I understand.'
'Oh, I haven't been here long enough for that honour,' said Diana.
'It's the new ones that get copped,' replied Mr Willet shrewdly. 'You take a look round. You won't find many of the old sort running things in Fairacre—they're too fly. They likes to sit back and watch the newcomers make a mess o' things, and then they can criticise.'
They approached Tyler's Row and slowed to a halt.
'You all right for help in the house?' asked Mr Willet solicitously.
'At the moment, yes, thank you. Mrs Jones who worked for me in Caxley comes out once a week.'
'Good. 'Tisn't easy to get a decent body as you can trust.'
He handed over the basket.
'Well, I must be off to the school. Caretaker, see. Odd job man, like. Be plenty of coke spread about the playground for me to sweep up, I've no doubt. Still, I did the same meself when I was there fifty years back.'
He gave a smile which creased his weathered face, reminding Diana of a wrinkled apple.
'If you wants anything, let me know. Or your husband now, if he needs a load of logs or someone to fix that gate of yourn, tell him to come and see me. I've heard plenty about him from my two nephews as goes to his school. They've got more up top than I had at their age.'
'I very much doubt it,' said Diana with conviction.
On the following afternoon Diana went to Caxley, and returned to Tylers Row to find that the first salvo had been fired in a battle which was to last for months.
A light breeze was blowing, and Diana had noticed faint wisps of smoke drifting from the Sergeant's garden across their own, towards Mrs Fowler's property. The bonfire was at the end of the garden, and could have given no offence to anyone, at the stage when Diana first saw it.
She was just peeling off her gloves, when the knock came at the front door. On opening it, she was confronted by Mrs Fowler, dressed very neatly in an afternoon frock, and surmounted by a hat. It was of a masculine nature, something of a trilby, slightly modified for feminine wear, but still uncompromisingly severe. Beneath it, Mrs Fowler's grim countenance appeared more formidable than ever.
'Will you come in?' said Diana, regretting the invitation the moment she had made it.
She showed her visitor into the sitting room, and both perched on the edge of their chairs. Mrs Fowler wasted no time.
'I'm here to make a complaint,' she said formally. Her quick eyes were flickering about the room, noting everything. She would be the winner at any Kim's game, thought Diana, with wry amusement.
'I'm sorry to hear that,' she replied. 'Have we done something to offend you, Mrs Fowler?'
'It's not you, ma'am. It's 'im!'
She jerked a thumb at the dividing wall, in the direction of Sergeant Burnaby's abode.
''E does it for sheer devilment,' she went on, her face becoming flushed. 'Waits till 'e sees it 'anging out, then gets to work.'
'Sees what?' asked Diana, understandably bewildered.
'The washing. The clothes. Waits till I've pegged out the lot, and then lights 'is bonfire. Time and time again it's 'appened. All over smuts, they get, clear-starched, fresh-boiled, hand-washed woollies—'e don't care.'
Diana had often heard of people bridling, and had never quite known what this meant. Now she saw it in action. Mrs Fowler fairly bubbled over with her grievances, but with an air of militancy which boded no good to any who crossed her path just then.
'Surely,' she began gently, 'he doesn't do it intentionally?'
'Oh, don't 'e!' exclaimed Mrs Fowler vindictively. ''E watches the weather-cock on the church to see when 'is ol' bonfire can do most damage! I've seen 'im at it.'
'Then why not go to him and put your complaint directly? What can I do?'
'Well, he's your tenant, same as I am. 'E takes no notice of what I say. Laughs in me face, 'e does. But if you—or, say, Mr Hale—should have a word with the old devil—pardon my language, ma'am—there's a chance 'e might see reason."
Diana sighed.
'I don't like it at all, Mrs
'Oh, I haven't been here long enough for that honour,' said Diana.
'It's the new ones that get copped,' replied Mr Willet shrewdly. 'You take a look round. You won't find many of the old sort running things in Fairacre—they're too fly. They likes to sit back and watch the newcomers make a mess o' things, and then they can criticise.'
They approached Tyler's Row and slowed to a halt.
'You all right for help in the house?' asked Mr Willet solicitously.
'At the moment, yes, thank you. Mrs Jones who worked for me in Caxley comes out once a week.'
'Good. 'Tisn't easy to get a decent body as you can trust.'
He handed over the basket.
'Well, I must be off to the school. Caretaker, see. Odd job man, like. Be plenty of coke spread about the playground for me to sweep up, I've no doubt. Still, I did the same meself when I was there fifty years back.'
He gave a smile which creased his weathered face, reminding Diana of a wrinkled apple.
'If you wants anything, let me know. Or your husband now, if he needs a load of logs or someone to fix that gate of yourn, tell him to come and see me. I've heard plenty about him from my two nephews as goes to his school. They've got more up top than I had at their age.'
'I very much doubt it,' said Diana with conviction.
On the following afternoon Diana went to Caxley, and returned to Tylers Row to find that the first salvo had been fired in a battle which was to last for months.
A light breeze was blowing, and Diana had noticed faint wisps of smoke drifting from the Sergeant's garden across their own, towards Mrs Fowler's property. The bonfire was at the end of the garden, and could have given no offence to anyone, at the stage when Diana first saw it.
She was just peeling off her gloves, when the knock came at the front door. On opening it, she was confronted by Mrs Fowler, dressed very neatly in an afternoon frock, and surmounted by a hat. It was of a masculine nature, something of a trilby, slightly modified for feminine wear, but still uncompromisingly severe. Beneath it, Mrs Fowler's grim countenance appeared more formidable than ever.
'Will you come in?' said Diana, regretting the invitation the moment she had made it.
She showed her visitor into the sitting room, and both perched on the edge of their chairs. Mrs Fowler wasted no time.
'I'm here to make a complaint,' she said formally. Her quick eyes were flickering about the room, noting everything. She would be the winner at any Kim's game, thought Diana, with wry amusement.
'I'm sorry to hear that,' she replied. 'Have we done something to offend you, Mrs Fowler?'
'It's not you, ma'am. It's 'im!'
She jerked a thumb at the dividing wall, in the direction of Sergeant Burnaby's abode.
''E does it for sheer devilment,' she went on, her face becoming flushed. 'Waits till 'e sees it 'anging out, then gets to work.'
'Sees what?' asked Diana, understandably bewildered.
'The washing. The clothes. Waits till I've pegged out the lot, and then lights 'is bonfire. Time and time again it's 'appened. All over smuts, they get, clear-starched, fresh-boiled, hand-washed woollies—'e don't care.'
Diana had often heard of people bridling, and had never quite known what this meant. Now she saw it in action. Mrs Fowler fairly bubbled over with her grievances, but with an air of militancy which boded no good to any who crossed her path just then.
'Surely,' she began gently, 'he doesn't do it intentionally?'
'Oh, don't 'e!' exclaimed Mrs Fowler vindictively. ''E watches the weather-cock on the church to see when 'is ol' bonfire can do most damage! I've seen 'im at it.'
'Then why not go to him and put your complaint directly? What can I do?'
'Well, he's your tenant, same as I am. 'E takes no notice of what I say. Laughs in me face, 'e does. But if you—or, say, Mr Hale—should have a word with the old devil—pardon my language, ma'am—there's a chance 'e might see reason."
Diana sighed.
'I don't like it at all, Mrs
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