by Miss Read
'My grandpa,' said John Todd, anxious to reinstate himself in Miss Fogerty's good books, 'has got six drawers in a cabinet, full of butterflies with pins through 'em.'
Some of the girls gave squeaks of disgust, and little Miss Fogerty herself inwardly recoiled from the picture this evoked.
'They're dead all right, 'John Todd said hastily. 'He done 'em in in a bottle. Years ago, it was.'
'Very interesting,' commented Agnes primly. One could not always believe John Todd's stories, and even if this one happened to be true, good manners forbade one to criticise the child's grandfather.
'Now we will stop under this tree for a moment,' said Agnes, diverting the children's attention, and remembering 'the ever-changing panorama of the heavens' phrase of long ago. 'You may sit on the grass as it is quite dry, and I want you to notice the lovely creamy flowers hanging down. This is a lime tree, and if you breathe in you can smell the beautiful fragrance of the flowers.'
Some unnecessarily squelchy indrawing of breath made Miss Fogerty clap her hands sharply.
'Perhaps we will have a little nose-blowing first,' she said firmly. 'Hold up your hankies!'
There were times, thought Agnes, trying to recapture the heady bliss of breathing in the perfume of flowering lime, when children were excessively tiresome.
It was a good thing that Miss Fogerty had taken her children on the nature walk when she did, for a rainy spell of weather set in, when mackintoshes were the rule, and many of the fragrant lime flowers fell wetly to the ground beneath the downpour.
The gardeners of Lulling and Thrush Green welcomed the rain. The broad beans plumped out, the raspberries flourished, red flowers burst out on the runner bean plants, and the thirsty flowers everywhere revived.
Joan Young viewed the wet garden with less enthusiasm. In a week's time the buffet lunch was to take place, and that morning before breakfast, she had made a decision. She must ask Mrs Peters of The Fuchsia Bush if she could cope with the waiting on her guests, and with the main bulk of the catering.
Her mother was still in a precarious state, needing to be in bed for most of the day, and Ruth, with two young children, was hard-pressed.
Joan and Edward's only child, Paul, was away at school, and Joan was sharing the nursing duties as often as she could, but the extra work of the lunch party was beginning to worry her enormously.
'If The Fuchsia Bush could take it off my shoulders,' she said to Edward, as they dressed, 'it would make it so much easier. You see, I had planned to collect plates and cutlery from no end of people, and napkins and serving bowls for the salads and trifles and whatnot.'
'What about glasses?' asked Edward, putting first things first.
'Oh, that's simple. The wine people are coping with that anyway. But with mother as she is, I want to feel I could slip away, if need be, without disrupting anything.'
'You bob down to Lulling, and see Mrs Peters,' advised Edward, fighting his way into his pullover. He tugged it down, and went to look at his latest project through the streaming windowpane.
'They really look splendid, don't they?' he said with satisfaction. 'A great improvement on Charles's ghastly abode.'
'Will this weather hold up the work?'
'Not greatly. There's plenty to finish off inside.'
He put his arm round his wife, and gave her a kiss.
She was glad his work was nearly over. Hers, it seemed, was about to begin.
When Nelly Piggott entered The Fuchsia Bush the next morning, she found Mrs Peters sitting at the vast table in the quiet kitchen. She was busy making a list, and looked up as Nelly entered.
'Such news, Nelly,' she cried. 'Come and sit down.'
Nelly took off her wet mackintosh, hung it in the passage, and flopped down thankfully on the chair opposite her employer.
'I had a visit from Mrs Young last night,' she began. 'She's in rather a state about this lunch party of hers.'
She went on to explain Joan's needs, and her own plans to help her in this emergency. Nelly listened enthralled. Here was a challenge indeed!
'But can we do it?' she asked at length. 'What about getting the food up there? And the plates and dishes? And who's going to look after this place? After all, Saturdays are always busy.'
