“So we should be hearing something in the next few days, then,” Annie said. She put a spoonful of tea leaves into the blue and white china pot and poured in hot water from the kettle.
“I truly hope so.” Margaret sighed.
There shouldn’t really be any suspense, since Captain Woodcock had told her that there were no other candidates for the position. But Margaret had learnt not to count her chickens before they were hatched. Time enough to imagine herself as Sawrey head teacher—head teacher! what a wonderful title!—when the trustees actually made the appointment. It was a temptation, though, to think about it. She had very much enjoyed the challenges of teaching the junior class and doing the work of the head teacher, with all of the increased responsibilities. She bit her lip. It would be very hard for her to step aside in favor of someone else, someone who—
Annie put the kettle back on the range with a bang. “Do stop dithering, Maggie,” she said decidedly. “You know you have nothing to worry about. Why, the trustees haven’t placed a single advertisement. They certainly mean to promote you to head teacher. It’s only a matter of—”
“Good evenin’!” shouted a comradely voice at the kitchen door. Margaret turned to see their neighbor, Bertha Stubbs, an ample, untidy woman who lived just around the corner, in one of the Lakefield cottages.
“Are you two home?” Bertha inquired, unnecessarily, since both Margaret and Annie were standing in front of her. “You’re not sittin’ down to supper reet this verra minute, are you?”
“Oh, bother,” Annie muttered, turning to take off her apron.
“Do come in and have a cup of tea, Bertha,” Margaret said, suppressing a sigh. Bertha Stubbs was the daily woman at the school, and Margaret saw more of her during the term than she wanted. Bertha was one of those women who did her best work to the accompaniment of loud and long complaints, and her casual spitefulness—sometimes hidden, sometimes not—wasn’t always easy to tolerate. But one had to be neighborly.
“Thanks,” Bertha said with satisfaction. “B’lieve I will.”
Margaret smiled. “We’ve only just put the potatoes on, so supper won’t be ready for—” She caught Annie’s glance and amended her sentence. “For ten minutes or so. They cook quickly, you know, when the oven is hot.”
Bertha settled her bulk in a chair at the kitchen table and waited whilst Annie poured tea. She put both elbows on the table, dropped three cubes of sugar into her tea, stirred, and drank deeply.
“Thought there was something y’ should hear,” she said, putting down her cup with a bang. “If y’ haven’t already, that is. Which y’ may have, seein’ that it’s important.”
“Oh, really?” Margaret asked politely. Bertha’s news, whatever it was, was always important, even when it was only a bit of common gossip that everyone had already heard. “What’s happened?”
“I’ve just been up to Tower Bank House, havin’ a bit of a chat with Elsa.” Elsa was Bertha’s brother’s widow, and one of Bertha’s closest friends. Bertha leaned forward, narrowed her eyes, and lowered her voice. “She told me that something big came up this afternoon. Name of Dr. Harrison Gainwell.”
Annie, who had little patience with Bertha, was more direct than Margaret. “Don’t hint, Bertha,” she said in an exasperated tone. “Who is Harrison Gainwell? And if you’ve only just heard about him, how can you think that we might have?”
“I thought mappen y’ got some advance word.” Bertha leaned back in her chair with a smug look, obviously feeling the significance of what she was about to say. “He’s a grad-u-ate of Oxford University, that’s who he is. Lady Longford wants him to be t’ new head teacher at Sawrey School.”
“The new head teacher—” Margaret gasped.
“How does Elsa know this?” Annie asked, her voice like steel. “Where did she hear it?”
“Why, where else but t’ sittin’ room at Tower Bank House?” Bertha replied innocently. “Lady Longford and that companion of hers called this afternoon, to tell Miss Woodcock to tell the captain that t’ trustees could stop lookin’ for a new head teacher, ’cuz she has found him. Elsa heard what they said when she took in t’ tea.”
