(9/13)The School at Thrush Green (24 page)

'At the rate we're going,' replied Dorothy grimly, 'he'll have until Christmas to get used to that cat flap. Sometimes I think lawyers and estate agents could do with a squib behind them.'

'They do seem a trifle dilatory,' agreed Agnes, expressing the understatement of the year.

St Andrew's clock was striking nine when Gladys Lilly emerged from her front gate and turned left.

The house stood in a cul-de-sac not far from the hill up to Thrush Green. At one end of the short road were some allotments, the gateway being overshadowed by a large elder tree.

Gladys could smell the sharp scent of its great flat blossoms which glimmered like a hundred moons in the gloaming. She noticed too, a shabby van drawn up in the shadow of the tree, but took little heed of it, imagining that one of the allotment holders might have brought some bulky article such as wire-netting or a sack of manure to his site.

She strode briskly away, and was at Nelly's within ten minutes. Nelly welcomed her with a cup of tea, and the two ladies agreed that it was amazing how refreshing tea was whatever the weather.

'And how's Albert?' enquired Gladys politely.

'Fair enough,' said Nelly. 'He's next door, so he's all right.'

She rose to collect the cups and saucers, and stacked them neatly on the draining board.

'Well, let's have a bit of air, shall we?' she said, leading the way.

They settled themselves on a nearby bench, and admired the remains of a spectacular sunset. Bands of lemon and pink glowed above Lulling Woods, and nearer at hand the lamps shone from the windows of The Two Pheasants and the school house. Across the green, Mrs Bailey's light winked, and nearby the lamplight shone from Ella Bernbridge's cottage windows.

It was all very peaceful. There was no one else about. The children's swings hung motionless in the still air. A pigeon roosted on Nathaniel Patten's shoulder, and only a tiny scuffling sound from the nearby churchyard told of some small nocturnal animal about its business.

The scent from a fine bank of tobacco plants in Harold Shoosmith's garden added to the contentment of the two friends who sat in companionable silence, enjoying the rest from their work and the welcome freshness of the cool air, after the heat of the day.

The evening star appeared on the horizon. Gladys gave a satisfied sigh, as St Andrew's clock began to strike ten.

'Well, I suppose it's time I was going, Nelly. I've thoroughly enjoyed it here. Perhaps I could come up again sometimes, while this heat's on?'

'Any time,' said Nelly. 'It's good to have a bit of company. As you can see, our Albert don't give me much of an evening.'

'Ah well!' said Gladys diplomatically. 'We all knows what the men are like, and in any case I hear he's doing a good job down at Miss Harmer's. I expect he needs a break after that.'

She rose to her feet, and Nelly walked with her to the brow of the hill. The lights of Lulling winked below, and the air was beginning to stir with a light breeze.

'Goodnight, my dear,' said Gladys. 'It's been lovely. Now, you pop in and see me one evening. Promise?'

'I'll do that,' said Nelly.

It was during Gladys's hour of absence, as dusk was falling, that Doreen Lilly emerged cautiously from her mother's house.

She stood in the shelter of the front porch looking about her, but all was quiet. The neighbours were by their television sets. The allotment holders had finished their labours, locked their tools in the little sheds dotted about their plots, and had gone home.

Doreen sped across to the shabby van, now hardly discernible in the near-darkness. The scent of the elder flowers, mingling with the cloying sweetness of the privet blooms nearby, was over-powering.

A tall young man emerged from the driver's seat, and the two embraced. They both got into the van, Doreen looking anxiously up to a bedroom window where a nightlight was giving a glow-worm illumination for the comfort of her young child.

All was as quiet as the grave. No one was in sight, and after ten minutes Doreen emerged, and returned to the shelter of the porch.

The van turned and drove off, and Doreen was busy at the kitchen sink, washing her hair, when Gladys Lilly returned.

'Nice to see friends, isn't it?' she said conversationally.

'I suppose so,' said Doreen, groping for a towel. 'By the way, I'm off to London tomorrow to see Jane.'

'Well, you might have said!' protested her mother.

'I forgot. Be back Sunday night anyway. It means catching the nine-thirty tomorrow, but as it's Saturday I don't have to go to them Lovelocks.'

