The Village Gentlefolk
«Tess, Tess, have you heard? A new maths teachers come to our village from the city. Miss Barbara Simmons has finally retiredthough truth be told, shed been pensioned off for years, bless her. There was no one left to teach the children, so hes come,» chattered old Mrs. Wilkins, the neighbour who always had the freshest gossip.
«No, I hadnt heard. A man, is it?»
«Aye, and not some young lad either. They say hes forty-six and unmarried.»
«Forty-six and alone? Good heavens,» Tess murmured. «Perhaps his wifell follow lateror perhaps not. City women dont fancy village life.»
«Well, what of it? Plenty of our own women are alonewhat about our nurse, Mary? Widowed these three years, and a fine-looking woman too. A teacher and a nursewhy, theyd make a perfect match!»
Before the new teacher, Mr. Gregory Evans, had even met Mary, the village had all but married them off.
Time passed, yet no wedding bells rang. No one saw the teacher and the nurse speaking much, if at all. Oh, theyd methow could they not, in a village so small?but nothing more.
Gregory settled into the old schoolhouse, once home to the villages long-gone doctors and teachers. A tall, pleasant-looking man, the children took to him at once. His lessons were lively, full of jokes and explanations that made even sums seem simple.
But while the village slept soundly, the old women who gathered on benches or by their cottage doors did not rest. They spun theories about Gregory like thread on a spindle.
Two tales took root. The first came from Mrs. Wilkins herself:
«Mark my words, ladies,» she said, adjusting her shawl, «that Gregorys a widower, fresh from burying his wife in the city. Came here to escape his grief and start anew. Men do such things in their sorrow.»
The second was spun by old Mrs. Archer, who claimed to know everythingor at least made a fine show of pretending she did.
«Ill tell you thishes tangled in some city trouble. Debt, most like, or a scandal with a young lass. His wife found out, and now hes hiding here till the storm blows over.»
No conclusion was reached, but the whispers spread like butter on warm bread. Mary, of course, took no part in such talkbut as the village nurse, she heard it all the same. Folk came to her with their aches and pains, and their tongues wagged as freely as their complaints.
Mary was forty-one, her daughter away at university in London. Shed buried her husband three years priorhis heart had given out. Gregory didnt interest her. Not that she disliked him; their paths simply didnt cross. The school stood at one end of the village, the surgery at the other. Her children werent in his classshe had none left at homeand he never fell ill.
«Mary, the village is chattering about you and the teacher,» said old Nurse Lucy, who helped at the surgery. «Theyre all waiting for a courtship to bloom into a wedding.»
«Oh, Ive heard, Lucy, Ive heard. What courtship? Weve barely exchanged more than a good day. He seems decent enough, but Ive only seen him twiceand hes too city-bred for me. Smartly dressed, those fine spectacles, hands too soft for work. When I trained in London, I met plenty like himall charm, no substance.»
«But hes no lad,» Lucy protested.
«Oh, come now, you know the saying: Life begins at forty. And for men, it begins and ends with the same nonsense, even when theyre old and leaning on a stick!»
Lucy fell silent, tending to her work before adding, «Aye, well. A man that age alone likely wants to stay that way.»
«Exactly,» Mary said briskly. «Let them talk. Ive no interest in romance. If I wanted anything, itd be a family. Theyll tire of it soon enough.»
And tire they did. Gregory earned the villages respect, as did Mary. The two gentlefolk became ordinary fixtures, their lives no longer fodder for gossip. Theyd nod politely if they passed in the shop, then go their separate ways.
Winter came, then the New Year. The children returned from holiday, and the last whispers about Gregory faded. He was one of them now.
But the village tongues soon found fresh meat. The headmans daughter had returned from London, her studies abandoned, her belly swelling without a husband in sight. Now *that* was a field ripe for ploughing. The old women traded their benches for the warmth of the shop or the surgery, their chatter as thick as the snow outside.
January was bitter, the lanes buried under drifts. Walking was a trial, even on the trampled paths.
Then, just as the month waned, the village stirred anew. Mary was called to old Mrs. Archers cottage. The woman lived at the far end of the village with her daughter and grandson, young Stephen, who attended the school. The path to their door was deep in snow, and Mary trudged wearily, her medical bag in hand.
Stepping inside, she was startled to see Gregory waiting, his gaze sharp with concern.
«Good afternoon,» she said. «What are you doing here?»
«Afternoon,» he replied. «I walked Stephen homehes feverish. His mothers at work. And Mrs. Archer well, its serious. Ive already called for an ambulance, but her speech is slurred, her face twisted»
Mary understood at once. A stroke. The ambulance would never make it down the snow-choked lane.
«You did right to call,» she said, «but how do we get her out? The ambulance cant reach here.»
«Well manage,» Gregory said firmly. «See to Stephen first.»
Outside, Gregory spotted an old wooden ladder. «Stephen, fetch me any straps you can find.» The boy returned with threeone of cloth. «Thesell do,» Gregory said.
«Whats your plan?» Mary asked.
«Well wrap her in a blanket, strap her to the ladder, and drag her to the surgery like a sledge.»
«Brilliant,» Mary breathed.
Gregory took the weight, Mary steadying Mrs. Archer as they hauled her through the snow. They spoke as they workedof life, of choices.
«Why *are* you unmarried?» Mary asked, struck by his quick thinking. A man like this, practical in a crisisshed misjudged him.
«My wife left me seven years ago,» he said simply. «Ran off with a businessman. Whats a schoolmasters wage to his riches? I came here by choicetook the place of a younger man whose wife was expecting. No regrets. I like it here.»
Mary said nothing, but her thoughts churned.
When the ambulance finally took Mrs. Archer away, Gregory and Mary lingered outside the surgery. As he turned to leave, Mary watched him go, realisation dawning.
*Hes a proper man. Steady in a crisis, quick to act, no complaints. Not some pampered city fool.*
That evening, the village saw Gregory walking Mary homethough her cottage was close, and his lay in the opposite direction. The next day, and the next, they were seen strolling together, laughing like old friends.
«Mary, whens the wedding?» Nurse Lucy and the villagers teased whenever they came by the surgery.
Mary only laughedthen, at last, relented.
«This summer. Gregory has his holidays then, and my work eases.»
So the rumours had not been idle after all. As the old saying goes: *Where theres smoke, theres fire.*
