‘Eh? Yer what?’
‘You heard.’
‘Why should I? He owns it, not me.’
‘I know he does. But if you want a bad draught round the back of your neck, well . . . it’s up to you.’
‘Of course you’re on his side, stands to reason, you’re an owner same as ’im.’
Surprised it was common knowledge that she owned Maggie Dobbs’s cottage, Vera retorted sharply, ‘Whatever. Yer can’t have both the bun and the ha’penny in this life.’
Similar arguments were being conducted on the much coveted table next to the settle, on the tables close to the log fire and especially in the wider part where several tables were close enough to allow eavesdropping on other conversations. The bar hummed with the topic and soon everyone had taken sides. In the main, Turnham Malpas residents were in sympathy with Mrs Bliss, and the Little Derehams people were against.
After closing time came, the argument was carried on outside in the road. Eventually people living in the village went home shaking their heads over the stupidity of the Little Derehams people selling their homes to someone like Mr Fitch, and they felt smug in their wisdom. While they had houses worth thousands now that property prices had risen so steeply, those in Little Derehams had nothing. Not a few chuckled to themselves as they snuggled down in bed under their very own roofs.
But the resentment against Mr Fitch festered and bubbled until it burst forth in a protest. A crowd of about thirty villagers from Little Derehams collected quietly outside Turnham House main door early one evening, knowing for sure that Mr Fitch was there – they had friends among the domestic staff at the Big House – and they unfurled their banners, waved their placards and chanted a song they’d made up at a meeting earlier in the week.
The land agent came out first to listen to their demands but he made no progress at all. ‘We want Mr Fitch! We want Mr Fitch!’ they all chanted.
So the agent returned inside and went to ask Mr Fitch to come out to speak to them. Boiling with temper – he had feared this might happen – Craddock stalked outside, in no mood to be placatory.
Holding up a hand to hush the chants, he began by saying, ‘I hear what you ask. If I do the improvements to your houses that you demand, then your rents will have to go up to pay for them. I’m not a charitable institution, I’m running a business, and the rents you pay now will nowhere near cover the costs of double glazing or anything else. So, what shall we do? It’s up to you. You could of course always buy back your houses from me, but you’ll get a shock when you hear how much they have increased in value since you sold them to me.’
‘How much then? Go on, how much?’
‘At the very least double what I gave you for them. Could be more.’
A gasp of horror went round the crowd. Jaws dropped, fists were raised, and Kate, who was watching from an upstairs window, became anxious.
‘You’re bloody well off then!’
‘You’re doing it for that Bliss woman, why not us?’
Kate couldn’t believe her ears. Doing it for that Bliss woman?
‘You’re a thief. You bought ’em for a song then.’
‘I paid the fair market price at the time, which you agreed to.’
‘Forced our hands more likely.’
‘I didn’t make you sell your houses to me. On the contrary, you couldn’t wait to get your hands on the money.’
Grumblings rumbled around the crowd. Someone shouted, ‘But why’s that Mrs Bliss getting everything done for her? Tell us that, if you can.’
‘What favours has she done you, eh?’
A loud guffaw went up, and there was much elbow-nudging, smirking and knowing winks.
Craddock almost boiled over. He could have taken a whip to them all. It was what they needed; a whipping, handcuffed to a wall, until the blood ran and they’d no thought for anything else but their own pain. All the pleasure he’d taken at owning practically the entire village, improving the footpaths, placing flower tubs at strategic points, improving the lighting with decorative lamps, restoring the tiny medieval prison cell still standing in their high street, and renovating their market cross, turned sour in his mouth. And Kate was listening to this! And the students here for a week’s training! So much for not letting his right hand know what his left hand was doing. So much for trying to keep, albeit secretly, in Kate’s good books. Damn them all to everlasting hell. A plague on their houses.
