(7/13) Affairs at Thrush Green

Affairs at Thrush Green

Miss Read

Illustrated by John S. Goodall

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
Boston New York

To Jenny
with love

First Houghton Mifflin paperback edition 2002
Copyright © 1983 by Miss Read
All rights reserved

For information about permission to reproduce
selections from this book, write to Permissions,
Houghton Mifflin Company, 215 Park Avenue South,
New York, New York 10003.

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www.houghtonmifflinbooks.com.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Read, Miss.
Affairs at Thrush Green.
ISBN
0-395-36554-6
ISBN
0-618-23857-3 (pbk.)
ISBN
978-0-6182-3857-6
I. Title.
PR
6069.
A
42
A
7 1984
823'.914 84-6702

Printed in the United States of America
DOH
10 9 8 7 6 5

Contents

1 A Snowy Morning II

2 The Rector Goes About His Duties 24

3 Unknown At The Fuchsia Bush 35

4 Rumours At Thrush Green 48

5 A Visit To Tom Hardy 60

6 Spring Fevers 73

7 Albert Piggott Under Pressure 85

8 Albert Makes A Journey 99

9 Dotty Harmer Has Visitors 111

10 Mrs Thurgood Fights Again 123

11 Problems At Thrush Green 136

12 A Question Of Housing 148

13 A Job At The Fuchsia Bush 160

14 Thundery Conditions 173

15 Under Doctor's Orders 186

16 House-Hunting 199

17 Future Plans 211

18 Charles Is Melancholy 224

19 Marriage Plans 236

20 Three Christmas Visitors 247

1. A Snowy Morning

CHARLES HENSTOCK awoke with a start. He must have overslept, it was so light in the bedroom.

He turned his head and squinted sideways at the bedside clock. To his relief, the hands stood at twenty past seven.

Still bemused, he gazed above him, relishing the warmth of his bed and the elegant swags of plasterwork which decorated the vicarage ceiling. Those skilful workers some two hundred years ago certainly knew how to delight the eye, thought the present incumbent of the parish of Lulling.

Not that Lulling was the only parish in his care. A mile to the north lay his old parish of Thrush Green, and north and west of that delectable spot were those of Nidden and Lulling Woods. It was a large area to care for, with four splendid churches, and Charles Henstock constantly prayed that he might fulfil his responsibilities with diligence.

His wife Dimity lay curled beside him, still deep in sleep. They had started their married life together at Thrush Green, in the bleak Victorian rectory which had been burnt to the ground some two years earlier. The general opinion was that the fire was a blessing in disguise. The hideous building had stood out like a sore thumb among the beautiful stone-built Cotswold houses round the green.

But Charles still mourned his old home. He had known great happiness there, and even now could scarcely bear to look at the empty site where once his home had stood.

A pinkish glow was beginning to spread over the ceiling. The sun must be rising, but still that strange luminosity which had roused him hung about the room. More alert now, the good rector struggled upright, taking care not to disturb his sleeping partner.

The ancient cedar tree was now in sight, its outspread arms holding thick bands of snow. The telephone wire sagged beneath the weight it was bearing, and the window sill was heavily encrusted.

Very carefully the rector slipped out of bed and went to the window to survey the cold February scene. Since his early childhood he had delighted in snow. Now, looking at his transformed garden, his heart beat faster with the old familiar excitement.

The snow covered everything—the paths, the flowerbeds, the tiny snowdrops which had so recently braved the bitter winds and tossed their little bells under the hedges. It lay in gentle billows against the summerhouse door and the tall yew hedge.

Beyond the garden, St John's church roof glistened under its snowy canopy against a rose-pink cloud and, high above, the golden weathercock on the steeple caught the first rays of the winter sun.

The beauty of it all enraptured Charles. He caught his breath in wonderment, oblivious of the chilly bedroom and his congealing feet. What enchantment! What purity! An overnight miracle!

'Charles,' said Dimity, 'what has happened?'

'It's been snowing,' said her husband, smiling upon her. 'It's quite deep.'

