Trouble in the Village (Tales from Turnham Malpas) (2 page)
Read Trouble in the Village (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
Every word of Ralph’s fell like a stone on Muriel’s heart. Appalled she said, ‘You mean Rector’s Meadow hedge? Why?’
Grandmama Charter-Plackett replied, ‘Because he can’t find people either willing or able to maintain it, and he thinks a nice well-made wooden fence would be more economical.’
‘What has economy to do with it?’
‘He runs a tight ship and he can’t bear for there to be waste. That’s why he’s rich.’ She nearly added, ‘And that’s why he’s at the Big House and your Ralph isn’t any more,’ but even she realised that would be a tad too far.
Muriel took a deep breath, amazed by the insensitivity on display. ‘Waste? What about all the creatures who make their homes there?’ Her eyes filled with tears as she thought about them.
Grandmama, genuinely surprised by the thought that anyone, four-legged or otherwise, would choose to live in a tatty overgrown hedge, almost smiled but the sight of tears in Muriel’s eyes stopped herself smiling. ‘They’ll soon find somewhere else. It’s all a storm in a teacup and I would have thought, Caroline, that you of all people would have welcomed progress. Muriel, of course, as we all know, always prefers the status quo.’
Indignant at being dismissed as a stick in the mud Muriel declared, ‘I do not!’ But she did about the hedge. ‘But in this instance I do. There must be nearly half a mile of hedge and it belongs … to us.’
Caroline agreed with her. ‘I shall not stand by and let that – that – hooligan ruin the village.’
Katherine ignored Caroline, preferring to answer Muriel. ‘To be exact, Muriel, the hedge belongs to Mr Fitch, he bought it and he has a right to do with it whatever he wants. Considering how this village benefits from his generosity with his money, the least we can do is let him get on with it. Otherwise what has happened to liberty? It is being eroded on every side. Well, this time I think he’s right.’ She turned to give Jimbo her empty glass. ‘Put that somewhere appropriate, if you please.’
Jimbo, white with temper, smoothed his hand over his bald head and said, ‘Mother, you’re spoiling the party and that’s not good manners.’
‘You’re right, it isn’t. I apologise, Ralph, even though the upset is not my fault.’
Suddenly Muriel was aware she was still holding the teapot and her arms were beginning to ache. She handed it to Ralph and looked at him for assistance as he took it.
Ralph placed it on the stand by the teacups and said smoothly, ‘Shall we all begin to eat? Muriel has provided such a banquet for us and I can’t wait to cut my cake. Come, Katherine, here’s a plate for you. May I help you to salmon or do you prefer the cold chicken, or perhaps a little of the stand pie?’
Grandmama always fell victim to Ralph’s accomplished charm and today was no exception. ‘Why, thank you, Ralph, the salmon, I think, with just a little of the mayonnaise. No cucumber.’
Though the matter had been shelved as far as general
conversation went, it burst out in quiet outraged huddles all over the house and garden.
Jimbo and Harriet were incensed. ‘Your mother! When will she learn? I should never have agreed to her coming to live here, I knew she’d cause trouble.’
‘God! Wait till I get her home.’
‘Caroline’s right, it would be criminal to uproot that hedge. If she starts a campaign I shall support her.’
‘Careful, Harriet. Think about Mother.’
Harriet looked scornfully at Jimbo. ‘You would do well to remember the pledge you gave me before she came. Remember? You and I stand together.’
Jimbo raised an eyebrow. ‘How much of Caroline’s anger is directed at Mother rather than the hedge? Hmm? Ask yourself that.’
Thoughtfully, Harriet chewed on a stick of celery while she framed her reply. ‘I agree they’ve had their moments, the two of them, but I genuinely believe she is also very angry about the hedge. I wondered how long old Fitch could manage without being a thorn in the flesh yet again.’ She looked across at her mother-in-law, who was conversing with Peter as though nothing upsetting had taken place. ‘I shall tread carefully. But like Caroline said over my dead body does he put up a fence.’
