The Lady's Maid (8 page)

She quickened her pace. Dawdling in the sunshine and worrying about what might never happen was a waste of time. The reason she had come to market in the first place was to purchase the ribbons and lace she needed to embellish a cast-off gown of Josie’s which she intended to wear at the harvest supper. She made her way through the press of country folk. The sturdy women proudly sported their best cotton-print frocks, starched white aprons and sun bonnets, and their husbands were dressed for practicality in coarse linen smocks, boots and gaiters. This was the day when people from the outlying villages got together to buy and sell, and also to chat and exchange gossip. The market place was filled with the sound of cattle lowing, the bleating of sheep and the occasional grunt from pigs snuffling at the straw in their pens. The stall holders had to shout even louder to advertise their wares, but Kate was not interested in buying fruit and vegetables, pots and pans or willow-pattern china. She had come with a single purpose and she went straight to the stall that sold ribbons, lace, pins and needles, coloured silks and spools of cotton. She had just paid for her purchases when a voice at her elbow made her jump.

‘Good morning, Kate.’

‘Sam, you startled me.’

He dragged off his wide-brimmed felt hat and brushed back a lock of dark, curly hair, eyeing her with a teasing smile. ‘You was so intent on them snippets of ribbon and lace, you wouldn’t have noticed if a brigade of soldiers had marched up behind you.’

She could not help smiling. It was hard to be cross
with
Sam for any length of time. He had been her friend and playfellow during her visits to her grandparents’ farm for as long as she could remember. It was more than fifteen years ago that her grandfather had found Sam and his sister tied to a cattle pen and abandoned. Sam had been six years old then, and his sister Molly little more than a babe in arms. Gradually and with much coaxing, Sam had been able to tell Grandpa Coggins that his father, a journeyman carpenter who travelled the countryside looking for work, could no longer care for him and his sister after the untimely death of their mother. He had left them in the market place in the hope that some kind soul would do exactly what Ezra Coggins had done.

Sam, she thought fondly, had grown into a fine-looking fellow, all muscle and bone with the wickedest twinkle in his eyes that were such a deep shade of blue that they sometimes looked black. His smile could charm the birds from the trees, of which he was very well aware, and he was a dreadful tease. He gave her bonnet strings a playful tug. ‘What’s the matter, Kate? Cat got your tongue?’

‘Never mind me. What are you doing here? Pa didn’t say he was sending any animals to market.’

‘There was a small matter of some hens’ eggs. Someone, mentioning no names, forgot all about them in her hurry to buy folderols and frippery to make herself pretty for the harvest supper.’

Kate frowned. It was true. In her haste to get to market she had forgotten all about the wretched eggs. ‘You could have reminded me, Sam.’

‘You was off like an arrow from a bow this morning. I thought I’d catch up with you on the highway, but you must have had winged feet for I never saw you on the road.’

‘Squire Westwood offered me a lift in his dog cart, if you must know. But seriously, did you or did you not bring the eggs to market?’

He jingled a leather purse in front of her eyes. ‘Biddy Madge took the lot for her stall. Said as how there’d been folk clamouring for eggs all morning. What say you to a tankard of cider in the King’s Arms afore we sets off home?’

‘I’d say you are a bad influence, Sam. Pa would kill me if I were to set foot in a public house, and you are supposed to be working.’ She tempered her words with a smile. ‘You may drive me home though.’

‘Thank you, my lady. First off it was dancing with Squire Westwood last Christmas in the village hall, and now he has you sitting up beside him in his dog cart. It’s enough to give any girl airs and graces.’ Sam placed his hand on his hip and tossed his head in a fair imitation of a flighty female.

‘Hold your tongue, you cheeky monster.’ Kate gave him a gentle shove, but she could not help laughing at his antics.

He rammed his hat on his head and proffered his arm. ‘It would be a pleasure to escort you home, Miss Coggins. But there is a condition.’

‘Which is?’

‘That you promise me the first dance at the harvest supper.’

‘You drive a hard bargain, Mr Loveday, but you have my word on it.’

‘And I promise not to tell Pa Coggins that you forgot to take the eggs to market.’ He handed her the leather pouch. ‘You’d best keep this. With a bit of luck the gaffer won’t notice that I’m not off ploughing the ten-acre field, which is where I was supposed to be this morning.’

