(12/13) The Year at Thrush Green (25 page)

'Give me a hand with this, dear,' she said, struggling with a strong snap spring.

'But we can't
trespass
!' protested Connie.

'Rubbish!' snorted Dotty. 'It's only old Bob Bennett's field, I went to kindergarten with him, and used to have to help him lace his boots. He was always an awkward lump. Still is, they tell me.'

Together they opened the gate, and went to collect the bulk of the windfalls that lay in 'the awkward lump's' property.

Dotty was enchanted at the sight. Connie, rather more conscious of trespass, only hoped that they would be unobserved.

Straightening her back, Dotty gazed across the field to the distant farmhouse.

'I remember,' she said speculatively, 'that the Bennetts always had lots of mushrooms in that field by their garden. I wonder if—?'

'No,' said Connie firmly. 'We've quite enough to cope with when we get these apples home, without stealing mushrooms as well.'

'Just as you say, Connie dear,' replied Dotty meekly. 'But these are not really Bob Bennett's. They are simply the fruits of the earth, and we are
keeping them from waste!
'

Connie stowed the heavy baskets in the car, ushered her companion into the passenger seat, and drove home with what she could only think of as 'their loot'.

Winnie and Ella, setting off for an afternoon's walk, saw Connie and Dotty driving by on the other side of Thrush Green.

'Blackberrying?' queried Winnie.

'Crab-apples, more likely,' said Ella shrewdly. 'Dotty never lets an autumn go by without raiding Bob Bennett's crab-apple tree.'

They crossed the grass to the lane leading to Nidden. Lately, the two women had seen much more of each other, for Ella now asked Winnie to check colours for her when she was engaged on much of her handwork, and Winnie had threaded many needles for her now that the other's sight was deteriorating.

Ella, in her gruff way, expressed her thanks, but Winnie brushed aside the gratitude.

'I used to read the clues for Donald's daily crossword, during the last few years of his life,' she said. 'He found newsprint trying.'

'You must miss him very much.'

'I do, of course. In fact, I wondered if I could go on without him, but one has to, and after a time one even begins to find a few small benefits.'

'Really?' Ella sounded startled at this admission, and Winnie laughed.

'Only little things! Not enough really to fill the gap completely, but I remember the relief I felt on taking down a photograph of Donald's mother, and putting it up in the attic. I felt guilty too, of course.'

'Did you dislike her? Or was Donald over-fond of her?'

'Neither really. She didn't particularly like me, but then she would never have considered anyone good enough for her Donald. I think there are quite a few mothers like that. No, it wasn't that. It was just that she was a plain woman, with a long horsy face and she looked so dreadfully disapproving in the photograph. As Donald fixed it at the head of the stairs you had to face it every time you went up.'

'You should have told him.'

'I didn't want to hurt him. Far simpler to say nothing, my dear. You learn to hold your tongue when you are married.'

'And what other small comforts did you discover?' asked Ella, who found herself fascinated by these disclosures.

'Well, now what else? Donald was a stickler for having every meal at the table, properly set, tablecloth, napkins, the lot. Even for afternoon tea. Once the poor darling had gone, I took to taking my tea into the sitting-room on a tray, and then, quite often, my supper. I can't tell you how lovely it seemed, but I still felt guilty. Childish, isn't it? But then I suppose one finds comfort in little things whatever one's circumstances.'

They had now reached the farm gate where they usually paused to have a break.

'I think I've been lucky to be single,' mused Ella. 'I don't think I should have been unselfish enough to lead a married life. Always having to consider what the other person needed, or would think, would drive me mad.'

'But you lived quite happily with Dimity,' pointed out Winnie.

'Looking back,' said Ella, 'I reckon poor old Dim did the adjusting, and I took it all for granted. She's one of those people better off in the married state.'

'She picked the right man in Charles,' replied Winnie. 'As I did with Donald,' she added loyally.

'I don't know about you,' said Ella, 'but I reckon it's getting chilly. Come back and have a cup of tea with me. What's more, we'll have it by the fire, on a tray.'

The weather changed overnight. The mild wind which had blown from the south-west backed to the north-east and gained in strength as dawn approached. When the good folk of Thrush Green and Lulling awoke, it was to find the dead leaves bowling across the ground in a stiff breeze, and the branches above tossing vigorously.

The temperature had dropped. Harold Shoosmith decided that the time had come for the full-scale central heating to be turned on. Alan Lester, next door, was making the same decision for both his house and school, while Mr Jones, shaving in the pub bathroom, was startled to find that he 'could see his breath', and called across the landing to tell his wife so.

Nelly Piggott, hard by, was already buttoning up her winter coat preparatory to making her way down the hill to the Fuchsia Bush.

Now that she had come to terms with the fact that she was in charge of the business, in all its aspects, a wonderful strength had taken the place of her fears, and she was beginning to enjoy the feeling of power which her new status gave her.

She was the first to recognize the loyalty of the staff. Gloria and Rosa seemed to have shed some of their native lethargy, and were becoming much more enterprising. Even Irena seemed to take her more humble duties with the vegetable preparation with greater enthusiasm, and Nelly was quick to praise whenever possible.

It did not occur to her that her own energy had a lot to do with this change in the outlook of the staff. In fact, Mrs Peters, though an excellent businesswoman, had always been a little remote in her relationship with the girls, and understandably had been even more so during the long months of her last illness at the Fuchsia Bush.

Nelly, on the other hand, the girls recognized as 'one of them'. She had the same background, the same necessity to work for a living, the same tough philosophy of 'doing as you would be done by', 'taking the rough with the smooth' and all the other homely tags which governed their way of life. They might grumble behind her back at her sharpness and bustle, but they respected her high standards and the fact that she could — and did — turn her hand to any task which cropped up.