Then he said the one thing that played straight into their hands. Because it occurred to him that they might take the initiative to get back at him through Mrs Bliss he shouted, ‘Don’t anyone here dare take out their anger at me on Mrs Bliss. This,’ he made a sweeping gesture with his arm, ‘is not her fault. I chose to improve her house, at my own expense. She’s not to be threatened in any way. You understand?’
A roar went up, a great roar of mocking laughter, which made his blood run cold. He spun on his heel and went inside, slamming and bolting the door behind him. The crowd stood angrily arguing among themselves, not knowing what to do next. But within minutes they retired down the drive to plan their next move.
Craddock stood behind the door, shaking with emotion. For Kate to even think . . . The students were standing at every available window at the front of the house, watching and commenting. A hush fell over them when Kate brushed past and ran down the stairs to meet Craddock, who was now standing, fists clenched, red-faced and quietly swearing in the middle of the hall.
When he saw Kate coming towards him Craddock drew in a deep breath.
‘Craddock! Come up to the flat. Please.’
‘My office.’
‘OK.’
He unlocked the door, went straight to the drinks cupboard and poured himself and Kate a glass of brandy. ‘I don’t like brandy, Craddock.’
‘Drink it. Drink it.’
‘But I . . .’ She felt his hand shake as he handed it to her and decided not to cross him. It tasted foul to her, but at the same time she welcomed its warmth and hoped it might settle the queasiness that had afflicted her when she’d heard that mocking laughter. Too terrible to describe was the appalling sensation of unease that had almost overcome her when they’d mocked him. It was a kind of concerted, primeval bellow, which boded nothing but ill. Perhaps if she’d gone down and stood beside him that might have diffused the anger. But hindsight was all well and good, she hadn’t.
Craddock went to sit in one of his big leather chairs, cradling his glass in his hand. ‘My God! I seem to be doing a lot of apologizing lately and it’s not in my blood to do so. You listened?’ Kate nodded. ‘Of course you did.’
‘You’re repairing her house then?’
‘Every stick and stone of it. Look where it’s got me. Threatened on my own doorstep.’
‘They’ll calm down. You’ll see.’
‘It’s been like this before but with our villagers. That lot tonight seem evil to me.’
‘They’ll have calmed down by tomorrow, you wait and see.’
Kate watched the unnatural colour in his face settle to its usual pallor.
‘I don’t need to say this to you, but there is nothing between Mrs Bliss and me. All I wanted to do was to please you.’
‘I feel ashamed that you feel the need to reassure me. Of course I know there isn’t, it never crossed my mind. But I’m grateful that you are attending to her house. It will make such a difference and I love you for it.’
‘I didn’t mean you to know until it was finished. You see, when I went to the house and saw . . . Anyway, that’s for another time. If there’s something you’d rather be doing, I’ll sit here a while longer.’
‘If it’s all right, I’ll stay with you.’
There was nothing more to say on the matter without repeating herself so she sat silently, thinking. That he’d done as she asked amused her. Secretly repairing the house without telling her was, in its own way, an acknowledgement that he had heeded her good sense and her compassion. But there was something more
behind it, a further reason to do with his past perhaps, the past he didn’t feel able to tell her about.
Peter learned on the village grapevine of the incident up at Turnham House and was seriously worried. He’d had to deal with stone-throwing and threats when those two crazy sisters, Gwen and Beryl Baxter, had locked Flick Charter-Plackett in the cupboard under their stairs. Windows broken, threats, an unparalled outbreak of community anger. And here they were again, except this time it was people from Little Derehams. Since, pastorally, they were under his care, he decided to take steps.
‘Caroline! If I’m not back for lunch, send out a search party.’
‘Why? Where are you going?’
‘To Little Derehams.’
‘Whoops! You make it sound as though you are going to Outer Mongolia.’
‘Feels like it after their protest march. What can they be thinking of?’
‘They’re jealous, that’s why.’
‘Jealous of Mrs Bliss? For heaven’s sakes, the woman’s very existence is in jeopardy.’
‘Greedy?’
