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'I'll try them tomorrow,' promised Isobel. 'And now I see Ella beckoning to me, so you must excuse me.'

She made her way towards her hostess, and Charles Henstock took her place at Harold's side. If his old friend appeared slightly bemused, the good rector was not conscious of it.

'An excellent party. Ella is so good at this sort of thing, and I always enjoy coming to this house. Something very snug about a low ceiling. The rectory could do with the ceilings lowered by a yard or so. But how would one begin?'

'That's beyond me,' confessed Harold. 'Tell me, how long is Miss Fletcher staying?'

'Mrs
Fletcher, Harold.'

'Oh, I'm afraid I didn't catch that when we were introduced.'

'I never catch
anyone's
name,' admitted the rector. 'It is a great disability, particularly if one is a parson.'

Harold was looking thoughtful.

'Are you feeling all right?' asked the rector. 'Not finding the room too warm?'

'No, no!' said Harold. 'I'm quite well. An excellent party, as you say. Is Mrs Fletcher's husband here somewhere?'

The rector's chubby face grew sad.

'I am sorry to say that he died last year. A great blow for dear Isobel. They were a devoted couple. It's one of the reasons for the move, I gather. Her present house is really too big now.'

Despite the melancholy news of Isobel's husband's demise, Harold's spirits appeared to revive at once.

'More sherry?' asked Ella, swimming into their ken.

'Thank you, thank you,' said Harold heartily, proffering his glass.

Across the green, as dusk fell, and the lights began to shine from cottage windows, Joan Young and her husband were looking ahead.

Upstairs, Robert Bassett slept fitfully, with Milly sitting in an armchair beside him. Her hands were busy with knitting, her mind busy with plans for the future.

John Lovell, her doctor son-in-law, knew her good sense and had answered her questions honestly. It would be best to face retirement now, to wind up the business, and to find an easily run place near the family at Thrush Green, he had said.

'Would you want to come back to this house?' he asked. 'It's lovely, I know, and it's Robert's, but you'd need resident help, wouldn't you? Have you and Robert ever discussed it?'

'Only very lightly,' admitted Milly. 'We've always had the idea of coming back here to end our days—'

Her mouth quivered suddenly, and she looked down quickly.

John patted her shoulder.

'Don't upset yourself. He's got a good few years yet, you know, if he takes care. We'll work out something together.'

Downstairs, Edward was putting forward a suggestion or two.

'I've been thinking about this for some time. Ever since we had a good look at the stables the other day. They would convert into a beautiful little house of one or two floors, ideal for the parents.'

'But this house is theirs!' protested Joan. 'We're the ones who should move out!'

'I agree absolutely,' said Edward, 'but it would have to be altered. The ground floor would make a splendid flat for them, and we could move up to the first floor and open up the attics for bedrooms, if that would suit everyone better than the stable plan.'

'Would it cost the earth?'

'Well, the architect's fees won't need to be found,' said Edward, smiling, 'and I'm sure we could get a loan for this work. After all, we're thinking of providing homes for two families, aren't we?'

Joan looked at him with affection.

'You've been thinking about this for a long time, haven't you?'

'For years,' confessed Edward. 'I've been longing to convert the stables for some time now, and this seems to be the moment to have a go.'

'We can't do anything until Father's over this attack,' said Joan. 'But we'll have a word with Mother in a day or two, just to prepare the ground. I must say, I should be much happier if they were under our eye. They've been so good to us always.'

'Well, it's their choice, of course. All this is theirs, and, if need be, we must go house-hunting ourselves.'

'Somehow,' said Joan, 'I don't think it will come to that.'

Agnes Fogerty had been invited to supper after the guests had gone, and very enjoyable she had found this meal.

Afterwards, the three women washed up and between them achieved a degree of unusual tidiness in Ella's kitchen.

That done, Isobel accompanied Miss Fogerty along the road to her home. The air was soft and balmy, auguring well for another beautiful spring day on the morrow.

'No, I won't come in,' Isobel replied in answer to Agnes's invitation. 'I know you've things to get ready for school tomorrow, and I must get back to Ella's.'

They parted affectionately at Agnes's gate, and Isobel retraced her steps.

How snug it all looked at Thrush Green, she thought! The houses sat as comfortably as cats before a fire. If only she were lucky enough to find one before long!

Well, tomorrow she would go to see Williams and Frobisher, as recommended by that nice sensible man who lived across the green.

She looked at his house now, a secure bulk dimly visible against the night sky. In a downstairs window, a reading lamp was alight. It looked as though he might be happily settled in there.

She only hoped that she might be as lucky with Williams and Frobisher as he had been, Isobel thought, as she opened Ella's gate.

11. Village Gossip

AS Nelly Piggott
(née
Tilling) plodded along Lulling High Street from the station, she looked ahead, with some trepidation, to the kind of welcome she might expect from her husband, Albert.

She had parted from him after a fierce quarrel, but this was only the culmination of weeks of disgust with Albert. He was mean, he was dirty, he was bad-tempered. He drank, he grumbled, he swore. Why she had ever married him, Nelly wondered, shifting her case to the other hand, heaven alone knew.

Well, to be honest, she admitted to herself, she did know. She needed a home. Her own cottage had been sold by the owner, and she had turned down those on offer at the time. Ted and Bessie Allen at the Drovers' Arms at Lulling Woods, had put her up for a few weeks, and she had enjoyed scrubbing out the bar for them.

But a woman needs a place of her own, and Lulling Woods was too quiet for Nelly's taste. Thrush Green seemed just the right setting for a woman of Nelly's sociable habits. The fact that the village school needed a cleaner, just at that time, was another advantage.

And then there was Albert Piggott. Or rather, Albert Piggott's cottage. It was handy for the school, and the bus to Lulling, and looked out on the green where there was always something going on.

