by Miss Read
Agnes was deeply disturbed. Dorothy could be so thoughtless. She might have offended Eileen. It was true that Teddy would have quite a problem in adapting to a new environment, but was it Dorothy's place to point this out?
Agnes's heart had leapt when Dorothy spoke of this proposed move. It would come as a relief to know that Teddy was safely removed from Dorothy's attentions.
She had certainly been much more restrained in her dealings with Eileen and Teddy since Agnes had pointed out the desirability of discretion on their visit to Thrush Green earlier in the year. But this news might well inflame those feelings which Dorothy had made some effort to calm, and who knows what might happen?
'It's surely their business,' said Agnes diffidently. 'I'm sure they would have talked it over thoroughly before making such an important decision.'
'Teddy is so unselfish,' declared Dorothy, dropping a handful of kitchen cutlery on to the draining board with a resounding clatter. 'If Eileen wants something, then Teddy will give way to her.'
'Well, of course, they consider each other,' pointed out Agnes reasonably. 'Married couples have to make their plans jointly.'
Dorothy wrung out the dish cloth with excessive vigour. Agnes saw, with dismay, that her neck and face were getting flushed, always a bad sign.
'There's really nothing we can do,' she continued soothingly. 'In any case, I'm sure they will tell us if they do decide to move.'
Dorothy gave a gusty sigh, and folded the dish cloth with care.
'I suppose we must just be patient,' she said. 'Very irksome, I find it, but you are quite right, Agnes dear. It's just that I am so fond of Teddy — in just a friendly way, you understand — that I don't care to see him exploited.'
'I quite understand,' replied Agnes.
One frosty December morning Carl called at St John's vicarage to see his friends the Henstocks.
Dimity was busy rolling out pastry, but paused to put floury hands round his neck and give him a hearty kiss.
Charles, less demonstrative but equally delighted to see him, led him into his study.
'I'm juggling with the Christmas services for all four parishes,' he explained, pushing a sheaf of papers to one end of his desk. 'Such a joyous festival of the church, but very difficult to arrange.'
'I can imagine,' said Carl. 'I won't hold up the good work, but I just wanted a word about the trustees' meeting.'
'Of course, of course! I can't tell you how excited and grateful everyone is. We are having an emergency meeting here next week. I hope you'll be here too.'
He began to shuffle his papers.
'Somewhere I've got a letter here from the trustees thanking you,' he said with some agitation. 'Now where—?'
Carl broke in. 'I'll be there without fail. Which day is it?'
'Half past seven next Tuesday,' replied Charles. 'And we're having it here this time. You can tell us all your plans, and we can tell you how we feel about this marvellous offer.'
Carl began to tell him how anxious he was for as many Thrush Green people to be involved as possible.
'Perhaps the trustees will bear that in mind,' he said. 'There must be good builders, electricians, plumbers and the like who could tackle the job.'
'Indeed there are,' agreed Charles.
'And I should very much like Edward to be the architect,' added Carl, 'but he's very diffident about taking it on. He says it must be the trustees' decision.'
'I quite understand his natural feelings over this,' said Charles. 'I'm sure it would be the general wish that he took on the enlargement. He made an excellent job of the first stage.'
'Well, make sure you tell him that,' said Carl. 'I think he feels that he let you down by not making it bigger in the first place.'
'Oh poor Edward!' cried Charles, his face puckering with dismay. 'I'd no idea he felt like that. He has no need to reproach himself.'
'So I tell him,' replied Carl, getting up. 'Just see the message gets across. I'll see you next Tuesday then.'
The next Tuesday was as bright and clear as the days which preceded it, and, very cheerful, the good people of Lulling and Thrush Green were to be able to do their Christmas shopping without the hazards of deep puddles, dripping awnings and umbrellas.
Carl drove from Woodstock, where he had taken up his old room, and crunched across the gravel of the vicarage drive to attend this important confrontation.