“She eavesdropped, you mean,” Annie said acidly. Elsa’s reputation as a source of important village information was enhanced by her position as cook-housekeeper in the home of the Justice of the Peace. It was generally reckoned that the gossip she gathered had the stamp of authority on it—as it usually did.
“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say she eavesdropped,” Bertha said in a judicious tone. “But she did hear what was said. Gainwell’s a mission’ry from t’ South Pacific.” She rolled her eyes. “Elsa says a gentl’man who can civ’lize cannonballers can cert’nly teach Sawrey School.”
There was a moment’s silence. Finally, Annie broke it. “Cannibals, I think you mean, Bertha. Although I’m not quite sure that I see the connection between civilizing natives and teaching children.”
“Well,” said Bertha distantly, “that’s what Elsa says.”
Margaret tried to speak, but found that she had to clear her throat twice before she could manage to get the words out. “I . . . I’m sure Dr. Gainwell will do an admirable job,” she said. She found that she could not see through the tears that suddenly welled up in her eyes. Hastily, she pushed back her chair. “If you’ll excuse me, I just remembered something I have to do upstairs.” She stood and fumbled her way to the door, feeling Bertha’s sharp glance like a knife between her shoulder blades.
“It’s all right, Maggie,” Annie said. “You can do it later.” Margaret paused with her hand on the knob, realizing that Annie did not want to give Bertha the satisfaction of knowing that she had delivered a telling blow.
“There’s no call to fret, Miss Nash,” Bertha remarked, with some sympathy. “It won’t come to nothin’, cannonballers or not. Everybody’s hopin’ that t’ trustees’ll give t’ place to you.” She pushed her empty cup forward. “Is there more tea in that pot, Annie? Another cup would go down right well.”
Annie stood and went to the kitchen range, where she opened the oven door, took out the iron pot, and lifted the lid. “I think our supper is just about ready, Bertha. If you don’t mind, that is.”
Bertha sighed heavily. “Well,” she said, putting both hands on the table and hoisting herself to her feet, “I s’pose I’d better get home and see to Mr. Stubbs’s meal. Steak and kidney pie tonight, is what it is.” She cocked her head to one side and added, thoughtfully, “Mission’ry, eh? Wonder if he’s got any magic lantern slides, like that gentl’man who give that speech at t’ Sawrey Hotel last year. He was a fine talker, he was. And them pictures of brown nekkid baby cannonballers with dirty old crab shells strung around their fat necks. Well, all I’ve got to say is—”
She was still saying it as Annie closed the door behind her.
“Oh, Annie!” Margaret cried, and burst into tears.
Annie held her sister in her arms. “Don’t cry, Maggie,” she whispered. “I’m sure the trustees will realize that you’re the better choice for the school. They can’t possibly mean to hire a man who doesn’t know anything about—”
“But he’s a graduate of Oxford!” Margaret wailed disconsolately. “He’s Lady Longford’s candidate! And you know that she always gets what she wants, no matter how horrid it is for other people.”
This time, Annie couldn’t think of anything comforting to say.
7
Word Gets Around
Naturally, the news of Dr. Gainwell’s candidacy for the position of head teacher did not remain a secret for very long. Fifteen minutes before Bertha Stubbs was making her unwelcome announcement to Margaret and Annie Nash, Elsa Grape was passing the news along to Grace Lythecoe, the widow of the former vicar, whom she met on the street just outside the door of Rose Cottage. From inside the cottage came the vibrant sound of Caruso, Mrs. Lythecoe’s canary, warbling a series of complicated trills up and down the scale. Elsa knew, of course, that Grace Lythe
coe, having been the wife of a vicar, was not one to gossip, but she was the first person Elsa encountered, so she was the first to hear Elsa’s news.
