp and the little paved terrace of the old people's abode.

Nelly Piggott, dropping off to sleep in the back bedroom, and ignoring Albert's snores from the next room, congratulated herself on now having three hundred pounds tucked away in her Post Office savings book. With a chap like Albert as poor provider it was a comfort to have a secret nest egg, she told herself.

At the schoolhouse, little Miss Fogerty put her bookmark in the novel she was reading, and closed it thoughtfully. Did she really want to go on with this story, and were the characters typical of young people today? In this book not one appeared to have a normal home, parents appeared to be non-existent, marital arrangements much to be deplored, and drug-taking the accepted thing. No one, it seemed, wanted to work either. It was all extremely depressing.

She turned out the light, sighed heavily, and snuggled into her pillow for comfort.

In the next room, Dorothy Watson began to drift into sleep, serene in her belief that she had been forgiving, generous and – what had Agnes said? Ah yes, of course!
Gracious
, was the word.

She was asleep in five minutes.

4 Family Demands

THURSDAY was as wet as the day before. The summer flowers were flattened in the gardens, the chestnut avenue outside the Youngs' gate dripped steadily, and the puddles grew apace.

But, on Friday, Thrush Green woke to blue skies and a freshly washed world. Spirits rose, and Betty Bell, always cheerful, was more exuberant than ever as she wheeled her bicycle from the school to Harold and Isobel Shoosmiths' house next door.