(12/13) The Year at Thrush Green (24 page)

'I'm missing the sloes and those nice crab-apples on the way to Nidden, and I intended to make a really large amount of rose-hip syrup this autumn. It really is most frustrating.'

Connie promised to gather all that she needed for the store cupboard, and did her best to support the doctor's ruling that the patient must have a few days in bed.

At first, Dotty had been too exhausted to argue, and lay back on her pillows dozing or reading. Flossie was glad to be allowed at the foot of the bed, and the two old ladies rested together.

As the days passed, Flossie was the more amenable invalid, while Dotty grew more vociferous about all she had to do, and more anxious about the welfare of the hens and goats at the end of the garden.

'We're managing quite well,' Connie assured her, 'and Albert comes down regularly night and morning, so you've nothing to worry about.'

But the climax came when Winnie Bailey arrived one misty afternoon, bearing a freshly made pot of bramble jelly for the invalid.

'It's a wonderful year for blackberries,' Winnie told her.

'And I'm going to go out and pick some for myself,' said Dotty firmly. 'No matter what John Lovell says.
I'm all right!'

She looked so fierce as she said this that Winnie felt some alarm. She said so to Connie when she was making her farewells out of Dotty's hearing.

'If she says she's going out then she will,' said Connie resignedly. 'We've been lucky to keep her in bed for these few days. You know Aunt Dotty.'

'Indeed I do,' responded Winnie.

Betty Bell, quite rightly, was acclaimed as a heroine for her double rescue effort, and the finest azalea to be had in Lulling was given to her by Kit and Connie.

She was modest about her achievement. 'Well, if it hadn't been me then someone else would have found her, I've no doubt. Willie Marchant would have been along pretty soon, on his way to the Drovers' Arms.'

At the bingo session that week in Lulling, Nelly, her friend Mrs Jenner and Gladys Hodge all agreed that Dotty might well have succumbed to exposure if she had remained any longer in the chilly wood clad in little more than her nightgown.

'Hypothermia,' Mrs Jenner told them, 'is the biggest enemy of the aged. Jane is always alert to it at the home.'

As Mrs Jenner herself was a retired nurse, and Jane Cartwright, her daughter, was the equally well qualified and competent warden at Rectory Cottages, her words were accepted with respect.

'I'm a great believer in long-legged knickers myself,' said Gladys.

'And a nice woolly jumper that pulls down well over the kidneys,' agreed Nelly.

'It's a great pity, I think,' put in Mrs Jenner, 'that shawls have gone out. My old grandma always had one hanging on the back of her chair, ready to throw round her shoulders if she had to go out, or if she felt a draught. But then she was Yorkshire born and bred, and had plenty of sense.'

There was general agreement among her hearers that Yorkshire folk certainly knew what was what, and took sensible steps to combat their chilly climate.

The loud voice of the master of ceremonies recalled them to their tables, and Betty Bell, Dotty and hypothermia were put aside in the pursuit of fortune.

The news had even reached Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty at Barton-on-Sea.

'Sometimes I wonder if Dotty should be in a home,' said Dorothy Watson, putting down her crossword puzzle to hear the news from Agnes.

It was Isobel Shoosmith who had imparted the news in her weekly telephone conversation with her old friend.

'Oh, Dorothy,' protested Agnes, 'you know she couldn't be better looked after than she is now.'

'It's a great responsibility for Connie and Kit,' pronounced Dorothy, who was in one of her headmistressy moods, and finding the crossword somewhat difficult. She was ready for a mild argument with Agnes to add some excitement to the evening.

'And Dotty would hate to live with a lot of other old people,' continued Agnes.

'She would have to learn to make the best of it,' said Dorothy, at her most magisterial. 'We all have to come to terms with old age and disability. Look at Teddy! What an example to us all!'

Agnes felt no desire to 'look at Teddy', admirable fellow though he was, and was somewhat alarmed at his sudden introduction into the discussion. Dorothy had been so reticent about Teddy since their last visit to Thrush Green that she had earnestly hoped that Dorothy's passions had waned. But had they?

