i 69ef9ff463a71164 (8 page)

Donald was patting her cheek and saying quietly, "I've got an idea to show off your talents on a much larger scale ... an evening concert, you could let yourself rip at that. What do you say?"

At this moment she was too disappointed to be other than herself, so the only reply she made to this solace was with her eyebrows. She gave them an upward lift.

"Oh, my dear, come along." There was the slightest edge to his voice now.

"What is there in playing for children; much better to make your debut at a proper concert. One of the Miss Parleys plays the 'cello, and Blenkinsop, although you mightn't credit it, is no mean hand with the violin."

"All right."

"Come on then, smile. If your Aunt Aggie sees you like this she'll swear I'm starting to beat you and she'll say, " I knew it. I was right. " She gave him a playful push and he squeezed her hand before going out on to the terrace towards his study and Miss Shawcross.

Blast Miss Shawcross. Grace gave no girlish sign of guilt on this thought. She was getting a little fed up with Miss Shawcross. This wasn't the first time during her short sojourn in the village that her opinion had had to be waived in favour of that of Miss Shawcross.

There had been the business of the new literary group and its procedure. Miss Shawcross's suggestions had been followed because Miss Shawcross did such an amount of work for the church and it was only fair to give her a little say in this new venture. There had also been the dressing of the altar. The brass vases Grace considered looked too heavy when filled with flowers and she had substituted two silver ones, but the week after their arrival they had been relegated to the dim corners of the altar, and the brass ones were back dominating the scene.

"Let the matter be," Donald had said, 'it's not worth a fracas. She has done the altar for years, in fact since she was a young girl; until now she has almost come to think that it belongs to her. " And then he had added, " The church means so much to her, you'll have to remember that, my dear. "

And now the play Miss Shawcross had won again.

This latter thought came to Grace in the form of a shock. She was made aware that she was in the midst of a contest, a contest which required the use of guile, and she could see quite plainly that if she was even to hold her own she would have to avail herself of this guile. The picture presented looked rather nasty, and she turned from the window and shook her head as if trying to throw the whole business off. Miss Shawcross was an old maid, a stuffy, prim old maid. She would tell Aunt Aggie on the quiet about Miss Shawcross and they would have a laugh. Yes, that was the best way to deal with Miss Shawcross, laugh at her.

Grace was bursting with pride and happiness. Aunt Aggie liked the house, she had thoroughly enjoyed her lunch, and, what was more oh more important than anything else she seemed to be getting to like Donald.

Donald had gone out of his way to be charming to her and in Grace's opinion he was irresistible. Aunt Aggie would have had to be made of stone if she hadn't melted under this treatment.

There was one incident that Grace feared might throw a spanner into Aunt Aggie's capitulation. This was when Donald, taking the key from his waistcoat pocket, went to the sideboard and, unlocking the cupboard door, drew out the lead-lined wine box. In the box were four bottles and a number of glasses and then he turned and looked at Aggie, saying,

"What will you have? Sherry sweet, sherry dry?" He pointed to the bottles in turn, "Sautemes ... ? Or whiskey ... Irish?" He laughed, and Aggie replied, "I think I'll have the Sautemes, thank you."

Grace could see that Aunt Aggie was slightly puzzled. The only glasses on the table were those for water, and when Donald placed the glass of wine before Aggie and another by the side of her plate, she felt that some explanation was due, and just as she was about to give it Donald raised his hand in his customary fashion and said brightly, "Leave the explanation to me, my dear. I am the culprit and I must answer for my sins." Before continuing he went and pushed the wine tray back into the cupboard, locked the door, then took his seat again, and, leaning across the table towards his guest, he said,

"The truth is, I'm a " secret tippler, Aunt Aggie. "

There was a peculiar gleam in Aggie's small bright eyes as she said flatly, "Well, that wouldn't surprise me in the least."

"Oh, Aunt Aggie ... I and you, Donald." Grace turned on him.

"You'll have her believing that.... It's because of Mrs. Blenkinsop, Aunt Aggie." Grace's voice was a whisper now as she leaned towards her aunt.

