Thirty-Five
Up on the little stage of the smart Peace Hall, which smelled strongly of fresh paint and new timber, and buzzed with excited chatter and the clinking of teacups, Greg raised his arms and called for hush.
‘Thank you, thank you, everyone,’ he said in a loud happy voice as a shuffling quiet spread in an interested wave over the gathering. ‘I have here a message from Mrs Mitchelmore and it was now, after the grand opening and the press had gone, that she specified she wanted it to be read out. Dorrie, are you sure you don’t want to do this? It was you who Mrs Mitchelmore wrote to.’
‘Not in the least,’ Dorrie replied, sitting at a long line of trestle tables with Verity, Jack, the Templetons, Guy and the Vercoes. Jenna was there, chivvied along by her parents, sadly having spent every moment quiet and strained. The news of her ‘little problem’ had not yet become common knowledge, and the Vercoes and Lawrys were keeping a careful distance from each other.
‘Get on with it, boyo,’ called out Hector Evans, and everyone laughed.
‘Right then, here goes, it’s only fitting the dear lady has the last word. It’s dated five days ago, from Geneva. “My dear friends and neighbours of Nanviscoe. I’m so sorry to have suddenly left your midst, but in my trials, I am fully confident that I have left you in the very capable hands of the Peace Hall committee. I am also deeply saddened, as is my sister, Mrs Sanders, that we could not be with you there today, but we will take pleasure in what will be, undoubtedly, your pleasure. I urge you all to enjoy your splendid new hall, built with the sweat of your brows, and allow no one to spoil the future occasions you have in it. May God bless you all. Yours, with my affectionate regards, Esther Mitchelmore.”’
There was a thunderous round of clapping and whooping and a spontaneous outbreak of ‘For she’s a jolly good fellow.’