‘I may be against you, Willie, but I wouldn’t do a trick like that. I need an apology from you for thinking such a thing.’
Willie realised how much he’d hurt her but he felt it counted for nothing in comparison with how he felt about her withdrawing her support from him. ‘Sorry. But it’s not like you, isn’t this …’
‘I’m sorry too, more sorry than you realise, but I will not stay for the meeting.’
Thoroughly cowed by her adamant refusal to give in to him, Willie asked sadly, ‘Where will you be?’
‘In Culworth at the pictures.’
Horrified, Willie stuttered, ‘All by yourself?’
Sylvia nodded.
‘Do I get a kiss before you go?’
Sylvia studied his woebegone face. ‘Very well.’ She gave him the merest peck, conceding in her own mind that she’d make it up to him when she got back.
At exactly eight o’clock Peter knocked at Willie’s door and walked in as he always did in village houses, calling out, ‘It’s Peter from the Rectory,’ as he entered.
He was greeted by stunned silence. To a man the conspirators couldn’t meet his eye, but he looked at each of them and said a cordial ‘Good evening, everyone. Sorry I’ve arrived late.’ Several of them blushed with embarrassment, others found their shoes more interesting than meeting Peter’s eyes. They were occupying easy chairs, dining chairs and in some instances stools, which Willie had collected from various rooms in the cottage. The small living room meant they were shoulder to shoulder in as much of a circle as Willie could devise. No one moved a muscle.
Willie, from years of treating him with deference, leapt to his feet and offered him his stool.
‘Thank you, Willie, but I’ll perch on the end of the table if you don’t mind.’ Sitting there gave him an advantage, which crouching on a low stool wouldn’t have done. ‘Please continue. Just sorry I arrived late.’
Naturally Peter’s arrival had taken the wind out of their sails and no one had the courage to continue. Finally Grandmama Charter-Plackett spoke. ‘You know why we’re here, Rector?’ Peter nodded. ‘We’ve all agreed we don’t want the dig and we certainly don’t think it quite right for you to be supporting it by offering burial. Already we’ve had a fire, which could have got out of control if it hadn’t been for Willie’s swift action, and we all dread what might happen next. I’ve been keeping an eye on it. They’ve only scratched the surface so far and found a few bones, but we want it closed up now and perhaps when they’ve done that you could say a few words appropriate for the circumstances and then we can forget about it.’
‘You all know perfectly well that I have no jurisdiction over that land. It belongs to Mr Fitch. And then there’s Gilbert.’
Jimmy spoke up. ‘Look! Gilbert would dig anywhere whatever if he thought he could find something of value. Look at the trouble we had over the Roman ruins when we wanted to hold the Show. He didn’t care a button that all our hard work would be in jeopardy. All he could think of was what he might find. He just gets carried away, he does. Also my Sykes knows a thing or two about that Dell. He won’t go anywhere near it. Wild horses won’t get him in there, not even if he thinks there’s rabbits there. Animals is wiser than you think.’
There was a general nodding of heads at Jimmy’s last statement.
Arthur Prior from Wallop Down Farm added his opinion. ‘Two of my granddaughters have come down with violent attacks of chickenpox. They’ve blisters the size of a two-pence piece and they’re very poorly. I just hope to God it is chickenpox and nothing more sinister. They’ve very high temperatures.’
Gasps of horror could be heard all round the room. A couple of the weekenders who’d been persuaded to stay on for the meeting voiced their protests too. ‘There you go! You see, and this is only the start. Heaven alone knows what might happen next. Please, Rector, will you stop it?’
‘I can’t.’
Vince Jones had his say. ‘You could, sir, please, have a word with Mr Fitch. We’re all so afraid. They’ve got to stop.’
Arthur Prior got to his feet. ‘I propose we make a deputation to Mr Fitch and go up to see him. The Rector’s quite right. He can’t stop the dig but Mr Fitch could, and he’s been much more amenable lately, so he might listen.’ He sat down again, feeling that he’d exonerated Peter from any blame, but the others would have none of it.
