(6/13) Gossip from Thrush Green (14 page)

Things will certainly be simpler,' agreed Winnie diplomatically, refilling her guest's cup. There's nothing so exciting as one's first home.'

She looked about the familiar sitting room, crowded with the personal treasures of many years.

'This was my first home,' she told the girl, 'and my last, I hope.'

'If I'm as quarter as happy,' said Mary, 'I shall be quite content.'

10. A Golden May

M
RS
Jenner, who had a sizeable old farmhouse a mile along the road to Nidden from Thrush Green, was a cousin of Percy Hodge's.

Like Dotty Harmer, her contemporary, she had been the only daughter, and when her mother died she kept house, and occasionally did a little nursing for neighbours.

She had trained at one of the London teaching hospitals and had worked in the capital until her mother fell ill. She was a large strong woman, eminently kind and practical, and well thought of in Lulling and Thrush Green.

On the death of her father she had refurbished the empty bedrooms, and had two or three paying guests who were in need of home nursing. The service she gave was outstanding, and many a local family blessed Mrs Jenner for the help she gave with elderly or invalid relatives.

But when Mrs Jenner's seventieth birthday had come and gone, she took stock of her situation. She now found it increasingly difficult to care for her patients as she wished. Carrying heavy trays upstairs, turning mattresses as well as elderly bodies, and facing disturbed nights all took their toll, and though Mrs Jenner's heart was as willing as ever, her ageing limbs were beginning to protest. Reluctantly, she decided that she must give up her nursing.

The next step was to provide a small income for herself. The old farmhouse was her main asset, and after considerable planning she decided to turn the top floor into one good-sized flat to let, and to live on the ground floor.

Her Last patient had Left her in February, and the alterations to the house were virtually complete by the time the fire had ravaged Thrush Green rectory. After she had heard that Charles and Dimity were settled temporarily at Harold's she wrote to the rector and offered them the flat if it would be of any help to them. They welcomed the suggestion. No one could have a better landlady than Mrs Jenner, and the accommodation was conveniently placed for all the rector's parish duties.

The top floor flat was light and spacious, the furniture was of good solid country-made workmanship, but Mrs Jenner obligingly offered to move some elsewhere if the rector preferred some of his own pieces.

In truth, the farmhouse was infinitely more comfortable than the rectory had ever been. Large windows overlooked the sunny garden with fields beyond.

Perce has those now,' said Mrs Jenner, naming Jenny's admirer. 'His father and mine farmed this place together, and it was split up when they died. I only need this garden, and I let my few acres to Percy who can do with them. He's a good help tome when it's needed. Keeps me in vegetables and milk, and can turn his hand to anything to do with wood or metal.'

'He's a very skilled fellow, I know,' agreed the rector.

'Great shame about Gertie. He misses her sorely,' went on their landlady. But there, you know all about that. Come and see the kitchen.'

As she led them from one room to the next, Dimity realised that she was going to be more comfortable in these quarters than she had been anywhere in her married life. The carpets and curtains were well-worn, but beautifully clean. The armchairs were deep and snug, the windows gleamed, the furniture was glossy with years of polishing. Above all, it was warm.

Whatever the future held for her, Dimity became more and more certain as she followed Mrs Jenner about the old thick-walled house, that her new home whenever it materialised, was going to be as similar in light, warmth and comfort as it could possibly be to Mrs Jenner's house. It would be smaller, she supposed. Some of the new church houses were even bungalows, she believed. How wonderful to have a home which would be easy to keep warm and clean! She recalled, with an inward shudder, the bleak Victorian rectory—its wind-tunnel of a passage, leading from the north-facing front door to the back one, its vast Gothic windows which rattled in the wind, its high ceilings, its wintry bedrooms and the ever-damp cellars. She knew that Charles grieved for its loss. She did too, for that matter, for it had been her first home as a bride. Nevertheless, she realised, as never before, that the place had been ugly, cold, impractical and hideously expensive to run.

