Chapter Fifteen
The four o’clock bus from Wandlebury to Chevis Green was full of women who had been doing their week’s shopping. Roderick saw Sal safely in and placed the basket beside her.
“Good old basket!” said Roderick, smiling.
“Don’t wait,” said Sal. She knew all the women in the bus and was aware that they were interested in Roderick. (She could almost hear what they would say to each other when they got together over a cup of tea.)
“Don’t wait,” she repeated urgently. “Please, don’t wait.”
“All right—see you tomorrow afternoon,” said Roderick. He saluted smartly and walked away.
Sal watched him walk across the square; he looked strong and confident, sure of his own capacity to deal with any contingency that might arise. He was a real man, thought Sal, loving every inch of him…he turned the corner and was gone. Sal sighed. She would have liked to sit in silence and think about Roddy and try to arrange her thoughts. She still felt bewildered, almost incredulous of all that had happened. She felt tired and excited and slightly hysterical; the least thing would make her laugh—or cry—she wasn’t sure which. If only she could sit quietly and think things out…but, of course, she couldn’t. Silence and peace to think were denied her; she must pull herself together and join in the conversation or the women would think it odd.
Sal looked around and nodded and smiled to the women.
There was Mrs. Feather, the postman’s wife, and young Mrs. Trod, whose husband—a positive giant—was the local blacksmith; there was Mrs. Aleman, Mrs. Element, and nice fat Mrs. Bouse.
Mrs. Element was displaying a pair of stout black shoes she had bought for Bertie. She had stood in the queue for nearly an hour, but they were worth the trouble. “Just look!” said Mrs. Element, passing the shoes down the bus. “You don’t see shoes like that very often.”
“Not nowadays, you don’t,” agreed young Mrs. Trod, examining them carefully before passing them on.
“Reel leather,” said Mrs. Feather, regarding them with envious eyes. “They’d just about fit Tim. Terrible ’ard on shoes, Tim is.”
“Too big,” declared Mrs. Bouse. “Bertie’s twice the size of Tim; ’e’s grown so in the last year I declare I wouldn’t know ’im.”
This statement was merely rhetorical, of course, for Mrs. Bouse lived next door to the Elements (as we know), and saw Bertie every day of her life.
“I suppose you’ll be losing Bertie soon,” said Mrs. Feather, whose feathers were slightly ruffled by the belittlement of her son.
“No,” replied Mrs. Element. “Miss Sal is writing to ’is mother.”
Every eye was immediately focused upon Sal.
“I’ve written,” said Sal, nodding to Mrs. Element. “But of course we don’t know what she’ll say.”
“As long as you’ve written,” said Mrs. Element, with a satisfied air.
“I got onions,” declared Mrs. Aleman. “Well, I daresay you can smell them.”
“White’s had raisins—that seedless kind,” put in Mrs. Trod.
“And syrup, too,” asserted Mrs. Bouse. She sighed and added, “But it takes such a lot of points.”
“Two ’addocks,” Mrs. Feather was saying. “Two ’addocks, she got. I’d been standing in the queue for ’alf an hour, and ’e said ’e ’adn’t nothin’ but smoked cod…then she appears an’ ’e ’ands out two ’addocks from under the counter. Black market, that’s what it is.”
“Crule,” said Mrs. Bouse sympathetically.
“Where’s Miss Bodkin?” asked young Mrs. Trod, looking around the bus.
Mrs. Element smiled in a mysterious way. “Emma Bodkin went ’ome early,” she said.
Every eye turned to Mrs. Element (which was what she wanted, of course).
“’ow d’you know?” asked Mrs. Bouse.
“She told me ’erself. ‘I’m goin’ ’ome early,’ she said to me. ‘I’m goin’ to tea at Chevis Place.’ Pleased as punch, she was.”
There was silence in the bus. Sal had a feeling that if she had not been there, Mrs. Element’s piece of news would have roused a good deal of comment, favorable and otherwise.
