(3/13) News from Thrush Green (24 page)

'Good heavens!' exclaimed Miss Watson. 'What's the matter?'

'Another little stranger on the way,' replied Mrs Cooke, with immense satisfaction.

Miss Watson's mind was in confusion. Could Mrs Cooke's pleasure really come from the thought of yet another addition to her large, dirty and unruly family? Or was she simply pleased to have a good excuse to leave the school in the lurch? Miss Watson, a realist, was inclined to think that the latter reason caused Mrs Cooke's evident smugness.

'Will you be able to cope with the holiday scrubbing?' asked Miss Watson, knowing the answer before the question was finished.

'Not a hope,' replied Mrs Cooke triumphantly. 'I'm inclined to miscarry if I does too much. It's a weak sort of uterus, you might say. Doctor said something about a prolapse. You know what that is?' asked Mrs Cooke darkly.

'No, I don't,' replied Miss Watson shortly. What a blessing to be a spinster, was her heartfelt thought!

'Well, that's that, I suppose, Mrs Cooke,' she continued resignedly. 'I must thank you for stepping into the breach. You'll sweep up now, will you?'

'I'll oblige,' said Mrs Cooke, inclining her head regally, and set about her limited labours.

'Would you have thought it?' asked Miss Watson of Miss Fogerty later. 'I gather she's still feeding that last baby - Adrian, or Clifford, or whatever it is. Frankly, I lose count of them.'

'It's a common fallacy,' pronounced Miss Fogerty importantly, 'that a woman who is feeding a child cannot fall again.'

Miss Watson looked at her assistant in astonishment.

'Agnes, dear,' she protested, 'how on earth do you know such things?'

'I always read the mothers' page under the dryer at the hairdresser's,' answered little Miss Fogerty imperturbably.

She skewered her good velour hat to her skimpy bun, and the two ladies made their way outside.

'But this doesn't solve our problem, does it?' said Miss Fogerty, pausing in the chilly porch.

Next door, Harold Shoosmith's gate clanged as Betty Bell set off home on her bicycle. Rosy and bright-eyed, as fresh as when she had arrived at work some hours earlier, she waved energetically to the two ladies in the school porch, before pedalling away briskly down the hill.

Miss Watson looked at Miss Fogerty, rather as stout Cortez looked upon the peaks of Darien, so long ago.

'Dare we?' she whispered.

'Why not!' said little Miss Fogerty robustly.

It was in April that Richard's work at Oxford came to an end, and as the time approached, Winnie Bailey was mightily relieved.

In all fairness, she admitted, that although Richard had stayed longer than was at first intended, he had really been very little trouble, and had more than pulled his weight by tackling little jobs about the house which were beyond her own understanding and the doctor's strength.

Nevertheless, the thought of having the house to themselves again was heart-lifting. She wondered, sometimes, about the relationship between her nephew and the young widow next door. She had noticed that the outing
a deux
had not been repeated, and that since that day Richard had been unduly restless, but nothing had been said, and in any case, Winnie would not have expected to hear about such a personal matter from Richard.

It was all the more surprising, therefore, when he broached the subject one Sunday morning at breakfast time. The doctor was still in bed, having had a restless night, and Winnie and her nephew lingered over their coffee.

Richard was busy grating a raw apple into a bowl of rolled oats, pine kernels, sultanas and milk-a mixture which he concocted each morning for himself from a recipe of Otto's.

It was a messy business, and Winnie watched the operation resignedly.

'Why don't you eat the apple separately?' she asked.

Richard looked up from his work in some surprise.

'My dear aunt, that would quite defeat Otto's object. The enzymes in the saliva react in a truly magical way upon the mixture of minerals in this bowl. Wonderfully purging, and marvellously toning to the lining of the digestive tract. A friend of Otto's claims to have cured dyspeptic ulcers with this mixture alone.'

He continued to grate energetically, stirred up the mash, and ate it with much relish.

