Thrush Green

by Miss Read

  Within half an hour they had emerged from the cool greenery of the woods into the golden meadows below. They walked slowly, arms around each other's waist, stopping every few paces to kiss or gaze with wonder at each other. After a year of doubt, loneliness and despair the sudden revelation of their true feelings overwhelmed them. They were in the grip of the age-old spell of first love, and moved like beings entranced.

  Ben had never felt so buoyant, so confident and so invulnerable before. All the world was his, and there was nothing that he could not attempt now that he knew Molly was his.

  But Molly, despite her happiness, felt apprehensive about the meeting with old Mrs. Curdle. She had been a figure of awe-inspiring majesty to the girl all her life, and the thought of those black eyes scrutinizing and criticizing her was indeed a fearsome one.

  "I could give you a cup of tea at our house," she said shyly. "The key's under the mat, and you'll have to meet my dad sometime."

  "I daresay," answered Ben, stopping again and holding his girl at arm's length. He knew all that was passing in her mind and laughed aloud to think that she should fear to meet old Gran.

  "But I'm taking you straight to Gran's, and she'll give you more than a cup of tea. She'll give you the biggest welcome you've ever had. You'll see, she'll be that pleased!" promised young Ben earnestly, and Molly took what comfort she could from his assurances.

  It was at this moment that they became conscious of a distant voice calling to them. Dotty Harmer, at the end of her garden, one hand clamping the enormous sun hat to her head and the other holding up a basket, was trying to attract their attention. They left the dusty path and waded through the sea of buttercups to her hedge, Molly hastily detaching herself from her companion's grasp.

  "You wait here," she urged. "I won't be a minute."

  She approached the low hedge.

  "Good afternoon, Miss Harmer," she said demurely.

  "Molly, be a good girl and take these few things into Miss Bembridge. Have you heard about her accident?"

  "No indeed!" exclaimed Molly, and listened to the tale. She took the basket and lifted it over the hedge. Inside were various bottles and jars huddled under a disheveled bunch of wilting primroses.

  "I can't get up to Thrush Green myself," went on Dotty, speaking of the place as though it were in another hemisphere, "as the cat's kittening and she does like a little support at these times."

  She cast an inquisitive glance at the distant Ben.

  "And who is the young man?" she inquired.

  Curious old cat, thought Molly rebelliously, why should I tell her? But Miss Harmer, despite her scarecrow appearance, still occasioned a vestige of respect and a certain amount of pity too, so that the girl answered civilly.

  "He's Ben Curdle, from the fair."

  The sound of anguished mewing floated from the shed nearby and Dotty turned away hastily.

  "Many thanks," she called as she went. "Just drop it in, Molly."

  She vanished from sight and Molly rejoined Ben.

  "She potty?" inquired the young man, nodding toward the cottage.

  "Not really," replied Molly tolerantly. "Just had too much book learning."

  Together they resumed their interrupted progress to Thrush Green.

  Meanwhile, Sam bit his nails and sat, glowering, on the steps of his caravan. The heat of the day and his own black temper caused him to sweat profusely. He untied his gaudy neckerchief and threw it behind him onto the floor of the caravan.

  Well, that put paid to the horses for the afternoon, he told himself morosely. The old girl was back in the caravan and not likely to budge again. He remembered the cold, glittering look which she had cast him and Sam's craven soul shuddered at the remembrance.

  The church clock chimed the first quarter, the silvery sound floating down through the sunny air as lightly as the summer insects that made the air murmurous about him. In fifteen minutes, thought Sam savagely, Rougemont would be setting off to win—and not a penny would he have on him.

  He leaped to his feet, unable to sit still any longer under such provocation, and prowled behind the canvas enclosure of Ben's coconut shies. It was very quiet.

  Not a soul was in sight, although he could hear the voices of women in a neighboring caravan and the cries of the schoolchildren making their way home across Thrush Green.

