Bailey had 'had a turn', much to their dismay.
Mr Jones of the Two Pheasants, usually the soul of discretion in his capacity as local landlord, rashly said that it was no wonder poor old Mrs Bailey had caught a chill working in that church which was as cold as the tomb. Albert Piggott, within earshot, took umbrage at this slight on his efficiency as church caretaker, and stalked out, but not before he had drained the last of his half-pint.
Winnie, of course, knew nothing of these rumours which were floating about, and as she appeared as healthy as ever to her friends, they began to think that their informants had been over-egging the pudding as usual, and indulging in the common practice of gross exaggeration.
But Isobel Shoosmith, on her way to the postbox on the corner of Thrush Green, did ask Ella, on the same errand, if Winnie was really in good health.
Ella looked troubled. 'She makes very light of it, but she had a nasty spasm after we'd been doing the crib. Mind you, it was devilish cold in there. May have been that, of course, but I was just telling her about Octavius Fennel when she keeled over.'
'Has she seen John Lovell?'
'She's dead against it, but I reckon Jenny will fetch him pretty swiftly, if she sees any symptoms. Winnie says the pain is only momentary, and nothing to worry about.'
'It worries me,' responded Isobel, dropping her bundle of envelopes into the box. 'I wonder if I ought to call?'
'I shouldn't,' advised Ella. 'Winnie's got plenty of sense, and if she gets any more pain she'll have a word with John.'
The ladies parted, and Isobel crossed the green to her home. Concern for Winnie occupied the larger part of her mind, but a phrase of Ella's niggled in one corner: 'I was just telling her about Octavius Fennel.' That would interest Harold, she knew.
She quickened her pace to tell her husband that Ella seemed to have something to add to his researches.
As she guessed, Harold was greatly intrigued and was about to hasten across to Ella's house, but was restrained by his wife.
'She was making for Nidden,' she told him. 'Do be patient. Give her a ring later.'
And with that Harold had to be content.
As for Winnie Bailey herself, all unsuspecting of the rumours flying around the neighbourhood, she was busy with her Christmas arrangements, in common with the rest of the community. She was honest enough to admit secretly to feeling tired and uneasy, but was determined to postpone any visits to the doctor until the festivities were over.
Her nephew Richard, his wife and two young children were coming to lunch on Boxing Day, and she and Jenny had planned to spend Christmas Day quietly together.
It was at times like this that Winnie realized how old she was getting. In the old days, a visit from Richard and his family would have been taken in her stride. Now she faced the fact that the extra work, the noise of two small children, the entertainment of her guests and the general disruption of her usual ordered routine all combined to dismay her.
Two days before Christmas Richard telephoned to tell her that the older child was in bed with measles, and the younger one seemed to be sickening for it. They were all terribly sorry, but their visit would have to be postponed.
Winnie was genuinely sad to hear the news, and said so, but was rather ashamed, as she put down the receiver, at the relief which flooded her.
A stab of pain made her sit down for a few minutes before she went to apprise Jenny about the change of plan.
'Well, I'm sorry for the poor mites,' said Jenny forthrightly, 'but to my mind it's a blessing in disguise for you just now.'
Harold's call to Ella had resulted in his being told that it was the Lovelocks who might know more about the deceased rector of Thrush Green; she herself knew nothing.
'You can't possibly go down to the Lovelocks', pen and pad in hand, on Christmas Eve,' Isobel told him. 'Do be sensible. All this has waited for a century; a few more days won't hurt.'
With
Mr Jones of the Two Pheasants, usually the soul of discretion in his capacity as local landlord, rashly said that it was no wonder poor old Mrs Bailey had caught a chill working in that church which was as cold as the tomb. Albert Piggott, within earshot, took umbrage at this slight on his efficiency as church caretaker, and stalked out, but not before he had drained the last of his half-pint.
Winnie, of course, knew nothing of these rumours which were floating about, and as she appeared as healthy as ever to her friends, they began to think that their informants had been over-egging the pudding as usual, and indulging in the common practice of gross exaggeration.
But Isobel Shoosmith, on her way to the postbox on the corner of Thrush Green, did ask Ella, on the same errand, if Winnie was really in good health.
Ella looked troubled. 'She makes very light of it, but she had a nasty spasm after we'd been doing the crib. Mind you, it was devilish cold in there. May have been that, of course, but I was just telling her about Octavius Fennel when she keeled over.'
'Has she seen John Lovell?'
'She's dead against it, but I reckon Jenny will fetch him pretty swiftly, if she sees any symptoms. Winnie says the pain is only momentary, and nothing to worry about.'
'It worries me,' responded Isobel, dropping her bundle of envelopes into the box. 'I wonder if I ought to call?'
'I shouldn't,' advised Ella. 'Winnie's got plenty of sense, and if she gets any more pain she'll have a word with John.'
The ladies parted, and Isobel crossed the green to her home. Concern for Winnie occupied the larger part of her mind, but a phrase of Ella's niggled in one corner: 'I was just telling her about Octavius Fennel.' That would interest Harold, she knew.
She quickened her pace to tell her husband that Ella seemed to have something to add to his researches.
As she guessed, Harold was greatly intrigued and was about to hasten across to Ella's house, but was restrained by his wife.
'She was making for Nidden,' she told him. 'Do be patient. Give her a ring later.'
And with that Harold had to be content.
As for Winnie Bailey herself, all unsuspecting of the rumours flying around the neighbourhood, she was busy with her Christmas arrangements, in common with the rest of the community. She was honest enough to admit secretly to feeling tired and uneasy, but was determined to postpone any visits to the doctor until the festivities were over.
Her nephew Richard, his wife and two young children were coming to lunch on Boxing Day, and she and Jenny had planned to spend Christmas Day quietly together.
It was at times like this that Winnie realized how old she was getting. In the old days, a visit from Richard and his family would have been taken in her stride. Now she faced the fact that the extra work, the noise of two small children, the entertainment of her guests and the general disruption of her usual ordered routine all combined to dismay her.
Two days before Christmas Richard telephoned to tell her that the older child was in bed with measles, and the younger one seemed to be sickening for it. They were all terribly sorry, but their visit would have to be postponed.
Winnie was genuinely sad to hear the news, and said so, but was rather ashamed, as she put down the receiver, at the relief which flooded her.
A stab of pain made her sit down for a few minutes before she went to apprise Jenny about the change of plan.
'Well, I'm sorry for the poor mites,' said Jenny forthrightly, 'but to my mind it's a blessing in disguise for you just now.'
Harold's call to Ella had resulted in his being told that it was the Lovelocks who might know more about the deceased rector of Thrush Green; she herself knew nothing.
'You can't possibly go down to the Lovelocks', pen and pad in hand, on Christmas Eve,' Isobel told him. 'Do be sensible. All this has waited for a century; a few more days won't hurt.'
With
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