Kate linked her hand through his arm. ‘Then we’d best get home as quickly as possible.’ She glanced over her shoulder, just in case the squire should have followed her, but he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she had misread his intentions after all.

Kate’s bedroom was situated at the back of the house, overlooking the orchard. It was large and airy with a beamed ceiling, whitewashed walls and chintz curtains. In winter it was warm and cosy beneath the thatched roof. In spring the birds warbled from their nests beneath the eaves, and the scent of the apple blossom wafted in through the open window. In summer her room was deliciously cool, and now, in autumn, she could look out at the trees heavy with ripening fruit and the grass beneath them studded with rosy windfalls. She closed her window as the evening breeze freshened. Taking a last look in the mirror, she was more than pleased with the result of her labours. The deceptively simple blue silk gown fitted her slim figure perfectly; the addition of lace and ribbon had made it feel as though it was her own and not a hand-me-down from Josie. The low neckline, puffed sleeves,
nipped-in
waist and full skirt with a bustle at the back were the very latest fashion, or at least they were the latest fashion in this part of Dorset, which was probably two or even three years behind society in London, but Kate did not care – she felt like a princess. She went downstairs to the kitchen where Molly was busy sweeping the floor with a besom.

‘Why, Kate. You look beautiful.’ Molly’s eyes misted with tears and her lips trembled. ‘I ain’t never see’d a dress like that in all me born days.’

Kate did a twirl, almost bumping into her father who had come downstairs behind her. ‘What do you think, Pa? Do you like my gown?’

‘You look good enough to eat, love.’ Robert raised his chin, tugging at his cravat. ‘Now if only I could tie this confounded thing, I’d be a happy man.’

‘You are so impatient, Pa.’ Kate pushed his hand away and deftly knotted the material, arranging its folds beneath the stiff points of her father’s shirt collar. He was very red in the face and perspiring heavily. She kissed him on the cheek. ‘There, now don’t you look handsome? We are going to be the envy of everyone there tonight.’

‘I wish I was coming too,’ Molly said, sighing heavily.

Kate pulled on her lace mittens. ‘There’s no reason why you can’t. Is there, Pa? You don’t mind if Molly has a few hours off to join in the fun? Sam could take her.’

Robert shrugged on his jacket. ‘I’ve no objection, so long as she don’t touch anything alcoholic and behaves
herself
. I won’t have us being shown up. So you bear that in mind, young Molly.’

‘Wash your hands and face,’ Kate said, shooing Molly out into the yard. ‘You can borrow my pink and white dimity, but don’t you dare spill anything down the front of it. And make sure Sam brings you home early. Pa and I are going to walk up to the big house now, and you can follow on when you’re ready.’

As they walked arm in arm through the farmyard and down the narrow lane towards Damerell Manor, Robert patted her hand. ‘You look like a proper young lady all dressed up, Kate. You ought to be riding in a fine carriage and not walking with your old pa. You’ll like as not ruin those pretty dancing slippers.’

She smiled up at him. ‘It’s only a harvest supper, Pa. We won’t be going into the big house, just one of the barns. It will all be done up nicely, of course, but we’re not exactly hobnobbing with the gentry.’

‘I wouldn’t say that. The squire will be there for certain, and the parson. Maybe Sir Hector and Lady Damerell will join in the celebration later.’

‘And maybe they won’t.’ Kate looked up at the darkening sky. The sun had set, leaving a trail of flame-tipped clouds floating on a turquoise sky, misting to purple at the horizon. ‘It’s going to be a lovely night, Pa.’

The hay barn had been made ready for the harvest supper. Festoons of greenery were draped from the rafters and the fiddlers were tuning up their instruments ready to entertain the revellers. Trestle tables
had
been laid with white cloths and decorated with swags of ivy. The air was redolent with the mouth-watering fragrance of pork pies, fruit tarts and apple cakes. A silver punchbowl on loan from the big house was brimming with cider cup, and judging by the rising tide of laughter and the buzz of conversation, some of the early arrivals had already been sampling it. The twanging of the fiddle strings competed with the sound of the harmonium as the parson’s daughter, Emmeline, warmed up by practising scales.

