The Caxley Chronicles (3 page)

No doubt about it, thought Bender puffing dreamily, it looked rich, and he liked richness. His eye roamed indulgently over the crowded room, the wide wooden picture frames, the chenille curtains looped back with fine brass bands, and the cases of dried grasses and sea lavender on the corner brackets near by. It looked the sort of place a prosperous tradesman deserved, and he was indeed prospering. His wandering gaze came to rest upon his wife, now snipping busily at a frayed lining. It was to Hilda, as much as anything else, that he owed his growing prosperity. She worked as hard—harder maybe, thought Bender candidly—than he did himself. When they were first married they had thought nothing of being in the shop at seven in the morning until nine or ten at night. Somehow she had still managed to clean and cook, to sew and knit, and to bring up the family to be as industrious as she was herself.

She was a small plump young woman, fair-haired, and grey-eyed, with a pink button of a mouth, not unlike the old queen in her younger days. The bearing of three children—the first tragically stillborn—had thickened her waist a little, but tight lacing kept her figure still trim and shapely. To Bender's delight, she loved bright colours, unlike many matrons of her own age and times, and tonight she wore a lilac print frock decorated with bands of purple braid. Beneath its hem Bender could see her small black shoes adorned with cut steel buckles.

She looked across at him quickly, aware of his gaze.

'Where was Jesse Miller off to?' she enquired, harking back to the snippet of news.

'Never asked him. Beech Green, I should think. He'd done his buying at market and seen the young chap in hospital.'

'More likely to have gone up to my home,' commented Hilda. 'Pa says he's been calling to see our young Ethel lately.'

'Why not?' said Bender, smiling lazily. 'He must be twenty-odd, going to have a good farm with his brother Harold, when the old man goes aloft, and I reckon Ethel'd be lucky to get him.'

'He's a bit wild, they say,' responded Hilda, letting her mending fall into her lap and looking into the distance.

'Who's "they"?' asked Bender testily. 'There's too much gossip in Caxley. People here mind everyone else's business but their own! Makes me sick!'

He tapped out his pipe irritably.

'I'd sooner see young Ethel wed to Jesse Miller,' he continued, 'than that waster Dan Crockford she's so sweet on! What's the future in painting pictures for a living? He wants to get down to a job of work and keep his paint brushes for
the week-end. If I were Dan Croekford's father I'd chuck him out to fend for himself! No, our Ethel's better off as a farmer's wife, and I hope she'll have the sense to see it!'

'Well, well, well! Don't get ratty about it,' replied his wife equably. 'They're both old enough to know their own minds, and it's time Ethel settled down.'

She rolled up the trousers briskly, and stood up, picking ends of thread from the lilac frock with quick pink fingers.

'Let's take a turn in the garden before we go up,' she said. 'It's still so hot. I wonder if the children are feeling it? Bertie was tossing and turning when I went up just now.'

Bender lumbered to his feet.

'They'll be all right. The girl's up there if they want anything. Come and look at the river, my dear.'

She led the way down the staircase, pausing on the landing, head cocked on one side for any sound from above. But all was silent. They made their way through the little parlour behind the shop, and the great shadowy store shed which housed ironmongery of every shape and size, and smelt of paint and polish, tar and turpentine, and the cold odour of stone floors, and cast iron girders.

It was almost dark when they emerged into the garden. It was small, with a brick wall on each side, and a lawn which ran gently down to the banks of the Cax. The air was soft and warm, and fragrant with the roses which climbed over the walls and the white jasmine starring the rustic arch which spanned the side path. Bender's shop might be villainously untidy and his desk chaotic. His neighbours might scoff at his muddles there, but here, in the garden, Bender kept everything in orderly beauty.

The river, lapping at the bank, kept his soil moist even in the blazing heat of such a spell as this. The Norths had always been great gardeners, and Bender was one of the best of his family. He looked about his trim flower beds with pride.

A rustic seat stood close by the river and here the two sat, while the midges hummed and a bat darted back and forth above the water. Sitting there, with the peace of the summer evening about them, was pleasantly relaxing.

'Where does it go?' asked Hilda suddenly.

'What? The river?'

'Yes. Does it go to London?'

