The Tale of Applebeck Orchard (28 page)

Which quite naturally leads, as it should, to another round of kissing and caressing and whispering. And if you think the captain’s marriage proposal is rushing things a bit, please remember that he and Miss Nash have been acquainted for going on a dozen years now, during which time they have lived in the same very small village, participated in the same parish activities, attended the same school celebrations, and dealt together (he as trustee, she as headmistress) with a myriad of problems concerning the school. Not to mention that Miss Nash has secretly dreamed of the captain for a great many years, and that the captain has resisted his sister’s earnest urgings that he should court Miss Nash for another good long time—although of course it could not happen until it was
his
idea, now, could it?

If I were waxing poetic (and isn’t a love scene just the place for a little poetry?), I might say that their regard for each other, astonishing as it is to them (and perhaps to us), is like a plant that grows quietly and contentedly in a dark corner of the parlor, until one day—when we had altogether forgotten that it was there and in fact have often neglected to water the poor thing—it surprises us with an incredibly lovely blossom. Love is like that, sometimes, I am glad to say, growing steadily along in secret, as it were, and then suddenly bursting forth like the sun coming out from behind a bank of gray clouds, where it has been all along, even though we couldn’t see it.

So. Now that they have finished kissing and saying, “Are you sure?” and “Yes, very sure. Are you?” and “More sure than I have ever been in my whole life,” we shall follow them to the kitchen, since both of them now feel very much in need of that cup of tea they didn’t get when the captain dropped the tea tray, and a very good thing that was, if you ask me. Margaret (whose hat had fallen into the mop bucket during the romantic interlude and had been rescued and brushed off by the captain) saw at once that the fire had sulked itself away to nothing, so the captain brought in some kindling and a bucket of coal, and it was not long before the fire was cheerful again and the kettle was hot and the tea properly brewed. In the meantime, Margaret wiped up the spilt milk on the kitchen table, sliced a loaf of fresh bread she found in (who would have thought?) the breadbox and a joint she located (quite reasonably) in the cooling cupboard, and put out butter, mustard, lettuce, and sliced onions. She also found two pieces of apple pie, which no doubt Elsa Grape had meant for the captain.

“Quite remarkable, Miss Nash,” Miles said as he sat down to his sandwich and pie, thinking how astonishingly changed was his situation since the last time he had visited his kitchen, less than a half hour before, and realizing that he was completely and entirely happy for the first time in his whole life. “Quite remarkable,” he said again, picking up his sandwich. (Whether he meant not having to go out for a pub lunch or his being in love with Miss Nash, I shall leave it to you to decide.)

“Margaret,” she said shyly, equally amazed at the way her life had changed—had completely turned upside-down and inside-out—just since she had walked through the front door. She handed him the mustard. “I should like you to call me Margaret, please.”

“Miles,” he said, and smiled at her, trying out “Miles and Margaret” in his mind a time or two and thinking that the names sounded very well together. Then he tried, “Mrs. Miles Woodcock,” and liked that just as much. Then his smile faded abruptly, for the captain was by nature a cautious man and had just remembered something he really ought to have thought of before he asked Miss Nash to be his wife. Not that he would object to her sister coming to live with them, since there was certainly room in the house, now that Dimity had married and left him. But still—

He put down his sandwich. “There is something we need to discuss.”

“You’re speaking of Annie, I suppose.” Margaret met his eyes without hesitation.

Miles felt a thrill at being so well understood. It spoke well for their future together. He reached out and put his hand over hers.

“I hope you don’t think I . . . Of course, your sister is welcome to live here with us. More than welcome. I just . . .” His voice trailed off. He pressed her hand and released it.

“Thank you.” Margaret began to butter her bread. “However,” she added in a careless tone, “it doesn’t look as though that will be necessary. Annie is strongly considering Brighton for the winter. If she likes it, perhaps she will stay.”

Brighton? Well, my goodness gracious. Are you surprised? I certainly am, and a bit put out, too. I mean, I had no idea that Margaret had already spoken to her sister about the situation at the sanitarium! I couldn’t have guessed that Annie had expressed an interest in trying it out, and perhaps even making it permanent. I had expected, since this seemed to be an important part of our story, that we would know about it so that we could listen in on their discussion. But now we discover that we have been deprived. Margaret and Annie have talked about this question behind our backs, as it were, not even letting us know that the subject was about to come up so that we could hurry over to Lakefield Cottages and listen in. I call that rude, I do. If I were in full charge of this story, it would certainly be better managed.

“To Brighton!” the captain exclaimed, every bit as surprised as we are.

Margaret put down her knife. “Miss Potter tells me that a friend of hers, a nurse, is opening a sanitarium there. She is looking for someone to help with the music therapy program.”

“Ah,” the captain said knowingly. “Miss Potter is in it, is she?” He’d had enough experience of Miss Potter to understand that when she saw a need for something to be done, it was generally done, in one way or another.

Margaret nodded. “Miss Potter suggested to me that Annie might be a suitable candidate, and I brought it up with her last night. I admit to being a bit surprised myself when she said she was interested.” (You see? We are
all
surprised!) “Actually, Annie was more than interested. She seems terribly enthusiastic about the idea of spending the winter where it is warm and seeing new sights and meeting new people. I think it is very brave of my sister to want to leave her home and go off on her own. And of course I want to support her in any way I can.”