'Maybe it'll do you good,' said her mother. 'You've seemed a bit peaky lately.'

'And so would you if you had to work with them old slave-drivers.'

There was a note of vindictiveness in her daughter's tone which distressed Gladys.

'Well, you'd best get your bit of packing done tonight,' she said. 'Want a hand up to the station tomorrow?'

'No. I've got the pushchair, and I shan't take much.'

'Be nice to see Jane again,' continued Gladys. 'She was good to you when you first went to work with the Reverend Bull. If you should see him, give him my respectful regards. He's a good man, even if he is Church,' said Gladys with commendable magnanimity.

But Doreen made no reply.

18. An Intruder

GLADYS Lilly was not the only one to have difficulty in sleeping during the heat wave.

Violet Lovelock, always the lightest sleeper of the three sisters, found herself listening for the chimes of St John's church throughout most of the night.

At two o'clock, on that same night which had seen Gladys Lilly's visit to Thrush Green, Violet became conscious of unusual sounds below. Could she have left the door ajar? But then, on such a still night, would the door have moved?

She crept to the window and looked out. Lulling High Street was deserted except for a white dog, ghostly in the darkness, which was padding by the closed shops on the other side of the road, intent on its own affairs.

The lime tree nearby was already beginning to flower, and through the open window its heady fragrance drifted.

There was another bump from below, and Violet froze into rigidity. Could there possibly be a burglar in the house?

Already the Lovelock ladies had experienced this upsetting occurrence. On that occasion they had been in the garden, picking gooseberries, when some opportunist thief had tried the front door, found it open, and whisked much of the silver so generously displayed into a bag, and vanished. Little of that haul had been recovered, but the beautiful rose bowl presented to their father had been replaced on the dining-room sideboard on its return.

It would certainly prove a temptation to any dishonest intruder, thought Violet. And there was so much else in the house. The drawing-room occasional tables were laden with the silver knick-knacks collected over the years, and the Queen Anne coffee set was permanently on display on its exquisite silver tray on the table just outside her door on the landing.

At this horrid thought Violet became thoroughly alarmed. Should she rouse her sisters? They would not be best pleased if there were no real cause for such stern measures. Violet, despite the brave front she put on things when dealing with Ada and Bertha, was secretly still in awe of her older sisters, and hesitated to incur their wrath.

She put on her dressing gown and slippers, listening for every untoward sound, and crept to the door. The trayful of silver on the landing table still glimmered comfortingly, she was relieved to see.

With extreme caution, Violet began to descend the stairs. The fourth one from the top was liable to creak, as she well knew, and she stepped delicately upon it. At the same time, there was a metallic clanging sound from the dining-room, and Violet froze into stillness.

It was suddenly very quiet. Should she go on, or go back, or wake Bertha and Ada after all? If only there were an upstairs telephone she would dial 999 and let the police come, even if it turned out to be a groundless scare.

But, of course, one telephone in the house had seemed gross extravagance to the Lovelocks, and that was kept in the hall where everyone could hear at least half of the conversation, whilst enduring the cross-draught from the front door and the dining-room. There was no help there, thought poor Violet.

After a few minutes, which seemed like hours to Violet, immobile on the stairs, the noises began again, though more quietly.

Violet, who was no coward, descended firmly, intent on confronting the intruder. She traversed the hall, heard an almighty crash, and flung open the dining-room door.

She was just in time to see a figure forcing its way through the kitchen window beyond the dining-room. Within seconds there was the sound of metal jangling, receding footsteps, and a minute or two later, the sound of a car engine revving furiously.

Violet found herself shaking violently. She went into the dining-room, and found the silver on the sideboard had gone, and the two drawers containing the heavy silver cutlery, upturned and empty on the floor. The kitchen window still swung gently to and fro from the violent exit of the marauder.

Violet, with commendable control, remembered the earlier burglary, and forbore to touch anything. Instead, she went to the telephone, and was about to dial for help, when her two sisters appeared at the head of the stairs. Their skimpy locks were plaited into thin grey braids, and both wrinkled faces looked extremely vexed.

'What on earth, Violet, are you doing at this hour?' said Bertha.

