by Miss Read
At the bingo session that week in Lulling, Nelly, her friend Mrs Jenner and Gladys Hodge all agreed that Dotty might well have succumbed to exposure if she had remained any longer in the chilly wood clad in little more than her nightgown.
'Hypothermia,' Mrs Jenner told them, 'is the biggest enemy of the aged. Jane is always alert to it at the home.'
As Mrs Jenner herself was a retired nurse, and Jane Cartwright, her daughter, was the equally well qualified and competent warden at Rectory Cottages, her words were accepted with respect.
'I'm a great believer in long-legged knickers myself,' said Gladys.
'And a nice woolly jumper that pulls down well over the kidneys,' agreed Nelly.
'It's a great pity, I think,' put in Mrs Jenner, 'that shawls have gone out. My old grandma always had one hanging on the back of her chair, ready to throw round her shoulders if she had to go out, or if she felt a draught. But then she was Yorkshire born and bred, and had plenty of sense.'
There was general agreement among her hearers that Yorkshire folk certainly knew what was what, and took sensible steps to combat their chilly climate.
The loud voice of the master of ceremonies recalled them to their tables, and Betty Bell, Dotty and hypothermia were put aside in the pursuit of fortune.
The news had even reached Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty at Barton-on-Sea.
'Sometimes I wonder if Dotty should be in a home,' said Dorothy Watson, putting down her crossword puzzle to hear the news from Agnes.
It was Isobel Shoosmith who had imparted the news in her weekly telephone conversation with her old friend.
'Oh, Dorothy,' protested Agnes, 'you know she couldn't be better looked after than she is now.'
'It's a great responsibility for Connie and Kit,' pronounced Dorothy, who was in one of her headmistressy moods, and finding the crossword somewhat difficult. She was ready for a mild argument with Agnes to add some excitement to the evening.
'And Dotty would hate to live with a lot of other old people,' continued Agnes.
'She would have to learn to make the best of it,' said Dorothy, at her most magisterial. 'We all have to come to terms with old age and disability. Look at Teddy! What an example to us all!'
Agnes felt no desire to 'look at Teddy', admirable fellow though he was, and was somewhat alarmed at his sudden introduction into the discussion. Dorothy had been so reticent about Teddy since their last visit to Thrush Green that she had earnestly hoped that Dorothy's passions had waned. But had they?
'Why, only this morning,' went on Dorothy, unaware of Agnes's reaction to Teddy's name, 'I had a terrible shooting pain under the ball of my left foot. I could hardly walk.'
'You must let me have a look when we go to bed,' said Agnes, glad to be on safer ground. 'You may have a thorn in it.'
'No, I think it's something called "Morton's Toe", or "Morton's Fork" perhaps.'
'Wasn't that something to do with taxes in Tudor times?'
'Which, dear? The Toe or the Fork?'
'Oh, the Fork without question,' said Agnes firmly.
'How erudite you are,' exclaimed Dorothy. 'Now, tell me why bail i has something to do with the law. Five letters.'
'ALIBI,' said little Miss Fogerty promptly.
And peace reigned again.
Carl Andersen soon set about his pleasant task of learning more about Mrs Curdle and her times.
He enjoyed meeting people, and although the serious business of the present trip was to go ahead with the great project in Scotland in which the firm of Benn, Andersen and Webbly was engaged, he found the atmosphere at Thrush Green relaxing, and his new-found friends much to his liking.
The lady with whom he had shared a table at the Bear on his earlier visit was also engaging his attention, but he had no intention of discussing that matter with anyone at Thrush Green.
He had been amused at Winnie's attempts to find out more. As she had surmised, he knew quite well how rumours fly around, and he was determined not to cause any embarrassment to the lady in question.
At the moment, she was back at her base in Chelsea, the jobs in the Woodstock area having been completed. Carl had lost no time in finding her, but found that she was now engaged on the designing of a mews flat for an up-and-coming pop star whose tastes in furnishing and general decor needed some guidance.