  At that moment he saw Mrs. Curdle. She descended the steps of her caravan and made her way steadily in the direction of the menagerie tent. The old lady was about to continue her disturbed inspection. Sam noticed how heavily she leaned upon her ebony stick, but it was not pity which moved his heart. A searing flash of hope caused it to throb. Talk of luck! he told himself. There still might be a chance!

  His fears forgotten in the excitement of a flutter and a race against time, Sam moved swiftly toward the caravan. Its doorway faced away from the center of the fair and he entered unobserved.

  He wasted no time by investigating the drawer or the teapot, but crept to the end of Mrs. Curdle's bed and heaved frantically at the mattress which enveloped the Curdle Bank.

  Ben and Molly approached Mrs. Curdle's caravan from the rear.

  Molly had delivered Dotty's basket into Dimity's hands, had received her profuse thanks and had inquired with real sympathy after poor Miss Bembridge. Molly had received many kindnesses from both ladies and felt for them affection mingled with some pity for their maiden state.

  Her errand done, she returned to Ben with a fluttering heart, for now the time had come to face his formidable grandparent.

  "Oh Ben," she said, suddenly faltering on the verge of Thrush Green, and turning beseeching eyes upon him.

  Ben gave her that crinkly smile that turned her heart over, squeezed her hand, and said nothing. Together they threaded their way behind the booths and stalls, occasionally passing one of the Curdle tribe who glanced interestedly at Ben's companion but said nothing. Only a fair girl, feeding her baby, and humming blissfully to herself in the drowsy sunshine, nodded to Molly and smiled at Ben. He paused for a moment to chirrup to the sleeping child and to flick his cousin's light hair, but they did not speak.

  As they neared the caravan they could hear the sound of movement inside. Ben stopped, arrested by a sudden thought.

  "I best make sure Gran's all right," he said to Molly. "She has a lay-down sometimes of an afternoon. Wait half a minute for me."

  Molly nodded so eagerly and thankfully at this brief reprieve that Ben, now that no eyes were upon them, gave her a swift fierce hug and kiss that left her breathless.

  Still laughing, he left her standing in the sunshine and ran lightly around the caravan and up the steps.

  The scene that met Ben's astonished gaze needed no explanation. After the dazzle outside, the interior of Mrs. Curdle's caravan was murky, but Ben saw enough to justify his swift action.

  The bunk bed lay tumbled, and upon the crumpled quilt was the Curdle Bank. The lid of the battered case was open, displaying a muddle of bank notes and silver and copper coins.

  Sam, on being disturbed, had cowered as far as he could into a corner by the glittering stove. One hand he held up as if to ward off a blow, and the other was hidden behind his back.

  His eyes were terrified as he gazed at the intruder who barred his only way of escape. His mouth dropped open, and a few incoherent bubbling sounds were the nearest that he could get to speech. Not that he was given time to account for himself, for Ben was upon him in a split second, gripping his arms painfully.

  Sam twisted and heaved this way and that, trying to hide the notes in his hand, but Ben jerked his arm viciously behind him, and turned him inexorably toward the light. The notes fluttered to the floor.

  Ben gave a low animal growl of fury and Sam a shrill scream of sudden pain. He lunged sharply with his knee. The two men parted for a moment, then turned face to face, and, locked in a terrible panting embrace, began to wrestle, one desperate with fear and the other afire with fury.

  They lurched and thudded this way
and that within the narrow confines of Mrs. Curdle's home. Ben's shoulder brought down half a dozen plates from the diminutive dresser. Sam's foot jerked a saucepan from the hob, and the hissing water added its sound to the clamor which grew as the fight grew more vicious.

  Molly, aghast at the noise, ran to see what was happening, and, appalled at the sight, fled to get help. The flaxen-haired girl, still holding the baby to her breast, was wandering toward her.

  "It's a fight!" gasped Molly. The girl looked mildly surprised, but uttered no word, merely continuing in an unhurried manner, to approach the source of the uproar.

  Molly ran around a stall and was amazed to see a number of the Curdles converging rapidly upon her. There were about a dozen altogether, including several young children, whose eyes were alight with pleasurable anticipation at the thought of witnessing a fight.

