(7/13) Affairs at Thrush Green (3 page)

Charles sighed as he turned into the Youngs' gateway. As a staunch Christian he had no doubt of his old friend's future happiness in a life beyond this. But how he would be missed by those he left behind!

Meanwhile, Dimity sat by Ella's fireside and heard the latest news of Thrush Green. Robert Bassett's failing health was the saddest item, and already known to Dimity.

'And it looks as though Percy Hodge's new wife isn't at all happy,' said Ella, puffing at one of her untidy cigarettes which she rolled herself in a slap-happy manner.

'Tell me more,' urged Dimity. It was extremely agreeable to hear all the latest gossip. She considered Charles a perfect husband, but he refused to impart those little snippets of information about his parishioners which his wife would have welcomed. Ella had always been one of the first to hear about her neighbours' affairs, and always enjoyed passing on her knowledge. Dimity realized how much she missed her confidences.

'Percy's fault, I gather. He will keep harking back to his first wife's virtues—particularly her cooking.'

'How very unfair!' cried Dimity. 'I mean, we all know that Gertie was a wonderful cook, but it's so stupid of Percy to expect Doris to be the same.'

'So John Lovell told him, I gather, when Percy called at the surgery to have his ears syringed. "Comparisons are odious", he quoted to him, but I don't suppose Percy took it in. If he's not careful, his Doris will up and leave him, like Albert Piggott's Nelly did.'

'Oh, I do hope not,' said Dimity earnestly.

'Thank God I'm a spinster,' replied Ella. 'I really couldn't be doing with considering a man's feelings day in and day out. Let alone cooking and cleaning for him! As it is, I can make a real meal of a boiled egg and a slice of toast, and am spared spending the best part of the morning scraping vegetables and mucking about with meat.'

'Well, I quite enjoy cooking,' answered Dimity, 'as you know, and it's really a pleasure to cook for Charles, he's so appreciative.'

'As well he might be,' agreed Ella, 'after the terrible stuff that Scots housekeeper of his dished up. I shall never forget seeing an appalling dish of grey tripe with grey dried peas round it, and all swimming in thin grey gravy. She was carrying it in for poor Charles's lunch. My heart bled for him.'

'She married, you know, when she left Charles.'

'I pity her husband,' said Ella. 'Now he
would
have something to complain about, and that's a fact. By the way, I picked up a cookery book at our last jumble sale.'

'Anything useful in it?'

'Not much that we haven't tried, and a very irritating way of explaining things—far too devil-may-care for my taste. You know the sort of thing: "Toss in a handful of chopped walnuts", "Add a dash of tabasco, Worcester sauce, curry or any other personal favourite". I like to know how much of everything. All this airy-fairy stuff annoys me.'

'Quite,' agreed Dimity. 'After all, a handful would vary considerably from person to person, and what's a dash anyway? A teaspoonful or three drops?'

'What's more it gives all the recipes in those vile grammes—and I'm horrified to see that those nice tubs of margarine which one could count on being half a Christian pound are now marked as two hundred and fifty grammes.'

'I expect that's why the cookery book had been sent to the jumble sale,' said Dimity sagaciously. 'Frankly, I just use my old recipes, all full of lovely ozes.'

'We're too old a pair of dogs to learn new tricks,' agreed Ella. 'I must say I'm proud to use our old blue and white jug marked British Imperial Pint. I feel I know where I am.'

At that moment there was a knock on the door, and before Ella could answer it, a voice called:

'Can I come in? I'm taking off my Wellingtons.'

'Connie, with the goats' milk,' exclaimed Ella, making her way into the hall. 'Come in by the fire. I didn't expect you to plough up here through this snow.'

Connie entered and greeted Dimity with a kiss.

'Heavens, it's good to see a fire,' she cried, holding out her hands to the blaze. 'I thought I'd come up in good time. It might snow again according to the weather man.'

