by Miss Read
Before long she was skirting Lulling Woods and beginning to feel tired. There was no doubt about it, she could not walk the distances she once had done. She resolved to call on her old and eccentric friend, Dotty Harmer, whose cottage was now in sight. She had much to talk about, and she might even mention this worrying business of Richard's move. Sometimes Dotty was uncommonly shrewd, despite her odd ways.
The door was opened by Connie, Dotty's niece. Her husband, Kit Armitage, stood beside her.
'What a lovely surprise!'
'I'm having the first stroll of the year,' said Winnie. 'How's Dotty?'
'Waiting for her coffee,' said Connie. 'Go into the sitting-room and I'll bring it in.'
Dotty was sitting on the sofa looking remarkably like the scarecrow Winnie had just passed in a neighbouring field, but her eyes were bright and her voice welcoming.
'Winnie! I've just been talking about you and dear Donald.'
For one dreadful moment Winnie wondered if Dotty still thought that Donald was alive. She had these lapses of memory which could be most disconcerting for those trying to carry on a conversation. This time, luckily, all was well.
'I remember how good he was to old Mrs Curdle. Is her grandson still with the Youngs?'
This was splendid, thought Winnie relaxing. Dotty was definitely on the ball this morning. She accepted the cup of coffee which Connie offered and sat back to enjoy it.
'We hear Agnes and Dorothy are off,' said Kit. 'They'll be missed.'
'Betty Bell told us,' added Dotty. She moved some crochet work from her lap and stuck the hook behind her ear like a pencil. It gave her an even more rakish appearance than usual.
'What's more to the point,' she said, 'how is Albert Piggott? I've got all sorts of jobs waiting here for him to do, and I suppose he's still ill, as we don't see him.'
Winnie said that as far as she knew Doctor Lovell was still attending him.
'A nice boy,' conceded Dotty, pulling up her skirt and exposing stick-like legs festooned in wrinkled stockings. She scrabbled in the leg of her knickers, which at a cursory glance appeared to be constructed of whipcord, and produced a man's khaki handkerchief.
'But not a patch on your Donald, of course.' She blew her nose with a loud trumpeting sound, replaced the handkerchief and covered her legs again.
'Kit's made a lovely little pond for the ducks, Winnie. You must see it. I want Albert to put in some irises and other water plants.'
'You know I can do that,' said Kit. 'No bother.'
'No, I want Albert to do it. He's good with such things and I want the angle right when the sun's overhead. Ducks like shade, you know. Albert understands their needs.'
Kit smiled at Winnie and shook his head. How patient he and Connie were, thought Winnie, with this lovable but infuriating old aunt.
'Now, I want to hear all about Richard's new house. Where is it?'
'Nowhere, as far as I know,' replied Winnie. 'Obviously you know that he hopes to find something in these parts. He asked me to put him up while he looked around.'
'And is he going to do that?' asked Connie.
'No. I don't think so. John was rather firm about it and, to tell the truth, I can't face Richard for an indefinite time, fond of him as I am. But I should like to see him settled somewhere near by, so if you hear of anything do tell me.'
'I hear Nod Hall is on the market,' said Dotty, picking up her crochet again and looking about wildly for the hook. Connie rose without a word, removed it from her aunt's hair and handed it to her.
'But surely,' said Kit, 'that's got about twelve bedrooms, a lake and eighty acres!'
'He could always marry again,' said Dotty, 'and have a large family. I think it's such a pity that people don't have more children these days. Leave it too late, I suppose. I mean, gals got married at eighteen or so when I was young and had about six by the time they were thirty. Much healthier, I'm sure.'
'Nowadays, Dotty, the girls have to go out to work before they can make a home. And large families need large incomes.'
'Perhaps we could have him here,' said Dotty brightly. 'As a lodger.'
'No!' said Kit and Connie in unison. 'He wouldn't want that!'
'And neither should we,' Kit added. 'But we'll keep our ears open, Winnie, in case we hear of anything. Now come and see the pond.'
Farewells were made, and Winnie followed her friend into the garden, much refreshed by her rest, the coffee and the encounter with the resilient Dotty.