“I’m sorry that her ladyship has seen fit to intervene in the selection process,” Mrs. Lythecoe said gravely. “And I very much hope, Elsa, that you will keep this information to yourself. The school trustees will have a difficult enough time dealing with the facts of this matter without having to deal with the inevitable gossip, as well. I’m sure you don’t want to cause them any more anxiety than necessary, do you?”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Lythecoe,” Elsa vowed, her eyes widening. “Of course not, Mrs. Lythecoe.”
And then, without hesitation, Elsa hurried to the Tower Bank Arms, the village pub, which sat on a hill on the opposite side of the main road through the village. There, she went looking for her friend Mrs. Barrow, the wife of the pub’s proprietor. She found her in the grassy garden behind the Arms, folding freshly dried bed sheets from the clothesline into a wicker laundry basket, and told her story.
Frances Barrow listened with a growing apprehension, and was much distressed by the implications of Elsa’s report. She hurried into the pub to inform her husband, who had just brought up a fresh keg of beer from the cellar and was tapping the bung, that Miss Nash would not be the new head teacher, after all. Lady Longford had just overruled the trustees’ appointment and awarded the position to her own man, a Dr. Harrison Gainwell, a missionary from Borneo. Mrs. Barrow was highly incensed at her ladyship’s intervention in school affairs, since her very own Margaret had just been promoted to the junior class, which her mother had expected would be taught by Miss Nash.
It did not much matter to Mr. Barrow who taught his daughter, as long as the girl learnt her lessons and behaved herself, but he quite naturally believed that this news might be of some interest to the other parents in the village. So that evening, when the men began to gather at the Arms for their nightly half-pints and the monthly dart tournament (which always drew a much larger than usual crowd), he mentioned it to three or four of the early arrivals, who mentioned it to those who came later, and so on. Of course, there was always a great deal of noise in the pub, singing and shouting and clinking of glasses and such, and it wasn’t always possible to hear exactly what was being said. But by closing time, most of the dart players in both Near and Far Sawrey—that would be at least half of the men in the twin villages—had heard the facts of the matter, at least in a general way. They knew that a gentleman of outstanding education, character, and amazing courage (they were a little unclear as to whether his name was Gainfellow or Galsworth) had been unanimously appointed by the school trustees to take over Sawrey School, his entire salary being underwritten by Lady Longford out of gratitude for his having rescued the three children of a fellow missionary from the cooking pot of a savage tribe of head hunters.
It was this thrilling tale that the wives of the village learnt from their husbands at breakfast, and which they shared amongst themselves, with further embellishments, as they met one another in the street or the post office or the village shop or across the garden fence. And since the village women cared little about Dr. Gainfellow’s adventures in Borneo and a great deal more about the fate of dear Miss Nash, they were soon speculating sympathetically about what would become of her.
Most of the speculators felt that she would stay on as the faithful teacher of the infants class, as she had for the last nine years, whilst others believed that she would suffer such a humiliating loss of face that she could never stay in the village and would most certainly be forced to look for another teaching position. In fact, Bertha Stubbs (who met several of the women in the queue at the post office a little before lunch time) reported having seen Miss Nash in her back garden early that morning, airing several valises and looking terribly upset. It was clear that the two sisters were packing to leave.
Having heard this intriguing bit about the valises, Agnes Llewellyn’s daughter Mary wondered out loud to Lydia Dowling’s niece Gladys just how quickly the Nash sisters’ cottage would be let—if they actually moved house, of course, although perhaps they wouldn’t, since Annie had been so ill all spring. Gladys, in her turn, met Hannah Braithwaite, wife of the village constable, and happened to mention that it looked as if the Nash sisters might go to the south of England, with the hope of a new position for Miss Nash and a kinder climate for Annie, who suffered so with her lungs.
Hannah became very excited when she heard this bit of news, because Miss Nash’s cottage was larger and nicer than Croftend, where she and the constable and their three children lived, cheek by jowl, as it were, in only two small bedrooms. It had a much larger garden, too, with room for a pig and chickens, which would mean eggs and bacon. Not to hurry things along, of course, and Hannah certainly didn’t wish the Nash sisters any ill luck, the good Lord forbid. But she did so hope that once the cottage was empty, she and Constable Braithwaite could obtain it. Who better to have it than the village constable?
