(8/20) Mrs. Pringle of Fairacre

by Miss Read

  It was good to see Amy, as always. She arrived at ten past four, complete with plums and crumpets, so that I did not have to organise a search party as we had feared.

  The car was discreetly opulent as befitted a tycoon's wife and I was greatly intrigued with the automatic controls.

  'Jolly useful if you break your left leg,' I said, 'or your left arm for that matter.'

  'It might well be your right, of course,' commented Amy, 'or both. Then what would you do?'

  'I should sell it, and put the money aside for taxis,' I told her. 'Let's go and toast these crumpets.'

  'Now tell me what was worrying you yesterday,' said Amy later, licking a buttery finger.

  I told her about the Russell children and Mr Willet's gloomy forecast.

  'Well, that's something that's been hanging over you for years,' she said. 'The snag is, you'd have to give up this house, I suppose.'

  'I don't think I should actually be thrown out. I'd have plenty of time to look around. The office is pretty humane, and I've been here for long enough for them to know me.'

  I always feel guilty about keeping my secret from Amy, but I stick to the sensible principle of letting no one - no matter how trustworthy - learn of something which one does not want disclosed. In all innocence it can be let out, and it is a burden which one should not lay on anyone's shoulders. The old adage: 'Least said, soonest mended' is one I live by, and as a villager it is doubly true. Of course, this is a puny adversary compared with the local grapevine but it is a useful principle to adopt.

  'You should have bought something years ago,' said Amy, with a return of her usual bossy tone.

  'I know,' I said meekly.

  'Well, if you do get the push,' she continued, helping herself to another crumpet, 'there's always our spare bedroom. The curtains clash rather with the carpet, but I don't suppose you'd notice.'

  As we washed up, she admired a large bowl of red and green tomatoes which Alice Willet had brought for me.

  'For chutney?' she asked.

  'Only the green ones. I shall freeze a few of the red ones, and have a feast for the next few days with the others. Would you like some?'

  'Please. It's funny, I could never bear tomatoes as a child, or beetroot, or swedes. Now I dote on all three.'

  'I can't face the last,' I said, 'nothing more than shredded soap. We get far too many swedes at school dinners during the winter, but thank heaven the children like them.'

  'When you are out of work,' said Amy, hanging up the tea towel, 'and begging in the wintry streets of Caxley, you'll be glad of a nice plate of hot swedes handed out at the soup kitchen.'

  'I'll just ask for the soup.'

  'You'll have what you are given,' Amy told me severely, 'as our mothers used to say.'

  'As long as our benefactors don't add that old bit about "thousands of poor children",' I answered, 'I'll accept anything gratefully, but I draw the line at swedes.'

  It was about this time that Mrs Pringle's limp became so apparent that I was impelled to ask after her leg.

  'Too much to do. that's my trouble,' she told me. 'Top and bottom of it is Minnie.'

  'Hasn't Ern come back?'

  'No. He's still in Caxley, and the worst of it is that Bert's hanging around her again - always was dead set on Minnie.'

  'She must send him packing.'

  'Fat chance of that. I can see the girl's lonely without Ern, but she's far too soft to give Bert the push. And what's more, she's everlasting coming up to my place, mooning about with all those kids. I've had more than enough, I can tell you. The minute I finds out where Ern is in Caxley I'm going to fetch him back.'

  'Can't the police trace him?'

  'No one wants to get mixed up with the police,' she said, with such disgust that one felt that she looked upon that noble force as being on a par with some virulent germ.

  'Well, I should make sure Minnie doesn't worry you,' I said, 'after all, you haven't got your strength back yet from the operation.'

  This seemed to mollify the lady, and she nodded her head in agreement.

  'Well, we must see what comes to pass,' she said, attacking my Victorian ink stand with a dab of Brasso.

  What came to pass was the appearance of Mrs Pringle, a few days later, with a scratch on one cheek, bruises on her face, and a bump on her head.

  'Have you had a fall?' I asked, much alarmed. 'I think you should see a doctor.'

  'No need for that. These wounds was come by in Righteous Battle,' she replied. 'And my enemy come off worse, I can tell you.'