As he waited for the door to be opened he gazed at the great spire of St John's church silhouetted against a luminous sky scattered with stars.
Near by a small animal, vole, mouse or shrew, rustled among the dead leaves under the shrubs. It was very quiet, and the serenity of his surroundings calmed the slight agitation which had been with him on the short journey to this destination.
This would all be here when he had gone. When the projected new annexe had gone, for that matter. Other men, a hundred years hence, would look up at that noble spire and those eternal stars.
The door opened, and Charles welcomed him in.
The meeting began on time. Charles took the chair, and invited Carl to sit beside him. Edward sat alone at the foot of the table and the rest of the trustees were ranged along the sides.
'I have apologies from Justin Venables,' said Charles. 'He has one of his chesty colds.'
There were murmurs of sympathy for young Mr Venables, but, as Mrs Thurgood pointed out, one must face these things in one's seventies.
'Good old camphorated oil takes a lot of beating,' said Harold.
'A bit whiffy,' commented another, and the rival merits of such remedies as friar's balsam, blackcurrant lozenges, gargling with salt water, as well as such modern medicaments as Vick, Night Nurse and Benylin were being briskly discussed when Charles, who was quite used to these digressions at meetings, called them to order, and explained, although they already knew, just why they were there.
His little speech of thanks to Carl was a model of its kind, and warmly supported by all present. He responded by explaining that it was going to give him enormous pleasure to fulfil his mother's wishes, and continued by saying how much he wanted as many Thrush Green people as possible to be involved in the work.
He then paused, and Charles took up the theme.
'That is what we should all like,' he said, 'and it will involve everyone more closely with such an intimately local project. As you know, Edward here made a wonderful job of the original building, and I think it would please everyone if he were invited to take on this work.'
'I propose that,' said Mrs Thurgood promptly. 'Nobody better!'
'And I second it,' said Harold Shoosmith.
'Would you like to make a comment?' asked Charles of the silent figure at the end of the table.
Edward was looking unhappy. He raised his eyes and saw Carl's intent gaze upon him. There was silence round the table.
'Please,' said Carl gently.
Edward looked at the waiting faces, and smiled. 'If that is what you want,' he said, 'I should count it an honour to take on the job. And I promise to do my best.'
There was an audible sigh of relief. The motion was carried unanimously, and twenty minutes later Dimity appeared with glasses and the vicar's best port to celebrate.
Carl was obliged to return to his Scottish affairs the next day but had a chance to tell Edward how relieved and delighted he was at his acceptance of the work.
'I've been thinking about the design,' said Edward, 'and it seems to me that a large shallow bay with a really comfortable window seat round it would be useful as well as attractive to look at. And we must have plenty of light. It makes such a difference to old people's reading.'
Carl was relieved to see him so happily engaged, and Joan, out of her husband's earshot, told Carl how Edward's spirits had revived.
'You are a greater benefactor than you know,' she told him, 'and the news is already cheering people with the prospect of more work to do.'
She was right. Carl's present to the community was warmly welcomed, and the th
ought of such a practical tribute to dear old Mrs Curdle of hallowed memory pleased everyone.
Nelly Piggott, as a Thrush Green resident, had many comments made to her on the subject by customers of the Fuchsia Bush.
Christmas shopping was now in full swing, and Nelly and the staff were uncommonly busy when one morning the three Lovelock sisters made their appearance.
Instead of seating themselves at one of the tables as Nelly expected, they approached her with smiles on their wrinkled faces and hands outstretched. Bertha Lovelock, the collector of unconsidered trifles such as small pots of jam, was holding a little parcel wrapped in Christmas paper.
'Do come into the office for a minute if you can spare the time,' said Nelly, conscious of inquisitive glances from the customers and guessing, rightly, that this was an offering for herself.
They followed her obediently into the inner sanctum where so recently Bertha had made her apologies in the stern presence of her sister Violet.
