Winter in Thrush Green (17 page)

Albert Piggott grunted.

'Can't get it all done by myself,' he muttered.

'I'll tidy it up tomorrow,' said Ben steadily. 'That's not right to see the old lady under half a peck of hay. Not seemly, to my way of thinking. Who's responsible for the graves then?'

'Those as want regular clipping, and the plants on 'em tended proper, pays me a bit extra,' said Albert. He put the piece of bread in his mouth and chewed it noisily. Ben watched him levelly.

I'll see you're paid,' he said quietly.

Molly seemed about to speak, but a rapping on the door checked her. As they looked up, startled by the noise, the door opened and Nelly Tilling's face, rosy and arch, peered round it.

'Oh my law! You 'ere again?' said Albert Piggott, with a groan.

Construing this ejaculation as a welcome, the stout widow came into the room, closed the door behind her, and dumped a laden basket on the table.

'There!' she panted breathlessly. 'Your Christmas dinner, Albert dear!'

Molly drew in a sharp breath. So this was the answer to her secret questioning! This was the mysterious scourer and scrubber, the cook and companion! And just how far had this gone, Molly asked herself with unreasoning fury? Before she could speak, Ben put a large brown hand over hers and pressed it warningly. Molly held her tongue, and waited, as quietly as Ben, to see how her father would respond.

A dusky flush had crept over his unlovely features and his jaw dropped. To say that Nelly Tilling had taken the wind out of his sails was to put it lightly. He was staggered at her effrontery. He had made quite sure that she knew she would not be wanted while his daughter stayed in the house, and this was open defiance. But what could a chap do, he asked himself,
when a woman set her cap at him so boldly and brought a square meal with her into the bargain? He took refuge in truculence.

'We ain't that short of food, Mrs Tilling,' he answered gruffly. 'Don't know what brought you on this errand, I'm sure.'

Nelly Tilling's dark eyes flashed dangerously.

'Ho ho!' she said, bridling. 'Very hoity-toity, some of us, aren't we? And since when 'ave I been Mrs Tilling to you, Albert Piggott? It's been Nelly all right these last few weeks while I've been cleaning up this pigsty for you.'

She hoisted the basket to her arm again belligerently.

'Seeing as I've had this flung back in my face I may as well leave you for good,' she continued. 'Leave you to your swilling and swearing and the filthy ways you was used to before I put you straight!' She paused to get her breath, her ample bosom rising and falling violently beneath her tightly-buttoned coat.

Suddenly Molly felt sorry for her. It must have taken her hours to prepare all the good things that she could glimpse under the snowy cloth which covered the basket. And she had trudged all the way from Lulling Woods carrying that weight, thought Molly, for what thanks! She found that all her old disgust at her father's mean ways was returning fast. First his behaviour in the matter of old Mrs Curdle's grave, and now this betrayal of Nelly Tilling's kindness, inflamed Molly's sense of fitness. She rose from the table and took the infuriated widow's arm.

'You come and sit down, Mrs Tilling," she said gently. 'I think it was real nice of you to think of Dad at Christmastime. We're just making a pot of tea, so have some with us.'

Somewhat mollified, Nelly sat down on a chair by the door, her basket by her feet. Albert, dumbfounded by this unexpected alliance against himself, decided to retreat.

'Want somethin a bit stronger, lad?' he asked Ben, hoping in this way to assert his independence before Nelly and Molly, before taking flight.

'If you like,'said Ben politely.

'Come on next door then,' said Albert, rising hastily from the table.

He was past Nelly and through the door in half a minute. Nelly looked grimly down her nose, her massive arms folded upon her chest.

Ben paused by her chair and touched a large shoulder gently. He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling in the way which had so charmed his wife. Nelly looked less grim.

I'll look after him for you,' said Ben gently, and was rewarded with Nelly's grateful smile.

There was silence for a short time in the Utile room, broken only by the singing of the kettle on the shining hob. Then Molly said shyly:

'Thank you for looking after my dad. He's not much of a hand at housework and all that.'

Nelly permitted herself a gusty sigh.

'That he ain't,' she said honestly. 'Don't go thinking too much of this, Molly. I've only been acting neighbourly, and it fair cut me to the quick to see him so short with me just now. More than "uman flesh and blood can stand, it was.'

