children to tidy up carefully at the end of afternoon school, and putting away my own things in the cupboards instead of leaving them on window sills and the piano top, as I often do.
Luckily, in the summer term, the stoves do not need attention, but even so, it was obvious that she was finding her work even more martyr-making than before. I was not surprised when she did not appear one morning, soon after Amy's departure, and a note arrived borne by Joseph Coggs.
He pulled it from his trouser pocket in a fine state of stickiness.
I accepted it gingerly.
'How did it get like this, Joe?'
'I gotter toffee in me pocket.'
'What else?'
'I gotter gooseberry.'
'Anything else?'
'I gotter bitter lickrish.'
'You'd better turn out that pocket!'
'I ain't gotterâ'
'And if you say: "I gotter" once more, Joseph Coggs, you'll lose your play.'
'Yes, miss. I was only going to say: "I ain't gotter thing more." He retired to his desk, after putting his belongings on the side table, and I read the missive.
Dear Miss Read,
Have stummuck upset and am obliged to stay home. Have had terrible night, but have taken nutmeg on milk which should do the trick as it has afore.
Clean clorths are in the draw and the head is off of the broom.
Mrs Pringle
I called to see my old sparring partner that evening. She certainly looked unusually pale and listless.
'I'm rough. Very rough,' was her reply to my enquiries. 'And there's no hope of me coming back to that back-breaking job of mine this week.'
'Of course not. We'll manage.'
Mrs Pringle snorted.
'But what I mind more, is not doing out that dining-room of yours for the managers tomorrow.'
'I'll do it. It's not too bad.'
She gave me a dark look.
'I've seen your sort of housework. Dust left on the skirting boards and the top of the doors.'
'I don't suppose any of the managers will be running their fingers along them,' I said mildly. 'Has the doctor been?'
'I'm not calling him in. It's him as started this business.'
'How do you mean.'
'This 'ere diet. Drinking lemon juice first thing in the morning. That's what's made my stummuck flare up.'
'Then leave it off!' I cried. 'Doctor Martin wouldn't expect you to drink it if it upset you!'
'Oh, wouldn't he? And the price of lemons what it is too! I bought a bottle of lemon juice instead. And that's just as bad.'
She waved a hand towards a half empty bottle on the sideboard, and I went to inspect it. It certainly smelled odd.
'Is it fresh?'
Mrs Pringle looked uneasy.
'I bought it half-price in Caxley. The man said they'd had it in some time.'
'Chuck it away,' I said. 'It's off.'
The lady bridled.
'At fifteen pence a bottle? Not likely!'
'Use oranges instead.' I urged. 'This is doing you no good, and anyway oranges are easier to digest.'
She looked at me doubtfully.
'You wouldn't tell Doctor Martin?'
'Of course I wouldn't. Let me empty this down the sink.'
Mrs Pringle sighed.
'Anything you say. I haven't got the strength to argue.'
She watched me as I approached the sink and unscrewed
the bottle. The smell was certainly powerful. The liquid fizzed as it ran down the waste pipe.
'One thing,' she said, brightening, 'it'll clean out the drain lovely.'
It was certainly a pity that Mrs Pringle had not given the dining-room the attention it deserved, but I thought it looked quite grand enough to accommodate the managers.
There are six of them. The Vicar is Chairman and has been for many years, and the next in length of service is the local farmer Mr Roberts.
When I first was appointed I was interviewed by Colonel Wesley and Miss Parr, both then nearing eighty, and now at rest in the neighbouring churchyard. Their places were taken by Mrs Lamb, the wife of the postmaster, and Peter Hale, a retired schoolmaster from Caxley, who is very highly regarded by the inhabitants of Fairacre and brings plenty of common sense and practical experience of schooling to the job.
The other two managers are Mrs Mawne and Mrs Moffat, the
Luckily, in the summer term, the stoves do not need attention, but even so, it was obvious that she was finding her work even more martyr-making than before. I was not surprised when she did not appear one morning, soon after Amy's departure, and a note arrived borne by Joseph Coggs.
He pulled it from his trouser pocket in a fine state of stickiness.
I accepted it gingerly.
'How did it get like this, Joe?'
'I gotter toffee in me pocket.'
'What else?'
'I gotter gooseberry.'
'Anything else?'
'I gotter bitter lickrish.'
'You'd better turn out that pocket!'
'I ain't gotterâ'
'And if you say: "I gotter" once more, Joseph Coggs, you'll lose your play.'
'Yes, miss. I was only going to say: "I ain't gotter thing more." He retired to his desk, after putting his belongings on the side table, and I read the missive.
Dear Miss Read,
Have stummuck upset and am obliged to stay home. Have had terrible night, but have taken nutmeg on milk which should do the trick as it has afore.
Clean clorths are in the draw and the head is off of the broom.
Mrs Pringle
I called to see my old sparring partner that evening. She certainly looked unusually pale and listless.
'I'm rough. Very rough,' was her reply to my enquiries. 'And there's no hope of me coming back to that back-breaking job of mine this week.'
'Of course not. We'll manage.'
Mrs Pringle snorted.
'But what I mind more, is not doing out that dining-room of yours for the managers tomorrow.'
'I'll do it. It's not too bad.'
She gave me a dark look.
'I've seen your sort of housework. Dust left on the skirting boards and the top of the doors.'
'I don't suppose any of the managers will be running their fingers along them,' I said mildly. 'Has the doctor been?'
'I'm not calling him in. It's him as started this business.'
'How do you mean.'
'This 'ere diet. Drinking lemon juice first thing in the morning. That's what's made my stummuck flare up.'
'Then leave it off!' I cried. 'Doctor Martin wouldn't expect you to drink it if it upset you!'
'Oh, wouldn't he? And the price of lemons what it is too! I bought a bottle of lemon juice instead. And that's just as bad.'
She waved a hand towards a half empty bottle on the sideboard, and I went to inspect it. It certainly smelled odd.
'Is it fresh?'
Mrs Pringle looked uneasy.
'I bought it half-price in Caxley. The man said they'd had it in some time.'
'Chuck it away,' I said. 'It's off.'
The lady bridled.
'At fifteen pence a bottle? Not likely!'
'Use oranges instead.' I urged. 'This is doing you no good, and anyway oranges are easier to digest.'
She looked at me doubtfully.
'You wouldn't tell Doctor Martin?'
'Of course I wouldn't. Let me empty this down the sink.'
Mrs Pringle sighed.
'Anything you say. I haven't got the strength to argue.'
She watched me as I approached the sink and unscrewed
the bottle. The smell was certainly powerful. The liquid fizzed as it ran down the waste pipe.
'One thing,' she said, brightening, 'it'll clean out the drain lovely.'
It was certainly a pity that Mrs Pringle had not given the dining-room the attention it deserved, but I thought it looked quite grand enough to accommodate the managers.
There are six of them. The Vicar is Chairman and has been for many years, and the next in length of service is the local farmer Mr Roberts.
When I first was appointed I was interviewed by Colonel Wesley and Miss Parr, both then nearing eighty, and now at rest in the neighbouring churchyard. Their places were taken by Mrs Lamb, the wife of the postmaster, and Peter Hale, a retired schoolmaster from Caxley, who is very highly regarded by the inhabitants of Fairacre and brings plenty of common sense and practical experience of schooling to the job.
The other two managers are Mrs Mawne and Mrs Moffat, the
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