She gazed about Mrs Jenner's neat kitchen. A small stove gave out a steady warmth. A kettle purred upon it. The saucepans winked from the walls, and a row of fine geraniums basked in the sunshine on the window sill.

'You won't want to make up your minds just yet, I feel sure,' said Mrs Jenner. But let me know when you decide.'

Dimity's eyes met those of Charles.

'I think we've decided already,' said the rector, with a smile.

'Then we'll have a cup of tea,' said their new landlady, lifting the kettle.

The next morning Dimity crossed the green to visit her old friend Ella Bembridge and to tell her about their new temporary home.

She found her engrossed in the morning post. Willie Marchant was wheeling his bicycle from one gate to another, and had acknowledged her presence with a casual wave as she passed.

'Anything exciting?' asked Dimity.

'Two bills, a catalogue about Shetland woollies and a very vulgar leaflet about some hideous pottery with an order form headed: PLEASE RUSH ME THE FOLLOWING. That's enough to put you off for a start, isn't it?'

Dimity agreed.

'Besides this awful pottery they do jewellery based on Viking designs. Cashing in on those telly programmes, I suppose, though anyone less lovable than the Vikings it would be hard to find, I imagine.'

'Well, I suppose you could call them
brave,
' said Dimity tentatively.

'Don't you start,' growled Ella. 'The more I saw and heard about them, the greater grew my admiration for dear old King Alfred.
Great
he certainly was, coping with those dreadful chaps with names like throat-clearings.'

'I've got some good news,' said Dimity, feeling it was about time to leave the inflammable subject of the Vikings. She told her about Mrs Jenner's flat, and Ella grew equally enthusiastic.

'Well, you couldn't do better. I should settle there permanently if 1 were you.'

'That would be blissful, wouldn't it? But I daresay the church people have other plans for us.'

At that moment there was a knock at the door, and Winnie Bailey entered.

After greetings, she unfolded a snowy linen napkin to display a minute piece of knitting.

'Do you, by any chance, have a spare number twelve needie, Ella dear? Mine has vanished. Jenny and 1 have turned everything upside down, and it's nowhere to be seen, and I want to give these bootees to Mary Thomas before they go.'

'Do babies wear bootees now?' asked Ella. 'I thought they were brought up in grow-bags.'

'I think the term is something like "growies",' said Winnie vaguely, 'but I always imagined they had bootees on inside those things.'

'My little brother,' said Dimity, 'had a long flannel which was folded over his feet and secured with two enormous safety pins.'

'Well, these grow-bags are simply the modern equivalent,' explained Ella, 'and I'm sure 1 have another twelve needle somewhere, unless I used it to stake a drooping indoor hyacinth last winter.'

She set about rummaging in the drawer of a side table, scattering knitting needles, crochet hooks, carpet needles, bodkins, safety pins, stitch-holders and a mixed assortment of other metal tools for handicrafts.

While she was thus engaged, Dimity told Winnie about their new plans.

'Yes, I did know,' admitted Winnie. 'Percy Hodge told me last night when he came to see Jenny.'

'I might have guessed,' said Dimity, 'that everyone in Thrush Green knows the news now.'

'Well, I didn't know, did I?' said Ella comfortingly, advancing with a bristling handful of knitting needles.

'There you are, Winnie. All twelves, and ranging from my Aunt Milly's bone ones to pseudo tortoiseshell via steel and modern plastic. Take your pick.'

Winnie studied the needles.

And how is Jenny? Is she likely to marry Percy, do you think?'

'I'll take the steel ones, if I may, Ella. And about Jenny—well, I really don't know. She still looks washed-out to me, I'd like her to have a few days away. To my mind, she's worried over Percy too. I hardly like to dissuade her—she might think my motives were a trifle self-centred—and I don't feel like doing the opposite. She must make up her own mind. I'm strictly neutral. All I want is Jenny's well-being.'

'But she might find that with Percy,' cried Dimity earnestly, thinking of her own late marriage to her beloved Charles. I mean it really seems so
cruel
to turn down the love of a good man like kind Percy. Especially when he misses Gertie so much.'

