(3/13) News from Thrush Green (19 page)

'Did you know, Agnes, that she scoured the outside drains every morning? Scrupulously clean - scrupulously!'

'I can't think how poor Albert Piggott will manage without her,' said Miss Fogerty compassionately. 'He'll need someone there when he comes out of hospital.'

'Well now,' began Miss Watson, looking important, 'I heard a rumour that Molly might be back for a bit.'

'Splendid!' cried Miss Fogerty, clapping her small hands together. 'Dear Molly!'

'It's not
definite,
Agnes dear,' said Miss Watson severely. 'Don't repeat it, until we've had it confirmed. As you know, I cannot abide idle gossip. But certainly, that's what I heard.'

'I shan't breathe a word,' promised Miss Fogerty solemnly. 'But I do so hope you heard aright.'

She turned her attention to the hymn book in her hand.

'What shall we have this morning?' she asked her headmistress. '"Jesus bids us shine"?'

'I am afraid it had better be a carol, dear. They still need plenty of practice before the concert. "Away in a manger", perhaps?'

Miss Fogerty winced.

'Not again, please. I have to go through it so often.'

'Very well,' said Miss Watson indulgently. 'You choose, Agnes dear.'

'What about "Once in royal?"'

'Splendid,' said Miss Watson, looking about for a bell-ringer. Her eye lit upon Ben Lane who was engrossed in cleaning the doorknob with a spat-upon handkerchief.

'You may ring the bell, dear,' she said graciously. A tag from her well-worn college notes came into her mind.

'Always direct the child's energies into useful channels.'

Of course, she thought, a minute later, as the school bell rang out its warning to late-comers, we may need the children's labour to keep the school clean now that Nelly's gone. But Ben Lane's methods, of course,
would not
be countenanced.

Nothing had been heard from the departed lady. The oil-man had left Lulling without giving anyone an address, so that neighbours put two and two together, as always, and this time came to the right conclusion. The love-birds had flown together.

The local paper had Albert Piggott's story in it. Not, of course, the story of his broken marriage, but a sensational one about his dramatic collapse.

'St Andrew's Sexton Found Unconscious' it said boldly. And in smaller print below: 'Timely Aid by Vicar.'

'I do wish,' said Charles Henstock, quite waspishly for such a kindly man, 'that papers would get their facts right. Everyone here knows I'm a
rector
.' He read the rest of the story with an expression of marked distaste on his chubby countenance, but his comment was typically Christian.

'Perhaps Nelly will see this, wherever she is, and come back to him.'

'More fool her if she does,' said Ella who was present.

She voiced the general sentiments of Thrush Green.

But the drama of the Piggotts was soon overshadowed by Phil Prior's sad news. Despite the fact that her husband seemed to be 'a proper fast one', as they had observed to each other, Thrush Green folk were sincerely shocked by the tragedy which had befallen the newcomer, who had so quickly become one of the community.

Harold Shoosmith, on his return, had gone at once to see Joan Young. The little boys were playing in the garden with Flo, the old spaniel, and he could speak openly.

'She's in a pretty bad state of shock, naturally.' he said, 'but wanted to go through this business alone. She'll ring tomorrow to let us know what's happening. I've told her to telephone me. I hope you don't mind? I'm there alone, and it might be awkward for you if the boys were within earshot.'

'By far the best thing,' agreed Joan. 'I hope she won't feel that she must hurry to get back to Jeremy - though I know she'll want to, of course. But he's a dear child, and fits in so happily.'

'There'll be a few formalities to go through, no doubt, but I should think she'll be back in about two or three days. It depends on the funeral arrangements.'

He walked to the window and stood staring across the chestnut avenue to the green. Joan could see how worried he was and, woman-like, knew why without being told.

'Would you like to come and have dinner here tonight with us?' she asked impulsively. 'Edward and I would love it, if you are free.'

As though he knew what was in her mind, he turned quickly and smiled.

'You're very kind, but I ought to write a letter or two, and I want to let the Baileys know about this. Winnie will wonder what's happened when she sees the house in darkness.'

'I understand,' said Joan.

A little later she saw him crossing to the doctor's house, and thought what an attractive man he was.