The mild weather meant that the children of Thrush Green school could play outside, much to the relief of the staff.
Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty paced the playground together, smiling indulgently upon their charges.
'I had a brainwave in bed last night, Agnes. I think I shall take driving lessons.'
Agnes could not believe that she had heard aright, which was more than possible as two little boys were being Harrier jets and making almost as much noise as the real thing, not three yards from her.
'I'm sorry, I didn't catch what you said.'
'Driving lessons!' shouted Dorothy fortissimo. 'It would be so useful to have a little car at Barton. We could have trips here and there.'
She broke off and bent to face one of the Harrier jets. 'Go away!' she bellowed. Looking pained, the child shuffled off with his fellow.
'But don't you have to have a test?' queried Agnes. She felt some alarm at this idea of Dorothy's.
'I shan't,' said her friend, with some satisfaction. 'I learnt, you know, when I first started teaching, and have kept up my licence luckily.'
She looked at her watch and raised a whistle to her lips. At the first blast the children stood still, with a few exceptions. Two of them were the disgruntled Harrier jets, but a quelling glance from their headmistress soon brought them to a standstill.
The second blast sent them all running to lines and the third set them walking into school. Really, thought Agnes, watching these manoeuvres, Dorothy is a wonderful organiser! Of course, one was bound to get one or two naughty little things, like John Todd who pushed, but on the whole Thrush Green children were very well disciplined. How she would miss them!
She shelved the troublesome problem of Dorothy's latest brainwave, and followed her class indoors.
4. Spring Plans
IF little Miss Fogerty had hoped that Dorothy's wild idea of taking driving lessons would pass, then she was to be disappointed.
Her headmistress brought up the subject again with great enthusiasm that evening.
'I could brush up my driving skills while we are still here, you see, and get some advice about the most suitable car to buy.'
'But won't that cost a great deal of money? And there is the insurance and licensing and so on.' Agnes was becoming agitated.
'I've thought of all that. I have quite a nice little nest egg, and an insurance policy that matured last Christmas. And then think of the money we should save in fares!'
Agnes nodded doubtfully.
'We could actually drive down to Barton to look at properties,' went on Dorothy. 'Every weekend, if need be. And it would mean that we have more scope in choosing a place down there, if we don't have to rely completely on buses or our two feet. Don't you like the idea, Agnes?' She spoke kindly, knowing her old friend's timid ways and her dislike of anything new.
'If you are quite happy about it, Dorothy,' she said slowly. 'But I was thinking not only of the expense, and of course I should like to pay my share, but whether you would feel up to facing all the dreadful traffic about these days. After all, it was some thirty years ago that you started to drive. Things were much more peaceful.'
'Now, Agnes, just listen to me! This car will be mine, and I can well afford to run it, so don't worry about that side of things. As for the traffic, well, one sees plenty of people driving who are far older than we are. I'm quite sure that I can cope with that.'
Agnes remembered, with a shudder, seeing Dotty Harmer tacking to and fro across the hill from Lulling, when that l
ady owned a car for a mercifully short time. And Dorothy's own brother, Ray, had spent some time in hospital as the result of a car accident.
But there it was. If Dorothy was set upon having a car then who was she to try and stop her? And surely she would have guidance and advice from whoever would be teaching her?
'Who would you ask to give you lessons?' she enquired.
'Well, I know Reg Bull has taught a number of people, and of course he knows a great deal about cars as a garage owner, but I'm not too sure about him.'
'He is getting rather old,' agreed Agnes. 'And sometimes the worse for liquor, I hear.'
'Quite. Also he might try to sell us a car that is not quite suitable. One that he has had in stock for some time, say, and can't get rid of. We have to face the fact, Agnes dear, that some men are inclined to take advantage of ladies if they think that they are gullible.'
Agnes nodded her agreement.
'Would it be a good idea to have a word with the rector?'
Dorothy gave one of her famous snorts.
'Charles Henstock is a living saint, my dear, and if I had any spiritual doubts he would be the first person I should turn to. But he doesn't know a carburettor from a sparking plug, and I doubt if he has even looked under the bonnet of his car.'
