by Miss Read
Perceptive as ever, he had guessed that Edward, always a worrier, could do with a little support under the weight of the secret with which he had been entrusted.
'I'll do that,' said Edward. 'I quite realize that the fewer people who know about it, at this early stage, the better.'
'Well,' laughed Carl, 'I've soon got to realize that any news in Thrush Green gets around pretty smartly.'
'And of its own volition,' agreed Edward. 'It's an absolute mystery, but one has to face facts. Secrets don't stay secrets for long in a village.'
'I know you'll do your best,' Carl assured him. 'I'm sorry to put a burden on you.'
'No burden, but an honour,' Edward said with emphasis. 'Come back soon, Carl. We're all missing you.'
The gloom of November's early days had lifted a little, and a watery sun began to struggle through the clouds in late morning and survived for an hour or two in the early afternoon.
This raised everyone's spirits. Alan Lester was able to recommend that rehearsals of the ear-shattering country dances could be held in the fresh air, preferably at the farthest end of the playground, and so obtained a little relief from this trouble.
Preparations were already in hand for Christmas at the school. Alan's own class was busy rehearsing the Mad Hatter's tea party and trying to find a youthful actor who could remember his words and yet might be small enough to stuff into a cardboard teapot.
Handiwork lessons were devoted to the making of Christmas gifts. Older boys were trying their hand at simple woodwork, and teapot stands, pipe racks and dolls' house tables stood at crazy angles on the shelf behind Alan's chair, and were the object of many admiring glances from the manufacturers.
Christmas catalogues were being pushed through letterboxes, and the shops in Lulling High Street were already displaying 'Acceptable Gifts For Christmas' signs, which most people decided were much too early to heed.
Nelly Piggott at the Fuchsia Bush already had a great many delicacies made for Christmas, but they were stored out of sight, for she was one of those who deplored the too-early fever of Christmas.
'Time enough when December comes,' she told Rosa, who had suggested that it might be a good idea to start sticking blobs of cotton wool on the windows to simulate snow.
'We always done it for Mrs Peters,' she said resentfully.
'Not in November you didn't,' retorted Nelly. 'You go and give the tables a good rub up if you're short of a job, and let Christmas look after itself.'
Nelly now was in complete and happy command. Her early fears had vanished as she found that all ran smoothly under the new arrangements.
Business was brisk. There were more orders for Christmas provender than in previous years, and jars of her homemade mincemeat and Christmas puddings were carefully stored at the back. Orders for Nelly's superb mincepies were already being noted in the order book, and if the premises had been larger she could have provided for the Christmas office parties of several local firms.
But the time for such expansion was not yet ripe. One day, Nelly mused, if things went on as prosperously as they were doing, she might think of it.
Meanwhile, she knew that she was running the business competently and with ease. It was the personal touch which her customers valued, and she was wise enough to see that this was where her strength lay.
The gold chain which hung about her neck, always concealed by her clothes, was a constant reminder of her lost lover. Sometimes her thoughts were sad when she fingered it, but on the whole it was a source of strength.
Hadn't she overcome that grief? Hadn't she come to terms with betrayal, humiliation and loss? Wasn't she now a busy happy woman, doing the work she loved, and respected and appreciated by all Lulling?
Such thoughts often came to her as she bustled from kitchen to shop, from morning to night. Life for Nelly Piggott had never been so sweet.
Harold Shoosmith was as staggered by Edward's disclosure of Carl's plans as Charles Henstock had been. But, once over the shock, he was filled with appreciation for Carl's generosity and enthusiasm for the idea in general.
Edward explained about the letter which Carl was proposing to send to the chairman of the trustees, Charles Henstock, with a copy for each member of the committee at the meeting which was to take place very soon.
'Has Ben been told about this?' asked Harold. 'He is the closest relative.'
'Not yet,' said Edward. 'Carl particularly wants to tell him himself, once the meeting has taken place. After all, the offer may not be welcomed.'
