by Miss Read
'But I thought –' began poor Miss Watson.
'So did I. But she said her friend would be pleased to see her tonight.'
'Have you got the friend's address?'
'I'm afraid not.'
Miss Watson shifted the parcel from one hand to the other in her agitation.
'Did she mention the name? Ida, or Elsie? She must have said something.'
Miss Watson's voice grew higher and higher. A lesser woman might have sat on the doorstep and drummed her heels in wild hysteria. But Miss Watson was a headmistress and, although goaded almost beyond her limits, maintained some dignity.
'To tell you the truth,' said Mrs White, 'she seemed a bit upset. Not herself, as you might say.'
Miss Watson drew a deep breath.
'I can quite understand it,' she said. 'I will look forward to seeing her when she returns.'
'Would you want to leave the parcel?' enquired Mrs White. To her mind, Miss Watson looked a bit upset too. What could be the matter?
'Would you like to come in?' she asked. 'Sit down or anything?'
'No, thank you,' replied Miss Watson. 'I must go home. As for the parcel, I will give it to her myself later. There are one or two things to explain.'
She nodded politely, and set off into the darkness.
'She's aged a lot,' said Mrs White to her husband when she had closed the door.
'It's end of term,' replied Mr White sagely.
16 Getting Justice Done
THE members of the parochial church council met in the dining-room at the rectory, and tried gallantly to look warm in that bleak apartment. The more prudent of them had added cardigans or waistcoats to their attire before setting out, and the aged churchwarden flatly refused to remove anything but his hat, with a courage which his fellow members secretly admired.
There were two vacant chairs, and the rector explained the matter at the outset.
'This meeting has been called, in the first place, because I have received the resignations of Mrs Cleary and Mr Hodge. I very much hope that they can be persuaded to change their minds, and we are here to discuss ways and means of meeting the views of the objectors.'
'I suppose it was to be expected,' said Miss Watson. She looked pale and dejected, thought Harold Shoosmith sitting opposite her. Glad to have a break from those children, he supposed. He'd sooner be in trade than teaching, that was sure!
'It grieves me very much,' said the rector, 'to have this split among our good people.'
'You can't call eight a split,' broke in Harold.
'A disagreement then,' amended the rector. 'I wondered if you would think it a good idea if one of us met the objectors, or invited them to meet us, as a body, to see if we couldn't come to some amicable arrangement?'
'Sound 'em out, you mean?' said someone. 'Who are they anyway?'
The rector consulted the list while various voices recited names around the table.
'Besides Mr Hodge and his wife, and Mrs Cleary, there are Mr and Mrs Jones from "The Two Pheasants" and John and James Howard, and Martin Brewer.'
'You may not have noticed,' quavered the aged churchwarden, 'that John and James Howard work for Mr Hodge, and live in one of his tied cottages.'
'Surely,' said Miss Watson, 'he wouldn't interfere in their religious convictions?'
'No, I'm not saying that. But they'd do as he told 'em.'
'And Martin Brewer,' pointed out someone else, 'works at Mrs Cleary's shop.'
'I thought he had a job as a van driver for the laundry,' said the rector, looking bewildered. 'I'm sure he calls here. A very pleasant young fellow, and understands all about decimal coins.'
'He doesn't drive now,' said Harold. 'He was disqualified for twelve months after an accident.'
'Deserved it too,' said the churchwarden. 'Doing seventy round the new estate. Dreadful!'
'Only according to the radar trap,' said another. 'I don't hold with those things. It isn't British, catching people when they're not looking.'
A heated debate might well have broken out, but the rector, familiar with the signs, banged the table and restored order.
'So Mrs Cleary gave him a job?'
'That's right. He's weighing up corn and grit and that, and loading the van for her.'
'I like oyster shell best,' said someone conversationally. 'My hens won't touch anything else, though my old dad used to sweep up the grit from the road, I remember, and our chickens at home seemed to thrive on it.'
'And you think,' said the rector, regaining control with some effort, 'that Martin might have signed because he felt grateful to her, or some such thing?'