  'But who?'

  She settled herself on the front desk and folded her arms across the flowered overall which is her working garb.

  'It was like this. Minnie suddenly let out that Ern was staying in Caxley with - you'll never guess!'

  She looked at me bright-eyed.

  'His mother?' I hazarded.

  She snorted with disgust.

  'Ern's mother has been dead these ten years. No, I tell a lie. Must be nearer twelve, because she came to the chapel centenary, and very poorly she looked then, we all thought.'

  'Then I've no idea,' I said firmly. I set about looking for a pen knife I needed in the desk drawer. This withdrawal of my interest spurred Mrs Pringle into action again.

  'That Mrs Fowler! You know, as used to be at Tyler's Row before it was prettied up. I never could stand that woman, and she was proper insulting to me on more than one occasion.'

  'Did Minnie get in touch with her somehow?'

  'No. I said I'd get in touch!' Mrs Pringle's tone was triumphant. 'That Minnie wouldn't say boo to a goose. But the minute she told me Ern was there as a lodger - so-called - I thought I'll get that fellow back before the night's out. I've had enough of Minnie and her tribe under my feet all day. If Ern's back, he'll have to look after them, and he can see off that good-for-nothing Bert who's hanging round Minnie all the time, and confusing her.'

  In my opinion, Minnie's state of confusion is permanent, but I forbore to comment.

  'So,' said Mrs Pringle, sitting down heavily on the creaking desk, 'I caught the Caxley and went straight to her place. When she opened the door I said I wanted Ern and wasn't going until she handed him over.'

  'Was he there then? I should have thought he would be at work.'

  Mrs Pringle tut-tutted at this interruption, and I fell silent.

  'She said she hadn't got him, had never wanted him, he never paid the rent, and he was at "The Barleycorn" round the corner. And then she said something so rude about me I wouldn't soil my lips by repeating. So I slapped her face.'

  'That was very ...' I paused, not knowing whether to say 'brave' or 'foolhardy', and Mrs Pringle rushed on.

  'So she grabbed at me and that's where I got this nasty scratch on my face, the vixen. It was then I clawed out a good handful of her hair. She shrieked something terrible, but I told her she'd asked for it.'

  Joseph Coggs put his head round the classroom door at this point, asking if he could ring the bell. We waved him away.

  'I was just going down the path to the gate when that besom opened the top window and flung Ern's case out. It hit me on the top of my head. Might have killed me as I told her at the time. That's what brought up this wicked great lump on my head.'

  'Did you find Ern?'

  'I did indeed. He was at "The Barleycorn" all right, with a lot of his layabout cronies. I shoved the case at him and brought him home. Just caught the last Fairacre luckily.'

  My mind boggled at such meekness on Em's part, and I said so.

  'I never had a mite of trouble with him,' Mrs Pringle said, standing up and stroking down her flowered overall. 'Ern's a great coward for all his bluster. To tell the truth, I reckon I went there at just the right time. He and Mrs Fowler was at loggerheads already, and he was scared to go back there, I reckon. That woman can be quite violent at times.'

  I looked at Mrs Pringle's battle scars and agreed.

  'So you think he'll settle down again with Minnie?'
r />   'Who's to say?' She began to set off for the lobby. 'But I done my bit last night. It's up to them to make it up.'

  A rare smile crossed her battered countenance.

  'One thing, that Mrs Fowler won't be feeling too grand today. I smote her good and proper, like they did the wicked in the Bible.'

  'Tell Joe he can come in and ring the bell,' I called after her.

  And about time too, I thought, looking at the clock.

  I had just returned to the school house that afternoon, and had decided to light the fire as a nasty little cold wind had blown up when I heard tapping at the back door.

  There stood Minnie Pringle. For once, she was unencumbered with a pram and toddlers. She looked remarkably waif-like shivering in the wind.

  'Come in,' I cried. 'Do you want Mrs Pringle? She doesn't come here on a Friday, you know.'

  'Auntie don't know about me coming,' she replied.

  'Sit down, while I put a match to this fire,' I said.