It was a formidable undertaking, almost as difficult as the Scottish problem was for Carl. He respected her desire for privacy whilst she was struggling, but pointed out that a little relaxation now and again, in the form of a meal out or a visit to the theatre, would assist her efforts, and she seemed glad to agree.
Meanwhile, he made another visit to the Millers at Rectory Cottages and spent a happy hour hearing about Woodstock over half a century ago, and the influx of American servicemen during the war, including of course, the handsome man who had become Carl's father. Mrs Miller's wrinkled face lit up at the remembrance.
'He was easily the best-looking man I ever saw,' she said rapturously. 'Your colouring, Carl, but even better-looking.'
'Well, thank you for the compliment,' laughed Carl, 'but I know my limitations. I remember him as a fine father as well as a potential heartbreaker. Luckily for us, he never looked at anyone other than my ma, and she was a bit of a glamour-puss herself.'
Later he went to see the Henstocks, and found that Charles was in the churchyard of St John's overseeing the arrival of a load of gravel to renew the paths. His chubby face broke into a beam on seeing Carl.
'Dimity told me you were here,' said Carl. He gazed up at the impressive spire, outlined against a clear October sky.
'Do you know, I've not been inside yet,' he told Charles.
'That must be rectified as soon as possible. But not today, I fear. I have a funeral later this morning, and we want to get this gravel laid before then.'
'Did Mrs Curdle ever come here?' Carl asked, as they watched the gravel rushing from the tip-up lorry with a mighty roar.
'I don't think so. She did have a little to do with the church at Thrush Green, and as you know, is buried there, but her fair only spent one complete day there before it moved on.'
'But surely you had a fair here too?'
'Oh, yes indeed! We have our bigger Mop Fair, and of course there are other great local fairs like St Giles' at Oxford, and the one at Abingdon. But they are held in the autumn and last for several days. Mrs Curdle's was a family affair, and much more modest.'
He turned to speak to the men, and then invited Carl to the vicarage, but he said that he had promised to call at the Fuchsia Bush for Molly Curdle.
'I've always thought,' said the rector, as they walked away from the scene of activity, 'that it would be interesting to write a history of English fairs. Have you ever thought of it?'
Carl laughed. 'I shouldn't know where to start! I'm no literary gent, you know. Steel and concrete are more in my line.'
But Charles Henstock's attention was drawn to an approaching figure, and he seemed somewhat agitated.
'Oh dear! Mrs Thurgood!' he exclaimed. 'I do so hope she isn't going to the vicarage.'
But the lady veered aside to enter the porch of one of the adjacent almshouses, and relief relaxed the vicar's countenance.
'A worthy soul,' he said hastily, 'but a troublemaker.' He looked suddenly at his companion. 'You said you called at Rectory Cottages the other day. Did you sit in the communal room?'
'I suppose so. The sitting-room place, with a conservatory.'
'Did you think it too small?'
Carl began to feel bewildered. 'Edward Young asked me the same thing. Is this something to do with Mrs Thurgood?' he asked.
'Partly. She has a bee in her bonnet about it. That's why I wanted a fresh eye on the subject. What do you think?'
Charles looked so worried that Carl was tempted to laugh, but refrained.
'Well, you must remember that I come from a country with plenty of space, and we do tend to have large rooms, I suppose. But I like smaller places, li
ke your English cottages, and I should say that the communal room, as you call it, was just about right for those few people.'
Charles Henstock looked relieved. 'That's a comfort to know. Now, I won't keep you, but we must make a date for your visit to St John's. It is well worth seeing.'
The early part of October was clear and fresh, with that pellucid quality which is peculiar to fine days in early autumn.
Young pheasants were now strutting about the fields and woods, and occasionally stepping haughtily in front of motor cars in the country lanes, to the dismay of nervous drivers.
Harvest mice, refugees from the denuded fields, were looking for comfortable hibernation quarters in the sheds, barns and lofts of unwelcoming householders.
Gardeners were busy cutting down the dying foliage of perennials, and hustling the tender plants, such as geraniums, into the shelter of greenhouses.