Oh, but I can hear you now! You are saying, “Do come on, Miss Nash. Tell us the truth! You had that discussion with Annie last night, and you expected her to say no. You were shocked to hear that she was delighted to have the chance to leave you and make a new life somewhere else. In fact, it probably upset you dreadfully, since it meant that you were losing your sister and would have no one to care for—and no one to care for you, for the rest of your life, perhaps. And so this afternoon, you appear at Captain Woodcock’s door, wearing your smartest little hat and prettiest blouse and toilet water and spouting that tall tale about the school needing some sort of repair. And all the time you were hoping that he—”

But the repair really does need to be done, I assure you. Miss Nash (who taught the juniors) and the teacher of the infant class have been talking about it since the end of the previous winter, when both the stovepipes proved to be far too smoky for everyone’s good, especially the children’s. And if a lady wishes to wear her favorite hat and gloves and blouse and dab on a bit of violet toilet water when she goes out to make a call, who are we to criticize? How often have you done the very same thing? And quite innocently, too, without any intention of making some poor hapless fellow fall in love with you.

Or perhaps you might wish to say, “Come now, Captain Woodcock, tell us the truth! Your cook-housekeeper has left you and the maid is off and it has been suddenly and forcefully brought to your attention that your house is in want of a mistress and that you are in want of a wife (collars and cuffs are a necessary thing in this world, after all). And here is Miss Nash on your doorstep, quite pretty in pink and very adroit with a mop. And your romantic passion suddenly overwhelms you, to the point where you are moved to ask her to marry you? Oh, come now, Captain. Let us be honest with each other. What you are after is a
housekeeper.
”

So you see? There are two sides to every story, especially a romance. And if Miss Nash needs someone to take her sister’s place in her heart and Captain Woodcock needs someone to take his sister’s place in his home . . . Well, perhaps there is a certain mutually beneficial symmetry here.

But there is also a compelling mutual need, and I for one am unwilling to find fault, especially since our two lovers seem to have the wish and the will and the wherewithal to make each other happy. There is more than enough sadness and loneliness in this world. A little love goes a very long way toward mending both.

Miles took charge of the situation. “My dear girl, of course we shall support Annie,” he said warmly, “financially, if you like. And if the sanitarium doesn’t suit, if Annie wants to come back to Sawrey—” He took a bite of his sandwich. “She will be welcome here,” he said with his mouth full.

Margaret was glowing. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you very much, Miles.”

And so, since there is much to discuss—the wedding and the honeymoon, and whether Mrs. Woodcock will continue in her position at Sawrey School (probably not), and when they will make their happy announcement to their family and friends (as soon as possible)—we shall wish them well and leave them to it.

Anyway, some very exciting—and disturbing—events are about to happen at The Brockery, and we will not want to miss a moment.

18

The Lost Is Found, and Then Some

It was rather rude of me to drag you away from The Brockery at the end of Chapter Fifteen, just as Bosworth was about to tell Hyacinth that she had passed the test—a test that not even Owl, in his superior wisdom, could have devised—and that he felt she was qualified to hold the Badge of Authority. So we shall return straightaway to The Brockery and rejoin the group in the kitchen—Bosworth, Hyacinth, Parsley, and Primrose (Hyacinth’s mother), Parsley’s nephews having taken themselves off to rejoin their circus, carrying with them Bosworth’s hearty thanks and a basket of savory pies packed by Parsley.

You will notice that we have come back into the scene just where we went out, and that nothing at all has happened while we’ve been absent. Writers and readers of stories, you see, enjoy special privileges. In books, we are not limited to the arrangement of events as we are in the world of railway timetables and appointment calendars, which are organized chronologically and require one to be in the appointed place at the appointed time or all is lost. This, when you get right down to it, is a very tedious sort of ordering, and I for one am glad we’re not limited by it.

Therefore. We have returned to the kitchen just as Bosworth propped Great-Great-Uncle Benjamin’s cane against his rocking chair and held out his paw to Hyacinth.
“Come and sit beside your uncle, Hyacinth. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Something rather important.”
He chuckled wryly.
“And after what happened today—my falling into that pit, I mean—I think it might even be rather urgent. I’ve been thinking of it for a while, and should like to get on with it.”

On the other side of the room, Primrose paused in her mending. Parsley, who was mixing the batter for the steamed ginger-and-treacle pudding she was making for supper, gave Bosworth a questioning look. Reading her glance, he nodded briefly. Primrose sighed, Parsley smiled sadly (both were thinking of Thorn, I am sure), and then went back to their work.

Hyacinth sat down beside the badger, listened gravely as he spoke, and then was silent for a moment, looking into the fire. At last she said, in a very low voice,
“Thorn was meant to have the Badge, wasn’t he?”
It really wasn’t a question.

“It is given to the badger with the greatest promise,”
Bosworth replied firmly.
“I want you to have it, Hyacinth.”

“And when Thorn comes back?”
she pressed.

Bosworth spoke with resolution.
“We will welcome him with open arms and rejoice with full hearts. And you, my dear, will go on wearing the Badge.”

She gave him a direct look.
“You’re sure?”

“I am very sure. If you agree, we’ll work together to train you to take over the
History
and the
Genealogy.
There’s not that much to it, of course—just a bit of documenting. As to managing The Brockery—”
He chuckled again.
“Well, I think you know all you need to know about that already, don’t you?”

“She certainly knows a good deal,”
Primrose said, looking up from her mending.
“But I do wish you wouldn’t make it sound like you’re on death’s doorway, Bosworth. You have a great many good years left in you yet, my friend.”

“I may,”
Bosworth agreed cheerfully,
“but then again, I mayn’t. Who knows, in this world? Animals come and animals go, but life goes on, you know.”
There were other things he might have said about how nearly losing his life had made him realize that he really ought to name his successor, or how (while work was all well and good and ought to be done) every animal ought to leave some time in his life for enjoyment. But this wasn’t the time to be philosophical. It was a time for practicalities.
“Given all the accidents that may befall us,”
he added,
“it’s best to be prepared.”