(6/13) Gossip from Thrush Green (27 page)

She stooped, with some difficulty now that her pregnancy was advancing, and attended to the legs of the chairs. This afternoon, rain or no rain, she must go across to see her father and collect his washing, and hear his news.

Sometimes she wished that Nelly, trollop though she was, would return to look after her husband, but there was small chance of that, thought Molly, and one could hardly expect it.

Well, things could be a lot worse. She had her health and strength, and Ben was happy in his work.

If this new baby was a boy she was determined to call him Benjamin after his father. Ben had said it would be muddling to have two of the same name, but Molly was adamant.

You can't have too much of a good thing,' she had told him. 'He'll be Ben - another Ben.'

'With any luck,' he had replied, it'll be a girl.'

Albert was newly returned from The Two Pheasants when his daughter called early that afternoon.

'Was just about to have a nap,' he grumbled. Come for the washin'?'

'That's right, dad. How's the job? Seen young Cooke yet?'

Albert grunted.

'Ah! He's coming down one evenin' this week, so he says, to see what needs doing. Rector's coming too, and we're goin' to sort things out then.'

'What about wages? Will you have to share now with Bob Cooke?'

'Seems I'll be havin' a bit less, but that's only fair if I'm not doin' the work. Anyway, old Dotty's paying me well for the milking, and the rector wanted to know if I'd take on odd jobs like feeding people's hens and cats and that when they're on holiday. I've said I'll see to young Jeremy's rabbits when they go to Wales at Christmas—that sort of thing. Suit me fine, that will. Probably make as much like that as digging the dratted graves in this 'ere clay.'

Molly doubted it but kept her counsel. In any case, the old man's temper was better than it had been for many a long year which was all that really mattered.

'And Jones next door said he could always do with a hand with the empty beer crates at closing time, so I shall have plenty to do.'

'Will you get paid for that?' asked Molly suspiciously.

'Well, not in hard cash, like,' admitted Albert. 'More in kind.'

'I was afraid of that,' said Molly, picking up the bundle of washing.

After tea, the rain ceased. The clouds scudded from the west, leaving a strip of clear sky on the horizon. Lulling Woods stood out clearly, navy blue against the golden strip, and Jenny, looking from her window, guessed that tomorrow would bring a fine day. Perhaps she could take down the landing curtains? It would soon be the end of summer, she thought sadly, and time to put up the velvet curtains again to keep out the bitter winds of a Cotswold winter.

As she stood surveying the scene, a well-known figure trudged into sight from the lane to Nidden.

In earlier times, Jenny's heart would have sunk, for without doubt the man would have turned left along the chestnut avenue to approach her house.

Now, to her relief, she saw that Percy Hodge was plodding straight ahead, past The Two Pheasants, no doubt on his way to see his new love, Doris.

He was carrying a basket this evening. What delectable present was in it this time, Jenny wondered. A chicken, perhaps? A dozen pearly eggs? Some early plums? Whatever it was, Doris was more than welcome, thought Jenny cheerfully. She only hoped that Percy's second attempt at wooing would end successfully.

She remembered with amusement what Bessie had forecast. 'He'll soon find someone else,' she had said, 'if he's as nice a man as you say he is.'

Well, thank goodness he had found someone, decided Jenny. Whether he would be married again before the year was out, as her old friend had surmised, was in the lap of the gods, but at least she would be relieved to know that dear old Percy was settled.

She watched him turn down the lane by Albert Piggott's on his way to Lulling Woods and Doris.

And with a sigh of relief, and no regrets at all, Jenny turned back to her happy solitude.

Jenny's weather forecast was correct. The rain had gone, leaving a sodden countryside and dripping trees and gutters, but above the sky was clear and blue and there was a freshness in the air that made one think of autumn.

'Bit parky coming along,' cried Betty Bell, bursting in upon Harold and Isobel Shoosmith still at the kitchen breakfast table. 'Are you late or am I?'

'We've been taking our time,' replied Isobel. 'Lots of letters this morning. But we've finished now, and we'll get out of your way.'

'No hurry,' said Betty. 'I called to see Miss Harmer as I came by. Actually, I popped in last night after I'd done the school. She don't look right to me.'

'Oh dear! Is she eating properly?'

'Seems to be. I mean, she'd got a bowl of cornflakes this morning with some brown sugar on it, and Dulcie's milk. Nourishing, I should think, if you can face goat's milk and brown sugar. Which I can't, and that's a fact.'

'Shall I go down there, Betty?'

'I don't think I would today. She'd think I'd been telling tales, see? Anyway, Miss Connie comes this afternoon, and stays there tonight, so she'll have company.'

Betty tugged off her coat and hung it on a peg on the back of the kitchen door.

'If you haven't got any particular plans for me,' she said, 'I thought I'd have a bash at the china ornaments in the drawing room. They look a bit grubby.'

As the china ornaments were Chinese porcelain, very old, beautiful and valuable, it was hardly surprising that Harold winced. 'Having a bash' was exactly how Betty attacked her work.

Isobel, with habitual aplomb, coped beautifully with this kind offer.

'I'd rather hoped to turn out the spare room today, Betty. I'll come up and help you turn the mattress and we'll make up the bed.'

'Right,' said Betty, rummaging in the cupboard for the carpet sweeper, handbrush, dustpan, polish, dusters and other equipment for the onslaught. 'See you pronto.'

She lugged the paraphernalia into the hall, and then returned.

'You know them two next door are going to leave next year?'

'Yes,' said Harold, folding his newspaper.

'And Albert Piggott's givin' up half his job?'

'Yes,' said Harold.

'And the Hursts are going to America again?'

Harold nodded.

'And they're not going to put up another house for poor Mr Henstock? Ain't it
mean?
There's going to be an ugly great clinic place there. Heard anything about that?'

