(9/13)The School at Thrush Green (15 page)

'Time enough to thank me,' said Nelly darkly, 'when she's had a couple of weeks with them stairs, and that half a ton of silver as needs cleaning once a fortnight. She won't be idle, I can tell you!'

'Hard work,' said Doreen's mother virtuously, 'never hurt no one!'

11. Decisions

IT was during the Easter holidays that Dorothy Watson decided that the time had come to buy her car.

The sitting-room at the school house was littered with glossy brochures from local garages extolling the virtues of innumerable vehicles. Such a plethora of literature bewildered little Miss Fogerty, but Dorothy was made of sterner stuff.

'We know what we want,' she said firmly, when Agnes confessed her perplexity in the face of so much richness. 'The car must be small, so that it will fit into any existing garage, and be easy to park. Also a small car will be more economical to run.'

'Quite right,' approved Agnes.

'Then it must be
new
, so that any defects are dealt with under guarantee. I don't propose to dabble in the second-hand market. We are not knowledgeable enough.'

'Indeed we're not,' agreed Agnes, with feeling.

'And it must be a well-known brand,' continued Dorothy, rather as if she were talking of fish-paste. 'Spares, you know.'

Agnes looked bewildered.

'I gather from Ben and Harold that it is very difficult to get spare parts for some cars. One might have to wait weeks, they tell me, for some vital bit.'

'Oh dear!' commented Agnes. 'But if it were a really new car would it need spare parts?'

'Some cars,' responded Dorothy grimly, 'have been known to be sold with several things missing completely.'

Agnes, already timid about the entire project, felt her spirits quail yet further, but she remained stoically silent.

'So after tea, dear,' said Dorothy, shuffling the jewel-bright brochures into a pile, 'we will pick out three or four possibles, and then get Harold and Ben to give us their expert advice.'

'I'm sure that would be best,' agreed Agnes bravely.

Doreen Lilly began her duties at the Misses Lovelock at nine o'clock on Monday morning.

She arrived punctually, which put all three sisters in a good mood, and Miss Violet undertook to show her the tasks allotted.

'I think it would be best to concentrate on the first-floor bedrooms today,' she said, mounting the stairs before Doreen. Violet's speckled lisle stockings, garments never before seen by the young girl, strode briskly ahead as she opened three bedroom doors to display a daunting amount of heavy mahogany furniture, curtains from floor to ceiling, and a massive washstand in each room, bearing a vast china bowl and matching ewer, soap dish and tooth mug. Such equipment was unknown to Dorren, used as she was to a modern, if scruffy, bathroom at her mother's home.

'We make our own beds,' said Violet kindly, 'so you won't have to bother with those. The curtains will have to come down before long and have a really good shaking in the garden, but today I think a thorough cleaning of the furniture and washing things will keep you busy.'

Not half, thought Doreen, but nodded silently.

'We have a vacuum cleaner for the floors,' said Violet, as one might say: 'We have a helicopter for the shopping.'

'We'd best get it then,' said Doreen.

'Of course,' replied Violet. 'We will get everything together, and I will show you where we keep all the cleaning materials. I'm sure I have no need to tell you that we expect you to use
everything
very economically. No waste in this house!'

They finished the tour of the bedrooms, and returned down the long staircase to the kitchen where Violet displayed the cupboard housing the cleaning aids. They appeared sparse and archaic to Doreen's eye, even by her modest standards.

The brushes and brooms must have been bought many years earlier, and some were almost without bristles. A pile of folded pieces of material, which were obviously squares cut from outworn petticoats and the like, appeared to be the only dusters available. Three long bars of yellow soap and a large bag labelled SODA seemed to constitute the major part of the washing department, but Doreen was relieved to see some canisters of Vim. It was like meeting an old friend amidst ancient aliens.

A mammoth tin of furniture polish, the size which Doreen had once encountered in a hospital, was handed up to her, with two of the deplorable dusters, and then Violet indicated the rest of the store with a vague wave of the hand.

'Well, there you are, Doreen, and if you find you need anything else this morning, just come and find me. You are here until twelve, I believe.'

'That's right, miss,' replied Doreen. 'Well, I'll go and make a start.'

She was half-way up the stairs, struggling with the heavy furniture polish tin, when she remembered the basins and their matching accessories.

'I'd best take up the Vim,' she said to Violet standing below.

'Ah yes! I'll shake a little into a saucer for you,' said Violet, hurrying back to the cupboard.

Doreen deposited her burden on the stairs, cast her eyes to heaven for much-needed help, and followed her new employer into the kitchen.

Percy's dog and its adventure was still a topic of conversation at Thrush Green. Blame for the accident was largely on Percy's shoulders in the bar of The Two Pheasants.

Albert Piggott took great pleasure in recounting this piece of news to Percy while they were busy selecting fragments of Percy's tumble-down wall for future use round Dotty's garden pool.

'A lot of ignorant tittle-tattle,' grunted Percy, heaving a lump of stone into his battered van. 'They wasn't there, was they? Never saw what I see. That Miss Watson was rushing along like a bat out of hell.'

Albert, who was taking care to select pieces of stone less than half the size of his workmate's, tossed his contribution into the van.

'Ben Curdle wouldn't let her go fast. And no one ain't ever seen the old girl do more than twenty-five mile an hour. It was your job to keep old Gyp out of the road. Why, that car might have mounted the bank and tipped over! You might've been had up for murder, mate.'

'Don't talk so daft,' snapped Percy.

He changed the subject abruptly.

'How much more of this stuff do you want? I reckon this little lot will cost the old girl a tenner already.'

Albert eyed his drinking companion with dislike.

'You'll be settlin' with me, Perce, so don't you start any profiteering lark. I'm not goin' to see old Dotty fleeced, that's flat.'