'No, no. We won't sit down, Mrs Piggott. But we wanted you to have this little Christmas present with our very best wishes.'
Nelly unwrapped it with care. It was a charming little silver dish, oval in shape, called, she believed, a bonbon dish, and she remembered polishing it in days gone by when she worked for the old ladies.
'This is much too good for me,' she exclaimed, holding the pretty thing.
'Nothing is too good for you,' pronounced Bertha. 'It is a little memento of three old friends.'
Nelly was much touched. It was old, it was lovely and had been much cherished. It had cost these three old ladies a great deal to part with it.
'I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate it. I'll always treasure it, believe me.'
'We know it is in safe hands,' said Violet.
'Do go and sit down, and let me bring you some coffee,' urged Nelly.
'No, really,' protested Ada.
'Please. It's the least I can do, to give you a cup of coffee in return for this wonderful present.'
The sisters exchanged glances.
'In that case,' said Violet inclining her head graciously, 'we should be delighted to accept such a kind offer.'
Nelly followed behind them, and summoned Rosa to fetch coffee 'and in the best cups, please'.
The Youngs were expecting Carl to come to them on Christmas Eve, and Molly and Joan were busy the day before making up a bed for him in the spare room when the telephone rang.
It was Carl. He sounded agitated, quite unlike his usual self.
'Something's cropped up,' he announced. 'Pretty serious too, I guess.'
'Are you ill? What's happened?'
'We reckon there may be a fault on site. We've got the surveyor and a whole heap of geology guys testing like crazy everywhere. The thing is, Joan, I'll just have to stay here, and I'm real sorry to miss Christmas with you.'
'I can see it can't be helped,' said Joan. 'Edward's out, but he'll be as disappointed as I am.'
'I'm sick about the whole thing, but we must get this sorted out. Luckily they don't seem to worry too much about the Christmas break up here. Something called Hogmanay next weekend or so seems to be their knocking-off time.'
'Any idea when we might see you?'
'None at the moment, but I'll keep in touch. I'll probably go straight to Woodstock if I can get away, but I can see it won't be until after Christmas now.'
They wished each other well and Carl rang off.
Sadly, Joan returned to the bedroom to tell Molly the news.
Christmas Day was bright and clear. The bells of St John's were the first to be heard, and later the answering peals from Thrush Green and the villages around were plain to hear through the frosty air.
Above St Andrew's church the rooks wheeled and cawed, as the parishioners made their way to morning service.
Winnie and Ella met at the church gate and Ella asked her if she would like a trip to Woodstock when the shops opened again after Christmas.
'I'd love to come,' said Winnie. 'Is there any particular reason?'
'That nice woman in the wool shop rang yesterday to say she had a late delivery of the wool I'm using for my rug. You know, that thick stuff I'm using for that tied-brick stitch.'
'How's it getting on?'
'Slowly. I don't really care for this coarse handiwork, but it's no good pretending I can see to do anything finer.'
Winnie was sympathetic. They entered the church, and as they knelt together to say their first private prayers Winnie thought how bravely Ella was tackling her problem of diminishing sight.
The ancient Mini which had served Ella for so many years had already been sold, and Winnie knew how much Ella missed her independence and the joy she had always felt in forays into Lulling and the surrounding countryside. Winnie herself had never driven, for Donald had enjoyed taking the wheel and she had been more than content to be a passenger. Since his death she had become familiar with the local bus timetable, and now, it seemed, Ella had to do the same.
Charles Henstock took the service. He had already celebrated early communion at St John's at eight o'clock and matins at ten o'clock. From there he had driven to Thrush Green's service at eleven fifteen, and rejoiced in his work.
St John's had looked splendid. The great nave had echoed to the grandeur of a full choir and an organ loud in triumphant rendering of 'Adeste fideles'. The flower ladies had excelled themselves, and swathes of greenery, branches of berried holly, great mop-headed chrysanthemums and Christmas roses added to the splendour. It was a noble church, thought Charles, nobly tended as it had been for generations, and he was proud to be the incumbent of such a fine and famous parish.
