Winter in Thrush Green Read Online Free
Author: Miss Read
said Mrs Bailey with genuine enthusiasm. Til put them in as soon as I've finished hoeing. Sam's at the back, if you'd like a word with him.'
Ella stumped resolutely out of sight. Voices could be heard above the scratching of Winnie's renewed hoeing, but within five minutes Ella returned.
'That's done. Good thing I looked in. Ever had any wood from Sam? Does he give you a square deal? Always was such a blighted twister, it makes you wonder.'
Winnie Bailey thought, not for the first time, that it was amazing how well Ella's voice carried, and wished that if she could not moderate her tones she would at least refrain from
putting her opinions into such forceful language. She had no doubt that Sam had heard every syllable.
'As a matter of fact I had a load of logs from him last year, and they were very good indeed,' answered Mrs Bailey in a low voice, hoping in vain that Ella would take the hint. 'I didn't mention it to Donald, for he abominates the fellow, as you know, after the way he treated old Mrs Curdle, so say nothing if it ever crops up.'
'Trust me!' shouted Ella cheerfully.
She made her way to the gate, paused with one massive hand on the post, and nodded across to the corner house.
'Any more news?'
'None, as far as I know,' confessed Mrs Bailey.
'I did my best at Johnsons' cocktail party last week,' said Ella. 'Got young Pennefather in a corner and asked him outright, but you know what these estate agents are. Came over all pursed-lips and prissy about professional duties to his client!'
'Wellâ' began Winnie diffidently.
'Lot of tomfoolery!' said Ella belligerently, sweeping aside the interruption. 'Anyone'd think he'd had to take the hypocrite's oath or whatever that mumbo-jumbo is that doctors have to swear. I told him flatâ"Look here, my boy, don't you come the dedicated professional over me. I remember you kicking in your pram, and you don't impress me any more now than you did then!" Stuffy young ass!'
Ella snorted with indignation, and Winnie Bailey was hard put to it to hide her laughter.
'Relax, Ella. We're bound to know before long, and I should hate to have to wake poor Donald up to attend to an apoplectic fit in the front garden.'
Ella's glare subsided somewhat and was replaced by a smile as she wrenched open the gate.
'Don't think it will come to that yet,' said she, and set off with martial strides to her own house.
Half an hour later Mrs Bailey made her way across the green to St Andrew's church with the last of the roses in her basket. It was her turn to arrange the flowers on the altar and she wanted to get them done before the daylight faded.
Mr Piggott was trimming the edges of the grass paths with a pair of shears. He knelt on a folded sack which he shifted along, bit by bit, as the slow work progressed.
Mrs Bailey went over to speak to him, and the sexton rose painfully to his feet, sighing heavily.
'Anything you want?' he asked with a martyred air.
'Nothing at all, Mr Piggott,' said Winnie cheerfully, 'except to ask how you are.'
'Too busy,' grunted the sexton. 'Too busy by half! All these 'ere edges to clip and more graves to keep tidy than I ought to be asked to do. Look at old lady Curdle's there! What's to stop Sam keeping the grass trimmed? My girl's husband Ben won't half be wild if he finds his old gran's grave neglected, but there's too much here for one pair of hands.'
Winnie Bailey stepped across to the turfed mound against the churchyard wall. A neat stone at its head said simply:
ANNIE CURDLE
1878â1959
The little stone flower vase at its foot was empty except for a little rainwater which had collected there. Mrs Bailey selected half a dozen roses from her basket and put them in one by one, thinking as she did so of the dozens of bunches of flowers she had received from the old lady during her lifetime.
Mr Piggott watched in morose silence, scraping the mud
from his boots on a convenient tussock of coarse grass. He steadied himself by resting his
Ella stumped resolutely out of sight. Voices could be heard above the scratching of Winnie's renewed hoeing, but within five minutes Ella returned.
'That's done. Good thing I looked in. Ever had any wood from Sam? Does he give you a square deal? Always was such a blighted twister, it makes you wonder.'
Winnie Bailey thought, not for the first time, that it was amazing how well Ella's voice carried, and wished that if she could not moderate her tones she would at least refrain from
putting her opinions into such forceful language. She had no doubt that Sam had heard every syllable.
'As a matter of fact I had a load of logs from him last year, and they were very good indeed,' answered Mrs Bailey in a low voice, hoping in vain that Ella would take the hint. 'I didn't mention it to Donald, for he abominates the fellow, as you know, after the way he treated old Mrs Curdle, so say nothing if it ever crops up.'
'Trust me!' shouted Ella cheerfully.
She made her way to the gate, paused with one massive hand on the post, and nodded across to the corner house.
'Any more news?'
'None, as far as I know,' confessed Mrs Bailey.
'I did my best at Johnsons' cocktail party last week,' said Ella. 'Got young Pennefather in a corner and asked him outright, but you know what these estate agents are. Came over all pursed-lips and prissy about professional duties to his client!'
'Wellâ' began Winnie diffidently.
'Lot of tomfoolery!' said Ella belligerently, sweeping aside the interruption. 'Anyone'd think he'd had to take the hypocrite's oath or whatever that mumbo-jumbo is that doctors have to swear. I told him flatâ"Look here, my boy, don't you come the dedicated professional over me. I remember you kicking in your pram, and you don't impress me any more now than you did then!" Stuffy young ass!'
Ella snorted with indignation, and Winnie Bailey was hard put to it to hide her laughter.
'Relax, Ella. We're bound to know before long, and I should hate to have to wake poor Donald up to attend to an apoplectic fit in the front garden.'
Ella's glare subsided somewhat and was replaced by a smile as she wrenched open the gate.
'Don't think it will come to that yet,' said she, and set off with martial strides to her own house.
Half an hour later Mrs Bailey made her way across the green to St Andrew's church with the last of the roses in her basket. It was her turn to arrange the flowers on the altar and she wanted to get them done before the daylight faded.
Mr Piggott was trimming the edges of the grass paths with a pair of shears. He knelt on a folded sack which he shifted along, bit by bit, as the slow work progressed.
Mrs Bailey went over to speak to him, and the sexton rose painfully to his feet, sighing heavily.
'Anything you want?' he asked with a martyred air.
'Nothing at all, Mr Piggott,' said Winnie cheerfully, 'except to ask how you are.'
'Too busy,' grunted the sexton. 'Too busy by half! All these 'ere edges to clip and more graves to keep tidy than I ought to be asked to do. Look at old lady Curdle's there! What's to stop Sam keeping the grass trimmed? My girl's husband Ben won't half be wild if he finds his old gran's grave neglected, but there's too much here for one pair of hands.'
Winnie Bailey stepped across to the turfed mound against the churchyard wall. A neat stone at its head said simply:
ANNIE CURDLE
1878â1959
The little stone flower vase at its foot was empty except for a little rainwater which had collected there. Mrs Bailey selected half a dozen roses from her basket and put them in one by one, thinking as she did so of the dozens of bunches of flowers she had received from the old lady during her lifetime.
Mr Piggott watched in morose silence, scraping the mud
from his boots on a convenient tussock of coarse grass. He steadied himself by resting his
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