spells her name with an x. A bit of sponge cake, Miss Crabbe? Or perhaps a jam tart?” To the vicar, she added, “Miss Potter’s new book is there on the table. Thank you so much for lending it to me. I found it quite delightful.”
“You’re most welcome,” the vicar said, picking up the book. “Here it is, Miss Nash, the book I was telling you about. The Pie and the Patty-Pan. ”
“Jam tart, I think, Miss Woodcock.” Miss Crabbe’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t know you enjoyed children’s literature, Vicar,” she went on archly. “We shall have to ask you to read it to our classes—if it is not too political, that is. I always say that we should not bother the children’s heads with political matters.” She leaned forward. “What was the unfortunate business with Silas Tadcastle that you mentioned?”
The vicar was saved from answering the question when the bell pealed and Elsa reappeared at the sitting-room door. “It’s Mrs. Lythecoe, ma’am,” she said. “She says to say that Mrs. Rose Sutton dropped in to return a tray she borrowed, and she thought it’ud be lovely if Mrs. Sutton was invited to welcome Miss Potter, ’specially since Mrs. Sutton is t’ veterinarian’s wife and if Miss Potter aims to have cows and sheep and pigs and such at Hill Top they’ll cert’nly become acquainted, so t’ sooner t’ better.”
“Of course,” Dimity said, counting the cups. “Do ask them in, Elsa.” Really, it was of no use to try to give a small tea party in a village. One might as well put out all the china and resign oneself to a crowd.
“So Miss Potter’s bought Hill Top, has she?” Miss Crabbe’s thin eyebrows went higher. “What’s to become of the Jenningses? I suppose she’s going to turn them out.”
“Dear Dimity,” Grace Lythecoe said from the doorway. With her was a disheveled, youngish woman with bright hazel eyes, chapped lips, and reddened hands that looked as if they spent a great deal of time in hot water. Dimity was well acquainted with Rose Sutton, who might be a trifle harum-scarum at times but was one of the hardest working women in the parish. Not only did she keep the accounts for her husband Desmond’s practice, but she helped to make up his medicines and manage his supplies, as well as deftly managing a houseful of small Suttons—five, at last inventory, although from the look of Rose, the count would be going up soon.
“What does Miss Potter think she will do with a farm?” Miss Crabbe was asking the vicar in a skeptical tone. “Really, I can’t understand these political women, always wanting to make people notice them by doing one outrageous thing or another.”
“I don’t believe our Miss Potter is especially political,” the vicar said uncomfortably.
“I’m afraid I can’t stay very long,” Rose Sutton said, taking the cup and saucer Dimity handed her, “as I must see to the children’s tea. But I did so want to thank Miss Potter for her thoughtfulness. My Lizzy received one of the books she sent when scarlet fever closed Sawrey School. It kept all the little ones quiet for days.” She stirred in sugar, then glanced around brightly. “I wonder, if I may be so bold as to ask, what anyone’s heard about Miss Tolliver’s will. My husband heard that Mr. Heelis has it in his office, but no one seems to know if the draper from Kendal is to inherit, or someone else altogether.”
Everyone looked expectantly at Dimity, for Captain Woodcock, as Justice of the Peace, always knew what was going on. Dimity cleared her throat. “My brother told me just that much at breakfast this morning,” she said apologetically. “The will is to be read out tomorrow. I’m afraid I don’t know anything more about it than that.”
“Miss Potter and I were coming back from the post office this morning,” Grace Lythecoe said, choosing a jam tart, “when we met Mr. Roberts. He demanded the key to the cottage.”
“Demanded?” the vicar asked, raising his
“You’re most welcome,” the vicar said, picking up the book. “Here it is, Miss Nash, the book I was telling you about. The Pie and the Patty-Pan. ”
“Jam tart, I think, Miss Woodcock.” Miss Crabbe’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t know you enjoyed children’s literature, Vicar,” she went on archly. “We shall have to ask you to read it to our classes—if it is not too political, that is. I always say that we should not bother the children’s heads with political matters.” She leaned forward. “What was the unfortunate business with Silas Tadcastle that you mentioned?”
The vicar was saved from answering the question when the bell pealed and Elsa reappeared at the sitting-room door. “It’s Mrs. Lythecoe, ma’am,” she said. “She says to say that Mrs. Rose Sutton dropped in to return a tray she borrowed, and she thought it’ud be lovely if Mrs. Sutton was invited to welcome Miss Potter, ’specially since Mrs. Sutton is t’ veterinarian’s wife and if Miss Potter aims to have cows and sheep and pigs and such at Hill Top they’ll cert’nly become acquainted, so t’ sooner t’ better.”
“Of course,” Dimity said, counting the cups. “Do ask them in, Elsa.” Really, it was of no use to try to give a small tea party in a village. One might as well put out all the china and resign oneself to a crowd.
“So Miss Potter’s bought Hill Top, has she?” Miss Crabbe’s thin eyebrows went higher. “What’s to become of the Jenningses? I suppose she’s going to turn them out.”
“Dear Dimity,” Grace Lythecoe said from the doorway. With her was a disheveled, youngish woman with bright hazel eyes, chapped lips, and reddened hands that looked as if they spent a great deal of time in hot water. Dimity was well acquainted with Rose Sutton, who might be a trifle harum-scarum at times but was one of the hardest working women in the parish. Not only did she keep the accounts for her husband Desmond’s practice, but she helped to make up his medicines and manage his supplies, as well as deftly managing a houseful of small Suttons—five, at last inventory, although from the look of Rose, the count would be going up soon.
“What does Miss Potter think she will do with a farm?” Miss Crabbe was asking the vicar in a skeptical tone. “Really, I can’t understand these political women, always wanting to make people notice them by doing one outrageous thing or another.”
“I don’t believe our Miss Potter is especially political,” the vicar said uncomfortably.
“I’m afraid I can’t stay very long,” Rose Sutton said, taking the cup and saucer Dimity handed her, “as I must see to the children’s tea. But I did so want to thank Miss Potter for her thoughtfulness. My Lizzy received one of the books she sent when scarlet fever closed Sawrey School. It kept all the little ones quiet for days.” She stirred in sugar, then glanced around brightly. “I wonder, if I may be so bold as to ask, what anyone’s heard about Miss Tolliver’s will. My husband heard that Mr. Heelis has it in his office, but no one seems to know if the draper from Kendal is to inherit, or someone else altogether.”
Everyone looked expectantly at Dimity, for Captain Woodcock, as Justice of the Peace, always knew what was going on. Dimity cleared her throat. “My brother told me just that much at breakfast this morning,” she said apologetically. “The will is to be read out tomorrow. I’m afraid I don’t know anything more about it than that.”
“Miss Potter and I were coming back from the post office this morning,” Grace Lythecoe said, choosing a jam tart, “when we met Mr. Roberts. He demanded the key to the cottage.”
“Demanded?” the vicar asked, raising his
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