In the garden things were being said which were much less polite. ‘That blasted woman! Here, Ron, tilt the umbrella different, I’m right in the sun and if there’s anything I hate it’s eating food in full sun. Pig ignorant she is. Pig ignorant, for all her airs and graces. She’s really upset Caroline and it won’t do.’
‘She could be right, Sheila.’
Ron cleared his mouth of his pork pie and said, ‘Watch it.’
‘Why?’
‘Mr Fitch has been very kind in the past sponsoring the Village Show and the Flower Festivals and that. You could stand to lose a lot if he takes his bat home over this. You keep out of it.’
‘When principles are at stake a stand has to be taken, no matter what.’ She’d read that in a book and had been storing it up for just such an occasion.
Ron shook his head in despair.
Muriel heard none of this as she was in the kitchen patiently lighting the candles on the cake and trying her best to take delight in doing so. Bracing herself she carried the cake aloft into the dining room and, as through a thick cloud, heard them all cheer at the sight of it, for it really was quite splendid. They made room for it on the table and Ralph invited the children to help him blow out the candles. Peter lifted them up on to chairs, Beth, Alex and little Fran Charter-Plackett.
Alex shouted, ‘You must make a wish, Sir Ralph! Go on, make a wish.’
They all waited in silence, the children hopping up and down on the chairs. ‘Right! I’ve done it. Are we ready? One, two, three, blow!’
Cutting up the cake with Caroline’s help, Muriel whispered, ‘I’m so angry, but I don’t want to spoil Ralph’s party. We’ll have clean plates. Here they are, look.’
‘He’s not here, though. Oh, this slice has broken in half. Never mind, I’ll have it. He’s not back till Tuesday night.’
Caroline groaned. ‘I work Wednesday too.’
‘Don’t you worry, I’ll go up to the Big House myself. I’ve worked miracles with him before. Let’s hope I can do it again. I’ll take the cake round. I’ll let you know how I go on.’
In the end the party was a success, despite the disagreement, and while Ralph helped Muriel to clear up he told her so several times.
‘You have no need to worry, my dear, it was perfectly splendid. I have so enjoyed myself.’
Muriel kissed him. ‘I’m so glad.’
‘I know what you’re thinking.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes. You’re planning to tackle Fitch about the hedge.’
‘Well, yes, I am. Will you help?’
‘Frankly, no.’
‘But, Ralph, I was relying on you.’
‘All my support will achieve is his absolute determination to do exactly the opposite of what I want. He and I have crossed swords too many times for me to be of any value to you at all. Can you see that?’
Muriel thought about what he’d said and finally agreed. ‘You could be right at that. You’d simply be a red rag to a bull.’
‘Just like Katherine is to you.’ Ralph had to laugh, and
when he caught Muriel’s eye, so too did she. ‘So I shall keep out of it.’
‘Thank you for distracting Katherine so tactfully. We could have had a full-scale row and that would have been unforgivable. Right now I’m going down the back garden, crossing the lane and giving the hedge a pat. And I’m going to tell it it needn’t worry because Caroline and I are going to save it.’
Ralph smiled indulgently. ‘Off you go then. I’ll finish in here, you’ve done enough today.’
Muriel clipped shut the gate which separated her garden from Pipe and Nook Lane, checked there were no cars coming up to the garages at the top end and went over to the hedge. It was all of three feet wide and five feet tall now, in places even taller, not having been touched since Mr Fitch had bought the house. Just where she stood a wild rose was flowering, wide single petals, of the palest of pale pink, it fluttered delicately in the evening breeze. How could he? How could he even think of destroying all this beauty?
A wren, unaware he had an audience, was hopping briskly about amongst the twigs. His pert, upstanding tail amused her and for a moment, his head on one side, the wren studied her. They looked at each other eye to eye, two living beings, in form as unalike as it was possible to be and yet … He flew off with a flick of his soft brown tail. As Muriel studied the hedge she spotted deep inside it an abandoned nest, a perfectly round scoop of a nest still beautifully lined with soft feathers, and wonderfully and intricately woven grass by grass, fine twig by fine twig: a miracle of construction. How could anyone think of
destroying this? If only they could all see it through her eyes as she saw it now in the mellow evening light.