"Parsons and their wives are not supposed to have wine with their meals, it would be all over the village...."

"Let us stick to the truth. Grace," Donald put in quietly.

"It is not that parsons are not supposed to have wine with their meals, parsons are not supposed to be able to afford wine with their meals.

There's a fine point there. But I'm a crafty man, Aunt Aggie. I married a woman with money who could afford to pander to my secret craving." Donald did not look at Aggie as he said this but lifted the glass to eye level and twiddled the stem between his fingers. And he kept his eyes on the glass as he ended, "But there is nothing I enjoy more than a glass of wine."

From across the table Aggie nodded slowly at him, before saying, "Well, at least I'm with you there, for if there's anything I like better than a glass of wine me self it's two glasses of wine."

The vicar let himself laugh at this triteness, and Grace thought how odd it was that these two should agree on the one point which she had dreaded might be the means of widening the gulf between them. Donald's system concerning the wine came under the heading of duplicity, and she hadn't expected her aunt to condone it. No, she had expected her to attack it, with a 'well, what did I tell you? " She was very relieved.

Lunch over, the atmosphere all she could desire, she lost no time when she was alone with Aggie in bringing before her notice the virtues of her husband. That which she felt would impress her aunt most was the fact that he would not allow her to use the car for visiting, nor would he use it himself for such a purpose. Moreover, there was the fact that he insisted they could only afford Mrs. Blenkinsop for half days.

And finally, he only had three pairs of shoes and he wouldn't buy any more until at least one pair was worn out.

"Well, he can't manage to wear more than one pair at a time, can he?"

Aggie's dry remark was delivered without a smile and brought Grace to fluster.

"Yes, Aunt Aggie, but you understand what I--' " Yes, yes, I understand all right. " Aggie patted Grace on the knee.

"Don't trash yourself, child. We'll get along all right, I suppose, when we get to know each other a bit better, but don't you work too hard at it or you'll wear yourself down to your hunkers.... I'll accept the fact that you've married a saint."

"Oh, Aunt Aggie." Grace had her head half lowered as if she had been caught at some misdemeanour, but when Aggie burst out laughing she joined in and threw her arms about her aunt and hugged her, crying,

"Oh, now I want nothing more."

"Sit down and don't rumple me." Aggie pushed her into a chair, then asked, "What are the folks like around here, nice?"

"Yes. I'll take you through the village in a little while and you'll see some of them for yourself. I said they were nice and they are, all except one, a Miss Shawcross."

"Miss Shawcross? Who is she?"

"The post mistress

"Ah, the post mistress middle-aged, a church worker and ... after the parson."

Grace's eyes were wide as she exclaimed, "You're a witch. Aunt Aggie that's Miss Shawcross."

"Is it, by gujn?" Aunt Aggie bristled in mock anger.

"Come on then, let's have a dekko at her."

Grace's laugh was high and free. Oh, it was good to be with Aunt Aggie again. She wanted nothing more now nothing . ?

Some time later in the afternoon, after Aggie had visited the church and met Mr. Blenkinsop, had been introduced to Dr. Cooper as he came out of Brooke's the grocer's, had met Sep Stanley the baker and, like Grace on her first visit, had been given a hot buttered roll, they made their way to the post office and Miss Shawcross, and they were careful not to exchange glances as they entered.

Aggie Turner's shrewd eyes immediately saw that Miss Shawcross was quite different from her own jocular description; she was younger than she had expected, she was bigger than she had expected, and immediately she found that the woman claimed her sympathy, and this she hadn't expected either. As she looked into the large, plain face, she thought, "It's a pity. By, it is that, for if he had come here before he had seen Grace that time of the accident, here's the one who would have been Mrs. Rouse. At least she would have had a damn good try, and I would have said good luck to her." This woman, she thought, would have made a far better parson's wife than her niece ever would, no matter how hard she kept on trying, and she was trying so hard at present that it was painful to watch her, and all because she was clean barmy about the man. Yet it looked as if she herself had misjudged the fellow, for, going by his present behaviour, he wasn't squandering Grace's money. But, of course, Aggie's business acumen prompted the thought, he had got quite a bit out of it already and in a way that brought no pointing finger at him. He had a fine house and furniture, and he was living much more comfortably than he could ever have hoped to do on his own income. Still, she must be fair. Apparently he had his principles and was living up to them.