  The bush telegraph of the fairground was in action. These first spectators hurried past Molly, and, in the distance, she could see others, jumping down the steps of their caravans, calling joyously to each other of this unlooked-for excitement and scurrying to swell the crowd which was fast collecting around Mrs. Curdle's caravan.

  Emerging from one of the tents Molly saw the great lady herself. A small fair-haired girl tugged agitatedly at her hand, urging her to hurry. The old lady's face was grim. She bore down upon the shrinking Molly like some majestic ship, and passed her without even noticing the trembling girl.

  Emboldened by the example of this dominating head of the tribe, Molly braced herself, and like a small dinghy following in the wake of a liner she crept after Ben's grandmother and back to the scene of battle.

  The spectators, who had been vociferous, quieted as their leader stalked into their midst.

  It was a tense moment. Ben had forced Sam to the doorway and they grappled and swayed dangerously at the head of the steps. They made a wild and terrifying sight, bloodied and disheveled.

  There was sudden convulsive movement, a sickening crack as Sam's jaw and Ben's bony fist met, and Sam fell bodily backward to the grass. He rolled over, scattering some of the crowd, groaned, twitched, and lay still.

  A great sigh rippled around the onlookers, like the sound of wind through corn, and Mrs. Curdle strode to the foot of the steps. She spared no glance for the prostrate man at her feet, but looked unblinkingly at Ben, who swayed, bruised and dizzy, against the door frame. A trickle of blood ran across his swelling cheek, and blood dripped from his broken knuckles upon the dusty black corduroy trousers.

  Nobody watching the old lady could guess her feelings. Her dusky face was inscrutable, her mouth pressed into a hard thin line. Ben looked down upon her forlornly and broke the heavy silence.

  "He asked for it, Gran," he said apologetically.

  Mrs. Curdle made no sign, but her heart melted at the words. Just so, she remembered, had George looked, so many, many years ago, when she had caught him fighting another six-year-old. He too had swayed on his feet, and had looked outwardly contrite, while all the time, as she very well knew, he had secretly gloried in his victory. The sudden memory stabbed her so sharply, and filled her with such mingled sorrow and pride, that she continued to gaze at George's son (who might be George himself, so dearly did she love him), in utter silence.

  Ben's eyes met his grandmother's and in that long shared look he knew what lay in her heart. He had proved himself; and to that love which she had always borne him another quality had been added. It was reliance upon him, and Ben rejoiced that it was so.

  "Gran!" he cried, descending the steps with his arms outstretched. But the old lady shook her head and turned to face the crowd. And Ben, content with his new knowledge, waited patiently behind her.

  It was at this moment that Bella and her three children came upon the scene. She had been told the news as she struggled up the hill from Lulling, and now arrived, screaming, breathless and blaspheming, her yellow hair streaming in the breeze, like some vengeful harpy. At the sound of her voice, Sam groaned, and struggled into a sitting posture, his aching head supported by his battered fists.

  Mrs. Curdle raised her ebony stick and Bella's torrent of abuse slowed down. Beneath the old lady's black implacable silence she gradually faltered to a stop, and began to weep instead, the three children adding their wails to their mother's.

  At last the old lady spoke, and those who heard her never forgot those doom-laden words. Thunder should have rolled and lightning flashed as Mrs. Curdle drew herself up to her great height, and pointing the ebony stick at Sam, spoke his sentence.

  "You and yours," she said slowly, each word dropping like a cold stone, "go from here tomorrow. And never, never come back!"

  She turned her solemn gaze upon the gaping crowd, and, with a flick of the ebony stick, dismissed them. Two men assisted Sam to his feet and amidst lamentations from his family he hobbled to his caravan.

  Mrs. Curdle watched the rest of the tribe melt away and turned to question Ben at the foot of the steps.

  But Ben was not there. She looked sharply about, trying to catch sight of him among the departing spectators, and suddenly saw him. He was some distance off, talking earnestly to a pretty young girl, beneath a tree.

  As Mrs. Curdle watched, she saw him take the girl's hand. They advanced toward her, the girl looking shy and hanging back. But there was nothing shy about Ben, thought Mrs. Curdle, shaken with secret laughter and loving pride.