'I rang Bunnings about transport and they'll ferry everything. The Wine Bar's coping with the drink and glasses. We can take most of our own crockery and silver, and I intend to ask Mrs Jefferson if she would take charge here until we are back.'
Mrs Jefferson had been at The Fuchsia Bush for many years, but ill health had meant that she now only came part time. But, as Nelly knew, she was quite capable of holding the fort for a day in an emergency. Really, thought Nelly, it was all very exciting!
'How many of us will you need?' she asked.
'Well, you'll be my chief assistant, Nelly, if you feel you can undertake it.'
Nelly beamed.
'I'll thoroughly enjoy myself,' she assured her employer. 'What's the plan of campaign?'
'We'll take up the plates and things on the Friday evening when we're closed. I'm sure I can get all we need in the car. Then the food can go up with Bunning on Saturday morning. People will help themselves. It's just a case of us slicing the meat and the pies and quiches. We'll get the various salads ready here.'
'Just the two of us?' asked Nelly enthusiastically.
'Well, no. I'll see if Gloria and Rosa will come too. We shall want a few more hands, and though they leave much to be desired, at least they can stack plates, and put the dirty cutlery in a bucket to bring back here.'
Nelly thought swiftly.
'So really we'll be busy from Friday night till Saturday night?'
Mrs Peters looked suddenly anxious and careworn, and Nelly's kind heart was stirred.
'Yes, that's about it, Nelly. How do you feel?'
'Dead keen!' that lady told her energetically, and meant it.
Albert Piggott was remarkably docile when Nelly told him the great news.
'As long as I gets my tea as usual, it's all the same to me,' he said, pushing aside the plate which had been filled with oxtail stew ten minutes earlier.
'It might have to be cold that day,' his wife warned him.
'Then make a decent bit of pie,' said Albert. 'That brawn you brought back from the shop hadn't got no staying power in it for a hardworking chap.'
Nelly forbore to comment, but set about clearing the table with her customary energy.
While she was thus engaged a knock came at the door, and Albert, heaving himself from the armchair with a sigh, went to answer it.
To his amazement, Percy Hodge stood on the doorstep holding a bunch of roses. Percy himself looked equally taken aback.
'What the hell do you want?' asked Albert of his drinking companion.
'I thought this was your evening over the churchyard,' spluttered Percy.
'Well, it ain't. Young Cooke's wasting his time there tonight.'
He peered at the roses with dislike. Nelly, secretly nettled at this unwanted attention, came forward, drying her hands on a teacloth.
'Good evening, Percy,' she said primly.
'I was wondering,' said Percy, who had been thinking as quickly as his slow brain would allow, 'if Mrs Peters down the shop would like these roses for the tea tables. Maybe you'd be kind enough to take 'em down in the morning.'
'I'm sure she'd be pleased,' said Nelly. 'Won't you come in?'
'Just going next door,' said Percy hastily, thrusting the bouquet into Nelly's arms, to her discomfort. 'You coming for a pint, Albert?'
'No, I ain't,' said Albert grimly, and slammed the door.
'Well,' said Nelly, much flustered, 'I'd better put these in a bucket overnight. '
'Best place for them,' responded Albert sourly, 'is the dustbin. And how long, may I ask, has all this been going on?'
At the village school, end of term was bringing its usual flurry of activity, and Miss Watson and her staff were looking forward to the final day with ever
-increasing exhaustion.
'Sometimes I wonder if it is practicable to have Sports Day and the Annual Outing and the Parents' Fête and the Leavers' Service, all in the last month when we are so busy with reports and all these wretched returns to the office,' sighed Dorothy, as she walked homeward across the playground.
'But we couldn't really arrange things very well for the end of any of the other terms,' pointed out little Miss Fogerty. 'Christmas is hectic as it is, and anyway most of the activities are out of door ones. They must be held in the summer.'
'Yes, dear, I know. But it doesn't make things any easier.'
There was a letter on the door mat which Dorothy picked up.
'Kathleen's writing. Now I wonder what she wants?'
