(7/13) Affairs at Thrush Green (28 page)

And so it had been arranged. Albert Piggott had jumped at the chance of looking after the animals, night and morning, and of taking complete charge of the goat Dulcie on whom he doted. Betty Bell would continue her ministrations twice a week. All the post would be delivered to Winnie Bailey's address, and far more important than any of these plans was the enthusiastic agreement of Dotty herself.

Kit and Connie approached Edward Young with their ideas for the enlargement of Dotty's cottage, and the three of them spent many hours discussing possibilities.

It was only a few days before Christmas when they agreed Edward's final design which he promised to submit to the local planning committee.

'And I don't think there should be any difficulty,' he assured them. 'You've got a marvellous site there, and whatever is built is not going to affect anyone nearby. Everything's there already in the way of drainage, electricity and so on, and there's easy access for the builders so that they will have no excuse for uprooting hedges and chopping down trees when no one's looking. Leave it all with me, my children, and go and enjoy yourselves.'

'We intend to,' said Kit. 'But none of it would have been possible without friends in Thrush Green.'

Matters at the Piggott household continued to run with unaccustomed harmony. Nelly, still happy in her job at The Fuchsia Bush, was made still happier when she discovered that she had lost almost a stone in weight and felt all the better for it.

It was not lack of food. She usually had a substantial lunch provided by The Fuchsia Bush, but there was no doubt that the semi-run downhill to Lulling, and the arduous plod back after work, were giving the lady much-needed exercise.

Better still, from Nelly's point of view, was the healthy state of her Post Office savings' account. It now stood at one hundred and seventy five pounds, boosted most satisfactorily by the fifty-pound Bingo winnings.

All in all, Nelly found life at Thrush Green much pleasanter than she had expected on her nervous return from the perfidious Charlie. Of him, she had heard nothing. She assumed that his entanglement with his new love still engrossed him. They were both welcome, Nelly told herself. She had had quite enough of love. Good health, a nice job and money behind her really provided a much more satisfactory state of mind, and she said as much to her new friend, Mrs Jenner, as they puffed uphill one evening from a Bingo session.

'You're quite right, Nelly,' said Mrs Jenner. 'I know Albert's behaving himself very well at the moment, and looking forward to spending time with Dulcie, so he's in good spirits, but you watch your step, my dear! Put as much in your account as you can. There's nothing like a bit of money behind you. That way you can be independent, and I don't care what all the book-writers say about love and marriage. To my mind, you can't trust men.'

And with this sentiment Nelly heartily agreed.

The visit of Anthony Bull had done much to comfort Charles. To be told that he was considered by his Bishop to be a conscientious parish priest made Charles feel humble as well as proud.

He treasured too, Anthony's own kindly comments, and only hoped that they were not exaggerated. It was amazing to Charles to learn that there had ever been any adverse criticism of his predecessor, although he realized now that, as Anthony had pointed out, no man in the public eye could expect to be free of censure in some form or other. Those few exchanges with Anthony had put matters into perspective for Charles, and he felt greatly heartened.

Dimity was much relieved to see this improvement in his spirits. She had grieved to see him cast down during the past few weeks, and guessed the cause. Primarily, she blamed Mrs Thurgood. Charles had taken her wounding remarks much to heart, Dimity considered, and she could never forgive her for making her dear husband so unhappy.

Charles, of course, would have none of it, brushing aside Dimity's queries, and insisting that he was in perfect health and spirits. Now it really seemed that the doldrums were over, and Dimity rejoiced.

A week or two before Christmas she left him immediately after lunch to spend the afternoon at an old people's Christmas party in Lulling.

It was bitterly cold, with a cruel northerly wind sweeping the High Street, as she made her way to the hall at the other end of the town.

The shops were gaily decked for Christmas, and a fine Christmas tree was being put in place in the little square by the Butter Market. Dimity, ignoring the wind, thought it all looked remarkably gay.

Across the road she saw old Tom Hardy with a large parcel under his arm. Polly was on a lead, trotting quite briskly, and although Dimity waved to him, he did not see her, and continued steadily up the street towards Lulling church. He was certainly walking well, thought Dimity, and it was good to see the two old friends united again.

It was some minutes later that Charles went to the back door. There stood Tom and Polly.

'Come in! Come in, out of this dreadful wind,' cried the rector, ushering them in. 'It's good to see you both.'

Polly's tail wagged in greeting, and she moved towards the study where she guessed correctly that the rector had a fire.

Tom carried the parcel with him and settled in an arm chair.

'I've brought you and Mrs Henstock a little Christmas present,' he said, pushing the parcel across the rector's desk. 'It's not much, but I made it myself.'

'May I undo it?'

'Of course, sir. Tell me if you think it'll do.'

Charles unwrapped it carefully. The old man had done it up beautifully, and the parcel was stoutly secured with string. It took some time to get the present free, but at last it was revealed.

Tom had made a fine sturdy birds' nesting box with a cleverly thatched roof.

'It's superb!' the rector told him. 'A marvellous piece of work! Dimity will be delighted.'

'Well, I know she's one for the birds, and I thought it would give you both pleasure. It's just a little return for all your kindness to me and Polly.'

The dog, hearing her name, thumped her tail on the hearth rug.

'I wish my wife were here to thank you too,' said Charles. 'She will be sorry to have missed you. I can assure you, Tom, you couldn't have given us anything more welcome. Now, let me get you a drink.'

'No, no, I won't if you don't mind, sir. I've another call to make, and then I'll get back before it's dark.'

He stood up briskly, and Charles was pleased to see how much stronger he seemed.

'Then I won't keep you, but thank you again for a perfect present. Come out this way, Tom, it's quicker for you.'

He led the way to the front door, shook hands with the old man and patted Polly.