Trailing her fingers amongst the leaves Muriel said out loud, ‘Don’t worry, that monster isn’t going to get rid of you. I’ll see to that even if …’ rather rashly she concluded with ‘I have to throw myself in front of the diggers.’ Having acknowledged she might perhaps have to do that very thing, her heart quailed at the prospect. ‘But I shall. Oh, yes. I shall.’
Muriel inspected first one leaf and then another, realising that though she had lived here with Ralph all this time, apart from the wild rose she didn’t know any of the other plants growing there. Shame on you, Muriel, she thought, it’s time you did, and she marched inside purposefully, intent on seeking out a countryside book of Ralph’s to find out exactly what it was she was being called upon to defend.
Sylvia having been a guest had already told Willie she thought that Caroline and Muriel were right. ‘Lovely old hedge that. Been there long before you and I saw the light of day. He’s no business to be uprooting it.’
‘He does own it, though.’
‘I know he does, but landowners have obligations in this day and age. They can’t ride roughshod over everyone just because they have bright ideas about increasing their crops.’
‘Well, at least it’ll give Caroline something to concentrate on.’
Sylvia fell silent. She sipped her gin and orange and wished, how she wished … Caroline. It had been painful seeing her. Right at that moment she deeply regretted
resigning in such a temper. ‘The children … it was lovely talking to them.’
Willie took hold of her hand. ‘See here. Eat humble pie and ask for your job back. She’s in a fix and she needs your help and it’s what you want.’
Sylvia, glad of a chance not to answer, waved to Don who was just coming across to their table with an orange juice in his hand.
‘Evening, Sylvia, Willie. Enjoy your party this afternoon then?’
‘Yes, thanks. You know, it still seems funny seeing you in here without your Vera.’
Don didn’t answer, he simply ran a stubby hand through his coarse grey hair.
‘Have you been to see the flat she’s moved into?’
‘No, and I shan’t.’ He tapped the table with a thick forefinger. ‘Nothing and nobody is moving me from my cottage. I was born in that front bedroom, in the very bed I sleep in still, and that’s where I’m staying, and I’m not moving out to some poncy flat just to please her.’
Willie put his spoke in by reminding him about the dreadful condition of his cottage. ‘You really can’t expect any woman to put up with that dump in this day and age. I’m surprised she hasn’t moved out sooner than this. You haven’t done a hand’s turn in years to improve it. No wonder she grabbed her chance when she could. You should have hightailed it after her to that flat if you’d had any sense. Shouldn’t he, Sylvia?’
Sylvia nodded.
Don remained silent. But then they were used to Don
being a man of few words. Trouble was, when he did speak he was, on occasion, far too forthright.
Sylvia reached forward and encouragingly patted Don’s arm where it rested on the table. ‘Nice little job that nursing home offered her. It’s just a pity you didn’t see it that way. She had the right idea, doing up the cottage and renting it out while you both lived in the flat.’
When he didn’t answer she remarked how stubborn some people could be when the right thing to do was staring them in the face.
Willie agreed. He glanced at Don. ‘Another orange juice, Don?’
‘No. Thanks. I’ll be off. Early shift tomorrow. When you’re footloose and fancy-free there’s jobs to be done before yer can go to bed. But don’t you fret, Don Wright ’ull survive without ’er, just you wait and see. Who needs women?’ Don fixed his beady brown eyes on Sylvia and said, ‘Before I go, as it seems to be a night for ’anding out advice, my advice to you, Sylvia Biggs, is to hightail it yourself, back to the Rectory, and apologise and ask for your job back because at bottom that’s what you really want to do. You’ve never looked the same since you left and it’s time to make up. Good night.’ He squeezed out of the narrow gap between the settle and the table and left them alone.
Sylvia, red-faced and furious, folded her arms across her chest and said angrily, ‘That Don is having a sight too much to say for himself right now. The cheeky devil, him handing out advice to
me
. What does he know about anything anyway?’ Scornfully Sylvia added, ‘He’ll manage without Vera! Huh! And pigs might fly. I just hope that mucky
cottage ’ull tumble down on top of him, and it’ll serve ’im right.’
