A Summer Promise (8 page)

Miss Parrott had smiled. ‘If you’d asked me last year I’d have had the perfect candidate, but it’s too late, I’m afraid – she’s won her scholarship to St Philippa’s and will be starting there next month.’

Mr Grice had sighed sympathetically. ‘Ah, little Madeleine Hebditch. You’re right – she would have been ideal. Still, give it some thought, would you, and we’ll talk again in the morning.’

Mr Grice watched the door close behind his teacher and sat for a moment lost in thought. When he had first met her he had considered her a plain, if not actually ugly, woman but now he was changing his mind. To be sure, her light brown hair was untidy and her grey dress commonplace. And to begin with he had thought her nose overshadowed the rest of her face and had never looked beyond it, but he now realised that she had a pair of large, clear hazel eyes and a mouth which, in repose, held much sweetness. Sighing, Mr Grice stood up; what did looks matter after all? She was the best teacher he had ever worked with and he frequently sang her praises to his sister, who had once held the very position which Miss Parrott now occupied. Jenny Grice had told him, on more than one occasion, that he was a lucky chap to have Miss Parrott as a colleague.

It occurred to him for the first time that he never used Miss Parrott’s first name. Why had he not suggested long since that she should call him Derek? He came to the conclusion that he had not done so because he was a little in awe of her. It was that damned nose, he thought ruefully. It was the sort of nose one associated with Admirals of the Fleet or Roman emperors, not school teachers, and her Christian name didn’t help either. Verity! But he knew he was being ridiculous, really, and decided that in future, when they were alone, they must use first names.

Satisfied, Mr Grice turned his attention to his own lists once more.

Back in her own classroom, Miss Verity Parrott was also lost in thought. She was remembering the day, almost exactly a year ago, when she had gone up to Larkspur Farm to confront Mrs Hebditch with the vexed question of Maddy’s future. She had still been wondering how best to persuade the old lady to allow her granddaughter to try for a scholarship to St Philippa’s when she reached the top of the track, pushed aside the mossy five-barred gate and, taking a deep breath, entered the neglected farmyard.

She had been halfway across it when she heard a sound like the hissing of a snake behind her, and glancing over her shoulder had seen a large flock of geese waddling towards her, led by an enormous gander whose mean little eyes were fixed, she was sure, on the backs of her knees. Verity had stopped and swung round, stamping her foot and shouting in as threatening a manner as she could, but the geese had continued to advance.

Always face up to a flock of geese
, she had remembered someone telling her once.
Never let them think you are afraid or they’ll take advantage. Geese are cowards and will run away as soon as they realise you aren’t scared.

But I am scared, Verity had admitted to herself. Two of the geese had somehow managed to get behind her so that she felt she was standing in a sea of birds, all of them eager to show her that whoever was afraid it was not they. The teacher had cast a wild glance around her; if only she had a stick or an umbrella, something to threaten them with! But all she had was her waterproof over one arm; she flapped it and the gander grabbed the hem whilst one of his many wives – or might some of them be his sons? – continued to advance, hissing like a sea of snakes and stabbing at the waterproof with vengeful orange beaks.

Verity had stumbled towards the back door just as a large black dog emerged, blinking and yawning, from the depths of a big kennel in front of her. He gave her a look which was almost comical. ‘You can’t be afraid of a few geese,’ he seemed to be saying, and then, as the onslaught of the birds pushed her within a few feet of the back door, the dog had charged. There was a great deal of hissing and squawking, but the teacher had not waited to see who would win. She had thrown open the back door without even knocking and lurched into the kitchen, slamming the door behind her. The noises outside had continued for perhaps half a minute and then she had heard the dog giving an imperative little bark. Well, he had saved her bacon all right, so she must pluck up her courage and let him in even if he was not normally allowed to invade the kitchen. She had opened the door a crack, then wider, and the dog had slid in, giving her a friendly grin as she closed the door behind him. His expression was so knowing that she felt it only polite to thank him for his intervention, and even as the words ‘Thank you
so
much; I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come to my rescue’ passed her lips the dog was licking her hand.