'What about Harold?'
'Ah now!' said Dorothy speculatively. 'That's a different kettle of fish altogether! Harold really knows about cars, and what's more, he may know of someone really reliable to give driving lessons. What a brilliant idea of yours, Agnes!'
Little Miss Fogerty basked in her friend's approbation. Now that she was getting used to this novel idea, she realised how much dear Dorothy was looking forward to owning a car again.
In any case, there was nothing that she could do to stop her. Far better to agree with good grace. And Harold Shoosmith, she felt sure, would be a tower of strength and wisdom in this new adventure.
While the two schoolteachers were considering the question of driving lessons, the three Miss Lovelocks at Lulling were making a momentous decision.
This was really the result of Dimity Henstock's morning visit. The sisters had told her of their domestic problems and Dimity had been unusually forthright in giving her advice.
'For a start,' she said, 'book a table regularly for lunch next door.'
'What! Every day?' exclaimed Miss Ada.
'The expense!' echoed Miss Bertha.
'Not every day,' conceded Dimity. 'Say once or twice a week. And then shut up the attics here and the bedrooms that are not in use. That will save fuel and cleaning.'
She looked about the vast chilly drawing-room, littered with occasional tables, unnecessary chairs and a never-used grand piano.
'I'd be inclined to close this too,' she said decisively. 'Your kitchen and dining-room are much the pleasantest places in the house.'
'But one can't live in the kitchen!' protested Ada.
'And we should miss the view of the street,' added Bertha.
Miss Violet spoke at last. She was the youngest of the three, and less hidebound in her ways. 'I think Dimity's ideas are right. We ought to use The Fuchsia Bush more. After all, we aren't exactly short of money.'
Miss Ada drew in her breath sharply. 'You know mother always said that it was vulgar to mention money, Violet. In any case, there is such a thing as thrift, though one doesn't hear a great deal about it these days.'
She inclined herself towards Dimity. 'Thank you, my dear, for your advice. We will consider it most carefully.'
'Yes, indeed,' echoed Bertha.
Violet gave a conspiratorial smile, as she showed Dimity to the door.
Later, the matter had been discussed with great earnestness.
'I think,' said Ada, 'that we might go to The Fuchsia Bush on Wednesdays - and perhaps Thursdays - for our luncheon. The Sunday roast usually lasts through Monday and Tuesday.'
The Sunday roast at the Lovelocks' establishment was never anything so splendid as a round of beef or leg of lamb. Often it was breast of lamb stuffed and rolled or, as a treat, half a shoulder of that animal. Occasionally in the summer, a small piece of forehock of bacon was eaten cold with an uninspiring salad from the garden. How any of these meagre joints afforded meals for three days for the three sisters was one of the wonders of Lulling.
'What about Fridays and Saturdays?' queried Bertha.
'We can do as we normally do,' responded Ada. 'Something on toast, such as a poached egg. And the herrings are looking very good at the moment. To think we once called them "penny herrings", girls!'
The three sisters nodded sadly, mentally visualising the dear dead days of long ago.
'Then shall we settle for Wednesday and Thursday?' said Violet briskly, the first to return to the present day. 'I will go to see Mrs Peters tomorrow morning, if you agree, and give a standing order.'
Her two sisters nodded.
'But I certainly shan't dream of doing as Dimity suggested about shutting up the drawing-room! The very idea! There's no room to sit in the dining-room, and in any case all our best pieces are in the drawing-room.'
'And the window looking over the street,' said Bertha. 'One must keep in touch with what's afoot.'
'Absolutely!' said Violet. 'But I think shutting the attics and the second spare bedroom is a good idea.'
'Well,' replied Ada doubtfully, 'we must bear it in mind. I'm sure Dimity's suggestions were made with the highest motives. But one doesn't want to rush things.'
'Perhaps,' said Violet, beginning to wonder if matters were not slipping back into general apathy, 'it would be a good idea to bob into The Fuchsia Bush now before Mrs Peters closes.'
