(4/13) Battles at Thrush Green (24 page)

That officer carried a well-thumbed notebook in case his memory needed refreshing. Hardly surprising, thought Charles, when you heard how long it took to bring a case before the court! He himself would be hard put to it to tell anyone what he had done the day before, let alone four months earlier!

He gave his evidence clearly and agreed with Justin Venables, in cross examination, that Miss Harmer had given every possible assistance after the accident. He then made way for Mr Giles, the second witness.

Mr Giles kept a music shop in Lulling High Street almost opposite Mr Levy's butcher's shop. He was a frail elderly man, white-haired and wearing glasses. He took the oath in a quavering voice.

Yes, he had witnessed the accident, he told the bench. He had heard the crash and said to his assistant –

'You musn't tell us what you said,' Mr Jardine told him.

'Well,
he
said –'

'Nor what
he
said,' replied Mr Jardine firmly. 'It is hearsay, you see, Mr Giles.'

'No, I don't see,' said the old man, with a flash of temper. 'How am I to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, if you won't let me?'

'As a result of what you heard,' said Mr Pearson, coming to the rescue, 'what did you do?'

Things then proceeded more smoothly.

Justin Venables made a shrewd point by asking about Mr Giles' spectacles. Was he short-sighted or long-sighted?

He was short-sighted.

Was he wearing his spectacles when he saw the accident?

'Probably,' said Mr Giles, now a trifle rattled.

'If you were
not
wearing them you would be unable to see clearly what was happening at a distance of some thirty yards?'

'I could see quite a bit,' said Mr Giles.

'But you can't say positively that you
were
wearing your spectacles.'

'Not on oath, no.'

Mr Venables sat down looking smug.

The third witness was a woman shopper who had been on the pavement at the time of the collision. She answered the prosecutor's questions clearly, but added little to the evidence. Justin did not cross-examine her.

'I will call my client,' he said, when the prosecutor sat down.

Dotty entered the witness box and picked up the New Testament.

'Please remove your glove,' said the usher.

'As you wish,' said Dotty, tugging at the splendid suede pair.

She took the oath firmly.

'Now, Miss Harmer, will you direct your answers to the bench,' said Justin, 'although I am asking the questions?'

Dotty turned obediently, recognised Mrs Fothergill as an acquaintance, and wished her 'Good morning' affably.

Mrs Fothergill gave a sickly smile, but forbore to reply. Lady Winter and the chairman ignored Dotty's civility, and remained impassive.

'You are Dorothy Amelia Russell Harmer, residing at Woodside, Lulling?' said Justin, in dulcet tones.

'You know I am!' responded Dotty, astonished.

'A formality,' murmured Justin. Good heavens, was she going to be in one of her prickly moods?

He led her, with exquisite caution, through her narrative. It soon became clear, that despite her odd appearance and a certain impatience with some of the questions, Dotty was transparently honest about the whole affair. She was not in the least put out by some fairly searching questions by the prosecution, and even congratulated the police in having such a pleasant young fellow as Mr Darwin in the force, before Justin could quell her.

Mr Levy, enjoying every moment of his public appearance, was equally hard to restrain.

'You saw the boy riding before the accident?' asked Justin.

'If you can call it riding,' said Mr Levy. 'He was on a bike far too big for him – sawing away he was, wobbling all whichways, and yelling to his mates. He swerved straight into Miss Harmer. She was well into the middle of the road. I'll take my oath on it –'

'You have,' put in Mr Pearson drily.

'And I've known Miss Harmer since she was a little girl, and she's as straight as a die! She'd say if she'd been at fault. It was that ruddy boy – begging your worships' pardon – as crashed across her path.'

'Miss Harmer's integrity is not in question,' said Justin austerely. 'Just let us take your account of the boy's movements, point by point.'

With some difficulty he led his ebullient witness through his story. The prosecutor had no questions to ask. Nor had the bench.