'Could well be,' said Harold. 'Who does that leave?'
'Mr and Mrs Jones. I know he has been very forceful about it.'
'Only because of his Auntie May,' said the churchwarden. 'He thought the world of her. She's buried up near the yew tree. Nice bit of pink sandstone, she's got over her.'
'It occurs to me,' said Harold suddenly, 'that Mrs Cleary's family grave, and the Hodge graves are all close to the yew tree, and if the Jones's Auntie May is there too, we may be able to leave that small area undisturbed and still go ahead with levelling the rest.'
There was a respectful silence as the council digested this.
'What a happy thought!' said the rector.
'And Mr Jones's Auntie May,' said the churchwarden, 'was a Hodge, of course. That's why she's there.'
'A Hodge?'
'Yes. May Hodge. Pretty girl, she was. Married Jones's uncle, and brought up Jones when his mother died. Now, she was a one! Proper harum-scarum! D'you remember that time she climbed up the rookery, George?'
He turned to a contemporary, wheezing with ancient laughter.
'We are most grateful,' cried the rector above the asthmatic noises, 'for bringing this to our attention. And how do you feel about Mr Shoosmith's suggestion that the area near the yew tree could be left?'
There were general murmurs of approval.
'That part,' said Miss Watson, suddenly coming to life, 'is so close to the new graveyard, which I think we agreed would remain as it is, that surely some beds with shrubs could make an attractive corner by the Hodge and Cleary graves, and at the same time provide a partial screen for the new graveyard.'
'It was supposed to be a privet hedge,' said the churchwarden. 'I well remember the row about green or golden, but the war came, you know, and we never got round to it.'
'I'm sure Miss Watson's idea could form the basis of an excellent scheme,' said Harold. 'But first things first. What about our eight objectors?'
'May I propose,' said Miss Watson, 'that some of us – or the rector himself, better still – approach them and see how they react?'
'Get 'em to withdraw their resignations,' growled George. 'Silly lot of nonsense! Old Percy Hodge is a useful chap and Mrs Cleary's all right when she's not on her high horse. I say, let the rector talk to 'em. The others will follow.'
'I should be only too happy to do what I can,' said Charles. 'This estrangement has been a great grief to me. And, of course, the sooner we get unity, then the sooner the faculty may be granted. If the objectors remain adamant, we must face considerable delays and considerable expense, as we are well aware. Nothing would please me more than to be able to resolve our differences here, at Thrush Green, without the unhappiness of going to court.'
'Then I propose that the rector sounds them out,' said Miss Watson.
'I'll second that,' said George.
'And what about some rough plan of the graves' area?' said Harold. 'Wouldn't it be a good thing to have something to show our objectors? They might be able to suggest further improvements.'
'Perhaps Miss Watson would help?' said Charles. 'It was her idea.'
'And Mr Shoosmith,' suggested another. 'He knows his onions when it comes to gardening.'
Thus it was left. Miss Watson and Harold would draft a rough plan for the rector to show the objectors, and it was left to him to see if some compromise could be arranged.
'I go away tomorrow,' she told him, 'but I'll think about shrubs and so on which follow each other through the year, and perhaps we can meet when I get back in a few days' time.'
'I don't suppose Charles will have much time before that to do his visiting,' agreed Harold. 'Christmas keeps him pretty busy. No holiday for clergymen!'
They reached the school house gate.
'I hope you enjoy your break,' said Harold politely.
'Thank you,' replied Miss Watson. 'For once, I shall be glad to leave Thrush Green.'
As the rector had forecast, Christmas was mild and damp, and four of his parishioners told him to expect a spate of funerals within the next few weeks. It seemed to give them some satisfaction to impart the knowledge, which the good rector accepted with mingled resignation and fortitude.
Winnie Bailey spent the day with the Young family, in their handsome house so near her own. Ella and Dotty joined the Henstocks for tea, and the Hursts had gone to Frank's son in Wales for Christmas, leaving Tullivers and the cat in the care of Winnie Bailey.