'Don't suppose he knows any more than we do,' said Ella flatly, 'for all those satellite pictures they dote on, and the rest of the gimmicks. I reckon Albert Piggott does rather better as a weather prophet. His chest and joints are wonderful predictors of climatic conditions.'

'How's Dotty?' enquired Dimity.

'Very well, I'm glad to say. As long as she doesn't do anything silly such as wandering out in the snow to see if Dulcie's all right, and that kind of thing, she's in good trim. But you know dear old Aunt Dot—she likes her own way and I have to watch her.'

'Well, you do it very well, Connie,' said Ella. 'She's lucky to have you there.'

Ella went on to tell Connie about the latest news at Thrush Green, and how the inhabitants were coping with their particular snow problems. Dimity sat back in the old familiar armchair and studied Dotty Harmer's niece.

No one, she decided, could call Connie handsome, but she had fine eyes and her thick auburn hair showed very little grey. She must be in her forties now, strongly built, and with a determined look about her square chin. She needed strength of character to cope with her indomitable aunt, thought Dimity. It said much for her sweet disposition that she was obviously devoted to the trying old lady, and had given up her own home to come to her aid. It was to be hoped that Dotty appreciated Connie's attentions, but really poor Dotty grew more vague and eccentric as the years passed and Dimity sometimes wondered if her old friend really grasped what was happening around her.

'And how has your house stood up to the snow?' she asked.

'Oh, we're pretty snug,' answered Connie. 'There's nothing like a good thatched roof and thick walls for insulation. Thank goodness Aunt Dotty always kept the outside in good repair. The interior, of course, was another matter, but I'm gradually getting it straight. You'll be glad to know I've had a marvellous spring-clean of the pantry.'

'And about time too,' said Ella forthrightly. 'Why Dotty didn't succumb to food poisoning years ago beats me. Those witches' brews of home-made wine and preserves made from dubious plants were positively grisly. Dim and I knew better than to eat any of Dotty's concoctions, but the doctors around here know jolly well that there is a local indigestion known as "Dotty's Collywobbles" which the unwary suffer from if they sample your aunt's potions.'

Connie laughed, and Dimity thought how attractive she was when animated. It made one realize how young she was after all.

'The first things to go were half a dozen fearful jars of fungi swimming in cloudy liquid,' she told them. 'Heaven alone knows what they were, but I took them down into Lulling Woods and tipped the contents into a deep hole, when Aunt Dot was having a nap. I didn't dare bury the stuff in the garden in case the hens scratched it up.'

'Yes, she gave me ajar,' said Ella, it went straight in the dustbin, but I believe she sent several pots to Lulling Church Bazaar. Luckily Mrs Bull knew about them, and no doubt disposed of them safely.'

'One certainly gets some extraordinary things sent in for the church fund raisers,' commented Dimity. 'Lady Mary sent six pairs of pink corsets, all rather grubby too which made it worse, and so
vast,
of course, that it was difficult to know what to do with them.'

Connie rose to go, and Ella accompanied her to the door.

'Talking of unwanted gifts,' said Ella, when she returned, 'would that spoilt cat of yours eat hare?'

'There's nothing Tabitha likes more,' Dimity replied. 'She used to get some when we lived here, but somehow nobody leaves a nice hare hanging on the door knob at Lulling vicarage as they did at Thrush Green.'

'Percy Hodge left it in even better shape,' said Ella, 'all skinned and jointed in a plastic bag. Enough for a large family, so come and take your pick, Dim.'

'I'm sorry Percy's not happy,' said Dimity, as Ella wrapped a generous portion of the farmer's largesse for her friend.

'Maybe they'll shake down together. Will you and Charles eat any of this?'

'Indeed we will! It will be a great treat.'

'Good. I should never get through a third of all this. Now shall we have a cup of tea, or wait for Charles?'

'Charles will have had at least six cups by now,' Dimity assured her old friend. 'So let's put on the kettle.'

