by Miss Read
‘But your mother said she hadn’t heard a thing,’ added Phil.
‘You mean Mum knew all about it?’ asked Paul.
‘Yes, she was in on the secret.’
Paul tried not to show how envious he was, but made a bad job of it. ‘I wish I could’ve had a dog. Much nicer than a silly old chess set.’
Phil put her hand on Paul’s shoulder. ‘When he’s older, you and Jeremy can walk him together. Can’t he, Jeremy?’
‘Of course! We’ll share Alfie,’ Paul’s young friend said generously. ‘We can have loads of fun with him. Walks, bike rides, everything.’
‘Gosh, thanks,’ said Paul.
Phil looked out of the window. ‘It’s not raining at the moment so why don’t you two take your bikes out now? Something tells me it’s time for this young fellow’s mid-morning nap,’ and she picked up the puppy which had collapsed into a heap by Jeremy’s feet. ‘And I’ll ring your mother, Paul, to say you’re staying here for lunch. OK?’
‘Very OK. Thanks, Mrs Hurst.’
The two boys rushed out of the kitchen. Jeremy’s Christmas present appeared to have been a success.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A Friend in Need
When Dimity returned to Lulling Vicarage, Charles was up and already having breakfast.
‘I’m sorry to have abandoned you, dear,’ she said, taking off her coat. ‘And I’d got a nice piece of smoked haddock for your breakfast, too.’
‘Never mind that,’ said Charles. ‘How’s Ella?’
And Dimity recounted the sorry, sodden tale and then Ella’s fears about going blind.
‘What happens now?’ Charles asked.
Dimity fetched herself a cup and poured some coffee out of Charles’s pot, then settled herself opposite him.
‘She wants to spend the day thinking, she said. I don’t think there’s any point in our trying to sort things out. You know Ella, she’s as stubborn as anything and will only do what she wants, when she wants.’
‘Maybe the time has come,’ said Charles, ‘when she’s going to have to learn that her own frailties and incapacities are going to mean she’ll have to rely on other people, even if she doesn’t like it.’
‘Which she won’t,’ said Dimity. ‘But I think she’ll listen to us if no one else.’
Neither spoke for a while. The kitchen clock ticked quietly to itself on the wall.
Then Charles said, ‘Could we have the smoked haddock for lunch - with a poached egg on top?’
Dimity laughed. ‘My darling husband! Always thinking of your stomach. I think it would be an excellent idea. Now, if you would re-set and light the fire in the drawing-room, I suggest you settle yourself down with one of your Christmas books, and I’ll clear up in here.’
When Charles protested, saying that he would help her with the washing-up that was still stacked neatly on the side, Dimity shooed him away.
‘No, this is your day of rest. Go and enjoy it.’
A short while later, with her hands deep in the frothy washing-up water, Dimity turned her thoughts once more to Ella. It was obvious that she wasn’t going to be able to continue living on her own, not even when the wrist was mended. It just wouldn’t be safe, not with all those steps up and down in the cottage, and other hazards just waiting to cause accidents. She decided she would talk to John Lovell over the weekend and ask his advice.
Charles, having cleaned out the grate and re-laid the fire, didn’t actually light it but went instead to his study. It was warm and snug in there, and he wanted to make some notes for the sermons he was due to give on the coming Sunday. He settled down at his desk, switched on the anglepoise lamp, and pulled a sheaf of papers towards him. Sunday would be 28 December, known as Holy Innocents’ Day, held in commemoration of the slaughter of the male infants in Bethlehem during Herod’s attempt to kill the infant Jesus. Since it was so soon after the Christmas festivities, the congregations would be small, and Charles didn’t see why he should inflict a sermon about that dreadful massacre some two thousand years ago on his faithful parishioners. He decided merely to add some prayers for those who were currently involved in working for peace in the many areas of world conflict.
He stretched out his hand, and took down The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations from the bookshelf, a favourite source of inspiration for his sermons.
