by Miss Read
I loved their patience, their docility, their efforts to please. Certainly, at times, these very virtues exasperated me. Then I would find them unduly slow, complacent and aquiescent, but when I took stock I had to admit that it was often impatience on my part which roused my wrath. How could I ever leave them?
I returned to my bed, and now it was practical matters which bedevilled me. Why on earth hadn't I bought a house for myself, instead of living in a fool's paradise in the school one? The times I had thought about it—and the times Amy had admonished me on the same subject-were beyond counting.
But somehow, I had let matters drift. I had never seriously thought of leaving Fairacre, apart from the odd urge to make a change which sometimes hit me in the Spring. Even then, just reading the advertisements in The Times Educational Supplement had usually been enough to quench my brief ardours. To slide gently from middle age to retirement in Fairacre seemed such a serene and mellow way to face the future. Of course, I realised that one day, when I had left, someone else would live in my dear house and teach in the school, but it all seemed so far away, that I was lulled into a dream-like state of bliss.
Now had come the rude awakening. It was E. M. Delafield, I believe, who said that she wanted seven words on her tombstone:
'I expected this, but not so soon.'
They echoed my own thought absolutely.
All the cocks in Fairacre were crowing before I fell into an uneasy sleep.
It was the following evening, when I was making plans for an early night, that I saw, with horror, the untidy figure of Minnie Pringle coming up the path.
I think it is uncommonly sensible and prudent of Minnie to buy her clothes at local jumble sales, and I have often recognised old garments of mine among her wardrobe. But what irks me is the way she wears them without the slightest attempt to adapt them to her skinny figure.
She is particularly fond of a dilapidated fur coat which was once Mrs Mawne's. It is a square garment, made from square pieces of moulting fur. A great many squares are parting from their neighbours, and as the whole thing swamps Minnie, it would have seemed reasonable to remove one row of squares to make it fit, or at least to mend the slits and tie a belt round it. As it is, Minnie's hands are hidden about six inches up the sleeves, the hem, which is coming undone, reaches her calves, and the rest of the tent-like object swings about round Minnie's frame like a scarecrow's coat on a broomstick.
On this occasion, as the evening was warm, I was spared Mrs Mawne's ex-coat, for Minnie was wearing a shiny mauve blouse over a wrap-around skirt whose pattern seemed vaguely familiar to me. On her bare feet were black patent evening sandals with high heels ornamented with diamanté studs.
I braced myself for the interview and invited her in.
'Auntie says as you could do with some help,' began Minnie, once settled in an armchair.
'Would two hours a week suit you?'
I had given some thought to this problem of my own making, and had decided that, with some contriving, I could find her work within her limited ability which would not conflict too obviously with Mrs Pringle's duties. It was going to be a delicate matter trying to keep her off her aunt's preserves, such as cleaning my few pieces of silver and washing the kitchen floor with as much care as one would sponge a baby's face, and I guessed that my efforts were probably doomed to failure at the outset. But surely, in two hours even Minnie could not do much harm.
Also, two hours of work were really all I could afford to pay on top of Mrs Pringle's weekly dues. I awaited Minnie's reaction with mixed feelings.
Minnie scratched her tousled red locks with a silver-varnished nail of inordinate length.
'Same pay as auntie?' she enquired at length.
'Yes.'
'O.K. What wants doin'?'
'I'll show you in a minute,' I said, feeling that we were going along rather fast. 'When can you come? I gather you have some work already.'
'You can say that again,' said Minnie, lying back and putting her sandals on the coffee table. 'I goes to Mrs Partridge Mondays—the Vicar fixed that.'
My heart bled for poor Mrs Partridge, at the mercy of her husband's Christian charity. The havoc Minnie could cause in that fragile collection of old glass, Hepplewhite chairs and china cabinets made one shudder to contemplate.
'Then I goes to Mrs Mawne on Wednesday mornings, but that's all scrubbin'. Mr Mawne don't want no one to touch his butterfly drawers and stuffed birds and that, though I offered to give 'em a good dusting. He's a funny chap, ain't he?'