At that moment Charles was sitting beside his old friend Robert Bassett, having refused all refreshment pressed upon him by hospitable Milly Bassett.

Robert was in his dressing gown sitting near the window with a rug over his knees. Outside, a bird table had been fixed to the window sill, and blue tits and greenfinches squabbled over a net of peanut kernels suspended there, while a bright-eyed robin, ignoring the commotion, pecked busily at some kitchen scraps.

'They must be grateful for all that sustenance,' observed Charles.

'Not half as grateful as I am to them,' responded Robert. 'They are a constant joy. I find I can't read for long, and the television tires my eyes after a time, but I can watch these little beauties for hours on end. Tell me, Charles, how are you enjoying the new living?'

The rector recognized this query as a deliberate attempt to divert attention from his own problems, and told the invalid how much he and Dimity enjoyed their new house and explained their modest plans for the garden.

Milly excused herself and hurried back to the kitchen where she was cooking a splendid Dundee cake. Charles guessed rightly that she was relieved to see her husband happily engaged in conversation, thus relieving her for a short while from her anxious surveillance.

For there was no doubt about it, as Charles knew well as he rambled on gently about his own affairs, that Robert had little time left to him. He had lost a great deal of weight. His complexion had the waxen pallor of the desperately ill, and the bones of his thin fingers showed clearly as he plucked feebly at the rug. But his smile was as sweet as ever, and he listened as courteously as he had always done to Charles's remarks.

At last Charles rose, looking at his watch.

'I must be off, Robert, I've one or two other friends to visit, and it gets dark so confoundedly early still. I'll call in again if I may.'

'Before you go, I've something for you,' said Robert, pointing to a large envelope on his desk.

Charles brought it to him, and his old friend withdrew a beautiful leather-bound book of poems which he gave to the rector.

'James Elroy Flecker,' said Robert. 'A poet I've always loved, and as fond of this country as you and I have been. I should like you to have it.'

Charles was deeply moved.

'I shall always treasure it,' he assured the sick man. 'As a boy I learnt "The Old Ships" at school, and can still quote from it. I share your admiration, Robert, and you couldn't have given me anything more precious.'

He held the thin hand in his for a moment. It felt as frail as a bird's frame.

'I must see Milly before I go,' he said, turning towards the door. 'I'll come again, Robert.'

'You must come soon then,' called Robert after him, as the rector made his way towards the kitchen, blinking tears away before facing brave Milly.

It was past six o'clock before the rector turned his car towards Ella's cottage where Dimity awaited him.

He was, as she had surmised, awash with many cups of tea and had vague indigestion. Beside him lay the beautiful parting present from Robert in company with a large bag full of cooking apples which had been pressed upon him at his final visit in Nidden.

In some ways it had been a sad afternoon, thought the good rector, slowing down to let a pheasant stalk majestically across the lane, and yet there had been beauty too. He remembered Robert's loving look as he had presented him with the book, and the kindly welcome he had received at all the homes he had visited.

He gradually approached Thrush Green. The sun had set, and dusk was falling over the wintry scene.

' "Light thickens," ' said the rector aloud, ' "and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood." '

He savoured the sonority of the phrase. What a comfort it was to have a retentive memory! He corrected himself quickly. His memory, he reminded himself, was certainly not retentive when it came to practical matters, as Dimity frequently told him. Where on earth, for instance, had he left the key to the vestry? And what had he done with that slip for the cleaners which Dimity had given him only that morning?

Nevertheless, he comforted himself, it was a never-failing joy to find a happy phrase surfacing to add to the pleasures of daily life.

He looked approvingly at the white landscape against a darkening sky. In the distance he caught a glimpse of Lulling Woods, black against a steely-grey background.

'Rooky, indeed!' said the rector aloud. Who but Shakespeare could have thought of a crow making wing to a rooky wood, thus adding blackness to blackness?

He drew up outside Ella's cottage. The light glowed from her windows, shining a welcome, but the good rector sat still for a moment or two remembering his afternoon.