(9/20) Tyler's Row (21 page)

'Tell us about the village,' wheezed Sergeant Burnaby. 'Any gossip? Any births, deaths or marriages? And what about that old faggot, Mrs Fowler? She dropped dead, yet?'

Diana did her best to make a diplomatic reply. She told him that Mrs Willet had tidied the cottage ready for his return, that their gardens were full of roses, and various other innocent topics, leaving out Mrs Fowler's name carefully from her account.

'Pity about me brass,' said the old man. 'I does it every Saturday. It'll be a real mess by now.'

'Mrs Willet will be pleased to do it I know,' said Diana swiftly. 'If you'll let her, that is.'

'May as well,' Sergeant Burnaby said. His tone was grudging. Clearly, he did not trust anyone to cherish his brass as he did himself.

A sister appeared, impressive in her dark blue and white. Diana felt guilty, as though she were a youthful wrong-doer.

'I think I'd better go, and leave you to talk for a little. I'll be in the car. There's no hurry.'

She put the two bottles on Sergeant Burnaby's bedside locker.

'Now, that's handsome of you, ma'am,' said Sergeant Burnaby. His moustaches seemed to tilt up another degree or two.

'Hope you enjoy it,' responded Diana. 'My husband may call in to see you if you have to stay some time.'

'Very welcome. Very welcome,' replied the old man. Diana thought he was beginning to look tired, made her farewells, and walked rapidly from the ward before the sister took her name for detention.

It was very peaceful waiting in the car, and Diana thought how fascinating it was to sit there, virtually unseen, and watch people going about their affairs. A child, left in the next car whilst its parents were inside the hospital, was blissfully unaware of Diana, not six yards away, and was systematically licking the side window, her pink tongue working from top to bottom making wavering stripes of relative cleanliness.

An old man, cap set dead straight upon his ancient head and a camel-hair muffler making a neat V at his withered throat, was beating time incongruously, presumably to the music of a transistor set inside the car. How odd people were on their own, thought Diana, and wondered if she too was equally enthralling to some other unseen watcher nearby.

Jim and Alice Bennett soon emerged. Alice took a back seat, and Jim settled with a gratified sigh by Diana.

'How does he seem, do you think?' asked Diana.

'Not too good. We managed to get a word with the duty sister on our way out. They won't let him out until he has someone to take responsibility for him. Not fit to live alone again evidently.'

Diana had a brief vision of trying to look after the old soldier herself with the help of the district nurse. Could she possibly cope? For a week or two, no doubt. Permanently, it would be impossible.

'Any chance of an old people's home?'

'He'd hate that,' said Jim. 'No, Alice and I've talked this over in the last few days, and we don't see why he shouldn't come to us.'

'It's extremely generous of you,' said Diana, trying to keep the relief from her voice.

'No more'n he'd do for us. We've been through a lot together: I couldn't see him in want, and we've got a good spare room downstairs we can fit up for him with his own bits and pieces.'

'It's a lot for your sister to take on,' said Diana, stepping on the brakes. A short-skirted mother, giggling with a friend, had pushed her pram well out into the road without bothering to look either way, oblivious of the possible outcome to her helpless baby.

'Me?' Alice Bennett sounded surprised. 'Lor, I shan't mind! We can all get along together—three old folk can help each other a lot, and I've always been fond of the old boy. He won't be any trouble.'

She spoke with such calm cheerfulness, almost as though she welcomed the extra responsibility, that Diana felt ashamed of her own relief. How mean-spirited she was compared with this generous woman! Here was someone who really did love her neighbour as herself, and was happy to serve him, despite the fact that she herself was getting on in years, her house was small, and there could not be much money to spare.

She dropped the couple at Beech Green. It was beginning to get dark, and as she wound her way back to Fairacre along the shadowy lanes, Diana felt chastened by the difference in her own attitude to Sergeant Burnaby's future, compared with his old friends'.

Peter's reaction to the news was much more practical.

'Well, this brings stage two of Bellamy's plan a step nearer.'

'Do you know,' said Diana, 'I never thought of that.'

'Savour the situation now,' advised Peter. 'It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good.'

