(6/13) Gossip from Thrush Green (28 page)

The waitress wrote busily on a little pad.

'Any jam, honey or other preserve? We have our home-made apricot, mulberry and quince.

'How lovely that sounds!' cried Dimity. Like a list of jams from Culpeper!'

'We only keep our own, madam,' said the girl with some hauteur.

'Then shall we try mulberry, dear?' asked Dimity. 'I don't think I've ever had it.'

The waitress added MJ to her pad and departed.

'And now tell me, what happened, Charles?'

The rector began to look quite shy.

'Did you know that Anthony Bull is leaving Lulling?'

Really? Now you come to mention it, I believe Bertha Lovelock said something about it.'

The rector's look of shyness was replaced by one of startled exasperation.

'But how on earth could she know? It isn't general knowledge yet!'

'Well, you know how things get about in a small community,' said Dimity soothingly. 'Anyway, where's he going? Not retiring surely?'

'Far from it. He's been appointed to a splendid living in one of the Kensington parishes. Rather High Church, I gather, and a most beautiful building. Anthony will be just the man for it, the Bishop said. I'm so glad he has got preferment. I always felt that Lulling was only a stepping stone to greater things for Anthony.'

The waitress reappeared with the tray and set out the teapot, milk jug, hot water container and a large dish covered with a silver lid.

A small bowl containing a wine-coloured confection aroused Dimity's interest.

'And this is the mulberry jam? What a beautiful colour.'

'We make it on the premises,' replied the waitress, thawing in the face of Dimity's enthusiasm. 'We have a tree in the garden. It is reputed to be a hundred and fifty years old.'

'How wonderful!'

The waitress made off again, and Dimity applied herself to pouring out the tea.

'But what about us, darling? Did he mention anything about our new house?'

'He did indeed. I think two of those sugar lumps. They seem rather small.'

'They're called
fairy
lumps, I believe,' said Dimity. 'Well, go on.'

'I'm afraid there won't be a new house, my dear.'

Dimity dropped the sugar tongs in her dismay.

'Not a new house? Then where on earth are we to go?'

Her husband had now bent down to retrieve the tongs from beneath the table. When he reappeared his face was very pink.

'To an old one, Dimity. I have been offered the living of the four merged parishes, and we should live at Lulling Vicarage.'

Dimity gazed at him open-mouthed.

'Charles!' she croaked at last. 'I can't believe it! That lovely, lovely house!'

'Don't cry, Dimity! Please don't cry,' begged Charles. 'Aren't you pleased?'

Dimity unfolded a snowy handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

'Of course I'm pleased. I'm just completely overwhelmed, that's all. Oh, Charles dear, this is an honour you so richly deserve. Won't it be wonderful to have our own home at last?'

'I'm glad you are pleased. It means we shall still be among our friends, and I shall still be able to take services at St Andrew's.'

'And when do you take over?'

'Probably before Christmas. Anthony expects to be inducted in October or November.'

'And then we shall be able to move in,' said Dimity happily. She spread mulberry jam in reckless bounty upon a slice of tea cake. 'What a blessing I didn't fall for some curtaining remnants this afternoon. They would never have done for the vicarage windows.'

She looked with surprise at the jam dish,

'Oh dear, Charles! I seem to have taken all the mulberry preserve.'

'I think we might be able to afford some quince as well,' said Charles. By way of celebration, you know.'

And he raised a plump hand to summon the girl.

20. Looking Ahead

A
FTER
the long dry summer, autumn came early to Thrush Green.

The great leaves of the chestnut avenue turned golden and soon the boys from the village school would be collecting conkers.

In the cottage gardens, Michaelmas daisies and goldenrod flourished, and Mr Jones began to wonder if his hanging baskets would last out their time before the first frosts came.

Ploughing and sowing was done, and the fields lay brown and bare. Busy housewives bottled the last of the fruit, the blackberries, the bramley apple slices, and the quartered pears, and added them to the richness of the earlier summer fruits in their store cupboards.

