by Miss Read
'Betty Bell has obliged, as they say, and although I hesitate to do it too often, I should love to have an evening off some time.'
'Then we'll arrange it,' said Kit cheerfully, and followed his hostess into the kitchen to help her by carrying in the tea things.
Later that night, Lulling Woods and the surrounding fields lay silvered under a full moon.
Connie, in bed, was happily tired. It was good to look forward to a change of scene in the company of kindly Kit Armitage. Aunt Dotty had enjoyed her impromptu tea party, and she felt all the better for the company.
She plumped up her pillow, turned on her side, and was asleep in five minutes.
Next door, Dotty lay awake, but she too was content with her day. It was strange, she thought, surveying her bony hands spread out on the moon-lit quilt, how pleasant life was even though her movements were so restricted.
If anyone had told her a year ago, that she would not be able to walk much farther than the length of her garden, she would have been shocked to the core. But now that it had happened she found that there were compensations.
She studied her small confines with more attention to pleasurable detail. Only this morning she had enjoyed looking at the thrum-eyed and pin-eyed primroses beneath the hedge. She had noted the tight buds of the lilac and the stiff green spears of the iris leaves.
The comings and goings of the garden birds meant more to her now than the flocks of lapwings and rooks which she used to watch on her travels farther afield. The antics of a bumble bee at the window engaged her attention as sharply as Flossie's chasing across Thrush Green had in earlier days.
And there was as much joy to be had from the surprise visit of two old friends, as from all the dozens one used to meet at social gatherings. One had much to be thankful for, thought Dotty.
There was no doubt about it. God tempered the wind to the shorn lamb, as her old father would say. And despite the lack of Mrs Curdle's Fair, she thought inconsequently, it had been a good first of May.
She pulled the bed clothes around her bony shoulders, and went contentedly to sleep.
10. Mrs Thurgood Fights Again
CHARLES HENSTOCK's suspicions that the redoubtable Mrs Thurgood would return to her onslaught on the Lady Chapel kneelers were well-founded.
He had seen very little of the lady for several weeks, and had noted the empty pew with some misgivings. Had she taken umbrage and left his church? If so, which one was she now attending? And had he failed in his duty towards this parishioner?
His questions were answered when he heard that Mrs Thurgood and her artistic daughter were enjoying a tour of Italy, 'taking in,' as one of his congregation put it, 'Rome, Florence and Venice.' It sounded rather indigestible to Charles who preferred his culture in book form whilst sitting peacefully in his study.
Nevertheless, he was relieved to hear that the lady had not swept in dudgeon from St John's for ever. Perhaps she would return from her travels with a more informed sense of beauty, and would realise that the kneelers looked very well as they were in their ancient setting.
On the other hand, thought Charles with a pang of alarm, the daughter might have decided to copy some hangings of the Doge or the Borgias and was already returning with a folio of designs ready sketched out on graph paper.
Charles chided himself at this point. He was letting Mrs Thurgood dominate his thoughts, and all to no good. It was no use allowing his imagination to run away with him. No doubt, she would return much refreshed, and in a more amenable state of mind. He resolved to do nothing until Mrs Thurgood raised the matter herself. After all, he and Dimity had given time and attention to the problem, and he knew he was on firm ground.
But these kindly and rational notions were swept away one sunny May afternoon, when the rector was alone in the vestry checking one of the church registers in response to an overseas correspondent who had asked for details of his grandparents' marriage.
It was the sort of job that Charles enjoyed, and he was happily turning the pages at the vestry table, when he became conscious of voices.
Two women were obviously visiting the church and were now in the Lady Chapel. Charles decided to let them continue their tour while he went on with his investigations. If their visit was protracted he proposed to emerge and welcome them, showing them some of the more unusual features of his beautiful church.
But suddenly, the voices became much clearer.
'I shan't leave it at that, you know,' said one woman stoutly. 'You can see for yourself the state they're in. It would never have done for dear Anthony.'
With horror, Charles realised that his adversary was back. Should he declare himself, or hope that they would soon go away?