I forbore to comment, but my opinion of both Mr and Mrs Mawne's good sense rose considerably.
'And Thursday evenings I does out the hall, 'cos Auntie says she's getting a bit past it, and the committee gentlemen said it was all right for me to do it, though I don't know as I shall stick it long.'
'Why not?'
'Mucky. Bits of sausage roll and jam tart squashed between the floor boards, and the sink gets stopped up with tea leaves.'
'Don't they use tea bags?'
Minnie's mouth dropped open. She looked as though she had been coshed. I began to feel alarmed, but at last she spoke.
'Cor!' she whispered. 'You're a marvel! I'll tell 'em that! It's the cricket tea ladies as does it, I reckons, though them Scouts and Cubs isn't above mucking things up in spite of all them oaths they take. Tea bags is the answer. Of course it is.'
I said I was glad to have been of help, and wondered how soon I should be ostracised by all those who managed the village hall kitchen.
'Is that all the work you do?'
'I has to keep my own place tidy at Springbourne,' said Minnie, looking suddenly truculent.
I hastened to apologise.
'Of course, of course! I meant any more work in Fairacre.'
Minnie sat up, removed her sandals from the table top, and surveyed her grubby toe nails.
'I likes to keep Saturday free.'
'Naturally. I shouldn't want you to give up your weekends. What about Friday afternoons?'
'I shops on Fridays.'
'Wednesday then?'
'Auntie comes up here Wednesdays.'
'Oh, of course. Tuesday any good?'
'I goes to Springbourne Tuesdays, 'cos it's double green shield stamp day at the shop.'
'What's wrong with Monday?'
'The Vicar.'
I was beginning to get desperate. Did Minnie want work or did she not? Heaven alone knew I would be happy to dispense with her services, but having got so far I felt I must soldier on. I changed my tactics.
'Well, Minnie, when could you come?'
'Friday afternoon.'
I took a deep breath.
'But I thought you said you went shopping on Friday.'
'Not till six o'clock. It's late night Caxley.'
I controlled a sudden desire to scream the place down.
'Very well then, let's say from two until four on Friday afternoon. Or one-thirty to three-thirty, if that suits you better.'
'Is that harpast one?'
'Yes,' I said weakly. Whoever had had the teaching of Minnie Pringle deserved deep sympathy, but not congratulation.
There was silence as Minnie scratched her head again, and thought it out.
'Well, that's fine and dandy. I'll come up harpast one and do two hours, and go at—what time did you say?'
'Harpast—half past three,' I said faintly. 'I shall be back from school soon after that.'
'What about me money then?' She sounded alarmed.
'I shall leave it on the mantelpiece,' I assured her, 'just as I do for Mrs Pringle. Now, come and look at the work.'
I proposed that she took over window-cleaning and the upstairs brasswork, and bath and basins. This meant that she would be out of Mrs Pringle's way, and could not do too much damage.
I showed her where the dusters and cleaning things were kept, and she looked doubtfully at the window-cleaning liquid.
'Ain't you got no meth. and newspaper? It does 'em a treat. Keeps the
flies off too.'
I said shortly that this was what I used, and that I disliked the smell of methylated spirits.
'My uncle drinks it,' she said cheerfully. 'Gets real high on it. They picks 'im up regular in Caxley, and it's only on meths!' She sounded proud of her uncle's achievements.
I led the way downstairs.
'You want the grandfather clock done? I could polish up that brass wigger-wagger a treat. And the glass top.'
There was a gleam in her mad blue eye which chilled me.
'Never touch the clock!' I rapped out, in my best schoolmarm voice.
'O.K.' said Minnie, opening the door. 'See you Friday then, if not before.'
I watched her totter on the high heels down the path, still trying to remember where I had seen that skirt before.
'Heaven help us all, Tibby,' I said to the cat, who had wisely absented herself during Minnie's visit. 'Talk about sowing the something-or-other and reaping the whirlwind! I've done just that.'