'I can't see that happening,' commented Harold. 'Do you think it would work? Architecturally, I mean?'
'I can't see any real problem.'
'Could you do it?'
Edward looked unhappy. 'I don't want people to think I'm pushing for a job. I don't want the trustees to feel that just because I am one of them I should be handed the thing. The idea makes me cringe.'
'Naturally,' said Harold. 'Sorry I mentioned it.'
They sat in silence for a moment or two, then Harold spoke again: 'It does seem an outstandingly generous offer, and I wonder if Carl quite realizes how much this may cost.'
'He's in a far better position than we are to judge that,' Edward pointed out. 'He's doing this sort of thing all the time. His aim is to do what his mother asked him to do. It's really as simple as that.'
'Well,' said Harold standing up, 'it's a wonderful thought, and we'll have to see how the trustees react when they read Carl's letter next week.'
The night of the meeting was cold and bright. As the eight trustees assembled, blowing on their freezing fingers, they were glad to see the blazing fire in the Cartwrights' sitting-room, which the couple had handed over for this evening's business.
They themselves did not take part in these meetings, but were kept well-informed of any decisions taken, and their own views were much welcomed by the committee.
Charles, as chairman, had wondered if the letter from Carl should be sent to each member of the committee in advance of the meeting, but had decided against it. Far better to get the initial response round the table, he felt, and so it was arranged.
Having gone smoothly through the agenda, the all-important Any Other Business brought Charles to his feet as he bustled round the table putting a copy of Carl's letter before his friends.
'We'll have a few minutes to read this to ourselves,' he said, 'and then have comments.'
The trustees applied themselves to their task diligently, and silence fell upon the little company as they read the letter before them. It said:
To Those Whom It May Concern
My mother, who died recently in Michigan, was the godchild of Mrs Curdle, well-known in Thrush Green. Ben Curdle, who still lives there, as you know, is her grandson.
My mother loved and respected Mrs Curdle and always wanted to pay tribute to her by way of a memorial. She asked me to find out the most suitable remembrance, and this was the main reason for my visits to Thrush Green.
I have looked and listened, and it seems to me that the most suitable tribute would be the enlargement of the present sun room at Rectory Cottages, and perhaps, if agreed, to name it 'Mrs Curdle's Room'.
All expenses would be my concern, and I should be happy to provide this tribute to Mrs Curdle, as my mother wished.
'Well,' gasped Mrs Thurgood, 'what an amazing letter!'
'A most generous offer!' commented Justin Venables. 'We should have to look into the legal side, of course.'
There were other comments of amazement as the letters were lowered again to the table, and the trustees looked bemusedly about them.
'I should like your comments,' said Charles.
As expected, Mrs Thurgood was the first to burst into speech.
'Well, as you know, I have always maintained that the present annexe, or "sun room" as Mr Andersen calls it, was far too small.' She turned to Edward. 'If you remember, I said as much when we had our little discussion in the High Street.'
Edward felt that 'little d
iscussion' hardly described his capture and incarceration by a strategically placed shopping trolley, but he remained silent. It would have been a waste of breath to try to quell Mrs Thurgood.
'So,' continued that lady, 'I heartily welcome this offer.'
'Hear, hear!' came from her fellows round the table.
'It seems to me,' said Charles, 'the most wonderful gesture. I only question the expense of the project. One wonders if perhaps Carl would allow us to contribute part of the funding.'
'My daughter,' began Mrs Thurgood eagerly, 'would be very pleased to have an exhibition—'
She was cut short by Charles who interrupted her with uncharacteristic firmness.
'Not now, Mrs Thurgood! What do you all feel about this?'
Edward spoke. 'Carl mentioned this matter to me in confidence, and I did question the very considerable sum that such an undertaking would need. He was quite adamant that he wanted to meet all expenses himself, and I think he would be hurt if we suggested that we muscled in — shall we say?—on his very personal offer. He is anxious to carry out his mother's wishes, and I think we should respect that.'