  For, bruised and bloody, torn and dusty as he was, Ben radiated supreme happiness as he limped toward her across Thrush Green; and Mrs. Curdle rejoiced with him.

  PART THREE

  Night

  13. Music on Thrush Green

  THE SUN was beginning to dip its slow way downhill, to hide, at last, behind the dark mass of Lulling Woods.

  The streets of Lulling still kept their warmth, and the mellow Cotswold stone of the houses glowed like amber as the rays of the sun deepened from gold to copper.

  On Thrush Green the chestnut trees sloped their shadows toward Dr. Bailey's house. The great bulk of the church was now in the shade, crouching low against the earth like a massive mother hen. But the weathercock on St. Andrew's lofty steeple still gleamed against the clear sky, and from his perch could see the river Pleshy far below, winding its somnolent way between the water meadows and reflecting the willows and the drinking cattle which decorated its banks.

  Although twilight had not yet come the lights of the fair were switched on at a quarter past six, and the first strains of music from the roundabout spread the news that Mrs. Curdle's annual fair was now open.

  The news was received, by those who heard it on Thrush Green, in a variety of ways. Sour old Mr. Piggott, who had looked in at St. Andrew's to make sure that all was in readiness for the two churchings at six-thirty, let fall an ejaculation quite unsuitable to its surroundings, and emerging from the vestry door, crunched purposefully and maliciously upon a piece of coke to relieve his feelings.

  Ella Bembridge, who had eaten a surprisingly substantial tea for one suffering from burns, shock and a rash, groaned aloud and begged Dimity to close the window against "that benighted hullabaloo." Dimity had done so and had removed the patient's empty tray, noting with satisfaction that she had finished the small pot of quince jelly sent by Dotty Harmer that afternoon. In the press of events, she had omitted to tell Ella of Dotty's kindness, and now, seeing the inroads that her friend had made into Dotty's handiwork, she decided not to mention it. Ella could be so very scathing about Dotty's cooking, thought Dimity, descending the crooked stairs, but obviously the quince jelly had been appreciated.

  Paul, beside himself with excitement, was leaping up and down the hall, singing at the top of his voice. Occasionally he broke off to bound up to Ruth's bedroom, where she was getting ready. The appalling slowness with which she arranged her hair and powdered her face drove her small nephew almost frantic. This was the moment he had been waiting for all day—for weeks—for a whole year! Would she never be ready?

  To young Dr. Lovel
l, returning from a visit to Upper Pleshy in his shabby two-seater, the color and glitter of the fair offered a spectacle of charming innocence. Here was yet another aspect of Thrush Green to increase his growing affection for the place. Throughout the day he had found himself thinking of his happiness in this satisfying practice. He could settle here so easily, he told himself, slipping into place among the friendly people of Lulling, enjoying their company and sharing their enchanting countryside.

  He drew up outside Dr. Bailey's house, and resting his arms across the steering wheel, watched the bright scene with deep pleasure. This was the first time he had seen Mrs. Curdle's fair. It would probably be the only time, he told himself grimly, for Mrs. Curdle might not return next year, and if she did, who was to know where he would be?

  The thought was so painful that Dr. Lovell jerked his long legs out of the car, slammed the door and moved swiftly toward the surgery to find solace in his work.

  Mrs. Bailey heard the familiar noise of the surgery door, and looked over the top of her spectacles, just in time to see young Dr. Lovell vanish inside.

  She was sitting in the window seat, sewing, and enjoying the last rays of the sunshine which had transfigured the whole day.

  Dr. Bailey lay comfortably on the couch attempting to solve The Times crossword which lay upon his bony knees. He had recovered from his afternoon's bout of weakness and, to his wife's discerning eye, he appeared more serene and confident than he had for many weeks—as indeed he was. For having resolved to offer young Lovell a partnership in the practice, his mind was at rest. That agonizing spasm in the brilliant sunshine of Thrush Green had taught him a sharp lesson and he was a wise enough man to heed it.