Winnie watched him as she sipped her coffee.

'I've been meaning to tell you about my immediate plans, Aunt Win,' he said, when at last the bowl was empty. 'I really do appreciate your hospitality. You've both been so kind. I hope I haven't been too much of a nuisance.'

Winnie reassured him on this point.

'Well now, I ought to be off in a week or two's time. The point is that the Carslakes have offered me their house while he has a year at Harvard as a visiting professor. They're asking only a nominal rent - they really want someone to keep an eye on things, I gather, and of course it would suit me perfectly.'

'And you are going to accept?'

'It all depends.'

'What on? It seems straightforward enough to me.'

For once in his life Richard appeared discomfited. The vestiges of a blush were apparent to Winnie's sharp eyes.

'The point is,' said Richard, pushing back his chair and walking to the window, 'I've been thinking of getting married, and I suppose the girl would like to see the house first. Hardly fair to take her there if she loathed the place.'

'Quite so,' agreed Winnie. 'And who have you in mind?'

'Why, Phil Prior!' exclaimed Richard. 'Surely you realized that I was interested?'

'I knew you liked her,' said Winnie guardedly, 'but not that you hoped to marry her.'

'Aunt Winnie,' said Richard, returning to the table and looking down at his aunt pleadingly. 'Do you think I've a chance? Has she said anything to you about me?'

'Nothing at all,' confessed Winnie, 'except to say how beautifully you'd cleaned out the drain.'

'Hardly a sufficient basis for marriage!' observed Richard, with a wry smile. 'But I suppose I can count it as half a point in my favour.'

He wandered back to the window, hands in his pockets. Something about the slouched back, the ruffled fair hair and general air of desolation, touched Winnie's kind heart.

'You could always ask her,' she pointed out.

'But what hopes, d'you think?'

'Who knows?' said Winnie. 'But why not try your luck?'

She began to pile the coffee cups on to the tray. Richard continued to stand, glooming out upon the garden with unseeing eyes. She wondered what effect this preoccupation with love would have upon Richard's fickle digestion.

He was certainly not her idea of a husband, thought Winnie, bearing the tray towards the kitchen.

Nor, she thought with some satisfaction, Phil Prior's, if she knew anything about that sensible young woman.

'Here,' cried Betty Bell to her employer one morning. 'Got something to tell you! I've got a new job!'

'Betty!' exclaimed Harold, dumbfounded. As everyone knows, one of the most heinous crimes which can be committed in a small community is inveigling someone else's domestic worker into coming to work for oneself. Many a deep friendship has been wrecked by such perfidy, and Harold could not believe that Betty Bell would be a party to such treachery.

'You're not going to leave me?' pleaded the stricken man.

Betty's hearty peal of laughter set the silver ringing on the sideboard.

'Now, would I do a thing like that? No, I was just pulling your leg. Made you sit up though, didn't it, eh?'

'It certainly did. But, tell me, what's all this about?'

Betty settled herself comfortably on the edge of the dining room table. Harold, forewarned, shifted the remains of his breakfast out of harm's way.

'Well, it's like this. Mrs Cooke's expecting again—'

'No!' broke in Harold.

'Strue! Like rabbits, ain't it? Well, as I was saying, she's off work for a bit - if she was ever
on
, if you take my meaning - and them two poor old things next door are up to their hocks in dirt in that school, so they've asked me if I'd help 'em out.'

'Oh,' said Harold, 'and what have you replied?'

Betty suddenly became rather distant and adopted the air of one-who-knew-her-place.

'I said I must ask your permission, sir. They was going to come and have a word with you themselves, but I said let me sound you out. If you was going to be funny about it, I said, I'd turn the job down.'

'What does it mean - from my point of view?' asked Harold cautiously.

'If you was willing, I'd come to you half an hour earlier, as soon as I'd done in there in the morning.'

'Humph!' said Harold, considering the matter. It seemed reasonable enough, and he knew Betty could do with the extra money which the school job would provide.