  She obeyed, sitting primly on the edge of a Victorian buttoned chair which is liable to tip forward unless its occupier sits well back.

  I pointed this out to Minnie but it seemed to have no meaning to her, and she remained dangerously perched.

  'Well, what brings you here today, Minnie? And where are the children?'

  'My mum at Springbourne has 'em Friday afternoons. She does the ironing from the Manor then. She irons lovely.'

  'Lovelily,' I corrected automatically, ever the teacher. It did not sound right.

  'Beautifully,' I amended hastily.

  'That's right. Lovely,' agreed Minnie. I let it pass.

  'Ern's back,' she said, after a pause.

  'Good,' I said, wondering whether to commiserate or congratulate.

  'Bert don't like it,' she added.

  This, I felt, was hardly surprising, but made a noncommittal noise. I was tired, cold and dying for a cup of tea.

  'I'm about to make tea,' I said, facing the fact that Minnie would be with me for some time yet, 'would you like a cup?'

  'Lovely,' said Minnie. 'Shall I help?'

  'No, no. You sit there and get warm.'

  I looked at the lightweight suit she was wearing. It was a dazzling turquoise blue with grubby white trimmings. Her stick-like arms, mottled with the cold, protruded from the sleeves. It could have done with Minnie's mother's ironing expertise.

  'You should have put on a coat,' I said, as I waited for the kettle to come to my rescue.

  'It's on the baby's pram,' she replied. Whether it was there to keep the baby warm, or because Minnie had put it there and forgotten to retrieve it, I was never to know, for the kettle whistled and I attended to my duties as hostess.

  Over our steaming cups and a ginger biscuit apiece, Minnie became more relaxed.

  'I wondered if I could come and work for you Fridays,' she said.

  My heart sank.

  'Isn't there somewhere nearer to find work?' I said, playing for time. 'Surely you used to have a job at Springbourne Manor?'

  'They don't want nobody at that house,' she said.

  And I don't want nobody at this house, I thought. It all seemed pretty hard. Dash it all, I already suffered Mrs Pringle on a Wednesday. To have Friday afternoon commandeered as well was really rather much. In any case, what on earth could I let Minnie do which she could manage without causing irreparable damage? I had faced this problem before, with small success.

  'You see,' said Minnie, placing her tea-cup in the hearth by the side, rather than on the saucer, 'I run up a bill at Springbourne Stores when Em was away, and I needs the money.'

  'Can't Ern pay it?'

  'He says I done it and I got to pay it back.'

  I looked at the pinched face, the tousled red hair, the cheap flimsy shoes. She might have been taken for an under-nourished child of twelve, rather than a wife and mother of three.

  I began to feel my tough old heart softening a little. After all, she had had the initiative to walk from Springbourne and to apply for a job.

  'It's like this, Minnie,' I told her, 'I can really only afford to have you for an hour on a Friday. Your Aunt Maud does all that's really needed on Wednesday, as I'm sure you know.'

  'That'd suit me fine,' said Minnie, looking more cheerful.

  'And I'm not making it a permanent arrangement,' I went on, gaining strength. 'If you like to come, say, until we break up for Christmas, then you are welcome, but I don't want too much help over the holidays.'

  'What time?' said Minnie, beginning to stand up ready for departure. 'My cousin comes up to help in the garden at Mr Mawne's Friday afternoons. He'd give me a lift in his van. Has to be there at two o'clock.'

  'That will suit me,' I said, 'then you can go at three.'

  That way, I figured, I should not have to share the house with her. At the same time, I reminded myself, I should probably have to spend half an hour or so clearing up after Minnie's labours.

  A gust of wind flung a spattering of dry leaves against the window as I showed her to the door.

  'Lor!' said Minnie, flinching from the cold wind as we opened the back door.

  'Hang on,' I said, 'you'd better have a cardigan.'

  I scrabbled under the stairs in the cupboard which Mrs Pringle so greatly deplores, and emerged with a thick cardigan which was there with other garments waiting for the next local jumble sale.

  'Thanks ever so,' cried Minnie, when safely enveloped, 'I'll bring it back Friday. See you then.'