'Oh dear,' said Dimity, getting out of bed. 'What a blessing I brought the spade indoors last night! No doubt we'll have to dig ourselves out.'

Dimity had always been the practical partner.

Charles Henstock's appointment to the living of Lulling and its combined parishes, had been welcomed by almost all who knew him.

He was much loved in the district for his modesty, his warm heart, and the willing care he gave to his parishioners. The fire at Thrush Green rectory had shocked the community, and Dimity and Charles received much sympathy. It seemed particularly appropriate that he should now live in the beautiful Queen Anne house and enjoy such pleasant surroundings.

Nevertheless, there were a few people in Lulling who viewed their new pastor with some reserve.

Charles had followed his old friend Anthony Bull who had held the living of Lulling for almost twenty years, and had made his mark in the parish.

Anthony had been the very opposite of Charles Henstock. In appearance he was tall and handsome, with a fine mane of hair which he tossed back from a noble brow with the ready expertise of an actor. Charles was short, tubby and bald, and lacked any sort of dramatic technique in the pulpit.

There were quite a few of Anthony's followers who admitted unashamedly that they had attended St John's for the enjoyment of their vicar's eloquent sermons as much as for the High Church ritual for which the church was noted. Anthony Bull's magnificent vestments were the admiration of all, and particularly of the needlewomen in his flock. The fact that he was fortunate in having a wealthy wife who adored him, and was generous with her money, was one which did not go unnoticed in the parish. Never had Lulling Vicarage been so beautifully furnished, or its gardens kept so immaculately. Mrs Bull, it was common knowledge, was prepared to pay almost twice as much an hour for domestic help as was customary, and there were a number of infuriated housewives who were obliged to see their own charwomen vanish towards the vicarage, or else to pay wages which they could ill afford.

The vicarage was now more sparsely furnished with the few pieces of furniture salvaged from the disastrous Thrush Green fire and some modest articles newly acquired. The Bulls' magnificent Persian rugs had given way to some well worn runners in the hall. The priceless Chinese vase which had held exotic blooms all the year round on the Jacobean hall chest, was now replaced by a sturdy earthenware pitcher holding garden flowers or the silvery moons of locally grown honesty, throughout the winter months.

Nevertheless, Dimity, with help on only two mornings, kept the lovely old house shining, and nothing could detract from the beautifully proportioned rooms with their great windows looking out upon one of the most superb settings in Lulling.

No one expected the Henstocks to attempt the same standard of living as their predecessor. They were less concerned than he with material trappings, and even if they had wanted to keep the house as expensively furnished, their modest income would not allow it.

But everyone agreed, even those who lamented Anthony Bull's departed glory in the church itself, that the welcome to be found now at Lulling Vicarage was warmer than ever. It was good, they told each other, to have such a fine pair living at Lulling.

Some quarter of a mile away in the High Street of Lulling the three Miss Lovelocks were surveying the snow from their front bedroom windows.

The old ladies were still in their night attire. The collars of their warm flannel nightgowns were buttoned modestly around thin scrawny necks. Miss Bertha and Miss Ada were wrapped in ancient camel-coloured Jaeger dressing gowns, and Miss Violet in a voluminous light plaid garment purchased some twenty years earlier on a visit to the Shetland Isles. Bony feet were encased in sheepskin slippers, but even so the old ladies shivered as they surveyed the snowy High Street.

'So unexpected,' said Miss Bertha.

'Not a
word
about it on the weather forecast,' said Miss Ada severely.

'But it's very pretty,' said Miss Violet. 'Just see how lovely it looks caught in the railings!'

They gazed across at the railings outside the Methodist chapel. There certainly was something attractive about the white thick fur that blurred their usual starkness. In fact, the whole street was transformed in the early sunshine.

The roofs glistened like sugar icing. Doorsteps were hidden under gentle billows, and dark ribbons showed where traffic had trundled by in the road itself, highlighting the vivid whiteness of the rest. The pollarded lime trees along the pavement wore thick caps of snow, and the scarlet pillar box, outside The Fuchsia Bush café next door, was similarly topped.