'Must do, I suppose. The Cax runs into the Thames about fifteen to twenty miles east, so they told us at school, if I recall it aright.'

'Seems funny, doesn't it,' said Hilda dreamily, 'to think it goes past our garden and then right up to London. Sees a bit of life when it gets there. Specially just now with the streets being decked up for the Coronation. It said in the paper today that no end of royalty have arrived already, and troops from Canada and Australia for the procession. Wouldn't it be lovely if we could go, Bender? I'd give my eye teeth for a sight of the Coronation, wouldn't you?'

Bender smiled indulgently at this womanly excitement.

'I'm quite content to watch the Caxley flags and fairy-lights next week,' he replied. 'Maybe have a drink or two, and keep a lookout for the bonfire up on the beacon. We'll give the King a good send-off, you'll see, without having to traipse to London for a bit of fun.'

His wife sighed, and was about to speak when she caught
sight of something white glimmering in the shadows of the fuchsia bush, and went over to investigate.

'What is it?' asked Bender following her. Hilda was turning a little white yacht in her hands.

'It must be the Howard children's,' she said. 'Bertie asked them over to bathe after tea. They've forgotten it. Another trip to make, running after them.' There was a tartness in her tone which did not escape her husband's ear.

'Only child-like,' he commented easily. 'I'm glad Bertie thought of asking them. They've nowhere to play in their baker's yard. Not much fun there for kids this weather.'

'Oh, I don't mind the
children,
' said Hilda, a trifle pettishly. 'And Septimus is all right.'

It's strange how she always calls him Septimus and not Sep, as everyone else does, thought Bender. These little primnesses about his wife never failed to amuse him. The fact that she could never bring herself to ask the butcher for belly of pork, but always asked delicately for stomach of pork, delighted Bender perennially.

'It's Edna I can't take to,' went on Hilda. 'Try as I might there's something about her—I don't know. I can't think what Septimus saw in her, respectable as he is.'

She had picked a tasselled blossom from the fuchsia bush and now tossed it petulantly into the darkening water. Bender put a massive arm round her plump shoulders.

'Are you sending your contribution to the Coronation decorations?' he asked jocularly, nodding towards the floating flower. 'It should get to Westminster in a couple of days.'

'And keep fresh in the water,' agreed his wife, smiling. Bender congratulated himself on his success in changing the
subject. Once embarked on the ways of Edna Howard, Hilda could become mighty waspish for such a good-natured wife.

At that moment, the quarters chimed across the market square from St Peter's, and Hilda became agitated.

'Gracious me! That must be half past ten, and I've not had a word with Vera! You lock up, Ben, while I run upstairs.'

She flitted away from him across the grass, as light on her feet as when he first met her, thought her husband watching her depart.

He turned for a last look at the Cax before following her into the house. The twilight had deepened now into an amethyst glow. The river glided slowly round the great curve which swept eastward, shining like a silver ribbon beneath the darkening sky. Say what you like, Bender told himself, Caxley in June took a lot of beating! Let the whole world flock to London to see the King crowned! This was good enough for Bender North!

He picked up the toy boat from the rustic seat. Tomorrow he'd take it back himself to Sep's youngsters. No point in upsetting Hilda with it.

He left it on the bench in the store shed, where his eye could light on it in the morning, locked and bolted the doors of his domain, and made his way contentedly to bed.

T
HE BUNTING
was going up all over England, under the bright June skies. In the villages round about Caxley there was a joyful bustle of Coronation preparations. At Fairacre School an ambitious maypole dance was causing heartache to the infants' teacher there, and bewilderment to the young fry who lumbered round and round, ribbons in hand, weaving the biggest and brightest tangle ever seen in the history of the parish.

On the downs above Beech Green a great pile of faggots was outlined against the clear sky, waiting for a torch to be plunged into its heart on June the twenty-sixth. The blaze would be visible from four counties, the old men told each other, and some said that they could remember their fathers talking of the blazing beacon, on the self-same spot, which had celebrated the end of the Napoleonic Wars.