Her two companions gazed upon her with mingled affection, amusement and exasperation.

'"When in doubt, don't", is my motto,' said Ella forthrightly. 'And as for
love,
well, you know what the Provincial Lady maintained. She reckoned that a sound bank balance and good teeth far outweighed it in value.'

'I can hardly put that forward to Jenny,' said Winnie, rolling the needles with the bootees into a white bundle.

'Well, just tell her to look before she leaps,' advised Ella, accompanying Winnie to the door.

'I can only speak from personal experience,' said Dimity, 'but I have never for one moment had regrets about my marriage.'

'Naturally,' agreed Ella, 'but then Charles is in a class of his own.'

'You are particularly fortunate,' said Winnie.

'As though I didn't know!' exclaimed Dimity.

One golden May day succeeded another. In the growing warmth of early summer Thrush Green shook out its leaves and flowers, to the delight of its inhabitants.

The school children spent every playtime out in the sunshine, much to the relief of Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty, and even Albert Piggot looked less morose, and had taken off two of his winter waistcoats and his disreputable muffler.

Farmers surveyed their promising hay fields, gardeners plied hoes and gardening forks and bustled about with packets of seeds, twine and knives sticking out of their pockets. Birds flashed to and fro, feeding young, or scrapping with others who approached too near their own particular territory. Activity was everywhere apparent.

Except, it seemed, at Tullivers.

There the garden grew more neglected. Harold Shoosmith, surveying it worriedly whenever he passed, wondered if he should offer to mow the grass and clip the hedges. It was Frank and Phyllida he was thinking about, not the present occupants whose laziness appalled him. As it happened, Jack Thomas emerged one evening with the Hursts' mower, and cut the lawns, and one Sunday he snipped away the longest of the sprouting twigs in the hedge.

Obviously, Mary was in no condition to garden, and the other pair were seldom seen. Winnie began to wonder if they were still living there, and asked Mary one day over the dividing hedge between their gardens.

To her surprise, the girl's face flushed with anger.

'We've sent them packing,' she said shortly.

'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I didn't mean to upset you.'

'You haven't. Actually I'm so relieved, I can't tell you. They never fitted in, you know.'

'It looked rather that way.'

'Jack's too kind-hearted. They told him this sob story just before we came here, and he was sorry for them and offered them shelter until they found a job.'

'And have they?'

Mary gave a snort of disgust.

'They haven't exactly tried. They made a great thing of going down to Lulling to the Job Centre, but as far as I could see, they had no intention of taking anything offered them. I think they thought that the group would make a bomb. But of course it hasn't. Anyway, it was agreed that we should split any fee four ways, so that no one had very much.'

She paused for a moment.

'Especially if you're on pot,' she added.

'Pot? Drugs, do you mean?'

'Cannabis, and a bit of cocaine. I don't think they've got to the hard stuff yet, but I bet they will pretty soon. The stink of the stuff made me so ill. That's what finally decided Jack to send them packing.'

'So I should hope,' said Winnie.

'The final straw,' said Mary, 'was pinching the housekeeping money last week. I thought it had been vanishing for some time, a fiver here and there. You know how easy it is, especially when four people use the purse.'

'What was your system?'

'Oh, whoever went shopping for meat or eggs or groceries just took the purse. We all put in a fiver at the beginning, and then had a share out at the end of each week, and refurbished the funds again.'

'It sounds a good idea.'

'In theory, yes. In practice, particularly with half paying out for drugs, it was hopeless. My gold bangle's gone too. I may have lost it—the catch was loose—but I can't help feeling they pinched it. Jack refused to believe me - he's much more high-minded than I am. Anyway, I got some of that powder you can scatter in cash boxes and so on. It stains a thief's hands bright red. It certainly worked with Bill and Lottie last Thursday. We caught them literally red-handed. I've never seen Jack so furious. They were out within an hour.'