The brave show of Busy Lizzies, fuchsias, petunias and lobelias which had adorned the troughs and tubs and hanging basket outside the Two Pheasants and elsewhere were now being dismantled, and tulip and hyacinth bulbs planted in their place, all with high hopes of glory in the spring, which were somewhat mitigated by the knowledge that mice, birds and other nuisances would no doubt make inroads on this bounty so generously offered.
It was on one of these gentle afternoons of mild sunshine that Connie took her refractory aunt to pick up crab-apple windfalls along the road to Nidden.
The old lady was well wrapped up, and had even submitted to wearing gloves. She was in high spirits as she sat beside Connie, who drove to the appointed place.
'I suppose I must have been coming here for crab-apples for seventy-odd years,' prattled Dotty. 'My nurse used to bring me. In those days you called her 'Nurse'. None of this 'Nanny' nonsense. She was just fourteen when she came to work for us, and her first errand was to go to buy a feeding bottle for the new baby. That was me!'
'And how long did she stay?'
'Day and night. She lived in, up at the top of our house with me and my older brothers.'
'I really meant how many years,' explained Connie, halting to let a covey of young partridges bustle across the lane.
'Oh, heavens! She stayed in our family till she died. She went with my brother Oliver when his children came, and then she was with me and father. They died about the same time. That was some years before you married Kit.'
'She sounds a faithful soul.'
'I loved her dearly,' said Dotty. 'She taught me to knit, and to pop lime leaves with my mouth to make a really loud bang, and she could make lovely shadows on the wall by the light of the candle — rabbits and swans and Ikey—Mo, who was the local cats' meat man. She was simply wonderful, and I still miss her.'
She was beginning to sound a little tearful, something which had been occurring too frequently since her mishap, and which perturbed Connie quite a lot.
'Well, here we are,' she said cheerfully, drawing in to a farm gateway. 'Let's get the baskets.'
Dotty's spirits soon revived as she bent to collect the hard little apples on the grass verge.
Straightening up happily, she made for the gate.
'Give me a hand with this, dear,' she said, struggling with a strong snap spring.
'But we can't trespass!' protested Connie.
'Rubbish!' snorted Dotty. 'It's only old Bob Bennett's field, I went to kindergarten with him, and used to have to help him lace his boots. He was always an awkward lump. Still is, they tell me.'
Together they opened the gate, and went to collect the bulk of the windfalls that lay in 'the awkward lump's' property.
Dotty was enchanted at the sight. Connie, rather more conscious of trespass, only hoped that they would be unobserved.
Straightening her back, Dotty gazed across the field to the distant farmhouse.
'I remember,' she said speculatively, 'that the Bennetts always had lots of mushrooms in that field by their garden. I wonder if—?'
'No,' said Connie firmly. 'We've quite enough to cope with when we get these apples home, without stealing mushrooms as well.'
'Just as you say, Connie dear,' replied Dotty meekly. 'But these are not really Bob Bennett's. They are simply the fruits of the earth, and we are keeping them from waste!'
Connie stowed the heavy baskets in the car, ushered her companion into the passenger seat, and drove home with what she could only think of as 'their loot'.
Winnie and Ella, setting off for an afternoon's walk, saw Connie and Dotty driving by on the other side of Thrush Green.
'Blackberrying?' queried Winnie.
'Crab-apples, more likely,' said Ella shrewdly. 'Dotty never lets an autumn go by without raiding Bob Bennett's crab-apple tree.'
They crossed the grass to the lane leading to Nidden. Lately, the two women had seen much more of each other, for Ella now asked Winnie to check colours for her when she was engaged on much of her handwork, and Winnie had threaded many needles for her now that the other's sight was deteriorating.
Ella, in her gruff way, expressed her thanks, but Winnie brushed aside the gratitude.
'I used to read the clues for Donald's daily crossword, during the last few years of his life,' she said. 'He found newsprint trying.'
'You must miss him very much.'
'I do, of course. In fact, I wondered if I could go on without him, but one has to, and after a time one even begins to find a few small benefits.'