Before he had time to make a decision, the younger woman spoke.
'You're quite right, mother. But then what can you expect from this Henstock fellow? No idea of how to run things.'
'I agree. No standards at all. A vulgar little man, and a wife to match. Just take a look at this one, dear. Very badly frayed.'
Charles Henstock closed the register, coughed loudly, and made his way past the organ into the Lady Chapel. To be called 'a vulgar little man' did not upset him. But to hear his adored Dimity spoken of in such scathing terms was more than he could bear.
Nevertheless, his demeanour was calm as he confronted the two women.
Apart from a sharp indrawn breath from Mrs Thurgood, and a certain reddening of her daughter Janet's complexion, the ladies appeared free from any guilty reactions.
'We are just back from Italy,' announced Mrs Thurgood, 'and we are going through the kneelers again. What neglect! The sooner they are replaced the better.'
'Dimity and I spent a good deal of time inspecting them too,' said Charles gently. 'We put aside some half-dozen which we thought needed repair.'
'Repair?' boomed Mrs Thurgood. 'They need more than repair! This church has never been the same since dear Mr Bull left us. And I said as much when I wrote to the Bishop.'
'I know,' replied Charles. 'I saw the letter.'
At that, even Mrs Thurgood's boldness wavered, but she contented herself with a snort of disgust.
'I don't intend to discuss the matter now in this holy place,' Charles pointed out, 'but if you and Miss Thurgood—'
'Mizz,' broke in Janet. 'I prefer to be known as Mizz, spelled M and S.'
'I beg your pardon?'
'Capital M, small S,' explained Janet.
'Oh!' said the rector, now enlightened, 'like "manuscript".'
'Not in the least like "manuscript",' exclaimed Mrs Thurgood. 'But to get back to the point.'
'I was about to say,' said Charles, 'that it would be a good idea to step across to the vicarage to discuss this matter. I have a few papers to put together in the vestry, and then I hope you will accompany me there.'
'Have we time, mother?' asked the manuscript.
'Yes, indeed,' said Mrs Thurgood firmly. 'This is something of outstanding importance.'
Within ten minutes, the three were closeted in Charles's study, and the battle began.
Charles, the kindest of men, nevertheless had a streak of steel in him. When his duty had to be done, nothing could make him shirk it.
There were many parishioners who, having mistaken Charles's gentleness for weakness, could remember the shock they had received on facing their rector's uncompromising attitude to wrong-doing. That pink chubby face and kindly smile hid the strongest sense of right and wrong, and when it came to the point Charles feared no man on a matter of principle.
He sat behind his desk, a crucifix on the wall behind him, a beautiful silver and ivory present from Harold and Isobel Shoosmith to replace the one lost in the Thrush Green fire. The Thurgood ladies sat before him on wooden upright chairs of a somewhat penitential pattern, although to Charles, a man of simple tastes, they seemed perfectly suitable for his study.
'Please let me know what worries you, Mrs Thurgood,' began Charles. 'I thought that we had already settled this affair
of the kneelers.'
'You know quite well we haven't,' replied Mrs Thurgood forthrightly. 'I take it as an insult, a rebuff, a slap in the face—'
'What is?' interjected the rector.
'This turning down of my offer to bear the expense of replacing the kneelers.'
'We are not unmindful of your generosity,' said Charles, 'but my wife and I, and the Bishop too, see no reason for a wholesale replacement. As I said, a few need mending, but the others will last for several years. We should all be deeply grateful if you could undertake the repair work, but we do not want to see you put to needless expense.'
'Humph!' snorted the lady, 'I'm willing to face the expense, and I certainly don't think it "needless". The fact is, Mr Henstock, the church is being run down. The singing leaves much to be desired, the vestments are shabby, the flowers are not arranged with a quarter of the skill that Mrs Bull brought to the job, and the services are distinctly low! I tremble to think what dear Anthony Bull would think should he ever return.'
