“Then you know more than I do,” laughed Anne. “I’ve got everything to learn about them.”
“They’re easy if so be you treat them proper,” said Mrs. Beer. “Wonders, I call them.”
“Like Sister Monica,” said Anne.
Mrs. Beer stared at her a moment and then said, “I’d rather have Aga—but there, Sister’s worked here a powerful long time and she has her little ways too, maybe.”
Anne’s final visitor that day was John Sanderson, the estate manager. He was a tall, quiet fellow of about forty, and both the Ferenses liked him and judged him to be trustworthy and kindly.
“I just came in to see if there was anything you wanted done, Mrs. Ferens. There are often odd jobs to be attended to in these old houses and we’ve got a couple of old chaps who’re very handy at small repairs.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Anne. “In fact everybody has been so good I can’t be grateful enough. Everything you have done is quite beautiful and I’m simply delighted with it all. The only thing I’ve noticed is that one of the drawing-room windows won’t open. I think it’s stuck.”
“We’ll soon see to that. I meant to have sent in a man to look at them. The woodwork’s very old and they do tend to shrink and swell.” He went across the drawing room to examine the window, and Anne saw him glance at the posy on the mantelpiece.
“Sister Monica brought me those flowers,” said Anne, and he nodded.
“Sol see. Her specialty.”
“She looks a character,” said Anne innocently.
“Yes. I think she is a character,” he replied. “You can’t live in this village without knowing that.” He paused, and then added: “Sister Monica either likes you or doesn’t, and I’m one of the people she doesn’t like. I’ll send in a man to put these windows to rights, Mrs. Ferens. Sure there’s nothing else?”
“Nothing, thank you very much,” said Anne, “not in the house, anyway.”
He turned and looked at her, his eyes intelligent and amused. “If you want to know anything more about Sister Monica——”
“—you can only say she’s a wonder,” laughed Anne.
“You never said a truer word,” he replied. “Good-bye, and I hope you’ll find everything works. If not, just let me know.”
5
Raymond came in at five o’clock to find tea ready and his wife in a pretty frock, sitting like a lady in the big drawing room. “Well, angel, I hand it to you for energy. You’ve got straight in just about record time.”
“It was easy,” said Anne. “Everyone’s been falling over themselves to be kind and helpful. Lady Ridding brought a treasure of a woman to help clean up, to say nothing of the flowers: don’t those arums give us an air of chaste superiority? This is a wonderful village.”
He cocked an eyebrow at the word, his lean, pale face crinkled in a grin. “D’you know, I think we’ll delete that word from our vocabulary, Anne.”
“As we deleted the word ‘culture’ after its redefinition by an eminent poet,” murmured Anne. “For the same reason, Ray? Because it implies too much and is understood too little?”
“Let us not be controversial,” he said, sitting down luxuriously in a chair which offered comfort and yet avoided engulfing him. “If we are not careful, the word ‘wonderful’ will become a gag.”
“How right you are,” she laughed. “Have you been collecting evidence about the person the word is applied to locally? I don’t believe I’m far wrong, Ray. She’s a menace, only nobody daresay so out loud.”
“According to my informant, being old Brown, she’s the noblest creature the Almighty ever made,” said Raymond. “Judging by more indirect evidence, she’s the focus point of most of the village bickerings. The fact is they’ve all been here too long, Anne—doctor and parson, landlord and warden, postman and postmistress. Venner, down at the mill, hit the nail on the head. ‘Time we had some fresh blood,’ he said. You must go and see the mill, Anne. It’s amazing the power they get from that fall.”
“All in good time, sir. To begin with, I’m going to have my work cut out. A. Not to be managed by our noble landlady: she’ll be ordering my dinner if I don’t look out. B. Not to be hypnotised by Sister Monica. She’s mistress of the evil eye. C. Not to be bullied by old Thomas, the gardener. He wants to have control over our garden. Now come and see the Aga. It’s functioning. So is the central heating. It’s really rather . . . impressive,” she ended, after a rhetorical pause.
“I am duly impressed,” replied Ray. “It’s a grand day’s work you’ve done, angel. How do you feel about it all?”
“It’s lovely,” said Anne, “but we shall have to work hard to avoid using that newly banned word. How were the pneumonias?”
“They weren’t. But Sir James has rather a nice asthma. That’s the real reason why we’re here.”
“How useful of him,” said Anne.
CHAPTER III
Anne Ferens was a friendly soul, and she was soon on good terms with her neighbours, both villagers and “quality”; she found the former much more attractive than the latter. “The quality are always grumbling while the village folk are always cheerful,” she said to her husband, and Raymond replied:
“Perfectly reasonable. The villagers are