He watched the two setting off down the drive. They had reached the gate when a car turned in.

To Charles's dismay, he recognized it as the one belonging to Mrs Thurgood.

'Will you come into my study? I'm afraid the drawing room fire isn't alight yet. Dimity is out this afternoon.'

'No doubt about her good works,' said Mrs Thurgood, graciously accepting a seat.

Her eye alighted on Tom's nesting box.

'What an attractive object!' Charles found Mrs Thurgood's smile almost as disconcerting as her withering tongue, but at least it seemed that she was in a pleasant mood.

'Tom Hardy made it,' said he. 'It's an early Christmas present. I'm looking forward to showing it to my wife.'

'Yes, I've heard about your kindness to that old fellow,' replied Mrs Thurgood. 'One of your
many
kindnesses, let me add, which is why I have called.'

Charles was nonplussed. This complete change of attitude was puzzling enough, but he could not recall any particular favour he had given Mrs Thurgood. Their paths had not crossed since their last stormy meeting.

'I wanted you to know that Janet is going to be married shortly, and you were the person who introduced her to her future husband, John Fairbrother.'

'I'm delighted to know,' said Charles. 'He seemed a very pleasant young man, and much admired your daughter's work, I remember.'

'Yes, he really does recognize her remarkable artistic ability, I'm happy to say. Of course, he has very little money, and is rather shy in manner, but he is
very well-connected.
The Shropshire Fairbrothers, you know.'

'Indeed,' said Charles. The phrase, 'very well-connected' was one which the good rector heard often from the lips of his more socially-conscious parishioners. He had once overheard: 'I know that he is seriously addicted to drugs, and has spent several months in prison, but he is
very well-connected
.' It seemed to excuse all.

'We should so much like the wedding here at St John's,' went on Mrs Thurgood, coming to the point, 'probably just before Easter. Such a pretty time of year with all the daffodils out. And, of course, I do so hope that you will agree to take the service. Having introduced them, you know, so very fitting.'

Mrs Thurgood gave the rector another unnerving smile. He rallied his strength.

'I shall be delighted to officiate,' he assured her. it will be a pleasure as well as a duty. With so much in common, they should be a very happy pair.'

Mrs Thurgood gave a little sigh of relief. It was plain to the rector that this confrontation had needed courage, and his tender heart was touched.

Mrs Thurgood rose to go.

'I am so glad that you will take the service. I was afraid that perhaps you might dislike the idea. My daughter and I have sometimes felt that we were a little—how shall I put it?'

'Don't attempt to put it,' said Charles impulsively. 'Let bygones be bygones. There are no hard feelings on my side, I promise you, and I very much appreciate your coming here today.'

He opened the study door and accompanied his visitor down the hall.

'Ah! Just one moment,' she said, rummaging in her large crocodile-skin handbag. 'Open it when you are alone,' she ordered him, thrusting an envelope into his hand.

'Thank you,' said Charles, somewhat bemused, but imagining that this was a Christmas card which she was very sensibly delivering by hand to save postage.

'Well, this is the season of giving and goodwill, isn't it?' said Mrs Thurgood, climbing into her car. 'Very glad that we are friends again.'

She waved, and drove off.

Charles returned to his fireside and opened the envelope. It did indeed contain a handsome card depicting the nativity. But within that was a folded cheque.

It was made out to St John's Church Fabric Fund, and had more noughts on it than Charles had ever seen on a cheque before.

He had to sit down suddenly to recover from the shock.

By the time Christmas arrived most of the inhabitants of Lulling and Thrush Green were quite exhausted with all the many preparations, and were looking forward to having a rest as soon as possible.

The weather had turned mild and tranquil, as is so often the case at this time, making a mockery of the Christmas card scenes of stage coaches in deep snow, children constructing snowmen and winter landscapes complete with skaters.

In Lulling gardens a few tattered roses still clung to unpruned bushes, and one or two early crocuses and snowdrops were thrusting through the damp soil. The more morose inhabitants, such as Albert Piggott, reminded each other of the old saying that a green Christmas meant a full churchyard.

But on the whole, people rejoiced in the mild spell, and among them was Charles Henstock. He had been able to go about his visiting, and to attend the plethora of pre-Christmas festivities, unencumbered by slippery roads and snow drifts.

On the morning of the great day he awoke early as usual. Dimity was still deep in sleep, and the rector thought of the duties before him with real pleasure.

It would be a busy day. He was to go to Thrush Green first, to take Holy Communion at eight o'clock in the church he loved so well. At eleven he would officiate at Morning Service at St John's, and at three-thirty he was due at his most distant church at Lulling Woods for Evensong.

Today, he knew, those churches would be full and he would have the joy of seeing almost all his flock.

He looked forward keenly to his Christmas Day. It was still dark, but by the illuminated dial of the bedside clock he saw that he must rise if he wished to be in good time.

He smiled in the darkness. How lucky he was to have work that he relished! How lucky to have escaped from the gloomy valley he had been transversing, and to have entered the sunny uplands again!

He edged gently out of bed, hoping not to disturb his wife, but she stirred as he moved.

'Happy Christmas!' she murmured, her eyes still closed.

'It will be,' said the rector, with conviction.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Miss Read is actually Mrs. Dora Saint, whose novels draw on her own memories of living and teaching in a small English village. She first began writing after the Second World War, mainly light essays about school and country matters, for several journals. Her first book,
Village School,
was published in England by Michael Joseph and then in the United States by Houghton Mifflin Company in 1955. She has since delighted millions of readers with both the Fairacre series and her equally well loved series about the Cotswold village of Thrush Green. Miss Read and her husband, a retired schoolmaster, have one daughter and enjoy a quiet life near Newbury, Berkshire.