‘Yes, you’re right. Greedy. They were only too glad to sell to Craddock when he wanted to buy.’
‘Exactly. You’ll need the patience of Job and the wisdom of Solomon.’
‘Can’t believe that old Fitch has set about improving her house. I wonder what made him do it?’
Caroline grinned at him. ‘The threat of Social Services knocking at his door? More likely marriage has made him soft in the head.’
Peter looked doleful. ‘I can sympathize.’
‘Peter!’
‘I can. I’ve been soft in the head ever since I met you.’
‘I can’t say I’ve noticed.’
‘No. But I do things I wouldn’t previously have done.’
‘What, for instance?’
‘You’re the only person who can distract me when I’m taking a service. I catch your eye and my concentration goes into a spin. Anyone else’s eye and I have no reaction at all.’
Caroline laughed. ‘I don’t believe that. Off you go. Good luck.’
He stepped close to her, took her in his arms and kissed her, gripping her so tightly she could scarcely breathe.
‘Peter! Please! Not this time in the morning. Sylvia’s here.’
‘I’d forgotten.’ Peter listened and heard the vacuum cleaner running upstairs. ‘We’re all right for a moment.’ He kissed her again, a kiss that set her pulse racing.
When he released her, Caroline said. ‘Ooh, Rector! You’ve made me quite breathless.’
They both laughed.
‘I’ll be back tonight then.’ Peter took hold of her hands and pulled her to him again. He hugged her. ‘And that’s a promise.’
‘Rector! You are a one!’
He left through the back door to go to the garage at the end of Pipe and Nook Lane. As he shut the garden gate behind him he waved to his wife and she waved back, wondering if it wasn’t only Peter who’d gone soft in the head; she loved him so much and was capable of forgiving him anything at all to have him beside her every day.
Peter drove to Little Derehams, thinking about what he was going to say to his parishioners. He’d begin by talking to Louise Johns, as she and Gilbert owned the only house in the village not bought by Mr Fitch. Perhaps she’d have a clear idea of exactly what was behind the protest last night.
Louise appeared to be knee-deep in babies. What a contrast to the Louise he’d known when she was Village Show secretary and had fallen, as she thought, in love with him.
‘Good morning, Louise. Called at the wrong moment, haven’t I?’
‘Come in. It’s always the wrong moment in our home. We really need a house twice the size. Come in, mind where you step.’
She did right to warn him of the dangers underfoot. There were toys strewn all over the living-room floor, to say nothing of pieces of archaelogical specimens belonging to Gilbert’s work. Their newest baby lay in a Moses basket on a low table, two toddlers were trotting about holding toys the other wanted, and someone who looked almost ready for the village playgroup was playing a xylophone quite tunefully.
Above the noise, Peter said, nodding towards the musician, ‘He sounds quite musical. Takes after his father?’
Louise, slimmer and more outgoing than before her marriage, nodded. ‘You’re right. Gilbert is delighted. To what do I owe this visit? Is it about the one hundred and fifty year celebrations at the school? Gilbert’s terribly keen to get stuck in.’
‘No. I don’t know anything about any celebrations.’
‘Big party, I understand, and a special church service, with your permission, of course, and there is a whisper that the mayor from Culworth will be invited.’
‘No one’s said anything to me at all. I’ll have to see Kate about it. No, what I came to see you about was the protest at Turnham House the other night. I wondered if you had some inside information and could enlighten me, seeing as you and Gilbert are the only ones not to be involved.’
Louise separated the two toddlers arguing over the toys by diverting their attention to a Noah’s ark lying abandoned on the table. ‘All I know is that they are angry because Fitch is repairing the Blisses’ cottage. It desperately needed it, it wasn’t fit to live in quite frankly, and of course everyone else is asking why not theirs. But their cottages are not in the same desperate state. It is, or rather was, appalling, but now they all fancy double glazing and new bathrooms and quite a few would like a new kitchen too.’
