In the quiet English village of Little Wellingford, gossip spread like butter on warm toast.
«Tamsin, Tamsin, have you heard? The new maths teachers arrived from London,» chattered old Mrs. Whitby, perched on her garden fence, always the first to know the latest village drama. «Miss Havisham finally retiredGod bless herthough she was ancient even when I was a girl. No one else to teach the little ones, so here he is.»
«Really? A man, is it?» Tamsin replied, idly plucking at her shawl.
«Oh yes. And not some young lad eitherforty-six, they say, and unmarried.»
«Forty-six and alone?» Tamsin raised an eyebrow. «Maybe his wifell follow later. Or maybe not. Town women dont fancy village life, do they?»
«Bah, who cares? Plenty of single women here. What about our nurse, Philippa? Widowed three years now, and still pretty. A teacher and a nurseperfect match!»
The village hummed with theories before Gregory Ellis had even met Philippa. By teatime, the wedding was already decided.
Weeks passed. No wedding bells. No whispers of stolen glances between the schoolhouse and the clinic. Oh, theyd metof course they hadbut shared nothing beyond polite nods.
Gregory settled into the old cottage behind the school, once meant for teachers and medics when the village had more of both. Tall, with kind eyes and a sharp wit, the children adored him. Lessons came alive with riddles and laughter.
But the real excitement was in the knitting circle by the post office, where theories about Gregory flourished.
Mrs. Whitby, adjusting her floral headscarf, declared: «Fresh widower, mark my words. Buried his wife in Londonpoor thing was poorlyand fled here to mend his heart.»
Then came Mrs. Archer, who knew everything (or pretended to). «Rubbish. Hes hiding. Debts, scandalmaybe a fling with some young tart, and the wife found out. Mark my words, this is exile.»
The theories spiralled, reaching Philippa through patients who came clutching ailments and rumours.
Forty-one, her daughter at university in Manchester, Philippa had buried her husband three winters pasthis heart gave out. Gregory didnt interest her. Their paths barely crossed: the school at one end of the lane, the clinic at the other. Her children werent in his class, and he never fell ill.
«Philippa, the village is pairing you with that teacher,» chuckled Nurse Brenda, elbow-deep in linens. «Theyve got you married off by Easter.»
Philippa sighed, scribbling notes. «Honestly, Brenda, weve barely spoken. Seems decent enough, but too polished. Fancy glasses, soft hands. Probably cant even change a fuse. Saw enough of his sort in London when I trainedall charm, no substance.»
Brenda tutted. «Hes no boy, though.»
«Men are worse at his age. Forty-six? Theyre either set in their ways or still chasing skirts. No thank you.»
«Fair point,» Brenda conceded. «A man alone that long doesnt want company.»
«Exactly. Let them gossip. Itll blow over.»
And it did. Gregory earned respect; Philippa kept to her work. They exchanged hellos at the village shop, then went their separate ways.
Winter came, deep and white. Paths vanished under drifts, and gossip turned to the mayors daughter, home from universitypregnant, unwed. A juicier scandal.
Then, one icy January evening, chaos. Old Mrs. Archer collapsed. A call to the clinic sent Philippa trudging through snowdrifts, medical bag in hand.
She pushed open the cottage doorand froze. Gregory stood by the hearth, waiting.
«Hello. What are you doing here?»
«Stevies feverish,» he said, nodding to the boy by the fire. «His mothers at work. But Mrs. Archerits bad. Ive called an ambulance.»
Philippa knelt by the old woman. The crooked mouth, slurred speechstroke. «You did right, but how will the ambulance reach here? The lanes buried.»
Gregory stepped outside, then returned with a wooden ladder and three belts. «Well wrap her in blankets, strap her to this, and drag her to the clinic.»
Philippa blinked. «Brilliant.»
They hauled Mrs. Archer through the snow, talking as they went.
«Why no wife?» Philippa asked, breath clouding.
Gregory exhaled. «Left me seven years ago. Ran off with some banker. Whats a teachers salary to that? Came here voluntarilysome young chap was meant to, but his wifes expecting. Felt sorry for them.»
«Ah.»
At the clinic, the ambulance arrived. As they unstrapped Mrs. Archer, Philippa studied Gregorycalm, capable, his sleeves rolled up over strong forearms.
Not so soft-handed after all.
That evening, villagers spotted Gregory walking Philippa home. Then again the next day. And the next.
«So,» Brenda smirked during a check-up, «whens the wedding?»
Philippa laughed. «Summer. Gregorys on holiday then, and Ive fewer patients.»
The village had been right all along. As the saying goes: *where theres smoke, theres fire.*