Justin's last witness was one of the teaching staff who had been in the playground when the accident occurred. He was a nervous young man, but Justin soon put him at ease, and he agreed that the boys were rather noisy and excited when they left school, and did not take as much care as they should about traffic conditions. He agreed with Mr Levy that Cyril Cooke's bicycle was in a poor state and much too big for him. He himself had told Mrs Cooke so, and suggested that the boy walked to school. She had not been co-operative.

By now it was almost one o'clock, and Charles was beginning to get hungry. The almshouse men had shuffled away some half hour earlier, but the rest of the spectators were obviously waiting to hear this case completed.

Justin Venables gave a brief but well-expressed summing up on behalf of his client, pointing out that she had held a licence for almost half a century, and that she had no previous convictions. To his mind, the prosecution had failed to prove the charge and he suggested, with all due respect, that it should be dismissed.

'Bench will retire,' growled Mr Jardine, and Mrs Fothergill led out the three.

Charles remained standing to ease his aching back. Whoever designed the public seats at Lulling Court deserved to be sentenced to sitting in them for twenty-four hours non-stop, he decided.

The Misses Lovelock, aflutter with scarves and gloves, came up to speak to him.

'Didn't Dotty do splendidly?' quavered Miss Violet.

'Surely she will be found not guilty?' said Miss Bertha.

'I always knew she was a cautious driver,' said Miss Ada. 'I hope that horrid boy gets sent to a penal institution.'

Charles did not feel equal to explaining that the boy was not being charged, only Dotty, and was spared further conversation by the return of the justices.

Dotty remained standing by Justin Venables. Suddenly pale, she looked incredibly old and tired. Charles felt shaken with anxiety for her. What an ordeal! He would be glad to get her into his car and back to the haven of the rectory and Dimity's ministrations.

Mr Jardine cleared his throat with peremptory honkings.

'We find you not guilty of the offence with which you have been charged.'

Dotty looked with bewilderment towards Justin Venables, who was smiling and bowing.

'The case,' explained Mr Jardine, looking directly at Dotty, 'is dismissed.'

Dotty inclined her head graciously, and murmured thanks.

'The court will adjourn until two o'clock,' said Mr Jardine.

Everyone stood, as the bench retired. The door to the magistrates' room had scarcely closed when Dotty's clear voice was heard.

'Could you, by any chance, lend me a handkerchief, Mr Venables?'

Head up, back like a ramrod Dotty faced her solicitor. Tears were coursing down her papery old cheeks and splashing unchecked upon the fur coat.

But, through the tears, Dotty's expression was one of utter triumph.

20 Peace Returns

N
EWS
of the outcome of the court case soon swept Thrush Green and Lulling. Approval was general, although Albert Piggott, and one or two other curmudgeons, expressed the view that it was a pity Dotty would still be able to terrorise the neighbourhood with her driving.

Mrs Cooke, when told of the verdict, executed a complete
volte-face
and said she had told her Cyril, times without number, to give over riding his dad's old bike, and now look where it had led him. She prophesied a piece of his dad's tongue for getting in Miss Harmer's way, and causing everyone a mint of trouble.

Dotty herself, after her brief spell of emotion occasioned by relief, appeared to forget all about the incident, and returned to her many chores in the cottage and garden. It was noticed, however, that the car rarely came out of the garage in the weeks that followed.

The snow was a long time in clearing, but gradually the grass showed again on Thrush Green, and the first early crocuses began to spear the ground.

The rector rang Mrs Cleary, a day or two after Dotty's case, to see if he might call on her to talk about the graveyard. To his amazement, that lady seemed anxious to settle the matter there and then.

'I heard that Mr Hodge and Mr Jones have climbed down,' said the imperious voice at the rector's ear. 'In which case, I think it pointless to continue with my objections.'

The rector rallied from the shock.

'There are one or two points I should like to discuss, nevertheless,' he said. 'We have a sketch map showing our plans for that part of the churchyard where your own family are buried. I should like to show you that.'

'I take it none of my family would be disturbed?'

'None, Mrs Cleary. Simply, their surroundings would be much beautified.'

There was silence for a while.

'Very well. I'm content that you should go ahead, if the others have agreed. I'll vouch for Martin Brewer too.'