Except, as Mathilda Crook pointed out when she heard of Hannah’s hopes, the Nash cottage would very likely go to Dr. Gainfellow (or Galsworth—some had heard one name and some the other), who would necessarily be looking for a place to live. And since he was a bachelor (no one knew this for certain, of course, but a missionary to Borneo couldn’t possibly have a wife, could he?), he would certainly make a handy fourth at bridge and fill in the gap at the table when Captain and Miss Woodcock entertained.
And speaking of Miss Woodcock, who had thus far fended off several highly suitable offers of courtship (to the village’s great distress), would it not be delightful if she and the new head teacher would strike up a romantic friendship, fall in love, and marry? After all, Miss Woodcock—whose brother might decide at any moment to take a wife who would displace her who would have to find a new home in which to live out her spinsterhood and a lonely old age—was seriously in want of a husband, and a former missionary from Borneo would be a perfect choice.
So it was that by the time the mothers finished their Tuesday baskets of ironing and called in the children for their lunches, Sawrey School not only had a new head teacher, but Miss Nash and her sister had up sticks and gone to the south of England, leaving their cottage to the Braithwaites or to Dr. Worthwell, who was to marry dear Miss Woodcock.
As most people know, in a village, word gets around very fast.
8
An Unfortunate Accident
Beatrix didn’t hear a word of this gossip, for she had spent the morning at Hill Top, happily making pencil sketches for The Tale of Tom Kitten. She had borrowed a kitten from one of the stone masons, and drew a few pictures of it, although it was a mischievous little creature and not very anxious to sit still. Then she went inside and made some preliminary sketches of the kitchen and bedroom for the interior scenes. She had already written out the tale in a penny exercise book and calculated that she’d need a couple of dozen paintings to illustrate it. She was hoping to finish the project within the next few months, and was already thinking ahead to the next book, which she had decided would be a story about the rats that seemed to be everywhere, and into everything.
Making the indoor sketches was not as pleasant as it might have been. Beatrix very much enjoyed going into the house whenever she got the chance, but Mrs. Jennings—who had never been enthusiastic about staying on at Hill Top Farm after Beatrix took possession—always made her feel uncomfortable, as if she were intruding. And when she did go in, she couldn’t help noticing that the place needed a good airing and cleaning, top to bottom, something that was understandably hard for Mrs. Jennings to do, with two small children and a new baby to care for. And then there was Mrs. Jennings’s cheap machine-made furniture and religious pictures and bric-a-brac, which made the old rooms look cluttered and shabby.
Beatrix could hardly wait until the new extension was finished and the Jenningses had moved into it, and the main part of the house was her very own. She would furnish the rooms with authentic antiques that would
fit the spirit of the old house, and she already was happily looking for the curtains and rugs, the dishes and fireplace implements and pictures that would make Hill Top her home. Her very first home—in spite of the fact that she wouldn’t be able to live there the year round, as she desperately longed to do.
So, all things considered, Beatrix was just as glad when Mrs. Jennings didn’t ask her to stay to lunch. She went back to Belle Green and ate a sandwich and a bowl of soup. A little while later, Mr. Jennings brought the pony cart—pulled by Winston, a shaggy brown pony with an alert, self-confident air—to collect her for their drive to Holly How Farm, to have a look at the sheep she had bought.
The Crooks’ dog Rascal trotted out to the cart with her. A fawn-colored Jack Russell terrier, he lived at Belle Green but counted the village as his home-at-large. And since she boarded at Belle Green when she came to the village, he seemed to have appointed himself as her escort.
“I’d like to go along,” said Rascal politely, giving her fingers a lick to show his respect.
The Tale of Holly How Page 6