“Today?” asked Mrs. Bouse, her curiosity getting the better of her.
“Today,” nodded Mrs. Element. “That’s why she went ’ome early…she’d been buying a new ’at.”
Mrs. Feather could not contain herself. She exclaimed, “Emma Bodkin buyin’ a new ’at! Whatever next?”
Everybody laughed at that and the tension was eased.
Sal was fond of all these women. They were her friends and usually she enjoyed their conversation and was able to join in it freely, but today, she could not find anything to say and she was thankful when the bus arrived at Chevis Green. The back door of the Vicarage was open. Sal went in and deposited her basket upon the kitchen table. She had expected to find Tilly in the kitchen, preparing supper, but the kitchen was empty…perhaps Tilly was in the scullery? Yes, somebody was there, for she could hear the water running.
“Hallo, Tilly!” she said, looking in at the door.
But it wasn’t Tilly, it was William—William with his coat off and his shirtsleeves rolled above his elbows, splashing about at the sink.
“I’m helping,” said William, turning his head and smiling at her. “I’m washing the teacups and saucers. Tilly had to go out on her bicycle with a note for Mr. Grace, so I said I would do it.”
“You ought to have an apron,” said Sal.
“It’s there,” said William, pointing to it. “Tilly tied it around me, but it was getting rather wet so I took it off.”
Sal laughed. It was a cheerful, chuckling laugh; a sound that had not been heard from Sal since the arrival of Aunt Rona.
“I know,” said William, smiling. “It does sound silly, but it’s such a pretty apron and I don’t mind about my clothes.”
“You should mind,” said Sal sternly.
William had paused in his self-appointed task and was looking at her curiously. “What happened?” he asked.
“What happened!” echoed Sal, in alarm.
“I mean did something delay you?”
“Oh, I see! Yes, I missed the bus.”
“Did you manage to get some lunch in Wandlebury?”
“Yes,” said Sal. “As a matter of fact, I had lunch with—with Roderick Herd.”
“Good,” said William, nodding.
“As a matter of fact, he made me miss the bus,” exclaimed Sal. “I mean I met him just as I was crossing the square, so—so I missed it, you see. So then he asked me to go and have lunch with him at the Apollo and Boot.”
“Very natural,” said William. “He couldn’t do anything else. Did you have a decent meal?”
“Yes…Oh, yes,” said Sal vaguely. She stood there, taking off her gloves very slowly, smiling in an abstracted sort of way. She was trying to remember what they had had for lunch…it was rather funny that she couldn’t remember…No, she couldn’t remember… .
“Have you had tea?” asked William.
“Tea?” said Sal, coming out of her trance. “Oh, tea! Yes…no, but I shan’t bother.” She pulled herself together with a perceptible effort and added in quite a different voice, “Well, this isn’t getting us anywhere. I had better go and change and give you a hand. You’re getting very domesticated, aren’t you, William?”
“I’m learning—a lot,” said William gravely.
Chapter Sixteen
The day following Sal’s shopping expedition to Wandlebury was Friday, of course. William rose early and was glad to see the sun shining. It was warm and there was a light mist on the hills that promised a lovely summer day. William put on his working clothes (which were even more shabby and shapeless than those he wore for leisure moments), breeches and gaiters, an old brown pullover, and a tweed jacket of nondesc
ript hue. His instruments were ready, neatly packed in a haversack. In everything connected with his work, William was methodical. Breakfast over, William set forth, but when he reached the gate, he heard Sal calling him and turned to see her running after him with a package in her hand.
“Your sandwiches!” cried Sal, a trifle breathlessly. “You left them lying on the table.”
“Oh, thank you,” said William. “You shouldn’t have bothered. You bother about me far too much.”
“You’re worth it,” declared Sal, smiling at him.
William looked at her thoughtfully. She was not only smiling, she was sparkling. Her eyes were bright as stars. It was pleasant to see Sal sparkling, very pleasant indeed, but…
“Perhaps you’ll see Liz,” said Sal, leaning on the gate.