He ran his finger down the index of entries for ‘Innocent’. ‘I am i. of the blood’ - no, that was too close to the Holy Innocents; ‘i. is the heart’s devotion’: Charles turned to the page referred to and found the quotation had come from Shelley’s poem ‘To—I Fear thy Kisses’. No, that didn’t seem a very good idea.
Charles checked a few more ‘Innocent’ entries but there was nothing suitable. He went higher up the index to the word ‘Innocence’: ‘companions, i., and health’: ah, that sounded promising. It turned out to be from Oliver Goldsmith’s poem ‘The Deserted Village’:His best companions, innocence and health;
And his best riches, ignorance and wealth.
Charles hummed to himself - he found humming always helped him think. Was there some way he could use those words? They seemed apt for the post-festive period. But maybe a bit censorious. He returned to the index. ‘I. is closing up his eyes’.
Immediately, all thoughts of his sermon went from his head, and the vision of Ella sitting alone in her kitchen, struggling to come to terms with her future, flooded into his mind. What was going to happen to her? He agreed with Dimity that she wasn’t going to be able to continue to live alone in the cottage, well, not for long anyway. She might be able to cope there for a little while but the time would come when she would need to have fairly constant help. She could either stay there, with someone living in - and he knew how dreadfully expensive that was - or she could move into a residential home and be looked after.
Apart from Rectory Cottages in Thrush Green, Charles regularly visited two old people’s homes on the outskirts of Lulling and he knew the specific difficulties faced by two residents - one in each home - who were blind. While most of the residents were, he had to admit, rather senile and appeared content to sit in their chairs all day, either just nodding at nothing or gazing at whatever programme the television was tuned to, the two blind people were in total control of their wits, but just happened to be blind.
It was a terrible conundrum, but one to which he had given much thought. He was going to suggest to the administrators of the two homes that, when possible and with the relevant families’ approval, one should move to join the other; then at least they would have each other’s companionship.
But he just couldn’t visualize Ella going to live in such a home. She would absolutely loathe the necessary regimentation.
Charles continued to sit at his desk for some time, turning the problem over in his mind, his sermons quite forgotten.
Isobel was carving some slices off the Christmas turkey, ready for lunch, when Robert Wilberforce telephoned that Boxing Day morning.
‘Robert!’ she exclaimed. ‘How lovely to hear you. A very happy Christmas to you. Thank you for your card . . . Oh, good, you got ours, too! . . . And how’s Dulcie?’
Just at that moment, Harold came noisily through the front door, banging it behind him. Isobel clapped her hand to her ear. ‘What? Oh, that’s marvellous news. I must tell Harold, who’s just come in.’ She called through the door to where Harold was taking off his coat. ‘Dulcie’s going to have a baby. Isn’t that wonderful?’ Then she spoke again into the receiver, ‘When? Oh, you must tell me everything! Is she there? I’d love to speak to her.’
Much as Harold would have liked to have a word with Robert Wilberforce, he knew better than to interrupt women’s talk, especially about babies. Having given the sitting-room fire a poke, and added another log, he settled down in his armchair, ready to do battle again with the crossword in the newspaper.
When Isobel came in a minute or so later, she was glowing with excitement. The baby was due in April, she said, and Dulcie seeme
d to have got through the morning-sickness stage, and wasn’t it exciting - oh, and they were coming to stay.
‘What? When?’ asked Harold. This was much more interesting than the problems of impending motherhood.
‘On New Year’s Eve. What fun it’ll be.’
‘But I thought Dorothy and Agnes were coming then?’ Harold queried.
‘Well, yes, but we can fit everyone in. It will just mean Dorothy and Agnes sharing.’
‘You know they’d much rather not,’ Harold said. ‘Also, had you forgotten that we’re going out to the Youngs?’
‘No, of course I hadn’t. I’ll ring Joan in a moment. I’m sure they’d love to have Robert and Dulcie.’
‘Well, I think it’s much too much. This house will be groaning at the seams. Could Dorothy and Agnes go and stay somewhere else? What about with Winnie?’
Harold’s suggestion brought Isobel to her senses. ‘No, of course not! I couldn’t possibly push out one of my oldest friends and, besides, they asked ages ago if they could stay. But why not Robert and Dulcie somewhere else? What about with Charles? After all, Charles knows them as well if not better than we do.’