Suddenly finding herself in the house without an invitation and chatting to the dog as though it was the master here, Verity had looked round wildly. She had heard from the villagers that Mrs Hebditch was very old and not able to get about as she used to, but she had obviously managed to escape from the kitchen. Verity was just wondering where to begin the search for her hostess when a voice spoke from behind her back. ‘If you’ll put yourself to the trouble of turning round and telling me what you’re doing in my kitchen, young woman, then I might just invite you to state your business.’

Verity had turned very slowly, not knowing quite what to expect, and seen a little old woman leaning upon a black walking cane. Her hair was sparse, her skin was wrinkled, and judging from the clothing which hung on her she had once been very much bigger, but age had shrunk her until she was now about the same size, the teacher reflected, as her granddaughter. She wore little gold-rimmed glasses on her small fat nose, and at that precise moment her mouth was set in a rather unpleasant grin. It was pretty plain that the old woman was awaiting an apology.

‘Mrs Hebditch, I presume?’ Verity had said.

The old woman had begun to laugh. ‘Dr Livingstone, I presume?’ she mimicked. ‘And you might be . . .’

Talk about being at a disadvantage, Verity had said grimly to herself. She had held out her hand. ‘How do you do, Mrs Hebditch? I’m Madeleine’s teacher, Miss Parrott; I dare say she’s mentioned me. She’s a bright girl, quite a star, and I don’t mind telling you that I believe with some encouragement . . .’

The old lady was staring at her with an expression she could not identify, but then Miss Parrott had remembered that she had entered the kitchen without an invitation, and though Yorkshire people are both friendly and generous she realised that her first action should have been to apologise and to explain her precipitate entry into a stranger’s house.

‘I’m so sorry . . . I’m afraid I was being pursued by your geese. I did not realise that the birds were so aggressive and when the big one actually grabbed my rain cape I simply threw the door open and came into your kitchen.’ Once more, she had held out her hand. ‘I know it was wrong, but I do trust you’ll forgive me.’

She had waited for the old woman to take the offered hand, but Mrs Hebditch had suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth and spoken in a muffled tone from behind the barrier of her fingers.

‘Go away. Come back when I’m more . . . oh, the devil fly away with you. I can’t talk to you now.’

‘Why ever not?’ Verity had said, sounding as flabbergasted as she felt. She had glanced towards the door which led to the inner hallway and, presumably, to the rest of the house. ‘Do you have company? Only I didn’t want to discuss things in front of Madeleine in case you did not want her told. But if you’d rather, I can come back in an hour.’

The old woman had given an enormous sigh and dropped the hand which had been shielding her mouth, giving the teacher the benefit of a rueful though tight-lipped smile. ‘It’s me teefs; they’re upstairs in a blue mug beside my bed,’ she had told her astonished guest. ‘No one ever visits on market days, so I never even noticed until you explained who you were.’ She had ducked her head and looked up at Verity through sparse eyelashes. ‘I don’t find stairs too easy no more – I suppose you couldn’t fetch them down for me?’

She and Verity had been facing one another whilst the dog sat between them, staring at whichever was speaking as though he could understand every word. So that was the reason for the shielding hand! Verity had leaned over to pat the furry head so that her face might not show the amusement she felt. ‘Of course I can, if you tell me which is your room. Oh dear, this is scarcely how I planned our discussion! First there were your horrid geese and now . . . well, which is your room? And perhaps you could pull the kettle over the flame whilst I’m gone, because I’m sure we could both talk more easily with a cup of tea to lubricate our throats.’

The old woman had cackled. ‘Very true. Go up the back stairs and you’ll come to a square landing. All the doors are open and mine is the second on the left. Whilst you’re gone I’ll mash the tea and then you can tell me why you’ve come a-calling. As for not telling Maddy whatever it is you’re after, some hope of her not finding out! It’s clear you’ve not been long in these parts; why, you can’t take a pee without folk five miles off knowing about it. They call it bush telegraph, but I reckon it’s just gossip. Ever played that game they call “Chinese whispers”?’

Verity, with her foot on the lowest step of the stairs, had laughed. ‘Yes, I’ve played it. I think all villages are the same.’

When they had settled themselves at the kitchen table Gran had fixed her uninvited guest with a piercing stare. ‘Very well, young woman – now you can tell me why you’ve come.’