“Quite likely,” replied William. “We often meet on a Friday. Is there any message?”
“Any message?”
“Any message for Liz,” William explained.
Sal looked a little taken aback at the question, yet surely it was quite a natural one. She hesitated and then said lightly, “Oh, if you see Liz give her my love.”
“I will,” said William gravely.
It was quite a long walk to the site where William was working, through fields, over hedges, following a little path through a wood and then breasting the slope of the hill. Sometimes William lingered, watching the birds—he was fond of birds and knew a good deal about them—but today he did not linger, for he wanted to put in a good two hours’ work before lunch. There had been heavy dew in the night and the earth smelled good; the grass was very green and full of little flowers. There were sheep on the hill today, hundreds of them, cropping the short sweet turf around the tumbled walls of the camp…clumsy creatures they were, but the lambs were delightfully agile and frisky. It seemed odd to William that such pretty creatures as lambs should grow so quickly into ugly sheep. It seemed wrong, somehow. He wondered what Mr. Grace would have to say on the subject. William had a tremendous respect for Mr. Grace, a respect mingled with very real affection. Like Rona, William had noticed that Mr. Grace worked extremely hard and had very little leisure. He was up at half past seven at least three days in the week, ringing the church bells himself for Early Celebration. He attended meetings, he visited the sick, and was always ready and willing to help when anyone was in trouble. He was so good (thought William). Goodness and kindness flowed from him, so that his mere presence was a benison. William knew that his parishioners were a little apt to take advantage of him and to “spin him a yarn,” but that was human nature. Mr. Grace was so sincere, himself, that he believed implicitly what was told him. But, with all that, there was humor in him, too—thought William, smiling. Few men could tell a story better, and still fewer could better enjoy a story against himself.
One night Mr. Grace had been called out very late to see a plowman who lived in a cottage in an extremely out-of-the-way place. The message had been sent by a very small child who arrived at the Vicarage in tears and assured Mr. Grace that his father was dying. When Mr. Grace reached the cottage, he discovered the man sitting in the kitchen smoking his pipe and enjoying a mug of beer. “It’s my arm, Passon,” said the man. “I slipped on the mat an’ give it a sort of twist. It was ’urting something crule, but it’s better now.” “’E fainted right off,” declared his wife. “Give me quite a turn, Passon.” Mr. Grace was naturally somewhat annoyed and asked why Dr. Wrench had not been summoned; however, as it was now very late, Mr. Grace consented to look at the arm, and, having profited considerably from first-aid demonstrations, he diagnosed a simple fracture and was able to set it. “Go to the doctor tomorrow,” said Mr. Grace as he took his leave. “And, another time, please send for the doctor in the first instance.” “You be good enough, Passon,” they assured him. “Us ’ud ’ave to pay doctor…”
Mr. Grace loved this story and told it with tremendous gusto. He had told it to William the night before.
Having arrived at his destination William threw off his jacket and started to work, and he was so interested and absorbed in what he was doing that he was oblivious of time. In fact, he “knew no more” till the rumble of wheels announced the approach of Liz.
“I’m late,” said Liz, jumping down. “Sorry, William, but it’s been one of those days when everything goes wrong and everything takes a little longer than usual. Have you had lunch?”
“No, I forgot the time,” replied William.
He spread his coat on a bank and they sat down together. William produced a large bottle of beer and a tin mug.
His companion looked on a trifle enviously. “I suppose you haven’t got another mug?” she asked.
“Just one,” he replied smiling. “I brought it for you. I’m going to drink out of the bottle.”
“Can you, William? If I try to drink out of a bottle my tongue acts like a plug.”
“Watch me,” said William simply.
Liz watched. There was no doubt about it, William could.
“Your tongue must be different,” said Liz, with a sigh. “More under control, or something. Father often says my tongue is an unruly member—that proves it, I suppose.”