Ella Bembridge added two more handwoven scarves to her Christmas collection, and decided that she must buy a replacement for the tweed suit she had had for ten years, not to mention a stout pair of brogues ready for the winter.

Miss Fogerty and Miss Watson decided to go to their favourite guest house at Barton for half term at the end of October. At least three houses sounded hopeful, judging from the estate agents' information. Naturally, one expected them to over-egg the pudding a little, as Dorothy pointed out to her more trusting partner, but even so, things looked promising. It would be lovely to clinch a deal, and thank heaven they had no house of their own to dispose of, added Dorothy. With any luck, they should have a place of their own before the winter had passed.

The news of Charles's new appointment gave enormous pleasure to everyone.

'The ideal man!' said Harold. 'The Bishop's done the right thing.'

'And we shan't really lose you,' as Ella said to them both. 'I mean, you'll be nipping up to take early service just as usual, and Dimity can still get the crib ready for Christmas at St Andrew's.'

Connie Harmer arrived to cake up residence with her aunt during November. The old lady appeared to be delighted at the arrangement, and her doctor and friends who had feared that she might suddenly dig in her heels and refuse to countenance any change in her way of life, breathed sighs of relief and welcomed Connie in their midst. Dotty herself was so absorbed in the half a dozen new animals of Connie's that her health seemed to be much improved, though, no doubt, as Betty Bell pointed out, Connie's cooking, which was first-class, had a hand in the old lady's improvement.

Doris, at The Drovers' Arms, displayed a pretty engagement ring, and Percy Hodge put up the banns at the end of November.

'And thank heaven for that!' said Jenny to Winnie. 'I must write and tell Bessie she was dead right!'

Albert Piggott continued to help at Dotty's and elsewhere when needed, and also found time to supervise Bobby Cooke's church duties. The young man received rather more kicks than ha'pence, but his upbringing had inured him to such discomforts and he seemed happy enough.

The most encouraging news for Thrush Green and Lulling came one afternoon at the beginning of December when a notice appeared on the door of The Fuchsia Bush in Lulling High Street.

'
This establishment will be open from 9.30 a.m. until 6.00 p.m. in future
' read the astonished passers-by.

'I hear they hope to get the Christmas shoppers in,' said Miss Bertha.

And I heard that those evening meals never really caught on,' added Miss Violet.

'About time they realised that it is
tea
people want,' said Miss Ada, voicing the view of all.

It was during the last few frenzied days of Christmas shopping, when The Fuchsia Bush was certainly doing a roaring trade from four o'clock onwards, that Molly Curdle's baby was born.

'Just think,' said Winnie Bailey to Jenny. 'It weighed nine pounds!'

'Poor thing!'said Jenny. 'But at least it's a girl. I know Ben hoped it would be. I wonder what they'll call it? It was going to be another Ben, if it had been a boy.'

'I have a shrewd idea that it will be "Anne" after Ben's dear old grandma,' said Winnie. 'If she grows up as splendid as her namesake she won't hurt.'

One mild January afternoon a small entourage walked out from the Youngs' gate.

Skipping ahead was young George Curdle, unnaturally clean and tidy, from his watered-down hair to his well-polished shoes.

Behind him walked his mother, holding the new baby well-wrapped in the beautiful old shawl which had first enveloped Ben himself. Beyond his parents came Joan and Edward Young and Mrs Bassett, Joan's mother. Her father had promised to come to the christening tea, but did not feel equal to standing at the ceremony.

The air was soft and mild. It had a hint of springtime in it, and some early snowdrops and aconites, near the churchyard gate, made an encouraging sight. Against the church wall a shower of winter flowering jasmine spilled its yellow flowers.

As Ben passed his grandmother's tombstone he patted it approvingly, noting the name and date anew.

'Pity she can't be here to see this one named for her,' he said to his wife.

'Maybe she knows anyway,' was her reply, as they passed into the church porch.