'I have always had the highest regard for my predecessor,' answered Charles equably. 'He was a devout and conscientious churchman, but his ways were different from mine. I am the first to recognise it. Nevertheless, I am, I trust, equally devout, and attentive to my parochial duties, and the Bishop, I am glad to say, approves of my conduct.'
'You are going to lose your congregation, believe me,' warned Mrs Thurgood. 'There is a great deal of gossip and discontent. Am I to understand then, that you refuse to let me replace the kneelers?'
'That is so. It is quite unnecessary.'
Mrs Thurgood arose and her daugher followed suit.
'Then in that case, sir, we have no alternative but to leave your company and your church.'
She swept towards the door, and Charles was only just in time to open it for her. He accompanied the two ladies to the front door in silence, bowed them out politely, and returned to his study.
He went to the window and took a deep breath of scented air. Tabitha, the cat, was sprawled on her back in the border, comfortably flattening some pinks and warming her stomach in the sunshine.
'I suppose one could say that the powers of evil won that skirmish,' he said, addressing the cat, 'but somehow I feel that right has triumphed, in the whole battle.'
The Misses Lovelocks' lunch party in honour of Kit Armitage took place a few days after Charles Henstock's confrontation with the Thurgood ladies.
Preparations had been lengthy and heart-searching. Violet, still determined to provide something rather better than the usual fare found at the house, had been studying half a dozen recipes for asparagus soup with considerable anxiety. The asparagus bed was already sprouting well in the shelter of the garden wall, and Violet examined it daily.
As she had rashly suggested a fruit tart as well as the 'cold shape' which her sisters considered obligatory at any luncheon, she also had to look out some bottled plums and make some pastry. She had secretly wondered if she could buy some ready-made frozen pastry, and use it while her sisters were out of the kitchen, but even Violet's stout heart quailed at the thought of being discovered in such deceit. She must just do the best she could, she told herself, and if it happened to get a little overdone, as her pastry sometimes did, she would shake plenty of caster sugar over it and put up with Ada's rebukes.
The main course was the one which gave the ladies the most concern.
'Pork is out,' announced Bertha. 'Justin simply can't digest it, I know for a fact.'
'Pork is not in season anyway,' Ada said loftily. 'Not the right thing for a summer luncheon at all.'
'What about chicken?' said Violet.
'One seems to have chicken whenever one goes out to lunch,' observed Bertha.
'Because everyone likes it,' said Violet. 'It's light and easily digested.'
'And cheap,' added Bertha thoughtfully.
'Yes indeed,' said Ada brightening. 'It's certainly cheaper than most meat.'
The three ladies pondered over this happy attribute of chicken in silence. It appealed strongly.
'And it is extremely tasty when cold,' said Ada. 'Shall we slice it in the kitchen and let people help themselves?'
Violet, still strong in her intention to do right by Kit Armitage, was emboldened to say:
'I think we should have two chickens, or else a nice piece of cold gammon to go with it.'
Ada and Bertha exchanged glances. What was Violet coming to? It really seemed as if she were as infatuated as she had been all those years ago. What else could have driven her to suggest such unnecessary lavishness? Two chickens indeed!
'The men can have a leg apiece,' said Ada brusquely.
'They'll want breast as well,' argued Violet obstinately. 'And they may need second helpings.'
'Second helpings?' echoed Bertha, aghast at the thought.
'Men get hungry,' said Violet, sticking to her guns. 'And in any case, we can eat up anything left for the rest of the week.'
'But two chickens!' exclaimed Ada. 'I really don't know—'
'And the carcases will make excellent stock,' persisted Violet.
Silence fell again upon the agitated ladies. It was Ada who broke it at last.
'Perhaps a piece of gammon might be a good idea,' she conceded eventually, it always looks so pink and pretty garnished with parsley. Yes, one chicken, not more than three pounds in weight, should do us all very well if there is boiled bacon to supplement it.'
'Collar or fore-quarter,' said Bertha, 'is much cheaper, you know.'
'Gammon cuts much more economically,' Violet put in swiftly.
And there the matter rested.