As Verity had feared, she was not impressed by the reply. She could see no point in her granddaughter’s going to St Philippa’s, scholarship or no scholarship. ‘As soon as she’s old enough she’s going to work, probably in a shop or a café in the town,’ she had said decidedly. ‘They’re not going to ask her for qualifications for that!’

Verity had stuck to her guns. ‘Look, no one expects you to make up your mind in a moment, and it is only right that your granddaughter be given a chance to choose her own path. Suppose we meet again next weekend, only with Madeleine as well, and try to sort out how we should proceed? I see no harm in her trying for the scholarship; in fact I think she should take the opportunity. You see, it comes with all sorts of other benefits – bus fares, school uniform, equipment such as tennis rackets and lacrosse sticks, school dinners and even, in some cases, school outings. If she gets it she would, in term time, be off your hands financially speaking. Would that not go some way to defraying the costs of bringing her up?’

The old woman had looked doubtful, but clearly the advantages to be gained if Maddy was offered a scholarship had impressed her. But it was immediately obvious to Verity that Mrs Hebditch was not going to give in easily. ‘And how’ll I manage while she’s gadding off a-pleasuring?’ she had demanded truculently. ‘I dare say she’ll have to be up at the crack of dawn to get to St Philippa’s. No one to shop for me, no one to feed the hens and the geese, collect the eggs, weed the vegetable garden . . .’

Her voice had tailed away into a complaining mumble and Verity had bent her head and stroked the dog to hide her amusement. Mrs Hebditch was putting up a fight but she was already halfway to agreeing to the principle at least that Maddy should have a chance. So Verity had waited until the mumble faded into silence before speaking again. ‘Naturally, all these things would have to be taken into consideration,’ she said smoothly. ‘I dare say there are women in the village who would be willing, for a small sum, to come up to Larkspur each day . . .’

‘A small sum?’ Mrs Hebditch had said, her voice expressing as much horror as though Verity had suggested that she should part with her life savings without delay.

Hastily Verity had broken into speech, though she did not make the obvious retort that it had been Mrs Hebditch herself who had said she needed help. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. However, such things can be discussed next week, and Madeleine cannot sit the scholarship examination until next summer anyway. She will need to be able to tackle subjects which are not part of the village school curriculum, but if she could spare an hour or so for private coaching a couple of days a week I feel sure she will take the examination in her stride.’ She had got to her feet and held out a hand which, after some hesitation, the old woman took. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Hebditch; until next week. And now if you would be good enough to lend me your dog, perhaps he will keep the geese off whilst I make my escape.’

MISS VERITY PARROTT
would have liked to accompany her star pupil on a shopping trip to kit her out for her new school, but when the time came she had handed the vouchers to Maddy.

‘I think you should go with someone of your own age,’ she had said regretfully. ‘It will be much more fun for you that way. What about that girl from Windhover Hall? She’d go with you, I’m sure.’

Maddy had considered. Before Tom had come into their lives she would have taken it for granted that Alice would enjoy the expedition, but now she was not so sure. Nevertheless, she went up to Windhover Hall to ask her friend if she would go with her, and was delighted when Alice replied at once that she would love to. But when she suggested that they should ask Mr Browning to take them into town, Maddy vetoed the idea at once. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to be beholden, because Mr Browning’s ever so nice, but I know I’d feel I had to hurry,’ she said. ‘I thought we’d go on Saturday, if that’s all right with you.’

Alice agreed readily, and when Saturday came the two girls walked down into the village to catch the bus to town. Maddy had promised Miss Parrott that she would be sure to pop into the schoolhouse and tell her former teacher what had been arranged, but before they could put this plan into execution they met Tom coming out of the post office. He was carrying a brown paper bag of humbugs, which he offered to the girls. ‘I could have got them at the school tuck shop for half the price,’ he said rather regretfully. ‘What are you up to? Shopping?’

Maddy told him that they were going to see her teacher, and Tom grinned. ‘What, the famous Miss Parrott?’ he asked hopefully. ‘Isn’t she the one they call “Beaky”? Can I come with you? I’m told her nose is a sight to see!’