The two ladies made their way to the sitting room, and sat down with sighs of relief. Agnes closed her eyes, listening to the rustle of Kathleen's letter, as Dorothy read it with an occasional snort.
'Well, it appears that we can expect a visitation from them soon. Ray is getting so bored with being unable to do much, and a neighbour has offered to take them for a drive. Why Kathleen has never had the commonsense to learn to drive, I do not know. Scatterbrained, I know she is, and completely lacking in mechanical skills, but sillier people than she drive cars after all, and it would have been a help to Ray now and again.'
'Are they coming soon?'
'It's left to us. I suppose we'd better say they're welcome.'
Dorothy's voice sounded anything but welcoming.
'But not until we've broken up,' she said firmly. 'One thing, this neighbour refuses to have the dog in his car, sensible fellow, so we shan't have a repetition of their last disastrous visit.'
She rose from her chair.
'I shall make tea today, Agnes, you look tired. Shall we have Earl Grey for a change? So refreshing.'
'That would be lovely, Dorothy,' replied Agnes.
Nelly Piggott descended the hill the next morning with the roses in her basket.
There had been a few harsh words between herself and Albert after Percy's departure, but nothing seriously amiss. Nelly's conscience was clear, and she told Albert so in plain terms.
Albert, knowing Percy, guessed that for once Nelly was telling the truth about this unwelcome admirer, and after ten minutes of bickering the quarrel petered out.
Nelly was extremely cross with Percy but had no intention of confronting him. Better to tell his sister, Mrs Jenner, with whom she went to bingo occasionally, and let her pass on the message to silly old Percy.
Nevertheless, it was rather a comfort to Nelly to know that she could still inspire devotion. She had always had admirers, and was romantic by nature. She passed over the roses to Mrs Peters with a twinge of regret.
That lady was far too engrossed with the plans for Joan Young's buffet lunch to do anything but accept them with perfunctory thanks, and Nelly was not called upon to give any explanation of her gift.
The roses were put into a copper pitcher and had pride of place in the front window of The Fuchsia Bush for two days, where they were much admired by the customers.
Meanwhile, preparations proceeded apace. Mrs Peters was a born organiser, Nelly an enthusiastic supporter, and the two waitresses were sufficiently stirred by this change in routine to agree to don clean overalls and welcoming smiles for their part in the project. All that everyone prayed for now was a fine day.
The weather forecast was equivocal. There might be showers, there was a chance of sunshine, it would probably be overcast, temperatures would be normal for the time of year, winds would be light.
The morning dawned grey and still. Joan Young, a bundle of nerves, could only manage a cup of coffee for breakfast, and was soon outside surveying the preparations.
Molly and Ben Curdle had cleared their garage so that the produce stall and the plants could be displayed under cover. The gipsy caravan, which had once been Ben's grandmother's home, now stood nearby in the orchard, and this today housed the white elephant stall, including some of Ella's handiwork.
The dining room and drawing room were given over to the food, to be spread on long tables for the visitors to help themselves. Both rooms had french windows opening to the lawn and it was Joan's earnest hope that the weather would allow her patrons to sit outside, balancing plates and glasses, and dropping crumbs at their will. All the garden chairs which could be mustered were disposed under trees or near the small ornamental pool, and very pretty and welcoming it all looked.
She could do no more. Now it was over to Mrs Peters, as yet untried, and the Wine Bar in whom she had confidence from past experience.
Edward had volunteered to take the money at the gate and to collect the tickets of those who had gallantly bought them beforehand. At twelve o'clock, he was ensconced before his card table, while Mrs Peters, Nelly, Gloria, Rosa, Joan Young and Molly Curdle were hard at it in the kitchen, dining room and drawing room.
A hazy sun began to shine and everyone's spirits lifted as the first few friends came up the drive, and were directed to the paddock, today the car park, by Ben Curdle.
