In and Out the Houses by Elizabeth Taylor. Part 1.
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Go to Part 2
Kitty Miller, wearing a new red hair-ribbon, bounced along the Vicarage drive, skipping across ruts and jumping over puddles.
Visiting took up all of her mornings in the school holidays. From kitchen to kitchen, round the village, she made her progress, and, this morning, felt drawn towards the Vicarage. Quite sure of her welcome, she tapped on the back door.
‘Why, Kitty Miller!’ said the Vicar, opening it. He looked quite different from in church Kitty thought. He was wearing an open-necked shirt and an old, darned cardigan. He held a tea-towel to the door-handle, because his fingers were sticky.
He and his wife were cutting up Seville oranges for marmalade and there was a delicious, tangy smell about the kitchen.
Kitty took off her coat, and hung it on the usual peg, and fetched a knife from the dresser drawer.
‘You are on your rounds again, Mr Edwards said. ‘Spreading light and succour about the parish.’
Kitty glanced at him rather warily. She preferred him not to be there, disliking men about her kitchens. She reached for an orange, and watching Mrs Edwards for a moment out of the corners of her eyes, began to slice it up.
‘What’s new?’ asked the Vicar.
‘Mrs Saddler’s bad, she said accusingly. He should be at that bedside, she meant to imply, instead of making marmalade. ‘They were saying at The Horse and Groom that she won’t last the day’
‘So we are not your first call of the morning?’
She had, on her way here, slipped round the back of the pub and into the still-room, where Miss Betty Benford, eight months pregnant, was washing the floor, puffing and blowing as she splashed grey soapy water over the flags with a gritty rag. When this job was done – to Miss Betty’s mind, not Kitty’s – they drank a cup of tea together and chatted about the baby, woman to woman. The Village was short of babies, and Kitty visualised pushing this one out in its pram, taking it round with her on her visits.
In his office, the landlord had been typing the luncheon menus. The keys went down heavily, his finger hovered, and stabbed. He often made mistakes, and this morning had typed ‘Jam Fart and Custard’. Kitty considered – and then decided against – telling the Vicar this.
“They have steak-and-kidney pie on the set menu today, she said instead.
‘My favourite!’ groaned the Vicar. ‘I never get it’
‘You had it less than a fortnight ago, his wife reminded him.
‘And what pudding? If it’s treacle tart I shall cry bitterly!’
‘Jam tart, Kitty said gravely. ‘And custard!
‘I quite like custard, too, he said simply.
‘Or choice of cheese and biscuits’
‘I should have cheese and biscuits, Mrs Edwards said.
It was just the kind of conversation Kitty loved.
‘Eight-and-sixpence, she said. ‘Coffee extra.’
“To be rich! To be rich! The Vicar said. ‘And what are we having, my dear? Kitty has caused the juices to run’
‘Cold, of course, as it’s Monday!
He shuddered theatrically, and picked up another orange. ‘My day off, too!’ Kitty pressed her lips together primly, thinking it wrong for clergymen to have days off, especially with Mrs Saddler lying there, dying.
The three of them kept glancing at one another’s work as they cut the oranges.
Who was doing it finely enough? Only Mrs Edwards, they all knew.
‘I like it fairly chunky, the Vicar said.
When it was all done, Kitty rinsed her hands at the sink, and then put on her coat. She had given the Vicarage what time she could spare, and the morning was getting on, and all the rest of the village waiting. She was very orderly in her habits and never visited in the afternoons, for then she had her novel to write.
The novel was known about in the village, and some people felt concerned, wondering if she might be another little Daisy Ashford.
With the Vicar’s phrases of gratitude giving her momentum, Kitty tacked down the drive between the shabby laurels, and out into the lane.
Go to Part 2