Sincerely,
Leslie Dunne (Andy Moorhouse, Aidan Thomas, Ben Dunne, and Ah! yes, Johnny Dunne).
When Peter read the Governor’s letter he was shaken to the core. Apparently, during the night following his writing of the letter to Peter, Andy had managed to get up into the roof space and then onto the roof of the prison. He’d thrown himself off the top. He was still alive when they found him, but never regained consciousness, and he died twelve hours later.
Caroline went to tell Peter their meal was ready and found him deep in thought. ‘I’m just about to serve. What is it, darling?’
‘Andy Moorhouse has died. Committed suicide.’
‘Oh! I’m so sorry. Am I? I don’t know. Are you?’
‘I cannot possibly condone suicide under any circumstances.’
‘But darling, he had no one, no one at all to support him. What’s worse, no one to love him. No hope. He must have felt desperate.’
Peter studied over what she had said and then replied cautiously, ‘Maybe. Having no one who loves you must be dreadful.’ He took hold of Caroline’s hand and kissed it. ‘Maybe he’s done what was best for him. At least he was full of remorse.’
‘Well, then.’ They were silent for a moment and then Caroline added, ‘For the best I expect in the end. Poor chap.’
‘Possibly.’
The following Monday morning Dottie came in to clean, glad to see them back again and eager to tell them her news.
‘They’re starting on my house in two weeks’ time. It’s going to be a massive job. Foundations to begin with, ’cos it’s sinking as we all know, then the damp, which will mean a complete re-thatch, and then it’s going to be all mod cons for Dottie. A big kitchen made out of the outbuilding stuck onto the house that I’ve never used because the roof leaked something chronic, all new cupboards and everything, and then a bathroom out of that boxroom that isn’t big enough even for a bed.’
‘Then how will they get a bath in there, Dottie?’ asked Beth.
‘Making it bigger by taking a bit off the landing. I’m thrilled to bits. Mr Prior came down with the builder while you were holidaying, such a nice man.’
‘You can stay here, then, Dottie, like I promised.’ Caroline smiled and noticed Dottie looked a mite uncomfortable.
‘Well, Doctor Harris, much as I would like to live here – which I would, there’s no doubt about that – my cousin in Little Derehams, our Lucy, she’s already cleared out her second bedroom and she’s a new bed coming next week and she wants me to stay with her. Thank you all the same, but she’s dead set on it and I can’t refuse, she’d be that hurt.’
‘I don’t know Lucy,’ Peter said. ‘Which cottage does she live in?’
‘Doesn’t go to Church, doesn’t our Lucy, so you probably’ve never met her. The Old Forge, bottom of the hill by that medieval prison Mr Fitch restored.’
‘Oh, yes. You’ll be able to get the bus from there, won’t you?’
‘Stops just up where the old pub used to be. It’s very convenient for most things. You don’t mind, Doctor Harris? Bit difficult with it being family.’
‘Of course I don’t mind. You do what’s best. Ironing this morning, Dottie, and we said we’d clear out the linen cupboard on the landing this week.’
‘No sooner said than done. Harvest next Sunday, Rector. All ready? Going to be a big do.’ Dottie clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘Oops, sorry, a big do for the Reverend Anna, you know, the farewell do, combined with the Harvest Lunch. Best get on. She was very good in her way and was mighty kind and thoughtful to lots of people but, let’s face it, she wasn’t you, sir, now was she?’ Dottie gave him an enormous, very daring wink and then scurried off to spring the ironing board into action before she said too much.
Sheila Bissett’s new idea for the Harvest Festival had delighted every person who heard about it and it had gone from being a light in Sheila’s eye to a welcome home for all the Harrises, a warm celebration of Anna Sanderson leaving them all, a big lunch (tickets available from all regular churchgoers), and a big auction afterwards, which included any items other than Harvest Festival things people thought fit to give. Sheila had grumbled that some of the extra items people had given were not even fit for a jumble sale, but nevertheless she’d arranged for them to be available for sale on a separate table during the auction, (any offer accepted).
Sheila had worked so hard for this new idea that she had one of her panic moments the night before.
‘Look, Ron, it’s no good, I shall be awake all night and like a wrung-out dishcloth all day tomorrow. I think I’ll retire to bed and not bother getting up tomorrow.’
‘Look! You were like this over the skinny-dipping and what happened? One of the best nights we’ve ever had in Turnham Malpas. So you can take one of your herbal tablet thingies and calm yourself down. Are you listening?’
‘Have we got enough food organized? You know how the WI hate to get anything wrong. God, Ron, I feel terrible.’
‘Now come on, old girl, just cheer up.’
Sheila sat bolt up right. ‘I’ve told you before, I am not your old girl.’
‘Sorry, just a term of affection.’
‘Well, it doesn’t feel like it to me. The church is looking gorgeous. They all worked so hard today, setting it all up.’
‘There you are, you see, it is going to be successful. Our Louise inherited your organizational talents. There’s no one better than you.’
‘She’s looking better, isn’t she? I mean, after … the … baby, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, much better.’
‘I just hope they don’t try again. I couldn’t bear it.’
‘That’s their choice.’
‘I wonder if Peter realizes the big do we’ve made of it.’
‘He’ll soon find out.’
‘I’ve to be up at six-thirty in the morning. Set the alarm.’
*
The heady scent of the flowers and the fruit hit Peter’s nostrils the moment he turned the key in the main door when he went into the church for his daily prayers. The whole place felt to be alive. The trailing wreaths around the stone pillars, the exuberant arrangements on every window-sill, the fruits arranged around the font, the density of the foliage along the high stained-glass window-sill above the altar, the vines wrapped skilfully around the carved woodwork of the pulpit, and the careful threading of sprays of green leaves amongst the carving of the screen shielding the memorial chapel.