'Very well,' said Ada. 'But make it quite clear that we shall need only a light luncheon. Our digestions won't stand a great deal.'
'Nor our purses,' added Bertha, as Violet made her way into the hall to fetch her coat, hat and gloves.
Tho Fuchsia Bush might only be next door, but a lady did not walk in the High Street at Lulling improperly dressed.
Albert Piggott's first venture outside after his illness did not involve a long journey. He simply took a few paces northward from his own front door to the shelter of The Two Pheasants.
Mr Jones, a kindly man, greeted him cheerfully. 'Well, this is more like it, Albert! How are you then? And what can I get you?'
'I'm pickin' up,' growled Albert. 'Slowly, mind you. I bin real bad this time.'
'Well, we're none of us getting any younger. Takes us longer to get back on an even keel. Half a pint?'
'Make it a pint. I needs buildin' up, Doctor says.'
'Well, your Nelly'll do that for you,' said the landlord heartily, setting a foaming glass mug before his visitor. 'I hear she's doing wonders down at Lulling.'
'That ain't here though, is it?' responded Albert nastily. He wiped the froth from his mouth with the back of his hand, and then transferred it to the side of his trousers.
'You going to get back to work?' enquired Mr Jones, changing the subject diplomatically.
'Not yet. Still under the doctor, see. Young Cooke can pull his weight for a bit. Won't hurt him.'
At that moment Percy Hodge entered and Mr Jones was glad to have another customer to lighten the gloom.
'Wotcher, Albie! You better then?' said Percy.
'No,' said Albert.
'Don't look too bad, do he?' said Percy, appealing to the landlord.
'Ah!' said he non-committally. If he agreed it would only give Albert a chance to refute such an outrageous suggestion, and maybe lead to the disclosure of various symptoms of his illness, some downright revolting, and all distasteful.
On the other hand, if he appeared sympathetic to Albert claiming that he still looked peaky and should take great care during his convalescence, the results might still be the same, and Albert's descriptions of his ills were not the sort of thing one wished to hear about in a public place.
Mr Jones, used to this kind of situation, betook himself to the other end of the room, dusted a few
high shelves and listened to his two clients.
Percy Hodge had a small farm along the road to Nidden. He was related to Mrs Jenner, but had nowhere near the resourcefulness and energy of that worthy lady.
His first wife Gertie had died some years earlier. For a time he had attempted to court Jenny, at Winnie Bailey's, but was repulsed. He then married again, but his second wife had left him. Since then, he had been paying attention to one of the Cooke family, sister to the young Cooke who looked after the church at Thrush Green and its churchyard.
'Still on your own?' asked Albert, dying to know how Percy's amorous affairs were progressing.
'That's right,' said Percy. 'And better off, I reckon. Women are kittle-cattle.'
From this, Albert surmised that the Cooke girl was not being co-operative.
'Here I am,' went on Percy morosely, 'sound in wind and limb. Got a nice house, and a good bit of land, and a tidy bit in Lulling Building Society. You'd think any girl'd jump at the chance.'
'Girls want more than that,' Albert told him.
'How d'you mean?'
'They want more fussing like. Take her some flowers.'
'I've took her some flowers.'
'Chocolates then.'
'I've took her chocolates.'
'Well, I don't know,' said Albert, sounding flummoxed. 'Something out of the garden, say.'
'I've took her onions, turnips, leeks and a ridge cucumber last summer. Didn't do a ha'p'orth of good.'
'Maybe you're not loving enough. Girls read about such stuff in books. Gives 'em silly ideas. Makes them want looking after. They wants attention. They wants - '
He broke off searching for the right word.
'Wooing!' shouted Mr Jones, who could bear it no longer.
'Ah! That's right! Wooing, Perce.'
Percy looked scandalised. 'I'm not acting soppy for any girl and that's flat. If they turns down flowers and chocolates and all the rest, then I don't reckon they're worth bothering about. If they don't like me, they can leave me!'
'That's just what they are doing,' pointed out Albert. 'I take it you're still hanging around that Cooke piece as is no better'n she should be.'