'Really?' Ella sounded startled at this admission, and Winnie laughed.
'Only little things! Not enough really to fill the gap completely, but I remember the relief I felt on taking down a photograph of Donald's mother, and putting it up in the attic. I felt guilty too, of course.'
'Did you dislike her? Or was Donald over-fond of her?'
'Neither really. She didn't particularly like me, but then she would never have considered anyone good enough for her Donald. I think there are quite a few mothers like that. No, it wasn't that. It was just that she was a plain woman, with a long horsy face and she looked so dreadfully disapproving in the photograph. As Donald fixed it at the head of the stairs you had to face it every time you went up.'
'You should have told him.'
'I didn't want to hurt him. Far simpler to say nothing, my dear. You learn to hold your tongue when you are married.'
'And what other small comforts did you discover?' asked Ella, who found herself fascinated by these disclosures.
'Well, now what else? Donald was a stickler for having every meal at the table, properly set, tablecloth, napkins, the lot. Even for afternoon tea. Once the poor darling had gone, I took to taking my tea into the sitting-room on a tray, and then, quite often, my supper. I can't tell you how lovely it seemed, but I still felt guilty. Childish, isn't it? But then I suppose one finds comfort in little things whatever one's circumstances.'
They had now reached the farm gate where they usually paused to have a break.
'I think I've been lucky to be single,' mused Ella. 'I don't think I should have been unselfish enough to lead a married life. Always having to consider what the other person needed, or would think, would drive me mad.'
'But you lived quite happily with Dimity,' pointed out Winnie.
'Looking back,' said Ella, 'I reckon poor old Dim did the adjusting, and I took it all for granted. She's one of those people better off in the married state.'
'She picked the right man in Charles,' replied Winnie. 'As I did with Donald,' she added loyally.
'I don't know about you,' said Ella, 'but I reckon it's getting chilly. Come back and have a cup of tea with me. What's more, we'll have it by the fire, on a tray.'
The weather changed overnight. The mild wind which had blown from the south-west backed to the north-east and gained in strength as dawn approached. When the good folk of Thrush Green and Lulling awoke, it was to find the dead leaves bowling across the ground in a stiff breeze, and the branches above tossing vigorously.
The temperature had dropped. Harold Shoosmith decided
that the time had come for the full-scale central heating to be turned on. Alan Lester, next door, was making the same decision for both his house and school, while Mr Jones, shaving in the pub bathroom, was startled to find that he 'could see his breath', and called across the landing to tell his wife so.
Nelly Piggott, hard by, was already buttoning up her winter coat preparatory to making her way down the hill to the Fuchsia Bush.
Now that she had come to terms with the fact that she was in charge of the business, in all its aspects, a wonderful strength had taken the place of her fears, and she was beginning to enjoy the feeling of power which her new status gave her.
She was the first to recognize the loyalty of the staff. Gloria and Rosa seemed to have shed some of their native lethargy, and were becoming much more enterprising. Even Irena seemed to take her more humble duties with the vegetable preparation with greater enthusiasm, and Nelly was quick to praise whenever possible.
It did not occur to her that her own energy had a lot to do with this change in the outlook of the staff. In fact, Mrs Peters, though an excellent businesswoman, had always been a little remote in her relationship with the girls, and understandably had been even more so during the long months of her last illness at the Fuchsia Bush.
Nelly, on the other hand, the girls recognized as 'one of them'. She had the same background, the same necessity to work for a living, the same tough philosophy of 'doing as you would be done by', 'taking the rough with the smooth' and all the other homely tags which governed their way of life. They might grumble behind her back at her sharpness and bustle, but they respected her high standards and the fact that she could — and did — turn her hand to any task which cropped up.
The difficulties which had so daunted Nelly when she first heard of her inheritance had largely been solved when a competent young woman from the accountants' office was put in charge of the business side of the Fuchsia Bush. Justin Venables' wise suggestion that Miss Spooner should be consulted about the transaction had given that lady enormous gratification, and she and Nelly had parted with great goodwill.