Miss Senior’s woolly hat bobbed again as she shuddered and, with a nigh hysterical tone in her voice, said, ‘Think what might ’appen if they’s buried in our own churchyard. I shan’t fancy finding myself next to ’em when my time comes, believe me.’
A muttered ‘hear! hear!’ came from most of the people squeezed into Willie’s tiny living room. A silence fell while they all looked to Peter for support.
‘Those bones have been there for over six centuries already, and for most of that time they’ve been there unknown to anyone. Can any of you give me a sound reason for suspecting the bones are responsible for anything at all, either evil or good?’
‘Don’t think reason comes into it.’ This from a weekender who guessed he was about to be persuaded by Peter that their protest was foolish.
Willie spoke up. ‘Well, Rector, we know it doesn’t make sense but it’s how we all feel. It’s not right and we want it stopped.’
‘I’m afraid you haven’t my support. I am still willing to see their remains decently buried in hallowed ground and so, too, should you be. They could be your ancestors, don’t forget.’
Grandmama Charter-Plackett said firmly, ‘You’re a clergyman and I can see where you’re coming from, but it won’t wash with us. We want it stopped and I for one offer myself as a member of the delegation.’
‘Hear! hear!’
‘Who’s willing to go with me?’
When it came to the point of standing up to Mr Fitch there was a marked reluctance on everyone’s part to volunteer. In the end Arthur Prior said he would go with her and Peter realised he’d lost the debate. ‘I’m certain in my own mind that Mr Fitch will say he wants the dig to go ahead, and quite rightly so. There’s no harm in it, none at all, take my word for it.’
But they wouldn’t be moved. They even begged Peter to head the deputation but he refused. ‘I’m sorry I can’t be at one with you about this, but there we are. I assure you, you are worrying unnecessarily about the situation and I have to say I’m disappointed in you. I thought you would have had more Christian understanding in you than to deny people a respectable burial. I’ll leave you to it.’
Peter turned to leave but not before Miss Senior had said, ‘And what about the chickenpox, a high temperature and sinister? What about that? I think it’s very suspicious.’
There were grunts of agreement from almost everyone in the room.
‘I’ll say goodnight, then.’ Peter left, feeling ashamed of them all and especially of Willie, of all people, spearheading it.
Despite high words between Mrs Charter-Plackett and Mr Fitch when he met with them in his office, he refused to withdraw his approval of the dig and both Arthur Prior and she were left in no doubt that their interference was nothing less than idiotic, and they weren’t to come bothering him with prejudices and complaints more suited to peasants.
At this Grandmama Charter-Plackett drew herself up and gave him a piece of her mind, which left him in no doubt either that, although he might have money now, his origins were no better than theirs. ‘Peasant? Huh! If we are, then so too are you. You can’t pull the wool over our eyes, believe me. You’re a self-made man, without that much good breeding in you.’ She held up her thumb and forefinger scarcely half a centimetre apart. ‘Good morning to you, Craddock. Let’s hope nothing of a sinister nature happens to you in the next few weeks. If something does happen, such as you being run over by a bus, I for one will not be sending you a get well card. Come, Arthur, we’re wasting our time here.’ She sailed majestically out of Mr Fitch’s study and stormed out on to the gravel drive. Looking up at the beautiful Tudor building
which was Turnham House she said, ‘This place deserves someone better than him. Had Sir Ralph still been in possession he would have treated us with dignity.’ She remembered a word she’d heard one of Jimbo’s boys use, which at the time she had thought distinctly common, but it fitted the occasion now. ‘Mr Fitch is a scumbag, that’s what he is. A scumbag.’
To emphasise his support of the dig Mr Fitch turned up at Deadman’s Dell the same afternoon. He’d forgotten how distant and unmoved by money or titles Gilbert could be and he was received with no more ceremony than the local dustcart operator. This riled him and when he bent to pick up one of the bones with his bare hands intending to examine it, he received one of Gilbert’s broadsides. ‘Put that down immediately. Have you no sense, man? They’ve not to be touched.’
Mr Fitch straightened up and looked at Gilbert with a nasty glint in his eye. ‘I’ve a good mind to refuse you permission to carry on.’
‘Have you? Too late. I’ve got your letter saying we can.’
‘I can withdraw it.’