They had catered for one hundred guests. All seemed to have excellent appetites, and to intend to eat their three pounds-worth of the delicious offerings set before them. Nelly was gratified to receive compliments on her veal and ham pie, the quiches, the spiced beef and other delicacies. Mrs Peters, flushed and happy, watched the delectable trifles, mousses and flans vanish gardenwards.
A good many people had come from Lulling in a coach organised by Mrs Thurgood, a wealthy widow and a regular churchgoer at St John's.
It was she who had fallen out with poor Charles Henstock, soon after his induction, over the kneelers which she was determined to replace against all opposition. Luckily, the quarrel was in the past, and now she and Charles were the best of friends, the relationship being cemented by the marriage of her daughter Jane to a young man, John Fairbrother, to whom Charles had introduced the girl.
Mrs Thurgood insisted on inspecting the kitchen, much to Joan Young's and Mrs Peters' annoyance, but the lady was renowned for her autocratic ways and allowed to snoop without comment, at least of an audible nature, but meaning glances were exchanged behind the lady's back, and later Joan told Edward just what she thought of such behaviour.
Trade was brisk at the stalls. Ella was delighted to find that almost all her weaving and wickerwork had been bought, and even the wispiest geraniums seemed to be snapped up at the plant stall.
At the end of the day, Edward counted his money, and that taken at the stalls, and added it to the ticket money already banked. To everyone's amazement and gratification it came to nine hundred and seventy four pounds and a halfpenny.
After paying Mrs Peters and the Wine Bar there would still be a handsome profit.
'Well,' said Joan, when everyone had gone home and she was sitting on the sofa with her shoes off, 'that's a good beginning for the Heart Appeal and the Church Roof Fund.'
It was the beginning of much more, if she had only known.
7 Summer Visitors
WORK on the new homes was almost finished, and Edward Young was proud of his handiwork. After the rectory fire, there was much conjecture about possible purchasers of the site. Eventually, an old-established charity, which owned similar sheltered accommodation elsewhere, bought it, and worthy local people were appointed trustees.
The vicar of the parish was one, and as for many years Mrs Thurgood's husband had been a generous benefactor to the foundation, it was thought proper to appoint his widow as another at Thrush Green. Justin Venables was another of the trustees.
John Lovell also took a keen interest in the project, for he was one of the trustees who would not only help to select the first lucky residents, but would keep an eye on their health. After much discussion, it had been decided to call the new homes Rectory Cottages.
There would be seven houses to allot, for the end house was reserved for the warden and his, or her, spouse. Applicants for this joint post were to be int
erviewed very soon, and already some twenty hopeful couples had sent in their application forms. It could be a pleasant job for the right people, but the trustees had agreed from the start that they must look for a couple who were energetic and healthy and particularly sympathetic to the needs of the elderly people in their care.
By the time the closing date had arrived, the trustees met to go through the list in order to whittle it down to four, or possibly five, applicants.
It had not been easy. There were one or two couples who could be eliminated from the start, either because of age, or because one or other would be of no use in a post which demanded the help of both partners. One likely woman, who had trained as a nurse and had a good deal of experience in old people's welfare, had a husband who almost seemed to boast, on the application form, that he had no idea how to fit a tap washer, mend a fuse, or mow a lawn. He added that he had spent most of his life in India and expected such things to be done for him.
In another case, the man seemed an intelligent handyman, but the wife admitted to prostrating attacks of migraine and crippling arthritis. In the end, the trustees sent out four letter to couples they would like to interview, and seventeen to the unsuccessful applicants.
The plan was to install the wardens first before the residents arrived. It looked now as though all should be in readiness by the first of October when, with any luck, the weather would be pleasant enough to see everybody settled comfortably before the onset of a Cotswold winter.
The rector, who was one of the trustees, was particularly interested in one couple who were going to be interviewed. She was the daughter of his old friend Mrs Jenner who lived along the Nidden road, and her husband was an ex-policeman.
The couple had married before Charles Henstock's time, and he had never met them, but Mrs Jenner had often talked about them when he and Dimity had lodged in her comfortable farmhouse after the devastating fire which had made them homeless.