Rumours flew swiftly about Fairacre. Sergeant Burnaby's condition gave rise to considerable speculation, and the news that he would not be returning to Tyler's Row caused even more.

'Whatever the doctors say,' Mrs Willet told Diana, 'I reckon the poor old man's suffering from yellow jaundice. It's plain from his looks. My niece looked just the same some years ago, and Doctor Martin had to come six or seven times to get her over it.'

'I don't think it's that,' ventured Diana. But Mrs Willet, busily polishing windows, was intent on her own theories.

'My sister knew what it was at once, and as soon as Doctor Martin put his head in the door she told him. Proper cross, he was. He can be pretty sharp when he likes. "And how do you know?" he says to her, sarcastic. "It don't need much learning to see what she's got," my sister said. "She's yellow as a guinea." "I'll do my own diagnosing," he told her, and examined the child. "Well?" says my sister. "Yellow jaundice," he said, and was fair nettled when my sister laughed.'

At the meeting of the Women's Institute, held in the garden of the vicarage, by kind permission of Mrs Partridge, Diana heard more theories put forward.

'Malaria,' boomed Mrs Pringle, resplendent in a navy blue straw hat decorated with a white duck's wing on the brim. 'It comes of visiting foreign parts. Mind you, Sergeant Burnaby was bound to go, being a soldier and under orders, but when I see the risks people run taking these holidays abroad among the foreigners and the germs and the water-not-fit-to-drink, I fairly trembles for them. And paying good money too to ruin their health!'

Mrs Mawne had heard, she told Diana over the teacups, that he was not expected to live. Pneumonia, wasn't it, and some virulent infection of the lungs? And what, if it wasn't being too premature, did the Hales propose to do about the cottage? If they were going to let it, until Mrs Fowler's became vacant too, she knew of a delightful couple, very musical, one with the flute and the other with the trumpet, who would make charming neighbours.

Mrs Johnson, hovering on the verge of the conversation, said that her husband knew of several young men, working with him at the atomic power station, who would be glad to rent a little place, no matter how primitive and inconvenient, until they could find better accommodation.

And the vicar too, amazingly enough, took Diana to admire his yellow roses, and in comparative privacy, away from the crowd of women, broached the subject of Sergeant Burnaby and his home.

'It sounds as though the poor fellow will be called to higher things before long,' he began, and before Diana could refute this statement, he continued.

'You may know that our infants' teacher at the village school has had to retire. Of course, the advertisement is in
The Teachers' World
and
The Times Educational Supplement,
and we hope to have a number of applicants. Accommodation is always such a problem for these young single women. In the old days, one could count on lodgings here and there, but there is
no one,
simply
no one,
who will board a girl in the village. Anyway, most of the young people seem to want to do for themselves, and Sergeant Burnaby's little place would be absolutely suitable, if you decide to let.'

'There is no question of it,' said Diana, with unaccustomed vigour. 'There is still a chance of the sergeant returning. As far as I know, he will be discharged from hospital in the next week or two. Friends are going to offer to have him with them, I believe, but he is an independent old man, as you know, and if he wants to return, then of course he must. In any case, at some time in the future we hope to incorporate the two end cottages into our own house.'

The vicar looked crest-fallen.

'Quite, quite! I felt I must mention the matter to you, as wc shall be holding our interviews before long, and a little cottage, such as yours, would be an added attraction to the post.'

Two more people approached Diana, before the meeting ended, to enquire about Sergeant Burnaby and to broach the subject of renting his cottage. Diana began to feel hunted, and was relieved when she could get away, and walk through the village to Tyler's Row.

On her way, she called at the Post Office. A woman, whom she had not seen before, was chattering to Mr Lamb.

'Poor old soul,' she was saying, 'and to think those new folk have driven him out of his own home! Want to add it to their own, I hear. Can you believe it? The way some people—'

Mr Lamb, getting rosier in the face every minute, broke in upon the torrent of words.

'This is the lady who lives at Tyler's Row now, Mrs Strong.'

The woman had the grace to look abashed, but her ready tongue continued its work.

'We lived there for a time as children, me and my brothers. I was talking over old times with Mr Lamb here.'

