by Read, Miss
He turned into the farm yard and was greeted by ecstatic barking from Gyp.
'Time we was both fed,' Percy told him, reaching for the dog biscuits with one hand, and the frying-pan with the other.
14. Mixed Problems
AT Barton-on-Sea, Agnes and Dorothy were busy with Christmas cards and parcels bound for friends overseas.
'We really should have sent to Freda Potts in Australia last month,' said Dorothy, studying a pamphlet from the Post Office.
Freda Potts had taught with Dorothy in her first school, and had been a frequent visitor to Thrush Green before making her home abroad.
'So soon?' queried Agnes. 'I should have thought it would have got there far too early.'
'I'm inclined to put a handkerchief in with our Christmas card, and send it air mail,' said Dorothy. 'Really, Christmas seems to get earlier every year; here we are on November the fifth, and still behind time.'
'I wonder how the bonfire will go tonight?' mused Agnes, pen arrested.
'I don't intend to light it,' said Dorothy, 'the leaves are much too wet.'
'I meant at Thrush Green.'
'Ah!' sighed Dorothy. 'That bonfire! What fun we had with the guy!'
'I wish we were nearer, then we could be there to see it.'
Dorothy looked at Agnes's wistful face. 'We'll bear it in mind for next year,' she promised. 'Perhaps we'll have a day or two up in the Cotswolds, and have a last fling before we hibernate.'
'Lovely!' cried Agnes.
'And I'll ring Isobel tomorrow to hear all about it,' continued Dorothy, reaching for another Christmas card.
'And the rest of the Thrush Green news,' added Agnes. 'It seems a long time since we saw them. Would you like me to do the telephoning?'
'No, no. I can do it when I come back from Teddy's,' replied Dorothy, banging on a stamp energetically.
Teddy, thought Agnes rebelliously, would have to come into things! Even a telephone call to dear Thrush Green, it seemed, had to be tailored to fit in with Teddy's requirements.
She banged on a stamp of her own, with some vehemence.
Thrush Green's bonfire was set alight just after six o'clock, and a goodly crowd was there to watch. It was flaming vigorously when Percy made his way towards Mrs Lilly's house. A crowd of people held up his Land Rover for a few moments as they crossed the road from The Two Pheasants. He was hailed by a woman as he waited, and he saw that it was Nelly Piggott.
'Coming over, Percy?' she called, one hand on the van window.
'Can't tonight. Just off to the hospital.'
'Oh dear! Who's bad then?'
'Doreen Lilly.'
He attempted to edge away, not wanting to go into details, but he was obliged to linger as the new schoolmaster, his wife and the two little girls went across towards the bonfire.
'I'm sorry,' said Nelly. 'I hadn't heard.'
At last he got away and Nelly, following the excited Lester children across the grass, had much to think about.
Later, she told Albert of this encounter. 'D'you think he's got his eye on young Doreen, now that Emily Cooke's turned him down?' she enquired.
'Wouldn't be surprised,' grunted Albert. 'Perce is fool enough for anythin', and always had an eye for the girls.'
Mrs Lilly was waiting on the pavement when Percy arrived, and he did not have the opportunity of presenting her with the dozen brown eggs he had brought as a small offering to his hostess.
They made their way to Lulling High Street. The sky on their left was bright with reflection from the bonfire, and Mrs Lilly chattered brightly about the times she had taken Doreen to see it over the years.
'Bobby wanted to go but I promised I'd take him next year. He had a late night yesterday, what with all this upset, and my neighbour Mrs Brown is sitting with him. I got him to bed early tonight. One thing, he's not much bother about going to bed; Doreen was a real handful over that when she was little.'
As before he waited while she went in to see her daughter. If anything, it was colder than ever, and a myriad stars sparkled over a world already frosty.
Percy found himself looking forward eagerly to Gladys Lilly's supper, and hoped it would be a cooked one. A chap didn't fancy cold meat and salad on a night like this, and Percy fell to envisaging steak-and-kidney pudding, with good thick gravy oozing out when the knife went in, or perhaps a steaming Lancashire hot-pot like his dear Gertie used to make, with brown potato slices sizzling on top.
