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Have a
cuppa with Shirley (or Martin) |
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Well, I'm glad somebody has come to visit me. Seems like everyone else is leaving this house. Frank's gone back to the Hermitage with his tail between his legs. Was skulking around the garden for a few days, talking to Martin, and then he moved out. Don't know what that was all about; don't suppose it's any of my business, really. Then Mr. Tinsley took off like Easy Rider the other day and hasn't come back. Not that I blame him, mind you. His girlfriend running up to London for an overnight with another man! You know, Chester Vyse, the building inspector. I can't imagine running around with him, can you? Still, she's an odd one, and maybe talking about mortar joints and dry rot does more for her than most folks. She also took that Emma Knytleigh with her. Good riddance, that's what I say to her. Nothing but a common muckraker parading as a historian. If she's a historian, the Sun is a serious newspaper. She lures Miss Irene and Miss Gladys out here with the promise of a cuppa and a cake, and before you know it they're telling all kinds of tales. Even pulled out an old photo of ...well, never mind. None of it's true, and more to the point, none of it's anybody's business. Especially with John here. He doesn't need all that dragged up from the past. I've done what I can to help. And now, talking about Betsy like she's common trash! I could throttle that little weasel, I could. Yes, I suppose I should calm down. Good idea; a cup of tea is just the thing. I always say there's nothing like a pot of tea to soothe the nerves. Since that old Mr. Darnell passed away in the dining room, SHE's been quiet. There's been the occasional slamming door, and the other day I came into the kitchen and my bread hadn't risen, but mostly things are back to normal. I hope they stay that way. I'm off to the shop in a few minutes to put out some new stock. Fancy a walk to the village with me? Let's just have that tea before we go... |