‘But Ella’s staying at the vicarage,’ reasoned Harold.
‘Of course, I’d temporarily forgotten that.’ Isobel frowned in concentration. ‘Still, they’ve got masses of room there. I’ll give Dimity a ring now.’
‘Hang on, hang on,’ said Harold quickly. ‘Don’t rush into anything yet. Let’s just think this one through.’ And he persuaded Isobel to sit down on the other side of the fire from him.
It was at a dinner party at Lulling Vicarage a few years earlier that Robert Wilberforce had first met Dulcie Mulloy. Robert had contacted Charles Henstock about some letters he had come across from Nathaniel Patten to the then rector of St Andrew’s at Thrush Green. When he said he was coming south from where he lived in the Lake District, Harold and Charles had tracked down the young woman who was the great-granddaughter of the Victorian missionary and arranged the dinner party.
It was as though the couple were made for each other, and when they announced their engagement a few months later, on the day Thrush Green celebrated the centenary of Nathaniel Patten’s birth, the village rejoiced. The young couple now lived and worked in London, and were sublimely happy.
‘I suggest,’ Harold now said, ‘that we ask Charles and Dimity tomorrow, when they come to lunch, if it would be possible for Robert and Dulcie to stay there. I agree there is plenty of room, and we’d be like sardines here.’
‘But what if they’re full up after all - some of Charles’s far-flung cousins descending on them, for instance?’ asked Isobel.
‘Then we shall just have to be sardines,’ replied Harold and picked up his crossword again.
‘I thought you were going to light the fire,’ said Dimity, coming into Charles’s study, startling him. ‘Oh, sorry, were you asleep?’ she added when she saw the surprised look on his face.
‘No, no, I wasn’t asleep. I’ve been thinking. About Ella.’
Dimity sat herself down in the pretty upholstered tub chair facing Charles’s handsome mahogany desk. ‘Yes, I’ve been thinking about Ella, too. What are we going to do?’
‘Well, we shall obviously have to wait to see what decisions she’s come to while at the cottage. If she’s determined that she’s going to stay there, then I don’t honestly think we can stop her. It’s her life. All we can do is give her as much support as possible.’
‘And what if she’s decided she can’t stay there? What then? Rectory Cottages when there’s a vacancy?’
‘Well, it’s a possibility. John Enderby will be the first to go, I’m afraid to say, but I happen to know there’s quite a waiting list. We can’t let Ella leapfrog the queue.’
‘Not even if you, as chairman of the Trustees, request it?’ asked Dimity.
‘Especially because I’m the chairman. It would be quite out of order.’
Dimity knew Charles was right. It would cause bad feeling all round.
‘So what then? Go into a home specially for blind people?’
‘It’s a possibility, of course, but she’d hate that,’ responded Charles, steepling his fingers in front of him.
Neither spoke for a moment. The sound of sparrows squabbling on the bird table outside the study window was the only noise.
‘We could—’ They both spoke at the same time.
‘Sorry, you were about to say?’ said Charles.
‘No, no, you go. I was only thinking aloud,’ replied Dimity.
‘Well, what about having her here - to live with us here? Or would you hate that?’ said Charles, all the words coming out in a rush.
‘I was about to suggest the same thing!’ cried Dimity. ‘Of course I wouldn’t mind. But what about you? After all, she’s more my friend than yours. Could you cope with her brusqueness, her forthrightness, her . . .’ Dimity’s voice trailed away.
‘Her downright rudeness?’ Charles asked, and smiled. ‘I’m used to it. It’s like water off a duck’s back so far as I’m concerned.’
‘Oh, Charles - do you think she’d agree?’
‘She’d be mad not to,’ replied the vicar. ‘But I suggest we don’t say anything to her until she’s told us what conclusions she’s reached on her own. If she accepts, then we shall have to sit down and work out the details. It will be a big step - for all of us. And now,’ said Charles, ‘I must finish this sermon.’
Dimity got up and smoothed down the folds of her skirt. ‘Lunch at one o’clock suit you? Smoked haddock and poached egg?’