Willie gave Sylvia a sly glance. ‘Seems to me he could be right about you.’
‘Hmm. Thanks, anyway, for not letting on the Rector had been round to persuade me to go back.’ She paused, recollecting Peter’s kindness and the gentle way he’d given her the opportunity to change her mind without loss of face. ‘He’s hard to resist he is.’
‘Then you shouldn’t have resisted, you could have given in graciously to him, everybody knows how persuasive he is. You’re stubborn, you are.’
Emphatically Sylvia shook her head. ‘No, I’m not stubborn, I just know what’s right. She came within an ace of deserting those children for that Hugo actor man,’ briefly her face softened for she’d been caught up in his charisma too, just like everyone else, ‘within an ace, and couldn’t see where it was all leading. What I said I meant. Someone had to speak up ’cos one thing’s for certain the Rector wouldn’t. Seeing as you’re on your feet get me another gin and orange, there’s a love.’
‘Will yer think about it though, to please me?’
Sylvia paused for a moment. ‘I might. Then again I might not.’
Willie smiled into her large grey eyes, those eyes which had attracted him to her so powerfully those few short years ago. He bent his head to kiss her and smiled inside himself as he straightened up, certain that if he knew anything at all she’d be back at the Rectory very soon and all would be right with the world again.
While Willie waited at the bar Sylvia thought about what
he’d said. She loved those children as though they were her own grandchildren, but as for … No, she wouldn’t. Caroline would have to do the asking, not her. Willie, walking towards her now, suddenly looked older somehow. Strange that: you lived your life with someone and didn’t see what was happening under your very nose. He’d been right to say he would retire.
‘Thanks. Funny Tom applying for your job. Doesn’t seem quite right somehow, him wanting to be verger.’
‘That’s what the Rector says, but he’s the only applicant and to be honest I shall be glad to be shut of the job. It’s all too much being at everyone’s beck and call. He’s coming for an interview on Monday.’
By twenty minutes to nine Tom Nicholls had his ear to one of the panels of the vestry door listening to the Rector and Willie talking. The door was too thick for him to make sense of what they said, and in any case he remembered there was no need to sneak about, not like he used to have to do. When they paused he tapped on the door.
‘Come in!’
Tom snapped the door open and entered in his usual get-up-and-go style. Peter looked up at him from behind his desk. ‘Good morning, Tom, take a seat.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ As he seated himself Tom hitched his trousers at the knee forgetting he was wearing his country scruff outfit. This consisted of a tweed hacking jacket, which had seen better days, fawn cavalry twill trousers, which had also seen better days, a tweed cap at an angle which could only be described as breezy, and well-polished brown oxfords. They were a bit out of kilter with his clothes but he
couldn’t abide dirty shoes. His shoulders were too narrow for his height and this made him appear much taller than he was. He had a long pale hollow-cheeked face, and when he took off his cap from his high domed head, a thick covering of larger than life gingery hair was exposed. He put up his hand to tidy his moustache, forgetting he’d shaved it off just before he came to the village. Old habits die hard, he’d have to watch himself.
‘Thank you for coming, Tom. I’ve read your letter but I need more details than you’ve put in it. I must be quite frank, yours is the only application and whilst Willie here is prepared to carry on until a replacement is found I’m anxious to find someone soon, even if it’s only temporary. I have to confess I’m somewhat surprised to receive an application from you. It doesn’t seem quite your line of country, if you see what I mean.’
‘Hit the nail on the head, Rector, but I’ve decided on a change of lifestyle. Spent too many years dashing here and dashing there, buying this, selling that, and it’s time I gave up this entrepreneurial lark and did something more worthwhile. Something where I can get job satisfaction. So, if you’ll have me, I’m giving all that up. Evie agrees “Tom,” she said “I –”’
‘This might sound like an impertinence when I’ve known you for, what is it, three years now? but I must ask, have you any references? A formality, you know.’