The drapers in Caxley were running short of red, white and blue ribbon, and the little saddler in West Street was surprised to find that his horse-braid in these three colours was in demand, not only for plaiting manes and other orthodox uses, but also for decorating trestle tables, oil lamps in village halls, and even for tying patriotic children's hair now that all the ribbon had been snapped up by early shoppers.

The market square at Caxley blossomed like a rose. Strings of fairy lights were festooned round the sides of the square and
tubs of red and white geraniums, edged with lobelia, flanked the steps of Queen Victoria's plinth. Less happy was the arrangement of red, white and blue ribbons radiating from an erection on the crown of Her Imperial Majesty. Like the spokes of a wheel they formed a circular canopy rather like that of Fairacre's maypole in readiness for the troublesome dance. Septimus Howard looking down on it from his bedroom window, cut-throat razor in hand, thought it looked as garish as the market place at Michaelmas Fair. He overheard an old countryman observe to his crony as he surveyed this centrepiece:

'Fair
tawdry,
'ennit, Ern?' and, privately, Sep heartily agreed with him.

It was on the evening of the twenty-fourth that the blow fell. King Edward had been stricken with appendicitis. He was dangerously ill. The Coronation would have to be postponed. This was no time for rejoicing, but for earnest prayer for the King's recovery. There were those who said that was doubtful—but, as Bender North said stoutly—there are dismal johnnies everywhere at such times, and they should not be heeded.

It was Edna Howard who had brought the dire tidings to North's shop, and thus added yet another misdeed, in Hilda's eyes, to those already committed. The shop was closed, but Bender was still tidying shelves and sweeping odd scraps from counter to floor with a massive hand.

Hilda stood at the door, and watched Edna Howard advance across the square, with that lilting gait, and proud turn of her dark head, which irritated Hilda so unaccountably. Edna was a tall woman, large bosomed, and long-legged, with a mass of black silky hair. Her eyes were quick and dark, starred with
thick black lashes, and with an odd slant to them which told of gipsy blood. For Edna Howard had been a Bryant before her marriage, the only girl among a tribe of stalwart boys. Her mother had been a true gipsy, who had left her wandering family when she married a doting farm labourer and settled near Fairacre to produce a family of her own.

There was something foreign and wild about Edna Howard which stolid Caxley inhabitants could not understand. In the country, memories are long, and despite Edna's respectable marriage, her industry in the shop and home, and her devoted care of her children, Edna's exotic streak was the first thing to be mentioned when the worthies discussed her.

'Plenty of the ol' gyppo about that 'un,' they said. 'Remember her ma? Used to come round with a basket o' pegs not so long ago.'

Edna knew very well the sort of remark that was made behind her back, and gave no hint of caring. She dressed in colours that were gaudy in comparison with those worn by her sedate neighbours. Sometimes she knotted a bright silk scarf about her throat, gipsy fashion, as though flaunting her origin, and on her wrist she jangled a coin bracelet which had once been her gipsy grandmother's.

Two other qualities added to Edna's colourful character. She possessed a thrillingly deep contralto voice and she could play the banjo. For some reason, Caxley approved of the first gift but was somewhat shocked by the second. Occasionally, Mrs Howard was invited to sing at charity concerts, by ladies who were organising these affairs. The fact that she was an accomplished banjoist was known, but ignored, by the organisers. 'Sweet and Low', rendered by Mrs Septimus
Howard to the decorous accompaniment on the pianoforte by the Vicar's son was permissible in the Corn Exchange. Edna Howard, let loose with her banjo, might prove a trifle vulgar, it was felt.

How meek little Septimus had ever managed to capture this wild bright bird was one of the mysteries of Caxley history. That Edna Bryant was 'one for the boys' was well-known. She could have picked a husband from among dozens who courted her from the time she was fifteen. Perhaps Sep's wistful shyness was the main attraction, contrasting so strongly with her own vivid confidence. In any case, the marriage had flourished, despite much early head-shaking, and Edna Howard was outwardly accepted in Caxley life.

Hilda unbolted the shop door and let Edna in with a polite smile. Bender's was considerably more welcoming. He liked a handsome woman, and he didn't much mind if Hilda knew it.

'Come on in, Edna,' he shouted heartily. She rewarded him with a warm smile and a provocative glance from tinder her dark lashes which Hilda did her best to ignore.