'Phil could do a lot worse,' she thought, then chided herself for thinking of such things, when poor John Prior was not yet in his grave.

Jeremy had asked only a few questions about his mother's absence, for which Joan was truly thankful.

'Why has she gone to France? To see Daddy?'

'Yes,' said Joan.

'Why so quickly? Why didn't she take me?'

'Daddy had an accident in the car, so she went straight away.'

'He always drives fast,' said Jeremy, proudly. 'Once we did
ninety: Ninety
!' he repeated.

'My uncle,' said Paul, 'once did a hundred and thirty. And my friend Chris says his father did
two hundred
on a straight road in Norfolk!'

'Don't boast,' said Joan. But she was glad to have had the subject changed, nevertheless.

Harold found the Baileys, and Richard, taking their ease and watching, in a lack-lustre way, a programme on television. Winnie rose to switch it off as he entered.

'Oh please, don't let me interrupt anything you want to see,' cried Harold.

'It's a relief to switch it off,' said the doctor. 'We've been too idle to do so. It's one of those tiresome interviews where the interviewer is obsessed with the importance of prepositions. You know the sort of thing - ''The Minister is here,
AT
this moment to answer questions
ON
our policy
IN
regard
TO
our commitments'. Dreadful stuff!'

'I'm so glad you've come in,' said Winnie. 'I was going to ask you about the garden next door. Do you think there is room for a rose bush or two? We thought we might give Phil a couple for Christmas.'

Harold looked at her quickly, and then at the doctor.

'Yes, I'm sure there's room for the roses. A lovely idea. As a matter of fact, it's Phil I've come about.'

He stopped, and the doctor thought how unusually exhausted he seemed.

'Richard, get us all a drink, there's a good fellow. Sherry, or whisky?'

'Sherry, please,' said Harold. He sat in silence while Richard handed glasses, and then began again.

'I'm afraid she's had bad news of her husband.'

'The divorce is through?' Winnie looked puzzled.

'No. He's had a car crash. In France.'

'Dead, I suppose,' said the doctor quietly.

Harold nodded.

'Poor, poor girl!' said Winnie, her face puckered with distress. 'I must go round at once.'

'No,' said Harold 'that's what I came to tell you. She's over there already.'

'On her own?' said Richard sharply. 'Surely not on her own.'

'She preferred it that way,' Harold replied.

'Did she fly?'

'Yes. I took her to Heathrow this morning.'

'I'll meet her when she returns' said Richard. 'I don't like the idea of her being alone through an ordeal like this. I wish I'd known earlier.'

Harold felt some irritation at Richard's assumption that his presence was necessary to Phil's well-being, but he tried to speak calmly.

'The arrangements are settled about her return,' he said. 'Of course, no one knows yet which day it will be.'

'I can be free at any time,' said Richard. Harold decided to ignore the remark, and turned to Winnie.

'Joan is taking care of Jeremy. He seems very cheerful there, and doesn't know the truth yet, of course.'

Doctor Bailey turned his glass thoughtfully round and round in his thin old hands.

'It is a dreadul affair. A young fellow like that. In his thirties, I suppose. She will be badly shaken, despite these last few months of separation.'

He looked up at Harold.

'What about the practical side? This must mean the end of her allowance from him. Is there anything to leave, do you know?'

'I've no idea. They probably hadn't much between them. After all, they haven't been married very long-not long enough to amass much in the way of savings.'

'What about her writing?'

'Chicken feed, I should think,' interjected Richard, who was now walking about, hands in pockets, looking extremely agitated.

'How I wish she had parents to turn to!' cried Winnie. 'She's so alone in the world.'

It was the feeling which was uppermost too in Harold's mind, but he felt unable to speak about it at the moment.

'I thought you should know the news,' he said, rising to go. 'Do you have a key to Tullivers, by any chance? I thought I might go round the house and make sure the switches are off, and the windows closed, and so on. We left pretty hurriedly.'

'I know where one is hidden,' said Winnie. Country folk invariably know where 'the secret key' is kept by their neighbours. On occasions such as this, it is a useful piece of knowledge.