Moreover, she was glad to know he had his own frailties. She had liked the touch of the wine business at lunch.

"What do you think?" asked Grace, when they had left the shop and were walking circumspectly through the village.

"I'm a bit sorry for her. Now! Now! Wait till I finish." Aggie discreetly raised a finger.

"I also think I'd go very carefully. Don't pull her to shreds in front of him, of of Donald. Your best plan, you know, would be to try to get to like her."

"Oh, Aunt Aggie."

"All right. It's only a suggestion, but remember you'll have to live with her for a long time."

On this Grace let the matter drop she was very puzzled at her aunt's reactions to Miss Shawcross, and not at all pleased.

The afternoon was sunny and even warm, and so they made their way on to the fells. Grace's primary idea being to show Aunt Aggie the village from the top of Roebeck Fell. An hour later, after much talking and laughing, they found themselves on top of Peak Fell from where you could see nothing for miles but the rolling hills, and Grace said,

"What does it matter, we'll go halfway down the valley and take a cut up to Roebeck Fell."

"That you won't, not today," said Aggie.

"I've got the feeling my feet are worn down to my knees already. We'll take the shortest cut for home and soon."

"Oh, sit here for a while longer. Aunt Aggie. Isn't it beautiful!"

She stretched out her arms to embrace the scene.

"You know something: this is the first time I've been on this fell.

It's more beautiful than any of the others."

"Yes, it's very beautiful." Aggie nodded as she looked round.

"That's if you like it wild. There's not a habitation to be seen. I can't say my fancy bends this way. I'm more comfortable in Northumberland Street in Newcastle."

"You've got no poetry in you. This does something to you."

"Aye it might' Aggie's voice had dropped, as it did when she was aiming to be funny, into the north country idiom 'but aal Aa knaa at the minute is that A'm froze ... Look' she sought for a handkerchief The nose is runnin'."

"Oh, Aunt Aggie!" Grace's laugh rang out over the hills as she pulled Aggie up towards her, saying, "Come on, then, let's be moving. There must be a shorter cut down than the one we came up by."

Aggie's statement that there were no habitations on the fells was proved wrong when after walking not more than ten minutes they came upon a cottage. It was two-storied and made of rough quarry stone. It looked stark and ugly and had none of the warm mellowness attached to the houses in and around the village, many of which were built of the same material. The front door of the house led straight on to the steep road which had levelled itself out for a short distance at this point.

They were some yards from the house when they heard the shouting. The raised voices spoke quite plainly of a row in progress. Grace looked at Aggie and Aggie pursed her lips and nodded as she commented under her breath, "Skull and hair flying." The voices ceased before they reached the house, but just as they passed the door it opened and a woman and a young man stepped into the road, then came to an abrupt halt as they stared at the two women opposite them.

The young man Grace recognised as Andrew MacIntyre and the woman she took to be his mother. It was odd, she thought, that during all the months she had been in the village she hadn't seen him, yet here she was meeting him twice in the same day.

"Good afternoon," she said.

The woman moved her head just the slightest as she murmured, "Good afternoon."

"This is my mother. This is the vicar's wife. Mother." The young man was looking at Grace as he spoke.

The woman inclined her head slowly and Grace said, "How do you do, Mrs.

Maclntyre?"

"Very well ... ma'am." She seemed to have some difficulty in adding the ma'am.

"You have a beautiful view." Grace half turned from them.

"Yes, it's a grand view," said the woman.

"And a grand walk up to it," came wearily from Aggie.

"I'll be glad when I get off my feet."

Whether or not this was a hint to be asked in to take a seat for a time the woman did not rise to it, instead she suggested a short cut for their return journey.

"You can halve the distance," she said, 'and come out behind Miss Tupping's . I mean your house, ma'am," she added apologetically.

Then, turning to her son, she said, " You're going down. Will you show the ladies the way, Andrew? "