In the week that followed, the inhabitants of Thrush Green turned, with some relief, to their usual way of life. Apart from dozens of Christmas cards blowing to the floor in every passing breeze and generally holding up the daily dusting, the main problem was to find a new way of presenting the remains of the turkey.
'I think curried turkey is the best way of finishing it up,' said Dimity one morning, when she was taking coffee at her former abode with Ella and Winnie.
'Not bad,' agreed Ella, 'but I prefer it with mushrooms and white sauce. Easy to do too. Or shepherd's pie, of course.'
'The fact is,' said Dimity, 'that any turkey dish, after five days of it, tends to pall. I'm longing for a steak and kidney pie!'
'I didn't buy a turkey this year,' said Winnie.
'Then you're extremely lucky,' her friends told her.
'And now we've January to look forward to,' sighed Ella. 'Talk about the January blues! What with the bills, and the general damp and gloom, and so long to wait for spring – it does get one down!'
'I cheer myself up,' said Dimity, 'by tidying a cupboard. It makes me feel so virtuous and efficient.'
'I buy a new pair of shoes,' said Winnie.
'A packet of bourbon biscuits peps me up,' said Ella. 'Or putting out a new tablet of soap. Very therapeutic, putting out a new tablet of soap, I find.'
'As good as a day in the garden?' asked Winnie.
'Far better, in January,' replied Ella emphatically. 'Have some more coffee? I asked Dotty to come up, but she doesn't seem to want to be sociable these days. Worrying about that confounded court appearance, I suppose. One thing, the Cooke boy is home again, I hear, and getting over the mumps. That must ease poor old Dotty's conscience.'
Winnie said nothing. Dotty's confidences would never be disclosed, but she knew that she would never forget the depths of misery in which she had found her old friend on that dark afternoon.
'Well, a court case is worrying,' said Dimity. 'I think we're all worried for her. It will be a good thing when it comes up in a fortnight or so, and we can all forget the wretched business.'
There was one person who was more worried than most about Dotty's case, and that was the clerk to the Lulling magistrates. A comparative newcomer to the area – he had moved from a busy London court a mere ten years earlier – he could not be expected to know the ramifications of relatives, employers and employed, and other complications of rural communities.
To give him his due, he readily discovered the difficulties within a few months of taking up his appointment. He tackled his job with outstanding ability and good humour, and was readily accepted by a community which normally took some time to acknowledge a newcomer as 'one of us'.
He was used to the occasional 'sitting back' of a magistrate in cases where the defendant was known to, related to or employed by that particular justice. The case of Dotty Harmer was creating even more trouble.
Six of the twelve Lulling magistrates stated roundly that they could not possibly sit in judgement upon Dotty. Not only had all six been instructed – painfully, sometimes – by Dotty's notable father at the local grammar school, which would not have mattered greatly, but all knew Dotty from childhood days.
'Used to play tennis with her, didn't we, Bob?' said one farmer to his fellow magistrate. 'She never did get round to serving over-arm, but she was deadly at the net.'
The fishmonger cried off because Miss Harmer was one of his best customers 'owning all those cats'.
Another justice was her builder. Another had been employed by her family for a time. Another claimed that he was 'a sort of cousin' and poor Mr Pearson, the clerk, could see it was going to be hell's delight to find three justices willing to hear the case.
Urgent telephone calls to the remaining six justices brought little help. One was waiting to go into hospital, and a third, the youngest newly-appointed matron, confessed that she had just discovered that she was to have a baby. At that moment, Mr Pearson's coffee arrived, and he suspended operations to fortify himself.
Really, he thought, stirring pensively, it was all very fine for Lord Chancellors to urge the appointment of young females to the bench, but it did complicate things! He stopped stirring as a thought struck him. If she had only just discovered her condition, then it was reasonable to suppose that her confinement was some months distant. Consequently, there seemed to be no reason why she should not attend court on the day of Dotty's case. He resolved to try the last three justices, and to ring back to Mrs Fothergill if he could not gather three together.