‘You might be interested to know I’ve got the Culworth Gazette coming this afternoon. They should be here any minute.’ Gilbert, head down, squatting in a shallow trench, smiled to himself.
Mr Fitch didn’t answer. He watched the delicate process of removing earth from around a find, the gentle scraping away, the sensitive handling of the minutest scrap of material and became absorbed: the quiet throb of excitement was palpable. Just as he crouched down to get a closer look at something one of the students had found, the photographer and a reporter from the Gazette arrived. ‘Excellent, Mr Fitch, stay right there and I’ll take a picture.’ The camera clicked and whirred, and Mr Fitch pointed and smiled until his knees gave out and he had to stand up.
‘We understand you’re funding this dig, Mr Fitch?’ the reporter asked.
‘Well, not exactly but … should the occasion arise I would be more than willing. Such happenings as this are very important to an ancient village like this one and if money can help in any way then I’m your man.’
‘Excellent!’ He scribbled on his notepad.
The reporter addressed Gilbert’s back. ‘Mr Johns, isn’t it?’
Gilbert looked up and nodded. ‘That’s me.’
In all, Mr Fitch had an interesting and worthwhile interlude down at the dig, and felt justified in ignoring the stupid, childish pleas of Arthur and that old harridan Grandmama Charter-Plackett. Under a bus, indeed. Fat chance. He never went anywhere near a bus.
Bryn, when he came back from Bath, was horrified to discover how frightened the village was about the dig. There were now four of the Prior granddaughters suffering from severe chickenpox. The teachers at the school were finding their class numbers dwindling daily until, on the morning Bryn returned, only three-quarters of the school was present.
Beth and Alex were disappointed to discover they’d had chickenpox quite badly when they were very small, so their chances of being away from school for a couple of weeks were very slim.
Beth asked, ‘Were we properly poorly, Mummy?’
‘Very. Your spots were so close together I couldn’t find a space to put my finger.’
‘Really? Mum, did we have a temperature?’ Alex remembered having a severe sore throat when he was eight and how funny his head had felt and how hot he’d been.
‘You did. Daddy couldn’t bath you, because he couldn’t bear to see your spots.’
‘You bathed us, though, didn’t you, Mummy?’
Caroline nodded. ‘I did indeed, Beth, just to help you stop itching. We used bottles and bottles of calamine to cool your spots down. You even had spots in your ears.’
Beth contemplated the thought and said sadly, ‘So there’s no chance of us getting it, then?’
‘None, I would have thought.’
‘Oh, well.’ She’d quite fancied the drama of being really ill but apparently it was not to be. ‘We’ll be off, then, and see who’s next to have got it. Come on, Alex, or we’ll be late. They’re all saying it’s the dig that’s made everyone ill, but it isn’t, is it?’
‘Of course not.’
Alex said, ‘They’re blaming Dad.’
‘Are they?’
‘Yes, they say he shouldn’t have said what he did about a service.’
‘Are they?’
‘I nearly had a fight about Dad, Mum, in the playground yesterday.’
‘I hope you didn’t?’
‘No, but I wanted to.’
‘Well, don’t. Please. It will all calm down in a day or two, you’ll see.’
Quite out of context Beth remarked, ‘Janine nearly got run over yesterday.’
Caroline broke off from clearing the table to say, ‘Where?’
‘Outside school, before school began. She wasn’t being silly. There was a terrible screech of brakes.’
Alex said, ‘There was, Mum, she isn’t exaggerating. Poor Janine. They had to let her lie down for a while.’
‘I’ll leave this and go with you to school. It’s getting beyond a joke, all those cars.’
Caroline had firmly believed that the crisis over Peter’s decision to have a service would subside shortly but it didn’t. Gilbert’s two older toddlers caught chickenpox and so did Louise, who’d never had it as a child. Then Fran Charter-Plackett developed it and two days later Harriet went down with it. Even though there were columns in the papers about the epidemic of chickenpox in Culworth and the surrounding areas, none of the villagers believed anything other than that the dig was responsible for the Turnham Malpas chickenpox. Common sense quite simply did not prevail.