'Why, only this morning,' went on Dorothy, unaware of Agnes's reaction to Teddy's name, 'I had a terrible shooting pain under the ball of my left foot. I could hardly walk.'

'You must let me have a look when we go to bed,' said Agnes, glad to be on safer ground. 'You may have a thorn in it.'

'No, I think it's something called "Morton's Toe", or "Morton's Fork" perhaps.'

'Wasn't that something to do with taxes in Tudor times?'

'Which, dear? The Toe or the Fork?'

'Oh, the Fork without question,' said Agnes firmly.

'How erudite you are,' exclaimed Dorothy. 'Now, tell me why bail i has something to do with the law. Five letters.'

'
ALIBI
,' said little Miss Fogerty promptly.

And peace reigned again.

Carl Andersen soon set about his pleasant task of learning more about Mrs Curdle and her times.

He enjoyed meeting people, and although the serious business of the present trip was to go ahead with the great project in Scotland in which the firm of Benn, Andersen and Webbly was engaged, he found the atmosphere at Thrush Green relaxing, and his new-found friends much to his liking.

The lady with whom he had shared a table at the Bear on his earlier visit was also engaging his attention, but he had no intention of discussing that matter with anyone at Thrush Green.

He had been amused at Winnie's attempts to find out more. As she had surmised, he knew quite well how rumours fly around, and he was determined not to cause any embarrassment to the lady in question.

At the moment, she was back at her base in Chelsea, the jobs in the Woodstock area having been completed. Carl had lost no time in finding her, but found that she was now engaged on the designing of a mews flat for an up-and-coming pop star whose tastes in furnishing and general decor needed some guidance.

It was a formidable undertaking, almost as difficult as the Scottish problem was for Carl. He respected her desire for privacy whilst she was struggling, but pointed out that a little relaxation now and again, in the form of a meal out or a visit to the theatre, would assist her efforts, and she seemed glad to agree.

Meanwhile, he made another visit to the Millers at Rectory Cottages and spent a happy hour hearing about Woodstock over half a century ago, and the influx of American servicemen during the war, including of course, the handsome man who had become Carl's father. Mrs Miller's wrinkled face lit up at the remembrance.

'He was easily the best-looking man I ever saw,' she said rapturously. 'Your colouring, Carl, but even better-looking.'

'Well, thank you for the compliment,' laughed Carl, 'but I know my limitations. I remember him as a fine father as well as a potential heartbreaker. Luckily for us, he never looked at anyone other than my ma, and she was a bit of a glamour-puss herself.'

Later he went to see the Henstocks, and found that Charles was in the churchyard of St John's overseeing the arrival of a load of gravel to renew the paths. His chubby face broke into a beam on seeing Carl.

'Dimity told me you were here,' said Carl. He gazed up at the impressive spire, outlined against a clear October sky.

'Do you know, I've not been inside yet,' he told Charles.

'That must be rectified as soon as possible. But not today, I fear. I have a funeral later this morning, and we want to get this gravel laid before then.'

'Did Mrs Curdle ever come here?' Carl asked, as they watched the gravel rushing from the tip-up lorry with a mighty roar.

'I don't think so. She did have a little to do with the church at Thrush Green, and as you know, is buried there, but her fair only spent one complete day there before it moved on.'

'But surely you had a fair here too?'

'Oh, yes indeed! We have our bigger Mop Fair, and of course there are other great local fairs like St Giles' at Oxford, and the one at Abingdon. But they are held in the autumn and last for several days. Mrs Curdle's was a family affair, and much more modest.'

He turned to speak to the men, and then invited Carl to the vicarage, but he said that he had promised to call at the Fuchsia Bush for Molly Curdle.

'I've always thought,' said the rector, as they walked away from the scene of activity, 'that it would be interesting to write a history of English fairs. Have you ever thought of it?'