  She gave me her mad grin and teetered down the path in the dilapidated shoes.

  'Tibby,' I said to the cat who was stretched in comfort before the fire, 'I am not only an ass, but what Mr Willet rightly calls "a soft touch".'

  And what, I suddenly thought with alarm, should I say to Mrs Pringle?

  CHAPTER 12

  The End of the Year

  I need not have worried. Mrs Pringle knew all about Minnie's new job when our paths crossed on Monday morning, and she was far from pleased.

  'I suppose you knows what you are doing,' was her opening gambit, 'but what, pray, are you going to find for Minnie to do on a Friday?'

  This problem had been facing me over the weekend, and I trotted out a few ideas.

  'She can wash the porch floors,' I said, 'those quarry tiles are pretty tough. And she could do the kitchen floor while she's about it. It would save you doing it.'

  Mrs Pringle snorted. 'Minnie's not to be let loose on my kitchen floor, and anyway she'd ruin that squeegie-thing you got me. If Minnie does the kitchen floor, I goes, I tell you flat.'

  'Very well, if that's how you feel,' I said, with what dignity I could muster, 'but she's certainly going to do the porches. And I'm sure she could manage the brass and copper. And even the silver,' I added, getting bolder.

  'In that case, you'd have to put it out separate,' she said. 'Brasso, copper and brass one week. Silvo and the silver next, or you'll be in a fine old mess. Worse than usual, I mean,' she added vindictively.

  'Well, it's only for a few weeks,' I said, 'just up until Christmas. She seemed to need the money, and I thought it was very resourceful of her to come and try her luck.'

  'You'll rue it!' she said darkly, waddling off to the infants' room.

  For the next few Fridays I tried to nip across from the school to the house to see that Minnie was safely started on her set jobs. Washing the floors of the front and back porch she managed very well, but I had to be sure that she only used harmless but efficient soap liquid. This was the only bottle I left out for her, and I forbade her to take anything from the cleaning cupboard.

  I knew that she could not read, so hid such dangerous things as disinfectant, bleach and scouring agents in case she used - or even drank - them during her labours.

  By dint of putting out the Brasso, copper and brass together on the kitchen table one week, and Silvo and my meagre collection of silver and plated articles the next, as advised by Mrs Pringle, things went fairly smoothly, but there were some aspects of Minnie's
ministrations which I was unable to alter.

  Long before I had met her, she had been taught to wash her dusters and to leave them to dry before returning home. This excellent training had stuck in Minnie's feather brain, and the dusters were always spotless when I returned from school.

  Unfortunately, I was unable to get it into Minnie's thick skull that they should be hung on a little line outside the back door to dry. In Minnie's past, dusters were always put to dry indoors, and I found my own draped over the edge of the dining room table, the banisters, and even over the backs of upholstered chairs.

  I always intended to point this out to Minnie, but often, by the next Friday, I had forgotten. It was useless to leave notes for her as she could not read, but I had not really taken in the fact that she could not tell the time, until I found her still in the house well after the hour when she should have departed.

  'Well, I never sort of mastered the clock,' she said vaguely, implying that there were a great many other things which she had mastered in her time.

  'But how do you manage?' I enquired, genuinely interested.

  'I looks out for the Caxley,' she replied. 'It gets to the church about the hour.'

  'But not every hour,' I pointed out.

  'There's the kids coming out of school, too,' she explained.

  'It still seems rather hit and miss,' I said, 'and there are lots of places where you can't see the bus, or the children for that matter. Has Springbourne Church got a striking clock? Can you hear it at home?'

  'I never bothers to count,' replied Minnie. 'Sometimes I misses the first note or so.'

  It began to seem more and more difficult to me.

  'Actually,' said Minnie, 'I just asks somebody the time.'

  I did not have to wait long before the comments on Minnie Pringle's return arrived.

  Mr Willet was the first.

  'You could've knocked me down with a feather when Alice told me Minnie was back. "Never!" I said to her. "Miss Read had enough last time. She's got too much savvy to have Minnie back again." But there you are! I see you've been taken advantage of.'