sheâd go all daft and let him have his way.
Agnesâs fingers trembled as she picked up the cup, but the first sips of tea began to steady her. This was Jamie she was talking of, Jamie, who needed her support to see him through. She forced herself to listen.
âYou young folks have too much freedom, you do,â Mrs Dibble was saying. âTell him to keep his hands to himself.â
âItâs a bit late for that.â
âYou mean ââ Mrs Dibble sat down heavily. This was worse than sheâd imagined. âYouâre in the family way?â
Too late, Agnes realised that they were at cross-purposes. The gossip, if any, hadnât reached Mrs D. But how long before it did? And anyway, what she was thinking was bad enough.
âNo!â She looked shocked. âI never would. Jamie never would. We just had a bit of an upset, thatâs all.â She tried hard to smile brightly.
âMen!â Mrs Dibble snorted companionably, feeling somewhatdisappointed that the olive branch she had with some effort thrust forward had proved to be unnecessary after all.
Â
The story of the oaks at The Towers had by now entered village folklore. They were already young trees when the house was first built in the middle of the last century, although then its pinnacles, gables, and crenellations soared proudly above them. When the Swinford-Brownes arrived in 1909, the oaks had grown to such a height that William immediately decided to chop them down so that the full glory of The Towers could be appreciated. To a man, the tree-cutters of Ashden, and even of Ashdown Forest, flatly refused to wield an axe, and Williamâs own staff promptly invented mysterious weaknesses of limb that prevented such exertion. The oaks had been planted time out of mind and were sacrosanct. Edith was all for dismissing the mutineers, but William, though equally incensed, knew when he was beaten. He forced himself to chaff his men heartily that if they were to show the same loyalty to him as to the Sussex oaks he would have no complaint.
As Tilly turned the Austin tourer into Station Road, with Caroline at her side and Felicia hunched up in the rear seat, the pinpoints of glowing light from its oil lamps were overpowered by the light from The Towersâ driveway; at first it was a dull glare above and through the trees but as they drew nearer The Towers the brilliance of the acetylene flares not merely twinkled but burst through the oaksâ dark forms. Edith had been proudly talking of âmy lightsâ for the past week â âelectricity is so vulgar now â¦â â and, like her own, their effect was somewhat overpowering. Nevertheless Caroline felt a rising excitement, even though something seemed to have gone amiss with Edithâs weather order to heaven, for the day though dry was chilly and cloudy.
Coming to The Towers seemed almost like visiting a different village. At one time Ashden station, about a mile from the old village, lay virtually isolated. Now the coal merchantsâ and the premises of one of the carriers hugged close to it, and houses were springing up to fill the gaps between those erected in the first flush of the prosperity brought by the railway.
Dances were common enough in Ashden, ranging from village hops to full balls at Ashden Manor, with a fashionable fancy-dress ball last August to celebrate Daniel Hunneyâs twenty-first birthday. Sometimesthe Lilleys had informal dancing on the lawns of the Rectory or on the terrace, but the latter wasnât a great success, since cracked, uneven paving stones with tufts of buttercups and thrift growing in the crevices were hardly comparable to a polished ballroom floor, and the dances deemed suitable for rectories rapidly gave way to the Turkey Trot or the Huggie Bear, until the noise brought Father out to make a formal plea for respectability.
Caroline felt modestly pleased with herself tonight. The raspberry
Agnesâs fingers trembled as she picked up the cup, but the first sips of tea began to steady her. This was Jamie she was talking of, Jamie, who needed her support to see him through. She forced herself to listen.
âYou young folks have too much freedom, you do,â Mrs Dibble was saying. âTell him to keep his hands to himself.â
âItâs a bit late for that.â
âYou mean ââ Mrs Dibble sat down heavily. This was worse than sheâd imagined. âYouâre in the family way?â
Too late, Agnes realised that they were at cross-purposes. The gossip, if any, hadnât reached Mrs D. But how long before it did? And anyway, what she was thinking was bad enough.
âNo!â She looked shocked. âI never would. Jamie never would. We just had a bit of an upset, thatâs all.â She tried hard to smile brightly.
âMen!â Mrs Dibble snorted companionably, feeling somewhatdisappointed that the olive branch she had with some effort thrust forward had proved to be unnecessary after all.
Â
The story of the oaks at The Towers had by now entered village folklore. They were already young trees when the house was first built in the middle of the last century, although then its pinnacles, gables, and crenellations soared proudly above them. When the Swinford-Brownes arrived in 1909, the oaks had grown to such a height that William immediately decided to chop them down so that the full glory of The Towers could be appreciated. To a man, the tree-cutters of Ashden, and even of Ashdown Forest, flatly refused to wield an axe, and Williamâs own staff promptly invented mysterious weaknesses of limb that prevented such exertion. The oaks had been planted time out of mind and were sacrosanct. Edith was all for dismissing the mutineers, but William, though equally incensed, knew when he was beaten. He forced himself to chaff his men heartily that if they were to show the same loyalty to him as to the Sussex oaks he would have no complaint.
As Tilly turned the Austin tourer into Station Road, with Caroline at her side and Felicia hunched up in the rear seat, the pinpoints of glowing light from its oil lamps were overpowered by the light from The Towersâ driveway; at first it was a dull glare above and through the trees but as they drew nearer The Towers the brilliance of the acetylene flares not merely twinkled but burst through the oaksâ dark forms. Edith had been proudly talking of âmy lightsâ for the past week â âelectricity is so vulgar now â¦â â and, like her own, their effect was somewhat overpowering. Nevertheless Caroline felt a rising excitement, even though something seemed to have gone amiss with Edithâs weather order to heaven, for the day though dry was chilly and cloudy.
Coming to The Towers seemed almost like visiting a different village. At one time Ashden station, about a mile from the old village, lay virtually isolated. Now the coal merchantsâ and the premises of one of the carriers hugged close to it, and houses were springing up to fill the gaps between those erected in the first flush of the prosperity brought by the railway.
Dances were common enough in Ashden, ranging from village hops to full balls at Ashden Manor, with a fashionable fancy-dress ball last August to celebrate Daniel Hunneyâs twenty-first birthday. Sometimesthe Lilleys had informal dancing on the lawns of the Rectory or on the terrace, but the latter wasnât a great success, since cracked, uneven paving stones with tufts of buttercups and thrift growing in the crevices were hardly comparable to a polished ballroom floor, and the dances deemed suitable for rectories rapidly gave way to the Turkey Trot or the Huggie Bear, until the noise brought Father out to make a formal plea for respectability.
Caroline felt modestly pleased with herself tonight. The raspberry
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