Peter’s heart almost burst with joy. What a sight! What a wonder! What faithful people his congregation were. So loyal. When he returned in time for the 8 a.m. service he found Sheila busy checking the flower vases and putting to rights flowers which had drooped during the night.
‘Good morning, Rector. What do you think?’
‘Absolutely wonderful. You’re a miracle-worker, Sheila.’
‘Well, it’s not just me. All my flower ladies have made a big effort.’
‘All swept along by your enthusiasm.’
‘To be honest, Peter, I’ve no talents at all except this. Absolutely none. I couldn’t give a sermon, say, to save my life.’
‘I wouldn’t worry too much about that. This one talent more than makes up.’
Sheila blushed. ‘That’s kind saying that. Thank you.’
The congregation at the early service was as nothing compared to the one at ten o’clock. Every single seat in the pews was taken, even the front row, and Zack the verger had brought in extra chairs from the hall, only to find he also needed the bench from outside the boiler house, with all the bird mess cleaned off and a chenille tablecloth, that his wife had brought from home to spread over it. It looked quite inviting there, in front of the font, for the latecomers.
The altar looked magnificent with all the ancient church silver splendidly displayed, it being a special day. The tall floor-standing silver candlestick holder caught the gleam of the sun as it came in through the stained glass and made it look almost celestial. T
he silver collection plates standing on the altar along with the chalice reflected the colours of the fruit and flowers so tastefully arranged around them; an artistic triumph, thought the congregation. Good old Sheila. She might get their goat a lot of the time, but she’d certainly come up trumps today.
The lunch proved to be not a simple ploughman’s at all, but a feast, of which the WI was rightly proud. After the lunch came the auction, which raised almost £400 for their charities.
When the announcement was made of their triumphant total Sheila wanted Anna to make a speech, and prompted her into doing so by stamping her feet and calling out, ‘We want Anna, we want Anna.’
Anna gracefully agreed and got to her feet. ‘I’m quite sure that this event is really for welcoming your very dear Rector and his family back home where they belong. I’ve tried my best to fill his place in your hearts, but I think I’ve only been partially successful.’ This brought a howl of protest from everyone and Anna blushed with embarrassment. ‘Well, maybe more than partially. I’ve loved it here. You all made me so welcome I couldn’t fail to be warmed by your approval. But I’m off back to that den of iniquity, the Abbey. I hope that sometimes I will be able to come back and see you all. God bless!’
Jimbo stood up and shouted for three cheers for Anna and they all joined in. After all, she hadn’t been that bad, had she?
But then the call was for Peter to speak. So he stood up and looked around at them all, smiling with such delight that more than one had a sob caught in their throat. His heart was filled with such joy and he thanked everyone he could think of for all their efforts:
‘“A ploughman’s lunch”, I was told. Well, if ploughmen ate as well we’ve done today, I’d be a ploughman any day! We’re all four of us so glad to be back in Turnham Malpas. While our tour of duty in Africa had a frightening end I cannot say we wished we hadn’t gone, because we met some wonderful people struggling desperately to be Christians in a very alien place; not for them the coming together with total freedom as we have done today, but facing murder and fear and hunger, yet still remembering to be grateful for life’s mercies.
‘Especially I would like to thank Anna for taking care of my particular patch so magnificently. Everything in my study is in apple pie order, and so is my congregation. Thank you, Anna.’
Peter walked across to her and kissed her cheek. She flung her arms around him and kissed him back, and more than one eyebrow was raised amongst the onlookers. But they all gave three more cheers for Peter, then the time came to collect their purchases and wend their way home.
The Charter-Placketts, having done their bit towards the clearing-up and staggering under the weight of the fruit and flower arrangements they’d bought, went home. Harriet went to put the kettle on to make a cup of tea, but Jimbo said, ‘No. I’ve got champagne in the fridge.’
‘Champagne? Whatever for?’
‘All will be revealed. I’ve got the tray. You get the glasses. Don’t forget Mother, she won’t be a moment.’
‘Jimbo! What’s this all about?’
‘Wait and see, you impatient woman, you. Fran is having a glass, too.’ Jimbo walked into the sitting room carrying the champagne.
Finlay said, ‘I thought we were having tea. What’s the champagne about?’
Flick and Fran said nothing, because their Grandmama said it for them. ‘So, Jimbo, dear, what’s this all about? Some new venture?’
‘Not exactly new, no. Everyone got a glass?’
Fran counted the glasses. ‘Am I having champagne, too?’
Jimbo nodded. ‘Oh, yes, most definitely you are.’
‘Dad, Mum’s not having another baby, is she?’ Finlay winked at his father.
Harriet said loudly and firmly. ‘Very flattering but absolutely not.’
Grandmama snapped at Finlay, ‘That, young man, was very vulgar of you, and what is more, thoroughly impolite to your mother.’
Flick laughed and raised an eyebrow at Finlay.
Jimbo called for silence. ‘Now, listen hard. I’ve been in consultation with Tom and Evie and, after a lot of thought and due to the pressure brought to bear on me by my wife and my mother, to say nothing of Peter Harris and all the rest of Turnham Malpas, Little Derehams and Penny Fawcett, I have decided … .’
Harriet interrupted, ‘You’re not … are you … you are!’
‘Hush!’ He paused significantly. ‘After due consideration, I am re-opening the Store at the end of next month, which gives me eight weeks to rev things up.’ A loud gasp of surprise interrupted him. ‘I ask you all to raise your glasses. A toast to the re-opening of the Turnham Malpas Village Store.’
They all gulped their champagne, hugged and kissed each other, asked questions, kissed Jimbo several times and roared with laughter. Everything restored to normal. Thank goodness. What a spectacular ending to a wonderful day.
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AN ORION EBOOK
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A Village Feud Page 25