'It's in the garden shed,' continued Winnie, 'on the ledge on the right hand side of the door, by the plant labels.'

'Good,' said Harold, 'I'll go and see to it now before it gets dark.'

'I'll come with you,' said Richard.

There was no earthly reason why he should be prevented, so that the two men walked together through the chilly dusk to Tullivers.

'My God,' said Richard. 'This is a fine thing! How will she manage? D'you think she'll move?'

'I've no idea. I don't think she'll want to.'

They plodded across the grass to the little shed which housed Phil's splendid new mower and the few poor broken tools which had distressed Harold by their uselessness. The key was carefully lodged behind the packet of plant labels, and they made their way to the front door.

Apart from a bathroom heater which had been left on, and a tap dripping at the kitchen sink, everything was in order. The scent of freesias hung about Phil's bedroom, bringing memories of her sharply to Harold.

'I know they didn't get on,' Richard said, as they descended the stairs, 'but this is a real blow for her. So dam' final, death, isn't it?

Harold made a noise of agreement. Richard's obvious agitation was surprising. He had not met the fellow very often, and had no idea that he knew Phil as well as this concern for her seemed to show. Harold found his anxiety a trifle alarming.

'We can't do anything yet,' he observed reasonably. 'We know nothing. One thing, she's a girl with plenty of courage and good sense. I'm sure she'll do nothing silly, or in a hurry.'

'She'll need advice,' said Richard.

'I understand she has a good solicitor,' replied Harold shortly.

He locked the front door, and put the key in his pocket. He intended to be the one to take charge of Tullivers while its owner was absent.

'If you'll excuse me,' he said politely, to Richard at the gate, 'I must get back.'

He set off homeward at a brisk pace, turning over this new development in Phil's affairs in his mind.

'And to think,' he said to himself as he opened his front door, 'that I chose to come to Thrush Green for a simple life!'

***

Winnie Bailey was taking coffee with Ella Bembridge the next morning when Dotty arrived bearing a large bundle of magazines, and the daily pint of goat's milk for Ella.

Thrush Green had a very sensible institution, started in wartime, called the magazine club. A number of residents each took a weekly or monthly magazine. They were collected together by one of the members and passed round in turn. In this way everyone saw a dozen or so journals regularly for the price of one. The rota had remained the same for years, only removals, or deaths, altering the system.

Ella took
Punch
although, as she said: 'It ceased to be funny after 1920.' The Baileys took
Country Life,
Harold
The Field,
Charles Henstock
The Church Times,
the Youngs weighed in with the
Spectator
and
The Listener
and Dotty contributed
The Lady
and
History Today.
Less intellectual matter was supplied by Ruth Lovell and various ladies at Lulling, and included 'really readable stuff', according to Dimity, who was no highbrow, such as
Woman, Woman's Own
and
Homes and Gardens.
It was interesting to note that these last three magazines were always the most well-thumbed when they came to be passed on.
The Field, The Church Times
and the
Spectator
remained immaculate for quite a time.

'Heard the news?' enquired Dotty, unwinding a long scarf from her stringy neck, and dropping the bundle of magazines in the process.

The ladies bent down to put the bundle together again, Dotty uttering little cries of self-reproach the while.

'No harm done,' said Ella, straightening up. 'Have some coffee, Dot?'

'Thank you. I must say I was very surprised to hear about it.'

'About what?' asked Winnie carefully. She had just told Ella the sad news about John Prior, but had not realized that it might have reached as far as Lulling Woods already.

'A very good thing really,' continued Dotty. 'It had to come some time.

'How d'you mean?' asked Winnie cautiously.

'Well, I mean, we're all getting older every day. Can't expect to carry on for ever. Taking the long view we'll all be the better for it.'

'What on earth,' said Ella downrightly, 'are you maundering on about, Dotty?'

Dotty looked hurt.

'Albert Piggott, of course. His wife's gone off with the oil-man, though how she could I just don't know. Such a vulgar fellow. Always talking about "the ladies", and "the fair sex", and "being a mere male". If it weren't for the fact that he comes right to the house with the paraffin, and carries very good old-fashioned wax tapers, I shouldn't allow him to call. Father would have shown him the door.'