And yet, thought Charles, looking fondly about the modest interior of St Andrew's as the country voices sang 'Hark, the herald angels sing' beneath the pitch-pine rafters, there was something very endearing and very personal about this building.
It was not beautiful as St John's was beautiful. It had been built in Victoria's reign by less skilled men with less time and money. But it was the church in which Nathaniel Patten had worshipped and where that fine missionary's benefactor, the Reverend Octavius Fennel, had conducted his services just as he was doing this Christmas morning.
It was here too, at Thrush Green, thought Charles, that he had lived for a number of years, at first alone, until he had met and married his dear Dimity who had changed his life so wonderfully.
'Amen!' resounded round the church, and Charles returned to his duties, with a thankful heart.
Winnie Bailey and Ella Bembridge had decided to catch the bus from Thrush Green to Woodstock.
'If we catch the two o'clock,' said Winnie, 'we shall be there in good time, and after we have picked up the wool I suggest that we have a walk in Blenheim park.'
'Good idea,' said Ella. 'I think Blenheim Palace looks at its best in winter, and it should still be light. After that we will have tea in Woodstock and catch the five o'clock back.'
The two looked forward to their outing. They had always been good friends, but since Donald's death and Dimity's departure to the vicarage at Lulling, they had seen more of each other and enjoyed their meetings.
It was dry and still, but there was no sunshine as they waited for the bus to mount the hill from Lulling. Outside the Youngs' house a bed of nerines glowed pinkly against the Cotswold stone house. In local gardens the bulbs were already pushing their noses through the soil, and winter jasmine starred the cottage walls with yellow blossom.
'Soon be spring,' said Ella cheerfully.
The bus arrived. One of the Cooke boys, who had started life in a council house along the Nidden road less than half a mile away, welcomed them aboard and took their fares. He was driver and conductor combined.
They visited the wool shop, inspected the goods, paid for them and arranged to pick up the parcel after their walk.
By now a weak shaft of sunlight was showing through the clouds, and brightening the ancient street.
Two people were crossing the road fr
om the Bear.
'Look!' cried Winnie. 'There's Carl!'
The two came towards them. Carl was accompanied by a tall elegant woman in a long black coat with a fur collar, and a dashing little black fur hat to match.
'How lovely to see you,' said Winnie. 'We thought you were still in Scotland.'
'We arrived here late last night,' said Carl smiling. 'But let me introduce you. This is Elizabeth Winsford and we are getting married very soon.'
'What news! Congratulations Carl!' cried Winnie.
She held out her hand to the elegant stranger who was laughing at the excitement she was causing.
'And mine too,' said Ella warmly. 'This is tremendous news. All Thrush Green will rejoice with you.'
Winnie interposed anxiously, 'Unless it is a secret, of course?' She looked questioningly at Elizabeth.
'No indeed,' said the girl. 'Carl has just been telling Joan and Edward Young and we are going over there now to see them.'
'In fact,' said Carl, 'we're just slipping across to the florist to buy a belated Christmas present to take with us. Can we give you a lift back?'
But the two ladies explained about their proposed walk and the parcel waiting to be collected, and the couples parted with renewed congratulations and in high spirits.
By the next day it was common knowledge in Thrush Green, and even in Lulling, that Carl was engaged to be married. His fiancée had only been glimpsed the day before, so that descriptions of the lady varied from 'proper skinny, and all in black' (Albert Piggott), 'a real lady with furs on' (Mrs Cooke) and 'elegant, I'd say, and what a pair they'll make' (Nelly Piggott).
The use of the word 'black' in Albert Piggott's comment, was soon translated by those who had not seen the lady into conjectures about whether Carl's bride-to-be was black or white, but everyone agreed that whoever Carl had chosen would be wholeheartedly welcome in the neighbourhood.