Miss Lemon had so much to do. She had recently been appointed church warden at the local church. St. Oswald's was a busy parish church at the best of times. There were so many young families from the new estate, and lots of older people from St. Peter's Home along the embankment.
Being a spinster gave Miss Lemon some extra time to herself, but what she could not understand was how people coped with their homes with full-time jobs. How could they garden adequately? How could they maintain their paintwork, their gutters, keep their window glass sparkling? It was a mystery to Miss Lemon, for she was one who never stopped. If she was not mowing and edging her lawn, she would be cleaning her large-paned windows, sweeping up leaves in the autumn, or cutting off dead rose blooms in the summer.
There was always something to do - and now, the job as church warden. She had wanted it for some time, but the extra work gave her a slight headache, and she thought she would engage help at home. She thought about getting a gardener, maybe even a cleaner. She decided on a gardener, as she knew there was a new man in the area advertising in the parish magazine. She would ask him to come to her garden at least twice a week. It would remove a terrible burden from her shoulders.
Keith Borage was a young fifty. His hair was silvered, but thick and thatch-like on his proud head. His skin, like a ruddy apple, was clear and fresh, and he had the air of a handsome man. Miss Lemon was about the same age. She could see nothing inappropriate in the proximity of such a charming stranger.
Keith Borage had a twinkle in his eye from the start, but he was no church-going man, that was for sure. He had advertised in the parish magazine quite cheekily, and now it was paying off. Miss Lemon was his first customer. Miss Lemon wondered if she had done the right thing. The way that man looks at me is unchristian, she thought to herself, unversed as she was, in the ways of love.
She had lived a sheltered life, looking after her mother for years, while she was ill. Her mother had been dead for two years now, but as for gentlemen callers, there had been no one. Miss Lemon's thoughts devolved to higher things: the church, her home, her garden.
Mr. Borage was a widower, but had a daughter who lived in another town. As Miss Lemon got to know Mr. Borage, she felt he was a gentlemanly man, not rough or uneducated, as she had first thought, or indeed as some had suggested in the church. But then they were prejudiced as they knew the man was no believer.
"I'll have to leave you to it, Mr. Borage," Miss Lemon said on his third or fourth visit, "I've got to attend at the church on important business. We are raising funds to restore the North Tower."
"Oh, you can leave me to it, Miss Lemon. I'll be fine."
The next day there was a rumour in the village. Mrs. Bostock from Blaikie Lane had had a valuable piece of silver taken from her home. Mr. Borage was her gardener. The finger was pointing distinctly at him. After all, he was in her garden at the time, her back door was open and she had been upstairs taking a shower. Who else could it be - Mr. Borage looked remarkably like a thief. It was after his time there, he had come to do Miss Lemon's garden. He had, according to local gossip, stashed the silver somewhere, and then, bold as brass, started on Miss Lemon's garden. Miss Lemon, of course, was quick to point out that she had left Mr. Borage to tend her garden with the keys to the house in his very possession. Mr.Borage was no thief. "I am so sorry, Mr. Borage, what the people are saying is so bad," was the first thing Miss Lemon said to her gardener on his next visit. She trusted him. She felt she had a feeling for who was honest and who was not, and Mr. Borage fell into the honest category, she just knew it.
"It has hit me hard," he began, "I thought I just might get on my feet, and now this."
"Oh, don't worry, I trust you." Miss Lemon's eyes melted as she looked softly at an accused man. She could not think ill of anyone. She tried to calm the stormy waters, soothe the savage breast.
The vicar, Reverend Simons, looked askance at Miss Lemon, when he heard she had taken the gardener's side - so much for brotherly love. In his eyes, she was siding with a thief.
"I am sick of all of you. You are hypocrites." Miss Lemon could not keep it in. She let rip, on seeing them all so decided on the guilt of poor Mr. Borage. "He is an innocent man, I can feel it in my bones."
"He isn't even a Christian."
"You don't always have to be a Christian to know the right thing to do."
Here they were, so-called good people, judge and jury on what she was convinced was an innocent man.
Back at her neat home, Mr. Borage clipped the high hedge in Miss Lemon's back garden. "You know, Miss Lemon, you are balm to an aching heart."
"Yes," she said softly, "sometimes people can be so cruel. They don't know you like I do."
"Thankyou, Miss Lemon. I liked you from the start. The others turned away from me, because I'm not a church-going man, but so help me, I haven't taken anything from anyone. I wouldn't do that."
"No, I know, Mr. Borage."
"Call me Ted."
"Allright, Ted, I trust you, I'm Vera."
At that moment, they looked into each other's eyes and felt a mutual understanding that seemed very much like love. Ted leaned over to Miss lemon. He put his lips on hers, and she melted against his strong body. It seemed like Miss Lemon was in love.
The next day Miss Lemon was looking through the daily papers with a piece of toast in one hand and a cup of breakfast tea in the other. She was intrigued to come across an article about the stolen silver.
POLICE HAVE ARRESTED A LOCAL TRAMP IN CONNECTION WITH THE THEFT OF A RARE PIECE OF SILVER IN BLAIKIE LANE. RODNEY THEWLIS IS OF NO FIXED ABODE AND FACES A COURT APPEARANCE ON FRIDAY.
So, I knew I was right. Those people at the church can be so self-righteous sometimes. Wait till I see them.
Mr. Borage rang the bell of Miss Lemon's home to start his job."Oh, never mind about the garden today. We have important work to do."
"I was just thinking", he said, "I'd like to go to church, thank God that the truth has come out."
"Well yes, but we'll give those hypocrites a piece of our mind first."
At the church a group of them gathered sheepishly. On seeing Miss Lemon and Mr. Borage come in together, they started back a little. "We are very sorry," someone said.
"I should think so," said Miss Lemon, "Mr. Borage is becoming a Christian. He wants to join you, though I can't think for the life of me, why."
"That's wonderful," someone said. "Please forgive us."
"I forgive you all," Mr. Borage said, glad to be welcomed at last into the village community.
"And do you know," another villager said, "I think all of our gardens could do with sprucing up, after seeing how nice you have made Miss Lemon's. We don't want to lag behind."
"No, you don't," said Miss Lemon, "that would never do, would it. Mr. Borage is a fine gardener, and a fine young man too."