‘So, basically, it’s envy and greed.’
‘Put bluntly, yes it is.’
‘It got quite nasty, I understand.’
‘I don’t know. I’ve been so busy and Gilbert took his namesake to nursery this morning so I didn’t get a chance to chat.’
Peter said, ‘I’ll leave you to it, Louise. Thanks for the help. I’m going to see as many as I can this morning. Hopefully I might be able to cool matters a little.’
‘It’ll be an uphill struggle, I’m afraid. They’re very determined.’
It was indeed an uphill struggle.
Reason had flown out of the window so far as the other villagers were concerned, no matter how Peter argued that of course they couldn’t expect to have work done on improving their houses without the rent going up and that Mr Fitch had offered to sell them back their houses.
‘But look how the market’s changed. These houses are worth at least twice what he paid us, and none of us has that kind of money. It’s not fair. No, not fair at all. But we’ll get our own back. We have plans.’ Their plans involved a lot of tapping of the sides of noses with their mouths clamped tightly shut.
Peter made no headway at all, and he left Little Derehams sick to the heart at their intransigence. His next call was to the school. He often popped in and always tried to make it at a time when Kate was free from teaching, but this morning he’d misjudged it entirely. She was deeply involved so he went to sit in her small office to wait for her.
Eventually the bell rang for break and she came bursting in, apologizing. ‘So sorry to have kept you waiting. Just so busy. What can I do for you?’
‘I came to hear your version of what happened the other night.’
‘The protest, you mean? It was frightening, really alarming. They meant business. They were very angry and of course it suited them to go away with completely the wrong idea about Craddock and Mrs Bliss.’
Peter looked surprised.
‘They assume that there is something going on between them and that’s why he’s improving the house. In fact, he’s doing it up because I asked him to, after what you and Caroline had said. We were both shocked.’
‘I’m not surprised you were. I’d no idea . . . I’ve been to see those who are at home this morning and they’re all saying just wait and see what happens next. Louise says it’s sheer greed motivating them.’
‘It is. Since he bought all their houses he’s done lots of things to improve their village but of course none of that
counts, does it? It’s very soul-destroying.’
Peter asked about the celebrations.
‘Have I not told you? I’m so sorry, I seem to have had such a lot on my mind these last few weeks. Yes, we’re planning big celebrations. I’m working on a souvenir brochure, and we’re trying to contact all the people who’ve been pupils here in the past. The mayor has promised to come, and Muriel suggested a service in the church. She thought of loudspeakers relaying it to the church hall because there’ll be so many people there. Yes, it’s going to be very exciting.’
‘Sounds marvellous. Let me in on your plans, what weekend and such, and certainly it would be great to have a service on the Sunday. In general, I expect the bulk of the people will come on the Saturday.’
‘I would think so. And do you know, Muriel has the address of the old man who was headmaster before the headmaster before Michael.’ She clicked her fingers trying to remember his surname. ‘Michael Palmer, yes, that’s right. The old man’s name is Godfrey Browning, he’s ninety-five and has all his onions at home. His wife’s still alive and she’s coming too, and his grandson is bringing them. Isn’t that lovely? We’re going to invite Michael Palmer and his wife too, of course, though he won’t see that much change, will he, having left only recently? But old Mr Browning certainly will. I’m very excited about it.’
Happily reeling off all her plans for the celebrations, Kate didn’t notice that Peter was not responding in the slightest. If anything, he was distinctly withdrawn.
Margaret Booth came in with coffee for them both but he refused it. ‘Got to be in Penny Fawcett in twenty minutes for a meeting, so mustn’t stop. Thanks all the same.’
Kate said, ‘When I’ve finalized everything, you’ll be the first to know. It’ll be the last weekend of the summer term.’
Peter opened the door, intent on leaving quickly, then turned back to say, ‘Take care, Kate. Don’t let Craddock take the protest lightly.’
Intrigue in the Village (Turnham Malpas 10) Page 15