'Have it your own way,' growled Percy. 'But it'll cost you a pint or two.'

Although public opinion was on her side in this much-discussed affair, Dorothy herself was more upset than she would admit.

She had put a brave face upon the matter, and Percy had certainly not gone any further with the threats he had made in the heat of the moment, but she had been shattered by his violence.

As a headmistress of some standing in the village she was unused to enmity and invective. She was also plagued, in the still of the night, by the horrors of the might-have-been, common to all.

Supposing it had been a child? Supposing she had killed not just Percy's Gyp but one of her own pupils? Or, for that matter, an adult, a friend, a neighbour? How devastatingly quick the whole incident had been! How right Ben was to point out that a car could be a weapon as lethal as a gun!

Naturally, as the days passed, her agitation grew less, and reason told her to put aside her fears and enjoy the practical advantages of having a car of her own. She envisaged the pleasure of driving with dear Agnes to various seaside places not far from Barton. There were several beautiful old houses to visit well within driving distance, and shopping could be transported with the minimum of effort.

It had been a sharp lesson, she told herself, and she must learn from it. In future she would keep a wary eye open for such dangers, but she did not intend to spoil the delight of choosing and driving her new car.

Nevertheless, the incident had left one particularly unfortunate scar. It was plain that dogs, cats, birds, and even cattle, could be a hazard, and Agnes's growing pleasure in the visiting cat worried Dorothy greatly. She really wanted nothing to do with animals at the moment, and she certainly did not want to have one permanently in the household.

What would happen, for instance, if she and Agnes decided to go away for a holiday? When they had a car they would be free to go anywhere when they had retired. An animal would be a perfect nuisance, especially a cat which would probably hate to go to a boarding establishment.

Really, thought Dorothy with exasperation, life could be very trying, particularly when one was hoping to simplify it and to make sensible plans for the future.

Well, one thing at a time, she told herself.

She went into the garden to find Agnes, and found her digging up a gigantic dandelion plant.

'Don't forget we're due next door in half an hour,' she said. 'I've collected all the car literature together, and we'll see what Harold thinks of our choice. I shall let you choose the colour, Agnes. I'm afraid you haven't had much say in the rest of the discussions.'

'I really couldn't begin,' confessed Agnes, 'but I should be delighted to choose the colour. In fact, I rather liked Alpine Snow, or perhaps Moonlight Silver. That is, of course, if you like the idea.'

'I shall like whatever you choose,' said Dorothy handsomely, and they went indoors to get ready.

Winnie Bailey, across the green, observed the two ladies making their way to Harold and Isobel's front door, and guessed correctly that the meeting had something to do with Dorothy's purchase of a car.

The ringing of the telephone interrupted her surmises, and she was pleased to hear Richard's voice.

'Fenella wants to have a look at the school house. We thought we would come down for the weekend.'

'With the children?' asked Winnie, mentally putting up a cot in the spare room, and ordering an extra quart of milk.

'Oh yes! We shall have to bring them. Our help's on holiday. I've rung The Fleece.'

Winnie dismissed the cot and milk with relief. 'And they can put you up?'

'Yes. Friday and Saturday night. Roger is going to call in to feed the animals. The dog can be rather a nuisance in the car. Gets sick.'

'Well, I hope that you will bring Fenella and the children to see me. Tea perhaps, on Saturday?'

'I'll give you a ring when we're in Lulling, after I've sorted out our plans.'

'That will be nice. By the way, you have told Agnes and Dorothy you are coming?'

'Not yet. I was going to give them a call now.'

'Make it later this evening,' advised Winnie. She suddenly recalled the erratic hours kept by her nephew. 'But before nine, dear. They go to bed soon after.'

'Soon after nine?'
gasped Richard. He sounded shocked.

'Yes, Richard. We keep early hours at Thrush Green. I shall look forward to seeing you all during the weekend.'

For once, Richard seemed incapable of speech, and Winnie put down the receiver.

The Shoosmiths' sitting-room was littered with Dorothy's brochures. At first sight, it appeared that all was chaos, but in fact much had been accomplished in the first half-hour, and the choice had been whittled down to three suitable vehicles.

'There's not a lot of difference in price and size and performance between the Polo or the Fiesta or the Metro,' Harold assured them. 'It's really a personal matter. Comfort in the seating, for instance, and how you can handle her.'

Agnes, of necessity taking a minor role in this weighty discussion, wondered why cars and ships always seemed to be of the female gender.

'Well, I must say I've enjoyed driving Ben's Fiesta,' said Dorothy, 'but is it
British?
'

'I think so,' said Harold.

'Ben said he thought so too, until he opened the lid -'

'The
bonnet,
' corrected Harold automatically. Agnes thought how fitting it was for a female vehicle to have a bonnet.

'Of course,
bonnet,
' agreed Dorothy, 'and he found it was made in Spain.'

'Really?'

'Not that I have anything against
Spain,
' continued Dorothy magnanimously, 'except the bullfights, but I should like to buy a British car ideally.'

'Then it will have to be the Metro,' said Harold. 'The Polo is German, as you know. Personally, I would plump for the Polo. It's a well-made job, and nicely finished.'

Dorothy looked doubtful, and Isobel rose to refill the sherry glasses to fortify all those present. This final decision was obviously going to be taxing.

'That impresses me, Harold. It really does. I value your opinion as you know.'

She sighed heavily, and took a refreshing sip from her glass. 'And of course I have nothing against Germany
now,
' she added, turning over the Polo brochure and studying the bird's eye view of its interior seating arrangements.

'However,' she resumed, putting it aside and reaching for the Metro's contribution to the temporary decor of the sitting-room. 'I still like the idea of a
British
car, supporting home industry and all that.'