(16/20)Summer at Fairacre (13 page)

A real Job's comforter here, obviously.

'Well, give her my love and I hope she will soon feel better,' I replied civilly.

And I went to prepare my modest supper for a little comfort.

I awoke about four o'clock the next morning with a stupendous idea. Why not ask Isobel Annett if she could come as a supply teacher in the infants' room in Miss Briggs' place? As Miss Gray, many years before, she had been one of my most successful assistants, until whipped from under my very nose by Mr Annett, the headmaster of our next village school, to become his wife.

It has been a happy marriage, for which I am doubly grateful, for his first wife was tragically killed, and when our paths first crossed he was a most unhappy and irritable fellow. Isobel has been the means of turning him into a cheerful family man. They are both musical and energetic, and much in demand at local concerts and musical festivals. Would she consider dropping her hobbies and household duties to hold sway in the infants' room she knew so well? I intended to ask her.

She sounded somewhat taken aback on the telephone.

'But it's years since I stood in front of a class,' she began. I burst in to tell her that, like riding a bicycle, one never quite lost the knack of teaching.

'And I half-promised to play for community singing at the concert for the blind in Caxley next Tuesday.'

I said that surely someone else could do that?

'How long would you need me?' she asked. This sounded much more hopeful, and I said that with any luck a week, or perhaps ten days, would see us through.

I could almost hear her brain working at the other end of the line, and began to plead my extreme necessity.

'I simply can't manage without help, and honestly I have tried. The office is a dead loss, and Miss Clare is past it, of course. As for Amy, she seems to have disappeared—'

'
Disappeared
! How do you mean?'

I hastily back-tracked.

'Well, she's away at the moment, so that's another person unavailable.' Better not to let rumours fly unnecessarily, I told myself. The village would have Amy eloping before one could turn round.

'So you see,' I added pathetically, 'I am in a terrible quandary, and would be so very grateful, Isobel, if you could manage to help us.'

'I'll have a word with George, and ring you back,' she promised. 'One thing, if the weather's like this I could cycle.'

'And if it's wet I can fetch you,' I said enthusiastically. 'Don't let the travelling worry you. I'll see to that, and if you want to get away early to get a meal ready I can easily manage both classes for the last period in the afternoon.'

'Well, I won't be long making up my mind. Will you be in all the evening?'

'Yes, yes,' I cried.

And with my hand ready to snatch up the telephone, I thought, and with high hopes.

For the next hour or so I hovered about the house within earshot of the telephone bell. I wanted to get in touch with James to hear if he had any news of Amy, but I knew that Isobel would undoubtedly try to ring me at the very same moment, and so I resisted temptation.

My mind turned to another of my present problems. Mrs Pringle's limp seemed to have worsened in the last day or two, and her manner was distinctly frosty. It stemmed, I guessed, from my shortness of temper after enduring her ghastly descriptions of Basil Pringle's and Mrs Coggs' afflictions. However, I had no intention of apologising, and we had had far worse tiffs before this one. No doubt she would come round in time, but that morning's conversation had certainly been heavily ominous.

'How's Minnie getting on?' I had enquired. 'Not giving you any trouble?'

'No more than others I could name,' said the lady blackly.

'Good!' I replied, with false cheerfulness. 'So things are going smoothly?'

'I wouldn't say that.' (I bet you wouldn't, I thought.) 'With all there is to do in this place, I've more than enough on my plate. And all taken for granted! Not a word of praise from one week's end to the other.'

'Oh, come now, Mrs Pringle! You know your work's appreciated, but you can't expect praise all the time. Why, dammit, I don't ask you to admire our work when it's done, do I? I mean, that nature table is exceptionally splendid at the moment, but I don't expect you or anyone else to gush over it.'

'I don't feel like gushing, as you call it, when I've got to bend down to sweep up the mess it makes. It's more work for me, and just when I could well do without it, with my leg.'

Mr Willet had arrived at this moment, and the conversation ended with Mrs Pringle limping heavily into the lobby. Obviously, something more than her usual grievances was worrying her, but Mrs Pringle's martyred moods appear so frequently that it is impossible to waste much time on them.

But still, I told myself, the poor old dear was getting on, and perhaps I should make the effort and be gentler with her in the future.

And with this rare charitable thought, I went to cut up raw liver for Tibby's supper.

As was only to be expected, the telephone rang whilst I was in the midst of this gory operation with hands that rivalled Lady Macbeth's.

It was Isobel, and yes, she could come tomorrow, and it would be absolutely splendid to be back, but what about The Office?

I said I would see to that. I told her that she was an angel, I should sleep easily in my bed that night, and it would be marvellous to see her again in her own infants' room.

And now for James, I thought, when I had replaced the receiver.

The bell rang for such a long time that I decided that Amy's house must be empty, and was about to ring off when James answered.

He sounded breathless.

'Oh, it's you!' he panted. 'Sorry I was so long answering. The bacon was spluttering, and I think I've burnt the frying pan. Hell of a lot of smoke in the kitchen. What temperature do you use when you're frying?'

I said I had no idea. I turned the heat down if the pan smoked, and up if it didn't. It seemed to work.

'Any news of Amy?' I asked. 'I've been worrying about her.'

'Not half as much as I have! The police know she's missing, and I've had to give a minute description of her. As though I know how tall she is, or how much she weighs! As for what she was wearing "on the day of her disappearance", as they keep saying, I simply don't know.'

I expressed my sympathy.

'I suppose you haven't any idea where she could be?' He sounded suspicious, i mean, you two are pretty thick, She might have dropped a hint, or even told you outright, and then sworn you to secrecy.'

'I don't know any more than you do,' I said indignantly. 'You ought to know I wouldn't be such a rat as to let you worry like this!'