'He's a bit awkward,' confessed Molly, in sublime understatement. 'The place looks beautiful. I could see someone who knew what she was doing had been at it.'

Nelly gave a gratified smirk and accepted her tea graciously. She loosened her coat and prepared to enjoy this tête-à-tête. After ten minutes' polite conversation she rose to go, and Molly decided that now was the time to show Nelly that she was her friend.

'Would you like to see my baby?' she asked.

'I'd love to,' said the widow, following Molly up the narrow stairs so recently brushed down by her own sturdy hand.

The baby lay deep in slumber, his eyes screwed tightly shut and his small mottled fists clenched each side of his mop of black hair. Nelly clucked maternally.

'Eh, what a little love!' she wheezed rapturously, after the steep ascent. 'Don't he favour his dad? You're a lucky girl, I must say.'

She rummaged in her handbag, drew out half a crown and slipped it gently beneath the sleeping child's small fingers.

'Oh no!' protested Molly.

'Ah yes,' said Nelly firmly. 'It'll bring me good luck to cross your baby's hand with silver. And, believe me, I can do with it!'

She made her way on tiptoe to the door and descended the narrow stairs, followed by Molly.

I'll leave the basket,' she said, as she stood in the doorway outlined against the darkness of Thrush Green. 'Use what you want, and I hope you'll all have a very happy Christmas."

'But won't you come and join us for dinner?' asked Molly, now genuinely fond of Nelly after her appreciation of the baby.

'No, dear,' said Nellie firmly. 'It's real nice of you, but Christmas is a family time.'

She turned and made her way into the darkness.

I'll be seeing Albert afterwards,' she said, and in her tone was something which brooked no good for that backslider.

It seemed to Molly, as she closed the door, that her father had met his match in more ways than one.

Ella and Dimity were spending the evening by the fire. Both women were tired with the bustle of the day. Dimity had made one trip to Lulling in the morning, only to find, on
her return, that she had forgotten several urgent articles needed during the Christmas holiday, which meant another journey down the steep hill and up again, during the afternoon.

She was touched by Ella's offer to make the second trip, but had refused, for dear Ella had been very busy delivering Christmas presents of her own making to nearby friends.

Now they sat comfortably enjoying the peace after the storm. Ella smoked one of her rank shaggy cigarettes, her sturdy brogues propped up on a string stool, while Dimity knitted placidly a matinee coat for Ruth Lovell's coming baby. Upstairs, carefully packed in one of Thatcher's dress boxes was a thick ribbed cardigan for Ella's Christmas present, only finished just in rime, for Dimity had been obliged to work at it only in Ella's absence from the room, as she intended it to be a surprise.

Ella, too, had packed a garment in one of Thatcher's boxes for Dimity's Christmas present, but it was not of her own making. She had bought a soft fluffy blue dressing-gown for her friend on one of her trips to London. Too long, she decided, had Dimity wrapped her thin form in a shabby grey flannel garment which she admitted to buying long before the war. Since Ella's heart-searching, by the Cotswold stone wall on her lonely walk, she had done her best to be less selfish, and it had not gone unnoticed.

'I thought we'd have eggs for supper,' said Dimity, letting the knitting fall into her lap. 'Boiled or scrambled, Ella dear?'

'Boiled,' replied Ella. 'Less bother. No filthy saucepan to clean up either.'

Dimity began to wind the wool round the needles, but Ella got up before her.

'You stay there, Dim. You look a bit done up. I can do boiled eggs easily enough.'

'Oh, Ella, you're much too kind! You're tired yourself!'

'But I'm not going to early service tomorrow, don't forget.'

'I feel I must,' said Dimity, clasping her thin hands earnestly. 'The rector docs so like to have a full church at early service. Harold's going I know.'

Ella stubbed out her cigarette violently. She seemed embarrassed at the mention of their new friend's name, thought Dimity, somewhat bewildered.

'He's a good chap,' said Ella gruffly, and stumped towards the kitchen.

Left alone, listening to the crashing of saucepans from the kitchen, Dimity pondered on Ella's generous heart. She had been even more thoughtful lately, she told herself-more gentle, more sympathetic. She remembered Ella's unusual embarrassment when she had spoken of Harold Shoosmith. They said that love often had a mellowing influence, and certainly Ella had always thought highly of the newcomer. Could Ella's recent gentleness have anything to do with affection for their handsome friend, asked Dimity in wonderment?