There was agreement over this, and after a little more discussion and general appreciation of Carl's offer, the motion of acceptance was put and carried.
It was then that Harold made the suggestion that the Cartwrights' opinion might be sought.
'After all, they will have to cope with the building and general upheaval, and the comfort of their charges.'
'You think I should write?' queried Charles, 'and perhaps send a copy of Carl's letter?'
'What's wrong with calling 'em in now,' said Edward. 'They're only in the kitchen washing up, and we've never stood on ceremony with Jane and Bill.'
And so the Cartwrights were summoned to their own sitting-room, provided with their own chairs, and offered one of their own biscuits which were ready on a side table to eat with the coffee which came when the meeting was over.
Charles explained about the incredibly generous offer, and how pleased the trustees were. Had they any comments? Were they happy with the idea? Nothing yet had been done about replying to Mr Andersen, but he would be writing immediately on behalf of the trustees.
Bill took his wife's hand and looked at her delightedly.
Jane was starry-eyed.
'It's the best news in the world,' she said.
'She's right,' agreed Bill. 'Tell Carl when you write, that we send all our thanks and love.'
'And now,' said Jane, jumping to her feet, 'if you've nearly finished, I'll get the coffee.'
When the company emerged from Rectory Cottages, the stars were bright above, and frost was beginning to form. The grass was already crisp, and their breath billowed before them as they made their way to their cars, or on foot to nearby homes.
'Come in for a drink?' invited Harold to Edward, but the latter shook his head.
'I promised to ring Carl as soon as the meeting was over. He'll be waiting for a call.'
'He'll be delighted with the outcome, I've no doubt. What a success the meeting was! Even Mrs Thurgood was pleasant.'
'Naturally! She's got her own way again,' said Edward laughing.
'And we shan't have to have an exhibition of her daughter's ghastly daubs,' agreed Harold. 'When's Carl back, by the way?'
'Ben's fetching him the day after tomorrow.'
'Good! I've no doubt Ben will be told all about it then.'
Edward stopped suddenly beside one of the great chestnut trees near his house.
'D'you know, it was under this tree that Mrs Curdle always put her caravan. It's nice to think that her memorial will be standing so near.'
'Halfway,' mused Harold looking across the green, 'between her caravan site and her grave. I like the idea.'
'So will everyone,' said Edward heartily.
Walking alone to his own house, Harold thought that he had never seen Edward quite so happy before.
He, and all at Thrush Green, had Carl Andersen to thank for that.
December
Let joy be unconfined;
Lord Byron
A welcome change in the weather heralded the arrival of December. The weather-vanes of Lulling and Thrush Green veered to the north-east, the skies cleared and a wintry sun emerged for part of each day.
Spirits rose. Christmas shopping began in earnest, and all those loved ones in far-flung quarters of the globe were remembered with lightweight parcels sent by air mail, if they had been forgotten earlier in October, when presents should have been despatched by surface mail by prudent donors.
In Lulling High Street the Christmas decorations were being draped across the road by men balanced on long ladders.
Nelly Piggott allowed Rosa and Gloria to stick morsels of cotton-wool on the windows of the Fuchsia Bush, much to their satisfaction, and a small Christmas tree stood in a prominent position just behind the snowfall.
At Thrush Green there were more modest decorations. The Two Pheasants had a string of varied coloured lights round the door, and Mr Jones's two bay trees, one each side of the entrance, were also decked with fairy lights.
In St Andrew's church the crib stood in the chancel. Winnie had washed the figures of the nativity, as she did yearly, and she and Ella had put it all in order and set it up in its appointed place.
At the school the making of paper-chains went on apace. Jars of almond-smelling Gloy gave forth their fragrance, and paste brushes were plied with feverish zeal. Already the infants' room was criss-crossed with many-splendoured pieces of handiwork, and the fact that every now and again one link would give way and a shower of paper rings would descend upon the makers only added to the general enjoyment.