‘Perfect, my dear, quite perfect.’
It was dark when Paul finally returned home. He and Jeremy had had the sort of day that all lads of their age enjoyed. They had bicycled up and down the nearby lanes, they had called in to see Dotty Harmer’s goats, but had resisted her offer of a ‘nice hot blackberry and nettle drink’. After a lunch of cold turkey and huge baked potatoes, they’d gone to Paul’s den in old Mrs Curdle’s caravan. Jeremy carried Alfie across in an old wicker shopping basket of Phil’s, and they’d taken him in to show to Edward and Joan.
Paul was interested to see his father’s reaction to the dog, and was desperately disappointed when Edward merely said, ‘Yes, nice, very nice,’ but did not even put out a hand to touch the dog. They’d had conversations about dogs before, and Paul knew he was on a losing wicket.
When it became too dark to see in the caravan, they returned to Jeremy’s room in Tullivers and listened to pop music. In due course, Paul stuck his head round the sitting-room door to say he was going home now, and thanked Phil and Frank for lunch.
‘He’s such a nice boy,’ said Phil after the front door slammed. ‘And they’re so lucky to have each other.’
Frank nodded his head. ‘And let’s hope they both stay nice!’
Dimity looked out of the drawing-room windows and then got up to draw the curtains against the winter gloom. ‘Do you think we should ring Ella?’ she asked.
Charles looked at his watch. ‘Four-fifteen. Um . . . I think probably leave it until five o’clock and then ring.’
However, the telephone rang just ten minutes later and Dimity went to answer it.
‘Ella, yes.’ She listened, then said, ‘Of course, I’ll see you in about half an hour. We’ll have tea when we get back.’
Charles looked at her enquiringly after she’d put down the receiver.
‘Don’t ask me,’ said Dimity, shrugging. ‘She said nothing, merely that could one of us collect her in half an hour.’
‘Why don’t I go?’ asked Charles.
‘No, I’m happy to go. I can drop off my thank-you letter to Winnie at the same time.’
So it was that half an hour later, Dimity drew up outside Ella’s cottage. The lights in the little sitting-room in the front were on, and Dimity could see the large figure of Ella standing in the window. She turned away as Dimity got out of the car, and was standing at the open front door when Dimity reached it.<
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‘Thanks, Dim, for turning out again. Come in,’ and she stood aside to let Dimity walk through. ‘Go into the kitchen, it’s warmer there.’
The kitchen seemed neat and tidy. Dimity had dreaded finding burned saucepans, broken plates.
‘See,’ said Ella, reading her thoughts, ‘nothing burnt or broken. I can cope so long as I don’t lose my temper. But I get so frustrated, it’s very difficult not to get cross.’
Dimity leaned on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. ‘How’s the day gone?’
Ella turned to face her. ‘I haven’t reached any sort of conclusion,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t help having this damned wrist in plaster - makes everything twice as difficult. My appointment with Mr Cobbold, the ophthalmologist, is on Monday in Oxford. He’s the chap who I saw before and I expect he’ll advise me what happens next. Can I stay with you until then?’
‘Of course you can. And I’ll take you into Oxford for your appointment.’
‘Don’t bother, I can take the bus,’ Ella said shortly. ‘Or get Bert Nobbs to take me.’
Dimity put her hand onto Ella’s arm and repeated gently, ‘I will take you into Oxford for your appointment, Ella. It’s no bother. In fact, I could be very brave and put my nose into one or two of the sales which will have started.’
‘Rather you than me!’ Ella said, and suddenly flung her good arm round Dimity and gave her a bear hug. ‘Thank you, dearest Dimity, for everything. Now,’ she said, standing back, ‘it’s time you got back to Charles. My re-packed case is all ready upstairs. You fetch that, and I’ll lock up here.’
‘You’re incorrigible!’ laughed Dimity, and made her way upstairs.
When they arrived back at the vicarage, Ella took the case from Dimity and plodded up the stairs to her room. Dimity took advantage of her absence to tell Charles what had happened. He was in his study, still working on his sermons.