(16/20)Summer at Fairacre (26 page)

'Yes. It's done that all right,' he answered cryptically.

'What do you mean?'

'You'll know soon enough,' he said, making for the door. 'I'm saying no more.'

And the maddening fellow set off for home at a brisk pace.

***

For the next hour or two I worried over Mr Willet's enigmatic comment. Had I worded the notice wrongly? Was there going to be a rush of candidates for the appointment? Had Mrs Pringle been putting in her spoke, and warning off would-be applicants with terrible descriptions of the work involved? I would not put it past her.

After a great deal of fruitless anxiety, I decided to pay a visit to Mrs John to see if it was she who had put my house to rights unexpectedly, and to deliver a pot of Guernsey honey and a rather splendid teddy bear, made in the island, and to which I was becoming so much attached that I felt it would be wise to hand it over without delay, to its future owner.

The countryside was looking lovely after the recent rain, and already some of the fields were being ploughed after an early harvest. Farmers did not waste much time these days, I thought, remembering the golden stubble which used to stand in the cropped fields for weeks, it seemed, in the old days.

But already there was a shabbiness about the hedgerows and grass verges which told of approaching autumn. It grieved me to think of the waning of this most glorious of all summers, its joys and its splendours. Well, we had celebrated it, every one of us, and must face the inevitable, I supposed.

Knapweed and late scabious coloured the drying grasses. Already acorns and young conkers were formed, and in the orchards the plums were turning colour, and some early apples, like Beauty of Bath, were being picked.

To some people, autumn is the loveliest of the seasons with John Keats' 'mists and mellow fruitfulness'. But for me, I find it a wistful time. 'The dying fall' presages the chill of winter, and this year, particularly, I hoped that autumn would be late in coming.

Mrs John was delighted with her honey and Teresa with the bear. Yes, she had looked in, she said, almost apologetically, and Mr Willet had unlocked the house for her.

'It all looked immaculate,' I told her. 'But you shouldn't have gone to such trouble.'

'Well, I was going to leave a note, but in the end I decided I'd see you myself.'

'Shall I see you next week? Are you feeling better now?'

'It's about that I wanted to see you.'

She twisted her fingers in some embarrassment.

'You see, the doctor says there's another baby on the way. It's a bit earlier than we'd planned, but we're quite pleased about it. The only thing is I shall have to give up the job, and I did enjoy it so.'

'And I enjoyed having you. You did a first-class job and I shall miss you sorely, but you must do as the doctor says.'

We parted affectionately, and I promised to keep in touch.

Teresa was too engrossed in the teddy bear to wish me farewell.

I left them both with much regret.

So that's that, I thought, as I drove home. Now I must look for another cleaner for my home as well as the school.

I was genuinely sorry to part from Mrs John. She was a fine person, and had looked after me beautifully. While the holidays lasted, and that was not for much longer, I could manage well, but once term started on September the third, I should have to find a help-meet.

Perhaps Mr Willet knew about this too? Next time I met him I must put in some third-degree stuff.

Unfortunately, as I knew from experience, the wily old boy was more than a match for me.

19 Mrs Pringle on the War Path

THE last few days of the summer holiday passed with unwelcome rapidity.

Amy called to see me one evening.

'To catch up with the Fairacre gossip,' she told me. 'I haven't seen you since the television programme. I must say they made the village look absolutely Arcadian.'

'It is,' I assured her.

'Oh, come off it! You know there are as many serpents in your Eden as there are in mine at Bent. How's that terrible Mrs Pringle getting on?'

I told her about that lady's vacillations, and my present predicament.

'A pity about Mrs John,' she said, looking closely at the floor and furniture about her. 'She really has pulled this place together. You will miss her.'

I ignored this aspersion on the normal state of my abode, and agreed that Mrs John would be sorely missed.

'I believe Miriam Quinn is in Norfolk at the moment,' she went on. 'Am I right?'

'You are indeed.'

'Well, I asked because I had an extraordinary postcard this morning from Gerard Baker, written from a place called Great Snoring.'

'I don't believe it.'

'Perfectly true, my dear. But it wasn't the address that perturbed me, but the ebullience of the man's message.'