'Oh, sorry, sorry!' he cried hastily. 'It's just such a problem! How on earth do you begin to look for a wife who has vanished?'

'Well, I imagine you do exactly what you have done—told the police, rung up friends, had a word with the neighbours. I suppose you could put an advertisement in the Personal Column,' I ended doubtfully.

'You don't happen to know,' said James, sounding carefully casual, 'of any men friends she has been seeing lately? I know I have to be away a lot, and I believe Horace Umbleditch has been calling.'

'
Horace Umbleditch
?' My voice emerged as a startled yelp. Horace Umbleditch is a blameless bachelor who teaches at a local prep school. The very idea of his pursuing any married lady—or a single one, for that matter—was quite unthinkable.

I rose to Horace's defence.

'I'm horrified to hear that you are even suspecting dear old Horace of such behaviour! And of course Amy would never countenance such conduct anyway. I advise you to keep a check on your jealousy, James, for that's what this is.'

I could have gone on much longer, so incensed was I, but James burst in.

'Oh, don't be such an old schoolmarm! Here I am beside myself with worry, the house is a shambles, and I can hardly see across the kitchen for smoke! Do you reckon the frying pan's too hot for sausages?'

'How should I know?' I replied crossly, and slammed down the receiver.

Thank God I didn't have a husband!

Mr Annett dropped his wife at Fairacre School at half past eight the next morning.

'No, I won't come in,' he said in reply to my invitation. 'Must get back to my own chores.'

'I promise to look after her well,' I said, waving him off.

Isobel looked remarkably cheerful for one thrown into an arduous job with such suddenness.

We went together into the school. Mrs Pringle was brandishing a duster.

'Here's an old friend come to help us out,' I cried.

'Good morning,' grunted Mrs Pringle.

'I'm quite looking forward to a few days in my old classroom,' said Isobel pleasantly, ignoring my cleaner's hostility.

'Daresay it'll be left a good bit tidier than usual,' conceded Mrs Pringle. 'But no one can hold a candle to Miss Clare. The place was always left like a new pin. She thought of others. Not like some.'

'I don't think any of us can come up to Miss Clare's standards,' agreed Isobel, and went on her way with a smile.

'What's the matter with her?' she whispered when we were in the infants' room. 'She's worse than ever!'

'I think I've upset her. It'll blow over. You know our Mrs P.'

Isobel began to unpack her basket. It contained a pink and white checked gingham overall, I saw with approval, as well as other things.

'I daresay infant fingers are as messy as ever,' she commented. 'And I'm bound to be clumsy with poster paint and clay and all the other paraphernalia. I only hope I don't fall foul of Mrs Pringle with my activities.'

'And what are those?'

'Templates of cats in different positions. I found them on holiday and couldn't resist them. I'm going to read them
Tom
Kitten
some time, and thought they could draw round these and then paint them. Perhaps make a frieze if Miss Briggs wouldn't mind. What do you think?'

'They'll love it, and I'm sure our Miss Briggs will approve. In any case, she can always take them down later if she wants to. Honestly, Isobel, you certainly haven't lost your touch, and I can't begin to tell you how marvellous it is to have you here again.'

Ernest bustled in importantly to tell me that one of them new little 'uns what lived up street next to Eileen Burton's gran was took bad his mum said, and wouldn't be acoming.

I thanked him, decided that any grammatical correction of this statement must wait till later, and invited him to ring the bell.

'Well,' I said turning to my assistant, 'the day's begun.'

A blessed period of peace now enveloped Fairacre School. Isobel slipped back into her former quiet and efficient ways, the infants seemed to relish her efforts and I was delighted to have a tranquil infants' room after Miss Briggs' somewhat hectoring manner which tended to make her charges noisy.

Mrs Pringle continued to wear a martyred look, and the leg, always of an inflammable nature in times of stress, appeared to be in a steady state of combustion judging by the lady's limp.

I was not surprised, therefore, when she informed me that she would have to 'give that place of yours a miss this week.'

'A rest will do you good,' I said. 'I hope it will be better next week.'

'I may not come next week either,' said Mrs Pringle, her mouth turning down grimly. I began to feel some alarm, not on my account, but the school's.

'Do you want a few days off all your duties?' I enquired. 'Have you seen the doctor? I'm sure we could manage somehow if you have to be laid up.'

Mrs Pringle gave a snort of disgust.

'I saw that young whipper-snapper that Doctor Martin's got to help him. A fat lot that boy knows! Gave me a prescription for some ointment, and told me to keep it up, and wear an elastic stocking.'

'Sounds sensible to me,' I was rash enough to comment.

'Except that's what I've been trying to do for the last twenty years!' snapped the lady. 'What chance have I got to put my leg up?'

'Well, I've just been telling you—have a few days off—a week, say—and see how you get on.'

'And what good will a week do? There's times when I reckon I'll just have to give in my notice.'

There was a menacing note in Mrs Pringle's voice which has become familiar over the years. I used to try and placate the old virago. Now I am hardened. One can cry 'Wolf!' once too often.

'Only you can decide that,' I told her. 'Meanwhile, I quite understand that you won't be coming to my house until you feel up to the work. But if you do decide to give up the school cleaning, do try and give me plenty of notice so that we can advertise the job.'

'And that,' said Mrs Pringle venomously, 'is all the thanks one gets for Faithful Service!'

Her limp was more severe than ever as she retreated.

Mrs Pringle's threat of leaving, although depressingly familiar, gave me some secret disquiet that evening.

Infuriating though she is, at least she does her work conscientiously, and is proud of the way she keeps the school. I have had periods without her assistance, and I know how quickly our ancient building and its furnishings lose their surface sheen when the lady is absent.