I felt the need for early bedtime more keenly than ever. Just before I fell asleep, I remembered where I had seen Minnie's skirt before.
It had once been my landing curtain. I must say, it looked better on Minnie than many of her purchases.
Notice of the managers' meeting arrived a few days after Minnie's visit. It was to be held after school as usual, on a Wednesday. There was nothing on the agenda, I observed, about possible closure of the school. Could it be village rumours once again?
The Vicar called at the school on the afternoon following the receipt of our notices. He was in a state of some agitation.
'It's about the managers' meeting. I'm in rather a quandary. My dear wife has inadvertently invited all the sewing ladies that afternoon, so the dining-room will be in use. The table, you know, so convenient for cutting out.'
'Don't worry,' I said. 'We could meet here, if it's easier.'
We usually sit in comfort at the Vicar's mahogany dining-table, under the baleful eye of an ancestor who glares from a massive gilt frame behind the chairman's seat. Sometimes we have met in the drawing-room among the antique glass and the china cabinets.
'And the drawing-room,' went on Mr Partridge, looking anguished, 'is being decorated, and everything is under shrouds—no, not shrouds—furniture covers—no, loose covers—no, I don't think that is the correct term either—'
'Dust sheets,' I said.
His face lit up with relief.
'What a grasp you have of everthing, dear Miss Read; no wonder the children do so well! Yes, well, you see my difficulty. And my study is so small, and very untidy, I fear. I suppose we could manage something in the hall, but it is rather draughty, and the painters are in and out, you know, about their work, and like to have their little radios going with music, so that I really think it would be better, if you are sure it isn't inconveniencing—'
'Better still,' I broke in, 'have it in my dining-room. There's room for us all.'
'That would be quite perfect,' cried the Vicar, calming down immediately. 'I shall make a note in my diary at once.'
He sighed happily, and made for the door.
'By the way, no more news about the possible closing. Have you heard anything?'
'Not a word.'
'Ah well, no news is good news, they say. We'll hear more perhaps on Wednesday week. I gather that nice Mr Canterbury, who is in charge of the Caxley Office, is coming out himself.'
I thought that sounded ominous but made no comment.
'No,' said the Vicar, clapping a hand to his forehead. 'I don't mean Canterbury, do I? Now, what is that fellow's name? I know it's a cathedral city. Winchester? Rochester? Dear, oh dear, I shall forget my own soon.'
'Salisbury,' I said.
'Thank you. I shall put it in my diary against Wednesday week. I shouldn't like to upset such an important fellow.'
He vanished into the lobby.
'It's more likely,' I thought, 'that the important fellow will upset us.'
6 The Managers' Meeting
AMY's last week at Fairacre School arrived all too soon, and I was desolate. She was such good company, as well as being an efficient teacher, that I knew I should miss her horribly.
'Well, I'd stay if I could,' she assured me, 'but Vanessa arrives next week, and I hope she'll stay at least a fortnight. She's rather under the weather. There's a baby on the way. Or babies, perhaps!'
'Good heavens! Do they think it will be twins?'
'The foolish girl has been taking some idiotic nonsense called fertility tablets, so it's quite likely she'll give birth to half-a-dozen.'
'But surely, the doctors know what they're doing?'
'Be your age,' said Amy inelegantly. She studied the lipstick with which she had been adorning her mouth. 'I must have had this for years. It's called "Tutankhamen Tint".'
'It can't date from that time.'
Amy sighed.
'The Tutankhamen Exhibition, dear, which dazzled us all some years ago. Everything was Egyptian that year, if you remember. James even bought me a gold necklace shaped like Cleopatra's asp. Devilish cold it is too, coiled on one's nice warm bosom.'
'I'm glad about Vanessa's baby,' I said. 'I'll look forward to knitting a matinée jacket. I've got a pattern for backward beginners that always turns out well. Is she pleased?'
'After eleven in the morning. Before that, poor darling, she is being sick. Tarquin is terribly thrilled, and already planning a mammoth bonfire for the tenants on the local ben, or whatever North British term they use for a mountain in Scotland.'