'Very well,' he agreed. 'Let's see how it works out.'

'You're a real gentleman!' cried Betty, bouncing off the table energetically. Harold retrieved a spoon which had been whisked to the floor by her skirt. 'I'll call in next door on my way home and tell the poor old soul!'

'I'll call on Miss Watson myself,' said Harold. Tm glad to be of some help to the lady.'

'You'll be mentioned in her prayers tonight,' said Betty heartily. 'And to tell you the truth, in mine too, Mr Shoosmith. Money's not easy to come by these days, and I'm thankful to get a bit of extra work.'

She whirled from the room and very soon Harold heard her voice raised in song as she polished the bathroom floor.

Harold smiled to himself. She really was a wonderful girl. He supposed he must be prepared to share his good luck with Thrush Green School. If Betty Bell took on the job, she would certainly do it splendidly.

It was, in fact, the school's luckiest day, for Betty Bell was to keep it spotless and shining for many a long year.

Two days after Richard's breakfast conversation with his aunt, the young man dressed himself with some care and made his way next door.

Dusk was falling, and although the weather still remained cold, a few early daffodils had braved the April winds, and the sticky buds in the avenue of chestnut trees were beginning to break into leaf.

The birds were busy struggling with wisps of dry grass, feathers, and other nesting material. It seemed a propitious time for a young man to go a-wooing, and Richard approached the late admiral's dolphin knocker in the appropriately nervous condition brought on by mingled hope and ardour.

Phil answered the door with a bath towel thrown over one shoulder, her hair in a state of disarray and a blue streak across one cheek, which had been made, Richard guessed correctly, by a ball-point pen, and would, he had no doubt, be the very devil to remove.

'Do come in,' she said somewhat distractedly. 'I'm just giving Jeremy a quick once-over before he puts on his pyjamas. He's rather like a cat in his ablutions - terribly busy working on one or two square inches, and completely neglecting the rest.'

She led the way to the sitting-room and handed him a decanter and a glass.

'Help yourself, Richard. I'll be back in a tick.'

Richard poured himself an inch of dry sherry. Otto did not approve of alcohol, but Richard felt that on this occasion even the stern Otto would have relaxed his rules. And as he had once said to his disciple, 'If you
must
drink such liver-rotting poison as sherry, then drink the dryest you can find.'

He sat there twirling his little glass disconsolately. Having girded himself for the endeavour, it was doubly hard to have the event postponed, even for a few minutes. He realized that he must approach the delicate proposal with some preliminaries, but he had decided that they must be as short as ordinary civility demanded. He was no speech-maker, and he had wisely made no rehearsals. He felt it best to rely on the spontaneous promptings of his feelings.

When Phil returned, she had combed her hair, miraculously removed the blue streak, and generally looked her usual neat and attractive self.

'May I pour you one?' asked Richard.

'Thanks. I can do with it. I always think that the time between tea-time and bed-time is the most exhausting for mothers. Just when one is most tired is the time when most is demanded.'

She accepted the sherry gratefully, put her feet up on a footstool, and sighed happily.

'But what brings you here, Richard? I hear from Winnie you are leaving us very soon. Will you be sorry?'

Such an abrupt approach to the matter in hand, took Richard off his guard. He swallowed awkwardly, and set himself spluttering, as a drop of sherry went down the wrong way.

'Let me get you some water,' said Phil, getting to her feet, and viewing her scarlet-faced visitor with concern.

'All right now,' he gasped huskily, still fighting for breath. What a way to go about a proposal of marriage, thought Richard!

Phil resumed her seat.

'I always think it's extraordinary,' she remarked, 'how violently the body reacts to something in the windpipe.'

'Good thing it does,' responded Richard. 'You'd soon croak if it didn't!'

An amicable silence fell. A tiny jet of flame hissed from a crack in the coal in the fireplace. The clock ticked companionably above it, and outside the birds shrilled and piped before going to roost for the night.