The difficulties which had so daunted Nelly when she first heard of her inheritance had largely been solved when a competent young woman from the accountants' office was put in charge of the business side of the Fuchsia Bush. Justin Venables' wise suggestion that Miss Spooner should be consulted about the transaction had given that lady enormous gratification, and she and Nelly had parted with great goodwill.

As Nelly made her way along Lulling High Street that blustery October morning, she felt well content with the general affairs at her place of business. But one difficulty confronted her, and that she was determined to tackle that very morning.

When some years earlier Mrs Peters and other shopkeepers had approached Miss Violet with complaints about her older sister, it was all very embarrassing. The Lovelocks had been respected for all their long lives in Lulling, and no one wished them harm. Violet had tackled her duties with sense and courage, and Bertha's kleptomania had seemed to be controlled. But to Nelly's dismay she had noticed that the basket of tiny jamjars, bright as jewels, and the sort of thing which would catch the eye of any magpie or jackdaw, bird or human, was suddenly half empty after a visit from the three sisters.

Nelly had questioned Rosa.

'Oh, I expect it was that Miss Bertha,' replied Rosa nonchalantly, 'I think she nicks one now and again.'

'This isn't
one!
' retorted Nelly. 'It's a good half-dozen, and we can't let it go on.'

She decided to ring the house next door at about ten o'clock. The old ladies were not early risers, and took considerable time dressing, as she well remembered from the days when she worked there.

Soon after that hour, she closeted herself in the privacy of the office and rang. Luckily, Miss Violet answered, much to Nelly's relief. Apart from the fact that she was the only one of the three who was not deaf, she was also the only sister who had some sense.

With what tact she could muster Nelly explained the problem.

'Oh dear, oh dear!' sighed Violet. 'Not again, Mrs Piggott!'

'I'm afraid so,' responded Nelly, noting that she was now 'Mrs Piggott' and not 'Nelly' to her former employers. 'Rosa had noticed it before this, I gather, but didn't like to say anything.'

'I shall look into it straightaway,' promised Violet, 'and come and see you later this morning.'

The telephone was put down. Nelly returned to her kitchen, and Violet went to her sister's bedroom.

Bertha was in her petticoat. She was sitting in front of the mirror rubbing face cream across her wrinkled cheeks.

'I want to look through your coat pockets,' said Violet, with commendable courage. 'Mrs Piggott next door has been missing things.'

'Really?' said Bertha, sounding bored. 'What sort of things?'

'Little things that could be picked up easily and put in pockets,' retorted Violet, swinging open the heavy wardrobe door.

There were several coats hanging there, all with capacious pockets. Violet plunged her hand into the deep patch pockets of the tweed coat which Bertha frequently wore. There was a chinking of glass against glass, and Violet pulled out four small jamjars from one pocket, and three from the other.

She put them in front of her sister on the dressing-table. 'Well, Bertha?' she demanded.

'They're not mine,' said Bertha, still busy massaging her face.

'I'm well aware of that! They come from the Fuchsia Bush.'

'Then you'd better take them back,' responded Bertha.

Her off-hand manner and the assumption that Violet could clear up any difficulties, no matter whose fault they were, infuriated Violet who normally faced life with great equanimity.

'You
are taking those back
yourself
this time,' she told her. 'You stole them, Bertha! You are no better than a common thief, and if Nelly Piggott wants the police brought into this affair I shall back her to the hilt.'

A red flush suffused her face, and Bertha too began to look agitated.

'Someone must have put them in my pocket,' she quavered. 'I don't remember anything about it.'

'Then you will have to try and remember,' said Violet. 'The police will ask lots of questions.'

Bertha put down the jar of face-cream among the tiny jamjars and bowed her head. A tear splashed among the pots.

'You wouldn't really call the police, would you, Violet? Not to your own family?'

Violet, almost in tears herself, did her best to sound firm. 'If you don't return Nelly's property, and apologize to her, I shall certainly think about the police,' she replied.

Leaving her sister to her sniffling, Violet returned to her bedroom to find a handkerchief for her own tears. How would this end, she wondered?

Just before twelve o'clock, Bertha descended the stairs, dressed in the incriminating tweed coat, and holding a small carrier bag, which chinked as she moved, and presented herself to Violet.

'Are you coming with me?' she asked in a low voice.

'Do you want me to, Bertha?'

'I think I should like a little support,' said Bertha.

Without a word, Violet fetched her own coat from the hall stand, and the two sisters made their way next door.

Nelly welcomed them as politely as ever, and ushered them into the privacy of her office, and firmly closed the door against any prying eyes.

'She's got the stuff in that bag,' observed Rosa to Gloria. 'I heard the jars rattling.'

'Would have done the old girl good to have it all thrashed out in public,' said Gloria, rather miffed at being denied a first-class row.

'Nelly's too soft by half,' agreed Rosa, and then noticed Irena peeping through the kitchen door to see what was going on.

The pair advanced upon her menacingly.

'And what do you think you're doing?' demanded Gloria.

'I saw them Lovelocks coming in,' faltered Irena who, like the rest of Lulling, knew of Bertha's little weakness.

'And what, pray, is that to do with you?' asked Rosa loftily. 'You get back to your sink, my girl, and don't poke your nose into other people's business.'

Irena retreated, and the door was closed.

'I just can't abide people
prying
,' said Gloria to Rosa, as they returned to their own territory.

'Quite right, dear,' agreed Rosa.

The sudden cold spell brought more customers than usual into the Fuchsia Bush, seeking the comfort of coffee or something more substantial. Nelly had said nothing about what had gone on behind that firmly closed door on the day of the Lovelocks' visit, much to the chagrin of her staff. However, they realized that the matter was closed, even if only temporarily.