Read Online (3/13) News from Thrush Green by Miss Read - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Miss Read
Tags: Historical
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Dimity to Edward, 'it probably wasn't ghastly enough to compete with all that violence. I suppose nobody was burned?'
'No one, as far as I know.'
'That accounts for it,' said Dimity reasonably. 'An item of news like that, without so much as a few charred bones, or firemen falling screaming into the blaze, wouldn't stand a chance.'
At eleven o'clock the guests began to make their farewells. Only the Lovells drove home, for their house was a mile away. The rest of the guests lived round the green and walked across the grass together.
Already most of the houses were in darkness, for country people have to be up betimes and midnight is considered a very late hour indeed for going to bed.
But a light shone still at Tullivers, where Winnie Bailey sat sewing, her young charge fast asleep in the bedroom above. She heard his mother's light footsteps on the path, and put down her needlework.
'My word,' she said, looking at the girl's glowing face in the doorway, 'I can see you've had a lovely evening. And so, my dear, have I!'
7 A Question of Divorce
THE next morning Harold Shoosmith crossed the green to Tullivers.
He found Mrs Prior alone, her typewriter already on the table and an appetising smell of steak and kidney casserole floating from the kitchen.
'Jeremy gets home at twelve,' she said, 'and we have our main meal then. It gets cooking over and done with for the day, and I boil an egg or have some cheese and biscuits when Jeremy's in bed.'
'I do much the same,' said Harold, 'though Betty Bell is always willing to come and fatten me up, if given half a chance.'
He put the hand-written minutes on the table.
'Are you sure it's not an imposition?' he asked.
The girl laughed.
'It will be a change from the perils-of-Pauline stuff I'm attempting at the moment. I'm trying to sell some short stories to magazines.'
'Here, or overseas?'
'Here, and in America. They pay most generously over there, but I doubt if my stuff will be suitable.'
Harold Shoosmith gazed thoughtfully through the window.
'I've an editor friend in one of these magazine combines. If I could be of any help—?'
'You're very kind. If I get too many rejections, I'll remember. I'm sorting out old material just now, and trying to bring it up-to-date.'
'Wouldn't it be better to start again?'
'I need some money pretty quickly,' replied the girl frankly. 'This house - as always - has cost far more to put to rights than I bargained for, and if I can sell some stories now, I can get down to some really new stuff while they are being considered. Editors seem to take an unconscionable length of time to make up their minds.'
'If you think I could help by looking through any of your stories to see if they seem to be on the right lines for Frank, I would be only too happy to do so,' said Harold.
'I might be very glad indeed,' replied Phil, 'but let's see how my luck turns out in the next few weeks. In any case, I've always got my column to keep the wolf from the door.'
'Yes, indeed,' said Harold, but there was doubt in his tone.
'And my husband is very generous,' the girl added, a shade too swiftly. 'But, of course, one likes to feel independent.'
'Of course,' echoed Harold, obviously bemused, but doing his best to cope with the situation. There was a slight pause. The clock struck eleven, and brought Harold to his senses.
'Well, I must be off. When shall I call for the minutes?'
'Oh, don't bother. I'll pop over after tea, if I may.'
'That would be very kind of you,' said Harold gravely, making for the door.
He crossed the green thoughtfully.
'That devil's left her!' he said to a startled blackbird on his gatepost.
Harold Shoosmith had guessed correctly, but it was Winnie Bailey who heard the truth first from the girl herself.
It was a fine October afternoon, clear and vivid, and Winnie noticed how auburn the chestnut avenue had become since the first few frosts. Her spirits were high as she breathed the keen air.
It was quite two weeks, she told
'No one, as far as I know.'
'That accounts for it,' said Dimity reasonably. 'An item of news like that, without so much as a few charred bones, or firemen falling screaming into the blaze, wouldn't stand a chance.'
At eleven o'clock the guests began to make their farewells. Only the Lovells drove home, for their house was a mile away. The rest of the guests lived round the green and walked across the grass together.
Already most of the houses were in darkness, for country people have to be up betimes and midnight is considered a very late hour indeed for going to bed.
But a light shone still at Tullivers, where Winnie Bailey sat sewing, her young charge fast asleep in the bedroom above. She heard his mother's light footsteps on the path, and put down her needlework.
'My word,' she said, looking at the girl's glowing face in the doorway, 'I can see you've had a lovely evening. And so, my dear, have I!'
7 A Question of Divorce
THE next morning Harold Shoosmith crossed the green to Tullivers.
He found Mrs Prior alone, her typewriter already on the table and an appetising smell of steak and kidney casserole floating from the kitchen.
'Jeremy gets home at twelve,' she said, 'and we have our main meal then. It gets cooking over and done with for the day, and I boil an egg or have some cheese and biscuits when Jeremy's in bed.'
'I do much the same,' said Harold, 'though Betty Bell is always willing to come and fatten me up, if given half a chance.'
He put the hand-written minutes on the table.
'Are you sure it's not an imposition?' he asked.
The girl laughed.
'It will be a change from the perils-of-Pauline stuff I'm attempting at the moment. I'm trying to sell some short stories to magazines.'
'Here, or overseas?'
'Here, and in America. They pay most generously over there, but I doubt if my stuff will be suitable.'
Harold Shoosmith gazed thoughtfully through the window.
'I've an editor friend in one of these magazine combines. If I could be of any help—?'
'You're very kind. If I get too many rejections, I'll remember. I'm sorting out old material just now, and trying to bring it up-to-date.'
'Wouldn't it be better to start again?'
'I need some money pretty quickly,' replied the girl frankly. 'This house - as always - has cost far more to put to rights than I bargained for, and if I can sell some stories now, I can get down to some really new stuff while they are being considered. Editors seem to take an unconscionable length of time to make up their minds.'
'If you think I could help by looking through any of your stories to see if they seem to be on the right lines for Frank, I would be only too happy to do so,' said Harold.
'I might be very glad indeed,' replied Phil, 'but let's see how my luck turns out in the next few weeks. In any case, I've always got my column to keep the wolf from the door.'
'Yes, indeed,' said Harold, but there was doubt in his tone.
'And my husband is very generous,' the girl added, a shade too swiftly. 'But, of course, one likes to feel independent.'
'Of course,' echoed Harold, obviously bemused, but doing his best to cope with the situation. There was a slight pause. The clock struck eleven, and brought Harold to his senses.
'Well, I must be off. When shall I call for the minutes?'
'Oh, don't bother. I'll pop over after tea, if I may.'
'That would be very kind of you,' said Harold gravely, making for the door.
He crossed the green thoughtfully.
'That devil's left her!' he said to a startled blackbird on his gatepost.
Harold Shoosmith had guessed correctly, but it was Winnie Bailey who heard the truth first from the girl herself.
It was a fine October afternoon, clear and vivid, and Winnie noticed how auburn the chestnut avenue had become since the first few frosts. Her spirits were high as she breathed the keen air.
It was quite two weeks, she told