Moreover, the cottage was filthy, and Nelly longed to get at it with plenty of hot water, soap and a stout scrubbingbrush. It was a challenge. Dirt was always a challenge to Nelly, and she responded to this one with energy and courage. Within a week the place was transformed, and looking back upon those early days Nelly realised she had been happy, not because of Albert, but because of the satisfaction of cleaning his house.

Not that he was unappreciative. He was particularly grateful for the magnificent meals she cooked, and the fact that she was obliged to curb her art when the doctor told Albert to eat less rich food, was one of the reasons for Nelly's growing resentment. It had culminated in Albert's throwing his helping of Christmas pudding at the wall.

Another factor, of course, was the oil man. He was not every woman's idea of an attractive man, but his sleek black hair and dark beard appealed to Nelly. He had a glib tongue too, and was adept at flattery. It did not need much to woo Nelly away from her husband, and she went to join him with every confidence.

She saw now that his charms were superficial. She had never been so short of money in her life, and she strongly suspected that there were several other women in his life.

Things had gone from bad to worse, and one solitary evening, as she ironed her companion's shirts, she worked out just how little he gave her for housekeeping, and how much she had been obliged to subtract from her Post Office account during her stay. The results frightened her.

Here she was, getting on, not likely to get a job easily, and no future with Charlie as far as she could see. He was a bad bargain. The best thing to do was to cut her losses, return to Thrush Green, where she was more likely to get a job, and to throw herself on Albert's mercy-at least for a time. After all, she was his lawful wedded wife, and plenty of husbands had to turn a blind eye to their wives' little weaknesses, Nelly told herself.

Nelly was a realist. She finished the ironing, and went upstairs to pack. The next day she left a note for Charlie, collected some useful groceries from the larder, including a couple of chops which would do nicely for Albert's supper, and made her way to the station.

'Once I've got Albert sweet,' she thought to herself, as she faced the steep hill to Thrush Green, 'I'll pop along to Miss Watson and see if my old job's still open. If not, she'll know someone who could do with a bit of cleaning, I don't doubt.'

Puffing heavily, Nelly Piggott returned to Thrush Green.

On the morning after Ella's party, Winnie Bailey, the doctor's widow, made her way next door to Tullivers.

The May sunshine gilded the green. Daisies spangled the grass, and a lark's song fell from the blue, as clear and pure as a cascade of mountain water. How Donald loved a day like this, thought Winnie, tapping at the door. But there was no point in grieving. It was the last thing he would have wanted, and since his death she had learnt to savour each day as it came, to count her many blessings, and to try to put sadness behind her.

Phyllida and Frank Hurst had helped enormously, she thought. What a comfort good neighbours could be!

Phil's head appeared at a bedroom window above her. 'Oh, do just walk in, Winnie dear. I'm coming down now.'

'I promised you some pansy plants,' said Winnie. 'I haven't brought them in case it's a busy time for you, but they're all ready next door whenever you need them.'

'Lovely!' said Phil. 'Come in and sit down, or shall we sit in the garden?'

'The garden,' said Winnie. 'It's much too gorgeous to stay indoors.'

They sat on the garden seat, facing the sun. A border of pinks nearby was beginning to break into flower, and the roses were in bud.

'You are going to have a fine show this summer,' commented Winnie.

'I know. The sad thing is that we shall miss most of it this year.'

'Not leaving Thrush Green?'

'Good heavens, no! But we only heard this morning that Jeremy and I can go with Frank to America in June.'

'The lecture tour you told me about?'

'That's right. It was all arranged, as you know, last autumn for Frank, but getting accommodation for Jeremy and me was the difficulty. Now we've heard that a publishing friend in Boston can put us up for the whole three months, if need be, or part of that time. I didn't think it right to drag Jeremy from place to place, but this arrangement will be perfect. Isn't it marvellous news?'

'It is indeed. And don't forget that I shall look forward to keeping an eye on the place for you.'

'You are kind. And Harold has offered to keep the garden in trim, so we feel that we can go with an easy conscience.'

'I hope you'll let me look after the cat too. She'll be much happier staying at Tullivers, I'm sure, and anyway she knows she is welcome next door if she feels lonely.'

'I
was
going to ask you about that,' admitted Phil. 'As a matter of fact, she virtually lives in the garden in the summer, so that she shouldn't be too much of a bother.'

Winnie rose to go.

'Now I must do some telephoning. Ella first. What a good party that was! I do hope Isobel finds a house soon. She'll be a great asset to Thrush Green, won't she?'

'Indeed she will. I heard her say that she intended to see if Williams and Frobisher have anything on their books. They're pretty reliable. What about her present house? Is it the sort that will sell easily?'

'I gather so. An ideal family house in a nice part of Sussex, and with a good train service to London. It should find plenty of buyers.'

'Well, I wish her joy of moving,' said Phil. 'It nearly killed me looking at houses and trying to sell the old one, all at the same time. It's usually so horribly
urgent.
People dying to get in before you are ready to get out, while you are waiting to see the colour of their money, and wondering if you can possibly afford all the alterations you will need in the new place. Heavens, what a terrible undertaking! I'm
never
going to move again!'

'And I'm delighted to hear it!' replied Winnie as she took her leave.

***

Betty Bell, Harold Shoosmith's voluble daily help, found her employer remarkably vague in manner that morning. She began to wonder if he had heard all the titbits of news which she enjoyed imparting.

'I was saying,' she repeated loudly, flicking a feather duster over Harold's treasured Coalport cottages, 'as Miss Fogerty's a different person now her friend's here. They was always close, you know, ever since they was young girls, and Mrs Fletcher don't act no different now she's rich, to what she did before.'