'Tell me more. I'm agog!'

'I ought to have brought it to show you, but the telephone rang just as I was coming out, and I have left it at home, but it was to the effect that he was the happiest man in the world, and what bliss it was to find Fairacre in Norfolk.'

'Good Lord!'

'Yes, you may well say so,' said Amy severely, it looks to me as if you have let yet another nice man slip through your fingers. I was afraid from the moment they clapped eyes on each other, in this very room, that no good would come of it.'

'But good
has
come of it, Amy, if Miriam and Gerard propose to get engaged. But somehow—'

'Somehow what?'

'Well, Miriam seemed so very much the confirmed single woman, happy in her work. I wonder if it's true?'

'I can't think of any other explanation, can you? Two people, both connected with Fairacre, now in Norfolk? No, I think it's a case of love.'

'You sound as maudlin as Mrs Pringle,' I told her. 'She's always telling me that it is Love That Makes The World Go Round. Not that she puts it into practice, as you know. I see mighty little love here from that source.'

'Well, there is it,' said Amy rising. 'Let's take a turn in the garden like Jane Austen's heroines, and you can tell me all about Guernsey and the wedding. Was your gorgeous hat admired?'

'It certainly was.'

'And did it attract a flock of eligible men, all soft and wistful in the presence of nuptials?'

'I'm sorry to say it did not.'

Amy bent to sniff at a Gloire de Dijon rose against the wall.

'Never mind,' she said comfortingly. 'There's a lot to be said for living alone in such a heavenly place.'

'I'm always telling you that,' I said.

It was good to have the last word for a change.

***

That evening I was surprised to have a telephone call from Elizabeth Mawne.

'You haven't forgotten our garden party tomorrow, have you? In aid of the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds?'

I confessed that I had.

'No matter,' said she kindly, i only rang because you promised something for the cake stall, and I noticed it hadn't arrived.'

'I'll set to now and make something,' I promised humbly. 'Anything to help the R.S.P.B.'

'That's nice of you. To tell the truth, Henry almost called off the whole thing, as he's been having the most acrimonious exchanges with one of the officers about a rare bird he saw up on the downs.'

'How exciting! What was it?'

'Don't ask me, dear. I'm absolutely ignorant of bird life. Some sort of
Lesser Thing.
A godwit, possibly. No, I don't think it was that. He'll tell you when we see you. The man he wrote to told him he was mistaken, and of course Henry was furious. However, I've soothed him enough to have the garden party here tomorrow, but for two pins he would have changed the posters to "In aid of the Cats' Protection League".'

'He sounds as though he's taken it hard, poor Henry.'

'Well, when you are an authority on birds it's rather annoying to be told you can't distinguish between a Lesser Whatsit and a Greater Thingummy, isn't it?'

'I agree.'

'Then we'll look forward to seeing you about two-thirty. With a cake, of course.'

'Of course,' I agreed meekly, and went into the kitchen to make a batch of flapjacks to atone for my forgetfulness. Tibby, expecting supper, accompanied me, and graciously accepted a morsel of cold chicken, before I began my labours.

What a summer, I thought, as I made my way through the village the next afternoon!

Normally, I am full of fears for those organising outside junketings, but this year one just could not go wrong.

The cottage gardens were gay with red hot pokers, michaelmas daisies, pansies and delphiniums. Roses still glowed from old brick walls, and hollyhocks reached to thatched roofs.

Little birds fluffed their feathers at the side of the lane, glorying in their baths, and sending up little puffs of light dust. Cats dozed on window sills, relishing the heat, while dogs had sought the shade, and lay there panting.

Mr Roberts' cows, now restored to our erstwhile sports' field, stood beneath a clump of trees swishing their tails against the tormenting flies, and an aeroplane, leaving trails in the high blue sky, added its distant hum to the somnolence of the summer afternoon.

In the Mawnes' garden, however, all was bustle. I presented my flapjacks to the cake stall, and asked if I might reserve an appetising fruit cake that caught my eye.

'Not until Mr Bradley has made his speech,' said Mrs Mawne, arriving at my side. 'We can't possibly start selling until then.' She hurried off.