The waiting time seemed longer than yesterday's, hungry as he was, and the church clock was striking seven when Gladys came from the door.
'I'm to ring tomorrow morning, and they may let her out after the doctor's done his rounds. She looks more herself today.'
'Want me to fetch her?' asked Percy.
'I don't think you need to trouble,' said Gladys. 'Someone from the hospital car service will bring her, they said. If it's daytime you'll be out on the farm, and you've done more than most would already.'
'Only too pleased to help,' responded Percy. 'Let's leave it that you'll get in touch sometime tomorrow. I'd like to know how she's doin'.'
He left the Land Rover in the street, and followed Mrs Lilly into the house. A delicious smell of cooking greeted them, and Percy realized that he was even more ravenous than he had first thought.
'Now come in, Mr Hodge—I mean, Percy. It's set in the kitchen, and Mrs Brown is having a bite with us.'
Percy felt unduly annoyed at hearing that this was not to be the tête-à-tête he had envisaged. However, it was Gladys's affair, and obviously a nice way of showing appreciation of her neighbour's help during these worrying two days.
Gladys took his jacket and cap, and led him through to the kitchen. Mrs Brown was a small wizened old lady with hair of a startling orange hue. Percy knew her by sight, and remembered that her husband, who was now dead, had been a gamekeeper on one of the Hampshire estates to the south of Lulling.
Introductions were made, Mrs Brown and Percy were invited to sit at the table, and Gladys took the supper from the oven.
It proved to be just the sort of meal that Percy liked best, steak-and-kidney simmered in a casserole with a large dish of potatoes baked in their jackets and another of carrots.
Percy, like most men, enjoyed plenty of meat with brown gravy. When he had married Gertie, an accomplished and imaginative cook, he had stipulated 'no damn stuff in white sauce'.
Gertie soon weaned him by way of cauliflower cheese and fish fillets in white sauce, but he still thought that the predominant colour on a fellow's dinner plate should be brown with a touch of home-grown green—say runner beans, peas or sprouts—on the side.
'Well, this looks wholly good,' he told Gladys. 'I don't get real home-cooking these days.'
'Nothing like it,' agreed Mrs Brown, who seemed to eat at an alarming pace despite the regular clicking of ill-fitting false teeth. 'When I was in service at Marchleaze we had a wonderful cook. Mind you, she was temperamental. Blew hot and cold. One minute all smiles, the next as black as thunder. Being an artist in her own line, you see.'
'Ah!' agreed Percy. Gladys passed him the pepper pot, and was about to speak, but Mrs Brown forestalled her.
'My lady understood her funny little ways,' continued Mrs Brown. 'Never turned a hair when cook sulked. A wonderful woman she was. Heiress in her own right, but would sit down with anyone. Brought up the children the same, but it didn't stop Master John taking to the bottle. And worse! But a lovely boy. Used to have beautiful hair before he went bald. And nice manners too, even when he was half-seas over.'
It soon became apparent to Percy that Mrs Brown was one of those people, all too common, who regaled their listeners with lengthy tales about people who were entirely unknown and, after an hour or so of increasing boredom, thoroughly disliked.
He and Gladys were subjected to a monologue about Mrs Brown's lady, her looks, disposition and extensive wardrobe. The doings of Master John, Miss Adela and the three younger siblings were also described in minute
st detail, while Mrs Brown's two companions ate in silence.
The main course was followed by a magnificent trifle, and then by biscuits and a noble hunk of Cheddar cheese. Percy did full justice to everything put before him, and attempted to turn a deaf ear to his neighbour who was now describing the grandeur of her lady's drawing-room.
'And over the mantelpiece there was a great picture of her mother—ever so big—as big as that door there. No! I tell a lie! Perhaps about three-quarters of that door, but with a gold frame that took a bit of dusting, I can tell you. It didn't have no glass over it, it was done in oils, you see, and that could catch the dust too, specially as they liked log fires, and you know what wood ash is if you get a draught. The gardener used to bring in the logs. Why, some of them would be as long as this table here, and as thick as a man's leg. Burn for hours, they would.'