'Are you ill, dear?' enquired Ada. 'You woke us up, you know.'

'We've been burgled,' said Violet flatly. 'I'm just about to ring the police.'

'
Burgled
? Not again!' cried Ada.

'But will there be anyone at the police station at this hour?' cried Bertha.

Violet, telephone to ear, twirled the dial forcefully.

'Yes,
again,
' she replied. 'And naturally the police should be informed immediately, and
of course
there will be someone on duty, Bertha!'

The two old ladies descended the stairs and stood one on each side of Violet.

'Yes,' she was saying. 'Miss Violet Lovelock speaking. I want to inform you of a burglary here. About ten minutes ago. The thief made his getaway in a car or van.'

'I don't like that word "getaway",' complained Ada. it sounds American.'

'We shall expect an officer here immediately,' said Violet. 'No, of course nothing has been touched. We know the correct procedure in cases like this.'

She put down the telephone.

'Really, Violet dear,' said Bertha admiringly, 'you coped with that very competently. Shall I make us a hot drink?'

'Better not,' said Violet, much mollified by Bertha's appreciation of her actions. 'Let's wait until the police arrive. But it might be as well to get dressed,' she added, it's going to be a long night, I fear.'

Another cloudless day dawned, and the country awoke to banner headlines in the press telling it that THE DROUGHT IS NOW OFFICIAL and that penalties for wasting water would be severe.

It also had some distressing pictures of dried-up waterbeds with stranded fish, sheep and cattle dying of thirst, wilted crops and various other horrid sights guaranteed to curdle the blood of breakfast-time readers.

'I can never understand,' remarked Ella Bembridge to Winnie Bailey, when they met on Thrush Green, 'why a nation which is fanatically absorbed with its weather conditions is so bad at organising them.'

'How do you mean?'

'Well, take last spring. There we were, up to our hocks in puddles, the Pleshey water-meadows brimming over, all our water-butts overflowing, and a few months later, here we are, being told we'll be clapped in irons for watering the lettuces.'

'I think it's all right to water lettuces with
used
water,' Winnie began, but was swept aside by Ella's eloquence.

'And look at snow!' declaimed Ella unrealistically. 'The Canadians and Americans, and the Swiss for that matter, get yards of the stuff overnight, and their trains continue to run, and the children get to school, and the milk's delivered. And what happens here?'

'You tell me,' said Winnie equably, knowing that she would anyway.

'Two inches and the country's paralysed! No buses, no trains, no deliveries! Chaos!'

'I thought everyone coped very well last winter,' said Winnie. 'I know we never went short of milk, and the postman never missed once.'

'You've a much nicer nature than I have,' said Ella. 'You look on the bright side. I don't. Sometimes I think I'll write to the papers.'

And with this dark threat she stumped off homewards.

On Sunday evening Gladys Lilly was a little annoyed at the non-appearance of her daughter and grandson. A piece of smoked haddock was simmering gently, awaiting poached eggs on top for the two travellers, but at nine-thirty Gladys ate the fish herself, and became resigned to the fact that Doreen would probably turn up the next morning in time for work.

Nothing happened. Now becoming agitated, Gladys called at the Misses Lovelocks' house to find out more. The gossip about the burglary had not reached Gladys.

She found the ladies in frosty mood, far from pleased at Doreen's dereliction of duties.

'We have had a most upsetting weekend,' Ada told her. 'And we were relying on Doreen to help us clear up after a burglary on Friday night.'

'Oh, my lor', m'm,' gasped Gladys. 'I'm real sorry about that! Did they take much?'

'Far too much,' said Bertha.

'And what's more,' added Ada, 'the police think that
someone
helped the intruder by leaving the kitchen window ajar.'

The full impact of this last remark did not dawn on poor Gladys until she was next door at The Fuchsia Bush, steadying her nerves with a cup of Darjeeling tea.

Nelly Piggott spared a few minutes from her labours in the kitchen to offer consolation.

'Don't take no notice of them old tabbies,' she told her friend. 'How could your Doreen have been mixed up in it? She was washing her hair when you got home, and then you know she went up to bed. You'll be her alibi, if they make accusations against her.'