When Bryn next went into the Royal Oak, Georgie refused to serve him. ‘I’m sorry, Bryn, but that is my decision. You are banned.’ She stood, arms crossed, and waited for him to go.
But he didn’t. He leaned on the bar counter and said confidentially, ‘If Dicky hadn’t come back the other night you know exactly where we would have been and don’t try to tell me we wouldn’t.’
‘But he did and we didn’t, and I don’t want to, and you cause him too much upset and you’re not welcome in this bar.’
Bryn tried putting on the charm. ‘Come on, I’m not that bad. You were very close to me that night. Closer than we’ve been for years.’ He leant over the bar and put a gentle hand on her arm. ‘I rather thought you liked the new me.’
Georgie hesitated. He was right there, but … ‘I don’t, not at all, and buzz off or …’
‘You wouldn’t call the police, now would you?’
‘Just go, before Dicky comes in.’
‘Sir Galahad to the rescue, eh?’
‘Do as I say.’ At this point Alan came up from the cellar, saw Bryn, put down the crate of lagers, did a swift about turn and disappeared. He’d been told not to interfere so he wouldn’t even give himself the chance.
‘Just serve me a whisky and I’ll be gone.’
‘No. Alan, come please!’
‘Please, just one and I’ll be gone.’
‘No. Alan!’
‘Can I have a meal in the dining room?’
Georgie almost relented and opened her mouth to say it was all right but changed her mind. ‘No. Now shift yourself or I really will call the police.’
‘And there I thought you and I were business partners.’
‘I promised Dicky …’
‘Oh, well, if it was only that little squirt you promised that means nothing …’
‘Right, that’s it. Out!’ Georgie started to walk round the end of the bar, calling ‘Alan!’ as she did so.
‘OK! OK! I’ll be off. How long am I banned for?’
She couldn’t resist his chirpy smile nor the wink he gave her. She’d meant to ban him until his group came in August but she hadn’t the heart. ‘One week.’
‘Right! Jug and Bottle here I come.’
Someone sitting at a table shouted, ‘Watch out for that barmaid with the chestnut-coloured hair. She’ll have anyone in trousers, she will.’
; Bryn gave a thumbs up and went out with a final wink at Georgie, who was already regretting banning him. Alan appeared again as though by magic and she took her anger with herself out on him. ‘Where the blazes have you been? I wanted you to help turn Bryn out and I called but you didn’t come.’
‘You told me I wasn’t to interfere in your private life again, so I didn’t.’
‘Oh, I see. So that’s how it is. I’ll remember this.’ She retired behind the bar again and continued serving as though nothing had happened but inside she wished Bryn were there. She enjoyed his flirting and the changes in him more than she liked to admit, and frankly couldn’t understand how she could love Dicky and yet find the new Bryn so intriguing.
Dicky walked in to begin his evening stint behind the bar and immediately her heart burst with love. Of course this was him, the man of her heart. They didn’t kiss in public but she wanted to so much. That divorce. She’d put things in motion immediately. First thing tomorrow. Dicky smiled at her with such love in his eyes and unknowingly his smile strengthened her resolve.
Unusually for them, Jimbo came in with his mother. Several people called out to him asking how Harriet and Fran were. ‘Beginning to turn the corner, thanks. A slight improvement. We’ve just popped out to celebrate Mother’s birthday. Can’t stay long.’
The two of them chose a quiet table and Jimbo went to order their drinks. The flow of conversation went back and forth around the tables, people came and people went.
When Jimbo returned to their table with the drinks, Mrs Charter-Plackett said quietly, ‘I see Bryn isn’t in tonight.’
Jimbo raised his glass to her. ‘Happy birthday, Mother, and many of them.’
‘Thank you, you darling boy. I’m so proud of you, so proud.’
‘And I of you. Still so full of spark and energy.’
‘Less of the “still”. I’m not that old!’
‘Of course not. Of course not.’
‘I can see you’re worrying about Harriet and Fran. Well don’t. Like you said, there’s a slight improvement today. Harriet was quite chirpy when I took her a cup of tea before we came out.’
‘This business of the Dell. I see they were digging again today. Craddock Fitch was there too.’
A Village Dilemna (Turnham Malpas 09) Page 11