Rehearsals for the Mad Hatter's tea party and the thunderous country dances went on apace, and although Alan Lester and Miss Robinson adhered valiantly to the timetable, there was no doubt that rather less knowledge was imbibed than usual.
'Never mind,' said Alan philosophically, 'Christmas comes but once a year.'
It was at this time that more news came of Bruce's owners. They were indeed in South America and in one of those countries which did not recognize the usual international necessity for returning malefactors to the country of their origin in order to expedite justice.
Stern letters had crossed the Atlantic. Diplomats had argued. Letters from outraged readers had enlivened the columns of the local newspapers, but all was in vain.
The couple were allowed to remain in the country of their choice, living, no doubt, on their ill-gotten gains and spreading happiness among the local traders.
'It is deplorable, of course,' Dotty said to Betty Bell, 'but at least we know they won't come back.'
'Good riddance to bad rubbish!' agreed Betty.
'And in any case,' added Dotty ferociously, 'I should never have given Bruce back to such dreadful people. My father would have put them to rights, I can tell you!'
Carl Andersen returned, much to the pleasure of his friends, and one of his first visits was to see Ben and Molly.
Now that his plan had been accepted by the trustees, he had the freedom to discuss it openly.
Ben was much touched by this honour to his grandmother, and said so with unusual eloquence.
'It's exactly the sort of thing she would like,' he said. 'You see, she always had a soft spot for children and old people, and I think children get much more attention these days than the old folk.'
'That's right,' agreed Molly.
'What's more,' went on Ben, 'she would have known some of those folk at Rectory Cottages, and certainly some of their forebears. It's a lovely idea. We shall be very proud to have a Curdle room.'
Edward Young had told him about the general delight expressed at the trustees' meeting.
'It is a magnificent idea of yours,' he said. 'You have no second thoughts about it? No doubts? We feel it is going to be such an expensive undertaking.'
Carl laughed. 'I've been into it all most carefully, both here and back home. It's what I de
arly want to do, and to be given the go-ahead was all I wanted.'
'I'm sure you will be asked to a trustees' meeting very soon, so that they can tell you how they feel and to discuss the best way of putting the work in hand.'
'Good,' said Carl. 'And I want to involve as many Thrush Green people as possible in this affair. Ben and Molly, for instance, will be the chief guests at the opening, and I hope you will take on the job of architect.'
'Please,' begged Edward. 'I know it's an honour, but it must come from the trustees. I should be embarrassed to have this automatically given to me.'
'I understand,' Carl assured him. 'I'll be discreet.'
'Are you able to stay for Christmas?' asked Edward. 'Joan and I hope you'll stay here.'
'Nothing I'd like more,' said Carl, clapping him on the shoulder, 'and now I'm off to see Charles.'
The news of Carl's offer had been relayed to Barton-on-Sea by telephone from Isobel Shoosmith to her old friends.
Dorothy and Agnes discussed it with much enthusiasm.
'She was a great influence, was old Mrs Curdle,' said Dorothy. 'Everyone respected her, and this project of Carl Andersen's will get everyone's support.'
'George was a dear little boy,' responded Agnes wistfully. She often looked back to her teaching days at Thrush Green with considerable nostalgia. Dorothy, made of sterner stuff, seldom looked back. The future was what interested her, and she broached it now.
'Do you know that Eileen is contemplating moving? I don't know what Teddy feels about it, but I told her straight that I thought it quite wrong!'
'But surely,' quavered Agnes, 'it is their affair? And why should you think it is wrong?'
'Poor Teddy is used to his surroundings. He knows where the steps are in the house, and which way the doors open, and all those important things for a person without sight. I told Eileen so, and I didn't mince my words either.'
She thumped down a saucepan on the draining board to emphasize her resolve. The two ladies were washing up their lunch pots and pans.