'Bossy old thing,' commented Mrs Lamb, who was in charge of the stall. 'Don't you worry. I'll see you get it, Miss Read.'

I expressed my thanks, but moved in a somewhat chastened mood to listen to Basil Bradley, who had mounted a rather precarious stool to make his opening speech.

As always, he was looking immaculate, his wavy hair beautifully cut, his pink shirt and pale grey suit a vision of delight. We are very proud of our local author, and he is generous with his time and money. Also, a great point, he is always brief when speaking, and this has endeared him to us all.

This afternoon was no exception, and within five minutes I had revisited the cake stall and collected my fruit cake. Mrs Lamb was doing a roaring trade, and the blue and white striped pudding basin which was acting as her till, was almost stuffed with notes and silver.

I noticed a particularly luscious chocolate cake, decorated with walnuts, lurking in the shade under the table. Seeing my interest, Mrs Lamb said:

'Put aside for Mrs Mawne,' and rolled her eyes to heaven.

Tea was served at the card tables collected earlier from the village hall, and covered with a fine assortment of borrowed tablecloths. Even on Henry Mawne's level lawn they proved uncomfortably wobbly, but it was pleasant to sit among friends admiring the flowery dresses of the women, and the bronzed near-nakedness of the children.

By four o'clock I felt I had done my duty, and set off for home. It seemed hotter than ever. A few small children, clad only in shorts, were accompanying a man, and were walking towards me.

To my surprise, when they were nearer, I saw that it was Arthur Coggs and all his offspring except Joseph.

He looked rather sheepish as he approached, but we stopped and had a civil word. He looked all the better for his time in prison, I thought, fitter and leaner without his beer, but naturally I did not say so.

'And where's Joe?' I asked.

'Home with 'is mum,' said Arthur. 'Reading some book.'

'He's getting on famously at school,' I told him.

'It's all he seems to think about,' responded Arthur. His tone was derogatory. He might have been saying that the child was hopelessly delinquent from the disgust shown in his manner.

'Good!' I said heartily. 'I'll look forward to seeing him, and the others, next week.'

Mr Lamb was weeding the front garden of the Post Office as I passed.

'Got our old friend back,' he said, nodding to Arthur's departing figure. 'Pity he didn't do his full time. Still, there's a chap at Beech Green has offered him a labouring job on that new building site, and Arthur starts on Monday. If he feels like it,' he added.

'Well, I hope the employer knows what he's taking on.'

'You can bet plenty of people have told him.' it's good news for Arthur though. He might go straight for a bit.'

'So might a corkscrew,' replied Mr Lamb.

He came close to his gate, and dropped his voice. 'You had a visit yet about that cleaning job?'

'Not a word. Why?'

Mr Lamb looked furtively about him, and came even closer. 'Well, you know that card you left with me?'

'Of course.'

'While you were away, Minnie Pringle came in for her children's allowance, and wanted to know what it was. You know she can't read?'

I said I did indeed.

'Proper scandal, isn't it? Had compulsory education here for a hundred years, and you get duffers like that Minnie still! Anyway, I was reading it out to her, when in comes Ma Pringle.'

Here Mr Lamb's husky whisper changed to a falsetto.

'"And what may you be doing?" she asks Minnie. "Thinking of going to see about this job," said Minnie, all pert. And Ma Pringle turns as red as a turkey-cock and says: "Oh, no you don't my girl!" and stumps off without buying anything.'

'This is the first I've heard of it,' I said. 'Although Bob Willet did say that that card had caused problems.'

'Problems? Murder, near enough, from what the neighbours told me! When Min went back, the old girl set about her something terrible, and threatened to black her eye if she dared to put in for what she called "herjob". Minnie went off home to Springbourne, but she stuck out and wouldn't swear not to apply, and her old aunt is still seethingover it.'

'What a kettle offish,' I remarked. 'All I know is that Mrs Pringle has said she doesn't want the job, and I'm still hoping to hear from someone, though time's running short. In any case, Minnie is not at all suitable.'

'That she's not,' agreed Mr Lamb. 'Does more harm than good, I should guess.'

'Well, thank you for telling me,' I said, picking up my basket. 'At least I'm prepared.'