Carl laughed. 'I shouldn't know where to start! I'm no literary gent, you know. Steel and concrete are more in my line.'

But Charles Henstock's attention was drawn to an approaching figure, and he seemed somewhat agitated.

'Oh dear! Mrs Thurgood!' he exclaimed. 'I do so hope she isn't going to the vicarage.'

But the lady veered aside to enter the porch of one of the adjacent almshouses, and relief relaxed the vicar's countenance.

'A worthy soul,' he said hastily, 'but a troublemaker.' He looked suddenly at his companion. 'You said you called at Rectory Cottages the other day. Did you sit in the communal room?'

'I suppose so. The sitting-room place, with a conservatory.'

'Did you think it too small?'

Carl began to feel bewildered. 'Edward Young asked me the same thing. Is this something to do with Mrs Thurgood?' he asked.

'Partly. She has a bee in her bonnet about it. That's why I wanted a fresh eye on the subject. What do you think?'

Charles looked so worried that Carl was tempted to laugh, but refrained.

'Well, you must remember that I come from a country with plenty of space, and we do tend to have large rooms, I suppose. But I like smaller places, like your English cottages, and I should say that the communal room, as you call it, was just about right for those few people.'

Charles Henstock looked relieved. 'That's a comfort to know. Now, I won't keep you, but we must make a date for your visit to St John's. It is well worth seeing.'

The early part of October was clear and fresh, with that pellucid quality which is peculiar to fine days in early autumn.

Young pheasants were now strutting about the fields and woods, and occasionally stepping haughtily in front of motor cars in the country lanes, to the dismay of nervous drivers.

Harvest mice, refugees from the denuded fields, were looking for comfortable hibernation quarters in the sheds, barns and lofts of unwelcoming householders.

Gardeners were busy cutting down the dying foliage of perennials, and hustling the tender plants, such as geraniums, into the shelter of greenhouses.

The brave show of Busy Lizzies, fuchsias, petunias and lobelias which had adorned the troughs and tubs and hanging basket outside the Two Pheasants and elsewhere were now being dismantled, and tulip and hyacinth bulbs planted in their place, all with high hopes of glory in the spring, which were somewhat mitigated by the knowledge that mice, birds and other nuisances would no doubt make inroads on this bounty so generously offered.

It was on one of these gentle afternoons of mild sunshine that Connie took her refractory aunt to pick up crab-apple windfalls along the road to Nidden.

The old lady was well wrapped up, and had even submitted to wearing gloves. She was in high spirits as she sat beside Connie, who drove to the appointed place.

'I suppose I must have been coming here for crab-apples for seventy-odd years,' prattled Dotty. 'My nurse used to bring me. In those days you called her 'Nurse'. None of this 'Nanny' nonsense. She was just fourteen when she came to work for us, and her first errand was to go to buy a feeding bottle for the new baby. That was me!'

'And how long did she stay?'

'Day and night. She lived in, up at the top of our house with me and my older brothers.'

'I really meant how many years,' explained Connie, halting to let a covey of young partridges bustle across the lane.

'Oh, heavens! She stayed in our family till she died. She went with my brother Oliver when his children came, and then she was with me and father. They died about the same time. That was some years before you married Kit.'

'She sounds a faithful soul.'

'I loved her dearly,' said Dotty. 'She taught me to knit, and to pop lime leaves with my mouth to make a really loud bang, and she could make lovely shadows on the wall by the light of the candle — rabbits and swans and Ikey—Mo, who was the local cats' meat man. She was simply wonderful, and I still miss her.'

She was beginning to sound a little tearful, something which had been occurring too frequently since her mishap, and which perturbed Connie quite a lot.

'Well, here we are,' she said cheerfully, drawing in to a farm gateway. 'Let's get the baskets.'

Dotty's spirits soon revived as she bent to collect the hard little apples on the grass verge.

Straightening up happily, she made for the gate.