He finished his coffee and tried again. This time he was lucky. Mr Jardine could come. His wife, he believed, knew Miss Harmer at the Field Club, but he had only met her once. No, he had no objection to sitting. Dam' it all, if one were to sit back every time someone slightly known appeared before one, it would be impossible to conduct a court at all!
Mr Pearson agreed heartily, thanked Mr Jardine sincerely, and set about the ensnaring of Lady Winter.
That lady said that she had a great many engagements on at the time of Dotty's case. When was it? One moment, she would consult her diary. It was not very convenient as she was organising a Charity Ball that evening and would be getting her hair done. Would Mr Pearson care to come? The tickets were five pounds each and she was personally making the punch.
Mr Pearson, with his usual diplomacy, turned down the invitation, and then threw himself into urgent pleading, explaining the terrible predicament he was in. Lady Winter, who had a soft spot for the clerk, allowed herself to be persuaded, and agreed to make her hair appointment in the late afternoon instead of the morning. No, she had not the pleasure of knowing Miss Harmer, although she had heard of her father. Who hadn't?
'One to go!' murmured Mr Pearson, twirling the dial with a pencil.
Mrs Lucy answered the call. She was sorry but Edgar was out, should he ring when he came in?
Mr Pearson gave her the date of the hearing and said he would try Mrs Fothergill, and let the Lucys know the outcome.
'I must tell you,' said Mrs Lucy, 'we are in the most awful muddle at the moment. Edgar's father has been taken ill, and we are setting off to see him later today.'
His father was in Huddersfield, added Mrs Lucy, but, from what the doctor said, would be leaving for Higher Things before long. Edgar, as the only son would have everything to clear up.
Mr Pearson condoled, promised to ring again, and returned to Mrs Fothergill. The clock told him that he had spent an hour in his searchings, and a pile of papers awaited his attention.
Mrs Fothergill said she could come easily. Mr Pearson sighed with relief.
'And you don't know Miss Harmer?'
'I once helped to push her car into a side street, but I was one of about six others. She doesn't know me, and I've never met her otherwise.'
'Good,' said the clerk. 'That's
three of you rounded up.'
'I've heard of her father, of course,' said Mrs Fothergill.
'Who hasn't?' agreed Mr Pearson. After mutual felicitations, they rang off.
'Just the Lucys once more,' said Mr Pearson, strong again.
Humming blithely, he dialled for the last time.
On the same morning as the clerk to the justices was engaged in telephoning, Charles Henstock set out from the rectory to pay his appointed call on Percy Hodge.
He approached his task with some trepidation. Rumour had it that Percy Hodge, when crossed, could be a formidable adversary. Charles did not doubt it. The removal of himself and his family from church, the wording of his resignation and the obstinate set of Percy's mouth all told of a stubborn character. He might prove impossible to move.
But the rector, despite his misgivings, went steadfastly upon his way. If Percy could be persuaded to fall in with these new suggestions, then he felt sure that the other objectors would follow suit.
He had debated with himself about the advisability of calling upon Percy first. Dimity had suggested that it would be politer to visit Mrs Cleary, on the 'ladies-first' principle.
Charles had wondered about the Jones'es. He had a feeling that, despite his blusterings, Jones might give way more readily, especially when he had seen the suggested plans, so neatly executed by Harold.
But, after much cogitation, the rector had decided to crack the toughest nut first. For one thing, Percy would resent being put after anyone else. If the others had agreed, it would make him doubly adamant about resisting. The rector, innocent in so many things, was wise in discerning the motives which stirred human passions.
He came to the farmhouse gate and, like all good countrymen, went to the back door of the house to knock for admission.
Percy himself answered the door.
'Come in,' he said. 'I've been expecting you!'
With pleasure or anger, wondered the rector? He stepped bravely into the lion's den.
17 The Rector In Action
'SORRY I'm a bit late,' cried Betty Bell. 'Been trying to get that new floor to rights next door, and forgot the time.'