'Not a word,' said Harold, rising from the breakfast table. 'And you don't want to believe all you hear, Betty.'

'Sorry I spoke!' said Betty, flouncing from the room.

Husband and wife exchanged rueful glances.

Charles Henstock polished his old car during the morning, ready to visit the Bishop promptly at two-thirty.

The Bishop detested unpunctuality and was not above saying so. Charles respected the great man's principles, and was determined not to offend.

'Let me just see how you look, dear,' Dimity said, before they set off.

She scrutinised her husband from his pink and shiny bald head to his old but gleaming shoes.

'Very nice, Charles, but do remember to pull up your socks before you go in. The Bishop is always so beautifully turned out. He's as immaculate as Anthony Bull, and that's saying something.'

'Anthony has a great advantage. He is a fine-looking fellow. Anything would look well on him. The last time I saw him he was tending his bonfire, and he still looked as though he had just emerged from a band box.'

Dimity privately thought that Anthony Bull's stipend allowed him to buy expensive suits made by his tailor, while dear Charles was obliged to purchase his off the peg. However, she did not voice this unworthy thought.

'Well, you look very well yourself,' she told Charles comfortingly, 'and now we must be off.'

The rain had freshened the countryside, and the shabby hedgerows of late summer were now sparkling with moisture. Already the ploughs were out, turning over the bright stubble into long wet chocolate furrows.

Dimity noted the yellowing leaves already showing on the beech and wild plum trees. Soon autumn would be upon them, and although she loved the mellowness, the rich colouring and the joys of bringing in the harvest fruit and vegetables, she felt a little shiver of apprehension about the cold weather to come.

The rectory had always been so bleak. Surely, wherever they went would be more comfortable than their last domain!

Perhaps the Bishop would give Charles some firm idea of his plans for their new home. It was certainly most disconcerting to be kept in such suspense.

However, Charles knew her views well enough on this matter, and it was useless to try to make him assert himself. Charles was Charles—sweet, far too humble and a living saint. She would not have him changed one iota!

'If you drop me at the back of Debenham's,'she said, 'I can go through their bed-linen department, and you won't hold up the traffic by trying to stop at their main entrance.'

Charles did as he was told, promised to pick her up again at four o'clock, and set off, feeling a little nervous, to his appointment.

The Bishop lived in a fine red-brick house at the end of a long drive bordered with lime trees.

Charles parked his car in as unobtrusive spot as possible beside a flourishing prunus tree, and tugged at the wrought-iron bell pull by the white front door.

A very spruce maid welcomed him and showed him into the Bishop's drawing room.

'I'll tell the Bishop you are here,' said the girl. 'At the moment he is telephoning.'

She departed, leaving Charles to admire the silver cups on a side table, and the oar hanging above the fireplace. The Bishop was a great oarsman, Charles remembered, a true muscular Christian. Perhaps that contributed to his good looks, thought Charles, and bent to pull up his wrinkled socks as Dimity had told him.

The solemnly ticking grandfather clock by the door said two minutes to the half hour when Charles heard the Bishop approaching.

He stood up as the door swung open.

'My dear fellow! I hope I haven't kept you waiting. You are wonderfully punctual. Come into my study. We'll be unmolested there.'

He strode through the hall, followed by the good rector who admired the clerical grey suit which clothed those broad shoulders and neat waist.

He certainly was a handsome fellow.

But at least, thought Charles, I remembered to pull up my socks.

Connie Harmer arrived at much the same time as the Bishop invited Charles to take a seat in the study.

She found her aunt resting obediently on her bed, kissed her affectionately and enquired after her progress.

Connie's expression was as calm and competent as ever, but inwardly she was much alarmed. Dotty looked old and haggard. Her lips and cheeks wore a purplish tinge. She was definitely vaguer in manner than at her last visit.

'I'm dying for a cup of coffee,' said Connie, pulling off her driving gloves. 'I'll bring you one too.'

Dotty nodded dreamily in agreement, and Connie went downstairs.

Her first job was to ring Doctor Lovell. His receptionist promised to tell him the minute he returned from his rounds. Then she put on the kettle, and thought hard while it came to the boil.

Well, the time had come. She had made her plans, and friends had offered a good price for her house and land. Aunt Dot had always been good to her, and she could live very happily here in her cottage, bringing only a few of her most cherished animals to share the rest of their lives with Dotty's.

She carried the tray upstairs and put it down on the bedside table.

'There we are, Aunt Dot. And when you've finished it, we're going to have a little talk about the future.'

At four o'clock Dimity waited in the vestibule at the rear entrance of Debenham's, surrounded by parcels.

Charles arrived soon after and they piled everything into the back of the car in great haste, as a van man drew up, practically touching Charles's back bumper with his own, and putting his head out of the window to address the rector.

From his accent he would appear to be a Glaswegian, thought Charles, and so—perhaps fortunately - his message was entirely incomprehensible to southern-English ears. His demeanour, however, was threatening and abusive, and Charles and Dimity were relieved to drive off.

'I was going to suggest that we had a cup of tea at Debenham's,' said Charles, 'but it wasn't a good place to park evidently. We'll stop at the Oak Tearooms instead. Anyway, they have quite the best toasted tea cake in the district.'

Dimity knew better than to question her husband while he was driving in traffic, and it was not until they were safely ensconced among the oak panelling and chintz curtaining of the renowned tea rooms that she began.

'And how did you find the dear Bishop?'

'As upstanding as ever. He enquired most kindly after you. Ah! Here comes the girl!'

The girl was approximately the same age as the rector, must have weighed thirteen stone, and was dressed in a rather tight flowered coat overall.

'Could we have some of your delicious toasted tea cake? And a pot of China tea for two?'