In and Out the Houses by Elizabeth Taylor. Part 5.
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‘Mrs De Vries cuts up her vegetables with a mandoline, Kitty told Mrs Glazier some days later.
‘I always knew she must be nuts, said Mrs Glazier, thinking of the musical instrument.
Seeing Kitty dancing up the drive, she had quickly hidden the remains of a shepherd’s pie at the back of a cupboard. She was more than ever ruffled this morning, because Mrs Benford had not arrived or sent a message. She had also been getting into a frenzy with her ravioli and, in the end, had thrown the whole lot into the dust-bin. She hated waste, especially now that her house-keeping allowance always seemed to have disappeared by Wednesday, and her husband was, in his dyspeptic way, continually accusing her of extravagance.
Kitty had been hanging about outside the almshouses for a great part of the morning, and had watched Mrs Saddler’s coffin being carried across the road to the church.
‘Only one wreath and two relations, she now told Mrs Glazier. ‘That’s what comes of being poor. What are you having for dinner tonight? I could give you a hand!
‘Mr Glazier will probably be taking me to the Horse and Groom for a change,
Mrs Glazier lied.
“They are all at sixes and sevens there. Betty Benford started her pains in the night. A fortnight early. Though Mr Mumford thinks she may have made a mistake with her dates’
Then Mrs Benford would never come again, Mrs Glazier thought despondently. She had given a month’s notice the week before, and Mrs Glazier had received it coldly, saying – ‘I think I should have been informed of this before it became common gossip in the village’ Mrs Benford had seemed quite taken aback at that.
‘Well, I mustn’t hang around talking, Mrs Glazier told Kitty. ‘There’s a lot to do this morning, and will be from now on. When do you go back to school?’
‘On Thursday’
Mrs Glazier nodded, and Kitty felt herself dismissed. She sometimes wondered why she bothered to pay this call, when everyone else made her so welcome; but coming away from the funeral she had seen Mrs De Vries driving into town, and it was one of Mrs Prout’s turning-out days. She had hardly liked to call at the Vicarage under the circumstances of the funeral, and The Horse and Groom being at sixes and sevens had made everyone there very boring and busy.
‘I hope you will enjoy your dinner, she said politely to Mrs Glazier. ‘They have roast Surrey fowl and all the trimmings’
When she had gone, Mrs Glazier took the shepherd’s pie from its hiding place, and began to scrape some shabby old carrots.
***
‘Kitty, will you stop chattering and get on with your pudding, her mother said in an exasperated voice.
Kitty had been describing how skilfully the undertaker’s men had lowered Mrs Saddler’s coffin into the grave, Kitty herself peering from behind the tombstone of Maria Britannia Marlowe – her favourite dead person on account of her name.
It was painful to stop talking. A pain came in her chest, severe enough to slow her breathing, and gobbling the rice pudding made it worse. As soon as her plate was cleared she began again. ‘Mrs Glazier has the change of life,’ she said.
‘How on earth do you know about such things?’ her mother asked in a faint note.
‘As you didn’t tell me, I had to find out the hard way, Kitty said sternly.
Her mother pursed her lips together to stop laughing, and began to stack up
the dishes.
‘How Mrs De Vries will miss me!’ Kitty said dreamily, rising to help her mother.
‘I shall be stuck there at school doing boring things, and she’ll be having a nice time drinking gin’
‘Now that is enough. You are to go to your room immediately, her mother said sharply, and Kitty looked at her red face reflectively, comparing it with Mrs Glazier’s. ‘You will have to find some friends of your own age. You are becoming a little menace to everyone with your visiting, and we have got to live in this village. Now upstairs you go, and think over what I have said.’
‘Very well, Mother,’ Kitty said meekly. If she did not have to help mother with the washing-up, she could get on with her novel all the sooner.
She went upstairs to her bedroom and spread her writing things out on the table and soon, having at once forgotten her mother’s words, was lost in the joy of authorship.
Her book was all about little furry animals, and their small adventures, and there was not a human being in it, except the girl, Katherine, who befriended them all.
She managed a few more visits that holiday; but on Thursday she went back to school again, and then no one in the village knew what was happening any more.
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