Diana nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

'Well, I must be off. Takes a good twenty minutes over the hill to Springbourne.'

Mr Lamb and Diana watched her depart in silence. It was plain to the postmaster that Diana had heard every word. He spoke comfortingly.

'I shouldn't take any notice of what Effie Strong says, ma'am. She's got a tongue as reaches from here to Caxley.'

'I only hope that other people aren't thinking as she is. My husband and I are fond of Sergeant Burnaby, and hope he will soon be fit enough to come home. You may tell anyone this who is spreading such dreadful rumours.'

'There won't be any need,' Mr Lamb assured her. 'Fairacre's a shockin' place for gossip, but in their hearts people know the truth.'

And with this crumb of comfort, Diana had to be content.

Peter's comments were much the same.

'Let 'em tittle-tattle. We know we've nothing to reproach ourselves about. Dammit, the old boy might have snuffed it, if you hadn't gone to the rescue! If he's pining to come back and can manage on his own again, then he must have the place, of course.'

He paused to sneeze, fifteen times in quick succession.

'Those blasted pinks!' he gasped. 'But let's hope,' he continued, 'that Fate protects us from him after all.'

Honesty was one of Peter Hale's strongest virtues.

18. End of Term

FAIRACRE School said goodbye to Mrs Bonny with genuine regret.

The last few days of term had been over-shadowed by the problem of what to buy for her leaving present. All negotiations had to be conducted in secrecy, and many a sibilant whispering in my ear had driven me close to hysterics-by-tickling.

Ernest had suggested a silver tea-service. Someone had received such a gift after fifty years in the Caxley Borough offices, and no doubt the photograph in
The Caxley Chronicle
inspired Ernest's suggestion. "When I pointed out the probable price, it was generally agreed that such richness was beyond our resources.

Joseph Coggs nobly offered a pair of rabbits, as his doe had just had a litter of eight, and was willing to make a hutch to house them if he could get a wooden box from the stores. I was much touched by this generous offer, but felt that Mrs. Bonny might find it embarrassing. Joseph and I discussed the matter solemnly, and he agreed that transporting them would be exceedingly difficult, and that the sea air might not agree with country bred rabbits. Regretfully, the children turned down Joseph's suggestion, though there were plenty of offers to have any surplus rabbits for themselves, if Joseph wanted homes.

The girls' suggestions were rather uninspired, running to such things as scent, handkerchiefs and boxes of chocolates. The boys were outspokenly scornful.

'Has them for Christmas!'

'Scent! Proper soppy!'

'She don't eat chocolate. I know, 'cos she didn't want a bite off my Mars bar Thursday.'

'We wants to give her summat that'll last,' said Patrick. 'Like a tray.'

This inspired suggestion was greeted in respectful silence. It was Joseph Coggs who broke it.

'A tray'd be just right. We could get a little 'un for by her bed, or a big 'un for carrying out the washing up.'

I thought Patrick's idea was quite the best we had heard, and promised to go shopping in Caxley on Saturday on their behalf.

'Two-eighty us 'as got,' Ernest impressed upon me. 'Should get a good 'un for that. I suppose if you saw a real smasher for three pounds us might put a bit more towards it.'

I said I would be happy to add a little extra, but Ernest, brought up in a strict evangelical home, would have none of it.

'No, no! That's not right. You got enough to do with your money. It's the school's present, this is.'

Has he, I wondered, ever seen me rifling the Oxo tin when hard pressed? In any case, I admired his honourable outlook, and said I would do my best with the resources available.

That settled, we were able to cope with end-of-term activities such as Sports Day—refreshment tent under the kind supervision of the Parent-Teacher Association—clearing out cupboards, dismantling the nature table, writing reports, checking stock and so on.

Mrs Bonny was delighted, on the last afternoon, with her present of a sturdy carved oak tray, responded charmingly to the vicar's little speech, and invited us all to visit her whenever we were in her area.

Fairacre School broke up in a clamour of well-wishing, and the children streamed down the lane, shouting with exhilaration at the prospect of almost seven weeks of freedom.

Those mothers who had come to collect their offspring looked rather less joyous, I noticed.