The fireplace and portrait were followed by descriptions of the chairs, cabinets and their contents, the soft furnishing, both for winter and summer, and how the staff set about spring-cleaning when the lady of the house ordered it.
By nine-fifteen Percy was beginning to get restive. He was more than grateful to Gladys for this wonderful meal, but disappointed in having so little opportunity to express his appreciation, or to express anything else, for that matter, with the relentless outpourings of Mrs Brown in full spate.
At last she stopped, looked at her watch, and rose in a flurry.
'So late! I had no idea! I must get back, Gladys, my programme's on, and I want to see if Kevin and Mandy have made it up.'
She waved goodbye to Percy, and Gladys escorted her to the front door, thanking her profusely against Mrs Brown's monologue which still continued.
Gladys returned and smiled at Percy. 'Runs on a bit, doesn't she?'
Percy thought that this was the understatement of the year, but was too polite to comment.
'Have a cup of coffee,' urged Gladys. 'We might have a chat, now she's gone. But this I will say, despite all the gab, her heart's in the right place.'
It was not long, of course, before the news flew round the neighbourhood that Percy Hodge was now paying his attentions to young Doreen Lilly. Well, hadn't he visited the hospital twice while the girl was there? And hadn't he been seen visiting the house several times since Doreen was home again?
The general opinion was that Percy simply could not keep away from these young girls like Doreen and Emily Cooke, and all foresaw another disappointment in store for the amorous wooer.
But other topics soon crowded out speculation about Percy's adventures. For one thing, the spate of fund-raising continued, and the Fur-and-Feather whist drive, Lulling's Mammoth Nearly-New Sale, and the flutter of raffle books which these activities aroused, turned attention from Percy's plight.
Nelly Piggott had troubles of her own, for one morning Bertha Lovelock had entered The Fuchsia Bush alone, and taken a table dangerously near to the counter where such tempting tit-bits as home-made shortbread fingers and delicious scones, warm from the oven, gave forth their fragrance.
Nelly, who happened to be in the shop when the lady appeared, was confronted with a number of options to protect the shop's property.
It would look offensive to remove the goods from the counter and to put them out of Bertha's reach. She could, of course, pretend that she wanted to re-arrange them in the kitchen and whisk the lot outside.
She could stand guard over the array, or post one of the girls to stand on duty. She could, at a pinch, telephone Violet Lovelock and tell her that Bertha was at large on her own, and did she know?
All these unpleasant possibilities flashed through Nelly's head, until she came across a more acceptable solution.
She approached Bertha with a smile. 'Good morning, Miss Lovelock. Chilly today, isn't it?'
Bertha inclined her head graciously.
'Can I bring you some coffee?' asked Nelly.
'Yes, please. Nothing to eat.'
Nelly looked around with affected solicitude. 'I think you are going to be in a draught here, Miss Lovelock,' she said anxiously. 'Every time the door opens, you know. Wind's easterly this morning. Let me put you over here. You'll be more comfortable.'
Bertha seemed remarkably obliging, and began to gather gloves, purse, two letters awaiting posting, and an ancient fur stole which she had hung on the back of the chair.
At that moment, however, there was a crash from the kitchen, and Nelly went to see what was the matter, and to order Bertha's coffee.
Her back was turned for approximately twenty seconds, and Bertha was still collecting her belongings when Nelly reached her side. Before long, the old lady was settled by the wall, out of harm's way, and Gloria was approaching with a steaming cup of coffee.
Nelly carried the basket of scones into the kitchen to count them. As she feared, one was missing. One really could not help but admire Bertha's sleight-of-hand manoeuvres, embarrassing though they were, thought Nelly.
Gloria had been left on duty, having been primed beforehand about the action to take should Bertha ever appear alone, and Nelly made a quick decision.