Darkness thickened over Lulling and Thrush Green. The Christmas tree twinkled and blazed in the market square dwarfing the stars above to insignificance.

Excited children for once went willingly to bed, stockings clutched in their rapacious hands and heads whirling with delirious thoughts of joys to come. Exhausted shop assistants sat at home soaking their aching feet in warm water. The patients in Lulling Cottage Hospital thought of the long gruelling day ahead, complete with boisterous surgeons carving turkeys, paper hats, hearty nurses singing carols and all the other overwhelming paraphernalia of Christmas in the wards, and they shuddered or smiled according to temperament. Housewives, flopping wearily in armchairs, congratulated themselves upon remembering the decorations for the trifle, the cherry sticks for the drinks and other last minute details unI'll they were brought up short by the horrid thought that in the pressure of so much unaccustomed shopping they had completely forgotten salt and tea, and now it was too late anyway.

But away from the lights and worries of the town the quiet hills lay beneath a velvety sky. No wind rustled the trees and no bird disturbed the night's tranquillity. Sheep still roamed the slopes as they had that memorable night so long ago in Palestine, and low on the horizon a great star, bright as a jewel, still held out an eternal promise to mankind.

'I
T
might almost be September instead of Christmas Day,' exclaimed Dimity, as they walked down their garden path on the way to the Baileys' house. 'Look, Ella, there are still some marigolds out!'

It was certainly mild, and the midday sun had a slight warmth. Ella snuffed up the fresh air like an old war-horse and nodded her shaggy locks with approval.

'Something to be thankful for, anyway,' she responded. 'I can't say I relish these Dickensian Christmases with snow up to your knees and a lot of wild skating parties. Far more likely to make a full churchyard, they are, thea a nice seasonable green Christmas–whatever old Piggott may say!'

Winnie Bailey was at her door to meet them.

'Happy Christmas,' she said. 'You're the first to arrive. It's just an
elderly
party. And a very small one.'

It was a punctual one too, for Ella and Dimity had only just greeted the doctor when Dotty Harmer, the rector and Harold Shoosmith arrived together. The doctor dispensed drinks and the chatter began.

'Doctor Lovell rang up a few minutes ago,' confided Winnie to Ella quietly! 'The baby is due to arrive today.'

'Bad luck,' said Ella. Winnie Bailey's eyebrows rose.

'Only because it will have its birthday on Christmas Day,' explained Ella hastily. 'Always tough on children, I think. Who's with her?'

'Joan, and the daily, and young Lovell's mopping and mowing about, I gather. Mrs Burridge, the aunt who stayed here during the war, was going to come, but decided she couldn't. Do you remember her?'

'Do I not!' said Ella explosively. 'I'm not a womanly woman, as well you know, but the way that cat used to leap to her feet when Dim and I came into the room, and then guide us solicitously to the nearest chair as though we were senile, used to make my blood boil. She must have been a good ten years older than we were anyway!' Ella's normally rosy face had turned quite purple with wrath at the memory.

'Even Donald admitted that she was the embodiment of malice,' agreed Winnie calmly. She became conscious of the rector's mild eye turning upon her, as he overheard this remark, and went over to speak to him. Dimity and Harold were at the window watching the world of Thrush Green taking the air in readiness for Christmas dinner. They appeared happily engrossed and Ella, turning from the sight abruptly, found Dotty Harmer at her elbow. She seemed agitated.

'I don't want to be too long,' she whispered to Ella. 'I've left a pumpkin pie in the oven. It's an American dish -1 had an American cookery book given to me some time ago and I
thought I'd like to try something rather different for Christmas Day.'

'If it's anything like marrow,' said Ella firmly, 'you're welcome.'

'It's a great delicacy,' insisted Dotty. 'The Americans have it on Thanksgiving Day, I gather. Though why they should want to give thanks for losing touch with their mother country, I never could imagine,' added Dotty, with a touch of
hauteur.
'My father always referred to what the Americans call "The War of Independence" as "The American Rebellion." The new headmaster was quite unpleasant about it, and he and Father had words, I remember.'

'Ah well,' replied Ella, in a conciliatory tone, 'it all happened a long time ago, and the Americans seem to be struggling along quite nicely without us. Can't expect your children to cluster round your knee for ever, you know.'