‘I have. Indeed I have.’ Out of the inside pocket of his old tweed jacket he pulled two spanking new envelopes. Handing them across the desk to Peter he said, ‘You’ll be well satisfied with those, I can tell you. Tom Nicholls can always find people willing to testify on his behalf.’
‘Evie’s very amenable. If I got called away, which isn’t likely, she’d stand in, very capable is Evie, she always says –’
Peter interrupted with ‘If I did agree to recommend you to the Church Council they would have the last word. I can’t appoint you without their approval. Why not have a look around with Willie, let him explain what has to be done, then see how you feel? We’ll meet again at two, here, this afternoon and have another talk. The job is very much concerned with integrity, you know, Tom. There’s things you will be privy to which must not be divulged, like people wanting to get married secretly, or a conversation you unwittingly overhear. The big plus in your favour is that you are, and always have been since you came here, a regular communicant. Nothing less would be permitted.’
Tom fidgeted self-consciously. ‘Thank you, Rector. I’ll be pleased to go around with Willie, have a look, get the lowdown on things. I just hope that in the future should I have any queries, which I’m sure I shall, Willie will give me the benefit of his experience. He must be a fount of knowledge. That is if I get the job.’ Tom smiled at them both, that disarming smile they’d come to like. You
couldn’t help but like Tom: there was that something about him which drew on your sympathy: in a trice you were on his side, and you couldn’t understand how it had come about. ‘And I’m good with people as you know. Old and young. I’ve changed since I came to this village. I don’t know what it is about it but it kind of gets you in its grip and makes you want to be, well, noble. Must be all that history which hits you in the face every morning the minute you open your eyes. Brings out the best in you, kind of. That’s how I feel anyway.’ Tom stood up. ‘Shall we be off then, Willie? Let the Rector get off to Penny Fawcett like he always does on Monday mornings. There, you see? I’m getting into my stride already!’
Willie put down his cup, wiped his mouth and said, ‘Question is, is he the man for the job? I can’t decide. What do you think, Sylvia?’
‘Oh! I like Tom. You can’t help yourself, and he’s always ready for a laugh. More tea?’
‘Yes, please. You see, I’m a steady chap not always gallivanting off, but he’s always off here, there, everywhere, whatever opportunity comes up. How he’s going to settle to a rigid timetable, I’ll never know. Look at Wednesdays. I’m backwards and forwards all day with one thing and another and it’s eleven before I can lock up, nearer midnight sometimes. He reckons he’s changed, but I don’t think he’s going to settle for that. I’m ready for my pud.’
‘Last of the strawberries. Ice cream?’
Willie shook his head. ‘It’ll be nice to have more time for the garden. I’ve often fancied growing asparagus.’
‘Then grow it you shall. I’ve no idea how to cook it, but
I can soon look it up. If he’s not right for the job it won’t need an Act of Parliament to oust him, will it, so don’t worry yourself.’ Sylvia put a dish of fat ruby red strawberries in front of him, fresh from the garden that afternoon, sprinkled with sugar more than an hour ago so it was melting and making juice in the bottom of the dish. Fit for a king, she thought. ‘Get yourself outside that lot and stop fretting and leave it to the Rector.’
Not long after Willie had slipped out to unlock the church hall for an evening meeting, Sylvia heard a tap on her back door. When she opened it she found Alex and Beth standing there. A broad smile lit her face, she held wide her arms and they both ran into them and she held them close to her.
‘My little darlings!’ They hugged and kissed her and she hugged and kissed them, and then she stood back to admire them. ‘Well, well, what a nice surprise. Does Mummy know you’re here?’
There came a slight pause before they answered, but then they said confidently that, yes, Mummy knew, and could they come in?
Sylvia ushered them into the kitchen and asked, ‘Either of you ready for a drink?’
‘Yes, please.’
She bustled about getting them drinks and they seated themselves at the table and without speaking drank their orange. Sylvia, her heart melting with love for them, knew she’d have to go back to the Rectory, like it or not: she just couldn’t miss out on their company any longer. She’d never have another chance at having substitute grandchildren and she might as well face the fact that that was what they were.