William chuckled. He liked the Graces’ manner of joking with a straight face and Liz was a mistress of the art.
“How’s it going?” asked Liz, waving her hand to show she meant the work. There was no need to ask how the beer was going.
“Splendidly,” he replied. “I’m really excited about it. The measurements show—but I expect you would find it rather dull.”
“Tell me about it,” said Liz.
He began to tell her. The site was known to archaeologists as a small station or fort on the Roman Road, which ran across the downs; there were dozens of these small forts scattered about the country, but William Single had had a “hunch” that this particular fort was more important than it seemed and had decided to have a look at it.
“Is it important?” asked Liz, looking around in surprise. “There aren’t many stones.”
“The stones have been taken away,” explained William. “Taken to build walls and barns. That has happened practically everywhere.”
“Well, how can you prove your point?” Liz wanted to know.
“I measure,” said William, who was finding some difficulty in explaining the elements of his craft to the uninitiated.
“What do you measure? How do you know where to begin?”
“We know how the Romans built their forts so—so it isn’t really difficult. The first thing to do is to decide on the dimensions of the fort; then I measure and cut a sod where I expect to find a piece of wall—”
“Why buried?”
“Because—because everything gets buried. Darwin said it was worms burrowing in the ground and throwing up their casts—and moles, of course.”
Liz nodded, accepting Darwin’s word for it. “So you cut a sod and dig down, and find your piece of wall where you expected to find it—and then you know.”
“That’s roughly the idea,” agreed William.
“I don’t wonder it’s exciting,” declared Liz, looking at him with new eyes.
“I can’t do much without excavators,” he continued. “I never intended to dig seriously; I’m making a plan, with notes. Perhaps, when the war is over, the site may be thoroughly explored. I think it will be,” he added thoughtfully. “I think it would be well worthwhile.”
“I hope it will be,” said Liz.
They were silent after that, munching sandwiches, drinking beer, and enjoying the sunshine. There was no need to talk to William. If you wanted to talk, you talked, and if not, you didn’t. The arrangement was a very comfortable one.
“Sal sent you her love,” said William when they had finished and were folding up the paper.
“Did she?” asked Liz in some surprise. She and Sal were devoted to each other, of
course, but it seemed a little unnecessary to send an affectionate message by William when they would see each other at tea time. “You know,” continued Liz in a thoughtful voice. “You know I’m a little worried about Sal. She hasn’t been quite herself lately. I think she’s badgered to death by Aunt Rona. It’s bad enough for me, and I’m out all day; I should go raving mad if I had to put up with that woman from morning to night.”
“She’s an unpleasant character,” agreed William.
“Unpleasant!” cried Liz. “She’s absolutely revolting!”
“Why don’t you tell her to go away?” asked William in a matter-of-fact voice.
“Me?”
“You’re the eldest, Liz.”
“And the most outspoken,” added Liz, smiling at him. “That’s what you meant, wasn’t it, William?”
“I think you could do it more easily than the others,” admitted William. “But let’s get back to Sal. We were talking about Sal, weren’t we?”
“We still are,” Liz pointed out. “It’s all part of the same thing…as a matter of fact, I thought Sal looked better this morning.”
“Yes,” agreed William.
“So we needn’t worry.”
“No,” agreed William in doubtful tones.
Liz looked at him. “Well, out with it,” she said, smiling at him gaily. “What’s the mystery? It doesn’t suit you a bit to be mysterious, you know.”
William drew a long breath. He said, “It’s Roderick.”
“Roderick! You don’t mean Roderick and Sal…”
“Yes,” said William.
“Oh, no,” cried Liz. “No, William! How funny you are!”
He rose and took a couple of pegs out of his bag and a measuring tape. “I think so,” he said gravely. “I think they—understand each other—now.” He drove in a peg as he spoke and began to walk away, measuring as he went. He did not look back. When he had measured his distance, he cut some sods and began to dig. He had dug quite a reasonable hole when he found a shadow falling on his work and looked up to see Liz.
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