'He'll have to build six bonfires if your fears prove correct.'
'He'd be delighted to, I have no doubt. He's a great family man, and I must say he's very, very sweet to Vanessa. They seem extremely happy.'
She snapped shut her powder compact, stood back and surveyed her trim figure reflected murkily in 'The Light of the Word.'
'I think I might present Fairacre School with a pier-glass,' she said thoughtfully.
'It would never get used,' I told her, 'except when you came.'
We went to let in the noisy crowd from the playground.
Mrs Pringle's slimming efforts seemed to be having little result, except to render her even more morose than usual.
I did my best to spare her, exhorting the children to tidy up carefully at the end of afternoon school, and putting away my own things in the cupboards instead of leaving them on window sills and the piano top, as I often do.
Luckily, in the summer term, the stoves do not need attention, but even so, it was obvious that she was finding her work even more martyr-making than before. I was not surprised when she did not appear one morning, soon after Amy's departure, and a note arrived borne by Joseph Coggs.
He pulled it from his trouser pocket in a fine state of stickiness.
I accepted it gingerly.
'How did it get like this, Joe?'
'I gotter toffee in me pocket.'
'What else?'
'I gotter gooseberry.'
'Anything else?'
'I gotter bitter lickrish.'
'You'd better turn out that pocket!'
'I ain't gotter—'
'And if you say: "I gotter" once more, Joseph Coggs, you'll lose your play.'
'Yes, miss. I was only going to say: "I ain't gotter thing more." He retired to his desk, after putting his belongings on the side table, and I read the missive.
Dear Miss Read,
Have stummuck upset and am obliged to stay home. Have had terrible night, but have taken nutmeg on milk which should do the trick as it has afore.
Clean clorths are in the draw and the head is off of the broom.
Mrs Pringle
I called to see my old sparring partner that evening. She certainly looked unusually pale and listless.
'I'm rough. Very rough,' was her reply to my enquiries. 'And there's no hope of me coming back to that back-breaking job of mine this week.'
'Of course not. We'll manage.'
Mrs Pringle snor
ted.
'But what I mind more, is not doing out that dining-room of yours for the managers tomorrow.'
'I'll do it. It's not too bad.'
She gave me a dark look.
'I've seen your sort of housework. Dust left on the skirting boards and the top of the doors.'
'I don't suppose any of the managers will be running their fingers along them,' I said mildly. 'Has the doctor been?'
'I'm not calling him in. It's him as started this business.'
'How do you mean.'
'This 'ere diet. Drinking lemon juice first thing in the morning. That's what's made my stummuck flare up.'
'Then leave it off!' I cried. 'Doctor Martin wouldn't expect you to drink it if it upset you!'
'Oh, wouldn't he? And the price of lemons what it is too! I bought a bottle of lemon juice instead. And that's just as bad.'
She waved a hand towards a half empty bottle on the sideboard, and I went to inspect it. It certainly smelled odd.
'Is it fresh?'
Mrs Pringle looked uneasy.
'I bought it half-price in Caxley. The man said they'd had it in some time.'
'Chuck it away,' I said. 'It's off.'
The lady bridled.
'At fifteen pence a bottle? Not likely!'
'Use oranges instead.' I urged. 'This is doing you no good, and anyway oranges are easier to digest.'
She looked at me doubtfully.
'You wouldn't tell Doctor Martin?'
'Of course I wouldn't. Let me empty this down the sink.'
Mrs Pringle sighed.
'Anything you say. I haven't got the strength to argue.'
She watched me as I approached the sink and unscrewed the bottle. The smell was certainly powerful. The liquid fizzed as it ran down the waste pipe.
'One thing,' she said, brightening, 'it'll clean out the drain lovely.'
It was certainly a pity that Mrs Pringle had not given the dining-room the attention it deserved, but I thought it looked quite grand enough to accommodate the managers.
There are six of them. The Vicar is Chairman and has been for many years, and the next in length of service is the local farmer Mr Roberts.