Really, thought the rector, anyone would think Lulling were ruled by despotism – one could only hope it was a benevolent one.

'I shall have a word with young Brewer myself,' said Charles firmly.

He broached his second point.

'Would you consider withdrawing your resignation from the parochial church council? I have persuaded Mr Hodge to serve again, now that this little difference has been sorted out, and we should all be glad if you would return to us.'

'I will think about it,' said the lady graciously. She sounded mollified, thought Charles thankfully, as he replaced the receiver.

During the next week he managed to buttonhole the two Howard brothers, as well as Martin Brewer, and was shaken to find how little they really cared about the matter of the churchyard.

'Mr Hodge is boss. We does as he says. We lives in his cottages, see,' explained one of the brothers, as though that made the whole thing completely understandable.

Martin Brewer's attitude was much the same, but tempered with gratitude for Mrs Cleary's generosity in providing a job while he was without a driving licence.

'They don't seem to have any minds of their own,' said Charles despairingly to Dimity.

'They do, dear. But they know which side their bread is buttered.'

The rector still looked pensive.

'Cheer up,' said his wife, 'now you can sit down and apply for the faculty with a clear conscience, and leave it all in the lap of the gods.'

'In the lap of the Chancellor,' amended Charles, smiling at last.

Cyril Cooke was not the only person to suffer from mumps that winter. At the village school the number of sufferers gradually grew from three in January to fourteen in the first week of February.

It meant that work was very much easier, with fewer children in the class, and Miss Fogerty was grateful. The first term of the New Year was always a trial, with bad weather, poor light, and innumerable complaints and epidemics. Added to this general depression was the continuing estrangement from Miss Watson, despite surface civilities.

But one afternoon, when she had seen her depleted class buttoned and shod properly against their homeward journeys through the melting snow, she was surprised to be invited to the school house for a cup of tea.

Miss Watson appeared much agitated as she busied herself with spoons and biscuits, and her hand trembled as she passed Miss Fogerty her cup.

'I hardly know how to begin,' she said. 'Miss Potter has just told me she is leaving at the end of term.'

Miss Fogerty's heart leapt with joy, but she managed to look suitably concerned.

'But why? She seems to have settled down quite well. And heaven knows,' said Miss Fogerty, unable to resist a slight dig, 'she has been given everything she has asked for.'

'I am sorry to say, there is a baby coming,' said Miss Watson. Her face was stern.

'A baby? But she's not married!' cried Miss Fogerty, dropping her spoon.

'It has been known to happen,' pointed out Miss Watson.

'Oh, I know, I know,' agreed Miss Fogerty wisely. 'But how on earth did the silly girl get so involved?'

'She told me,
quite calmly,
that she went away with that young man of hers last summer, and there we are. She was rather nonchalant about the whole thing, which made me cross. She's arranging to marry him in the Easter holidays.'

'What a good thing for the baby,' said Miss Fogerty sincerely.

'But not for
us,
' said Miss Watson with asperity. 'We shall have to be three-in-a-desk all next term, unless we get that dreadful Mrs Spears in as supply, and you know what
that
means!'

Miss Fogerty nodded. Mrs Spears was the only supply teacher in Lulling, a vast noisy creature, reputed to carry a flask of gin among her school books, and much given to teaching the children mid-European folk dances involving a lot of clapping and stamping. The last time she had spent a fortnight at Thrush Green School, she had broken one easel, three tea cups and a child's finger. Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty had suffered from splitting headaches throughout her stay, and had watched her departure with relief.

'You'll put in an advertisement for the post, I suppose?' said Miss Fogerty.

'Oh, I shall see that it goes in immediately, but I don't suppose there's any hope until the girls come out of college in July.'

She replenished Miss Fogerty's cup and sighed.

'Oh, Agnes dear, what a comfort it is to have you to confide in! I can't tell you how I've missed our little chats since Christmas. Nor how
dreadful
I've felt about that bedjacket! To have upset you so grieved me terribly, as I'm sure you know, Agnes. I hope I'm forgiven. I wouldn't have had it happen for the world.'