She would do nothing on this occasion; poor old Violet had enough to cope with. But she intended to see that Bertha paid her bill for the coffee, and she would watch to see that she went straight home. Both these things happened, and Nelly was left to wonder if she should mention the matter to Mrs Peters and the girls. Or was it right to turn a blind eye, as she had decided to do?
Being a partner in the firm certainly complicated life, thought Nelly, returning to her domain in the kitchen after she had seen Bertha disappear through her own front door. If Nelly had been a mere assistant, like Rosa or Gloria, she would have reported the matter to Mrs Peters and left it at that. But now she had more important obligations. 'Rank imposes responsibilities' someone had once told her, and Nelly, somewhat ruefully, realized that she must face that fact.
This time no action, she told herself, shaking flour on to a pastry board, but if it happened again she would harden her heart and send for Miss Violet to cope with her sister.
Winnie Bailey was also having private worries. As a doctor's wife for many years, in a small community, she had frequently known of the complaints and conditions of many of her husband's patients. Obviously she had been discreet, and had not interfered in her husband's affairs, but the fact remained that she was often privy to confidences disclosed by Donald's patients almost before she could direct them to his surgery.
The case of Margaret Lester and her family worried her considerably. Her kind heart went out to the man who was doing his best to carry on the sound tradition of good schooling which his predecessors had maintained, whilst instigating some more modern methods of his own.
She was even more concerned about the two little girls. She came across them occasionally, and was impressed by their good manners and friendliness. The children played frequently with John Lovell's two children who were much the same age, and one morning Winnie ventured to broach the painful subject of Margaret's addiction to alcohol with the doctor.
He listened with his usual sympathy. He was devoted to Winnie, recognizing her sterling virtues and unfailing common sense. But on this occasion, he was obliged to be firm.
'There is nothing I can do, Winnie, as you know, until I am approached either by the patient herself or by someone directly responsible for her, like Alan. I am as upset as you are by the problem, and I can only hope that Alan can persuade her to seek help.'
'Have you ever been called to the house?'
'Not for Margaret. I have had occasion to visit the children once or twice, but the migraine attacks about which we hear so much are dealt with by Alan and Margaret herself.'
'But those poor little girls!' cried Winnie. 'What can we do about them?'
'Mighty little, I fear, until we are asked to help. We can only stand by in readiness, and rush to the rescue if necessary.'
'I just dread the possibility of something unpleasant happening in that house,' said Winnie
sadly. 'It could so easily.' How prophetic her words were!
15. Friends at Thrush Green
NOVEMBER grew gloomier as the days passed. It was not cold, but dark and oppressive. Mist hung in the valleys and the sun was nowhere to be seen. The trees dripped, the hedges were spangled with droplets, and the roads and grass were permanently wet.
Lights were on in the houses, shops and offices from morning until dusk. It was a depressing period for all. Everyone was lethargic, from the young school children to the venerable inhabitants of Rectory Cottages.
Even Betty Bell's exuberance seemed diminished as she went about her duties, first at the school and then at the Shoosmiths' house.
'Fair gets on your wick,' she said, collecting her tin of polish from under the stairs. 'I mean, what's the good of polishing in this weather? "Love's labour's lost", as my mum used to say.'
'Well, perhaps you'd better leave it,' said Isobel. 'The windows could do with a wash instead.'
'No, no. It's polishing today, and that I'll do,' said Betty firmly. 'Can't let the weather have the best of it. By the way, old Dotty—Miss Harmer, I should say—is in bed with a chill. At least, she should be, but she keeps getting out and she's driving Miss Connie up the wall.'
'Oh dear! I'm sorry, I'll ring Connie this morning.'
'It's this weather,' went on Betty, taking up the tin of polish. 'No end of the kids are away from school, and Mrs Lester's taken to her bed again.'
'Dear, dear!'
'And not only to her bed,' said Betty ominously, and made her way upstairs, leaving Isobel much disturbed.
Later that day she and Harold roused themselves enough to tackle the task of sweeping up leaves. It was heavy-going, for the ground was sticky and the leaves sodden.
They wheeled a few barrow loads to the compost heap, and surveyed the hundreds which still adhered obstinately to the lawn.
