The Tale of Holly How by Susan Wittig Albert

wealthiest woman in the district,” Dimity replied. “And a truly disagreeable old thing. She mostly keeps to herself these days, and we don’t see much of her in the village. But until he died, her husband was involved in everything—judging agricultural shows and being president of the Sawrey Institute and buying a piano for the school and helping out the poorer families with coal during the worst of the winter. He was a bit of a busybody, but his heart was in the right place. He was also a school trustee—which, I suppose, makes her think that she has the right to interfere.”
    “And who is this Gainwell person?” Beatrix asked, with interest. “What is his chief claim to fame?” She looked at Sarah. “These bars are very good, Sarah. When I go back to London, I’d like to take some with me. My mother would enjoy them, I’m sure. She’s very fond of sweets.”
    “Smashing!” Sarah exclaimed. “P’rhaps you’ll spread my reputation amongst the gentry, and my fortune will be made.” She stubbed out her cigarette. “Yes, Dim, what about Gainwell? Pray tell, who is this intrusive chap?”
    “He’s a graduate of Oxford,” Dimity said glumly. “In Theology, Miss Martine said. He’s apparently just come back from the South Pacific, where he was a missionary. So you see, he has superb credentials.” She gave a discouraged sigh. “While there can’t be a better teacher than Margaret, her educational background can’t compare to his. Oh, what a wretched muddle this is turning out to be!”
    “It does seem to me,” Beatrix said, licking her fingers, “that the trustees might have acted sooner.”
    “Right,” Sarah said. She twisted her brown hair around her finger, discovered a treacly clump, and made a face. “Here it is July, and school starting before you know it. Not to fault your brother, Dim, but if he and the other trustees had done what they were supposed to do, Margaret would already have the position, and old Lady Longflop would have to find another place for her fair-haired boy.”
    Dimity came to Miles’s defense. “Well, it’s not entirely their fault. The trustees have been waiting for a letter of commendation from the previous head teacher, you see. They expected the letter weeks ago, but there have been . . . well, difficulties. I understand that the vicar has communicated with Miss Crabbe—she and her sisters are in Bournemouth—and urged her to write. The trustees are all on Margaret’s side, of course,” she added. “They couldn’t think more highly of her. And the villagers, too.”
    “Well,” Beatrix said, in her usual practical way, “I don’t see that there’s anything that any of us can do, except you, Dimity. You might remind your brother—discreetly, of course—that the whole village is behind Miss Nash and that if the trustees have so little sense that they hire someone else, there’s likely to be an uprising.”
    “I’ll certainly do that,” Dimity agreed. “But do you think p’rhaps we should let Margaret know what’s going on?”
    “I’d say no to that,” Sarah replied, with great firmness. “Margaret’s a very good sort of person, quite levelheaded, really. But she’s nervous enough about this situation already. I mean, there’s a substantial difference in salary, as I understand it, and with her sister being sick for the past six months and not able to work—” She sighed. “Well, I certainly know what it’s like to wonder where the next little bit is coming from.”
    “But orders are picking up, aren’t they?” Dimity asked hopefully. “I hear such good things about your baking. Even Elsa Grape admits that your muffins are superior to hers.”
    Sarah had started the bakery business from scratch, based on her experience in working for her father and her uncle in a bakery in Manchester. But she’d had to invest in a new kitchen range and other baking equipment, and although the better-off housewives could afford to buy bread and