Kit Armitage, his old friends Mr and Mrs Venables and the three Lovelock sisters fitted very comfortably round the old ladies' beautiful dining table.
In a way it was a pity, thought Justin, who knew a good deal about antique furniture, that its beauty was hidden by an exquisitely laundered damask tablecloth, but his hostesses were of the generation which gave much attention to the drapery of tables, and he had to admit that the pristine whiteness showed up the sparkling glass and old silver very satisfactorily.
Thanks to Violet's persistence the meal was unusually generous by Lovelock standards, and everyone tucked in heartily.
The conversation turned to affairs at Thrush Green and, in particular, to Kit's difficulty in finding suitable property to buy.
'I should really prefer to be high up,' he said. 'Somewhere around Thrush Green would suit me very well, and I'm getting a little bored at The Fleece, kind though they are.'
'You know you can always come back to us,' said Justin.
'Yes, indeed,' echoed his wife valiantly, trying to ignore the unworthy thoughts of extra catering, bed-making, and general entertaining which loomed darkly.
'You've done more than your share for the wanderer,' said Kit, 'and very grateful I am, as you know.'
'What about Mrs Bassett's house?' suggested Ada. 'Has she decided yet to go to Ruth's?'
'I know Joan and Edward are waiting to hear,' said Violet. 'And then, I believe, they propose to offer it to the young Curdles.'
Kit turned to her.
'I'm so glad you told me, because I was wondering if I dare approach them about it, and it might have been awkward for them. Now I shall keep quiet.'
His smile made Violet's heart turn over. It was good to think she had helped him.
'Won't you have another helping of plum tart?' she asked.
'Yes, please. It's quite the best tart I've tasted for years,' he told her. And Violet's happiness was complete.
At the other side of the table Bertha leant across.
'Have you tried Mrs Jenner? The Henstocks had a flat there when the rectory burnt down. It's along the Nidden road. Very light and airy, but you'd have to do for yourself, of course.'
'I believe Charles mentioned it, but there was someone in it at that time. Still, many thanks for the idea. I'll follow it up.'
'Cousins of mine,' said Justin, 'have a mill house farther
up the Pleshey, but it has six bedrooms and several outhouses and is horribly damp. They are selling.'
'I don't blame them,' replied Kit, smiling. 'But I think six bedrooms are more than I need.'
'I know poor Isobel Shoosmith scoured the area for months looking for a little place,' put in Ada. in the end she married dear Harold, so that solved her problems.'
'Well, I hope mine will be as happily resolved,' said Kit. 'Now, who knows anything about these old people's homes which are going up at Thrush Green? I heard that Edward's plan was successful, and the builders have made a start.'
'I should put your name down for one,' observed Justin. 'You can't start too early for that sort of thing.'
A week passed before Kit decided to call at Mrs Jenner's. Connie had told him that she was pretty sure that her flat was now free. A service couple on leave had had it last, some distant cousins of Mrs Jenner's, so Connie had heard.
Charles and Dimity were enthusiastic about the idea, recalling with pleasure their happy few months there. He heard too, in the roundabout way of all village communication, that Mrs Bassett was now definitely going to make her home with her younger daughter Ruth, the wife of Doctor Lovell, and that Molly and Ben Curdle were to move into the stable house as soon as it had been redecorated.
It seemed to Kit, as he walked along the road to Nidden, that summer had really arrived. A heat haze hung over the valley where Lulling drowsed in the afternoon sunshine. He paused to look down the pathway which led to Connie and Dotty's house, and caught a glimpse of the buttercup-filled meadow which surrounded their garden.
The hawthorn hedge, which bordered the dusty lane, bristled with fresh red sprigs and was laced with sticky young goosegrass clambering up it from the ditch below. A number of black and white cows were clustered by a farm gate and surveyed him pensively from black eyes beneath a fringe of eyelashes. Their jaws worked rhythmically as they chewed the cud, and Kit thought how soporific it all was, the slow movements, the gentle heat on one's back, the fragrance of bruised grass and the distant hills veiled in a blue haze.