‘Can I get you a cup of punch, Kate?’ Robert had to raise his voice to make himself heard.

She nodded her head. ‘Thank you, Pa.’

He left her side and strolled off towards the table where a crowd of men had gathered around the punchbowl. She was about to make her way over to speak to Parson Daleymount and his wife when she was accosted by the squire’s housekeeper, Miss Stamp, whose overly plump body was tightly corseted into a scarlet taffeta gown. ‘My dear Miss Coggins. How lovely you look.’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Kate glanced over Miss Stamp’s shoulder, wondering if the squire had arrived. She could see his two daughters, Amy and Letitia, but there was no sign of him.

‘If you’re looking for the squire, he will be along later.’ Miss Stamp gave her an arch look. ‘I believe that he has offered you a position in our household?’

‘I have no intention of leaving home, ma’am.’

‘But you will one day, my dear. You will marry and have a home of your own.’

Before Kate could reply, Robert came up to them holding two punch cups. ‘Good evening, Miss Stamp.’

‘My, aren’t we formal this evening, Robert? It was Honoria when we last met.’

Kate was quick to notice that Miss Stamp’s plump cheeks had flushed rose-red, which clashed rather badly with her gown, and she was fluttering her pale eyelashes at Pa in a quite ridiculous manner. It might have been attractive in a young woman, but Miss Stamp was a spinster well past the first flush of youth.

Robert cleared his throat noisily, staring down at his hands as if trying to decide what to do with the glass cups. ‘Will you take a glass of punch, Honoria?’

‘Thank you, Robert. That would be delightful.’ She flashed him a coy smile as she accepted the drink.

He offered the other cup to Kate, but she had had enough of watching Miss Honoria Stamp attempting to flirt with her father. She shook her head. ‘No, thank you, Pa. I really ought to circulate.’

Honoria laid her gloved hand on Robert’s arm. ‘That leaves just you and me, Robert. Shall we sit together at supper?’

Kate moved away, intending to greet Parson Daleymount and his mousy little wife, but there were so many people who claimed her attention that she was only halfway across the barn floor when Sam and Molly caught up with her. Molly held out the striped skirts of the dimity dress and she did a little dance. ‘See how it fits me, Kate. But I had to stuff some kerchiefs up here.’ She patted her chest.

‘That ain’t no way to talk,’ Sam said firmly. ‘If you don’t behave proper I’ll send you over to play with the youngsters.’ He pointed to the end of the barn where the younger children sat on bales of hay, swinging their legs and giggling as they waited for the signal to begin supper.

Molly scowled up at him, pouting. ‘You are so mean to me, Sam.’

‘You look very pretty,’ Kate said hastily. ‘Look over there – Farmer Cobb’s daughter, Sal, is waving her arms like a windmill. I think she wants to talk to you.’

Molly tossed her head. ‘At least someone wants my company.’ She flounced off, swishing her skirts.

‘She’s getting to be a real handful,’ Sam said, watching her with a frown creasing his brow.

‘She misses having a mother’s guidance. She just needs a firm hand.’

Sam chuckled, his eyes straying to Honoria who had Robert by the hand and was leading him towards the rapidly filling tables. ‘And she’ll get more than a firm hand if Miss Honoria Stamp has her way.’

Kate stared at him in horror. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘You don’t listen to enough gossip, my girl. It’s all over the village that Miss Stamp has set her cap at your father. Has been so ever since Shrovetide when we all went to watch the skimmity ride in Melbury, and again at the last ‘un, not so long ago.’

‘You’re making it up to vex me, Sam. You know I don’t hold with that barbaric custom.’

‘Maybe not, but it’s a pity you missed the fun all the same.’

‘Don’t tell me any more.’ Kate covered her ears, walking away from him.

Sam followed her and pulled her hands away, his eyes alight with mischief. ‘Oh, but you was fine about watching the Ooser at the May Day celebrations. It was there again at the skimmity ride a month or so ago. Do you want to know what they did to the cuckolded husband and his unfaithful missis?’

‘No, I don’t. Nor do I want to hear any gossip about my pa.’

‘Well, he and Miss Stamp was enjoying themselves to the full, I can tell you. When the poor unfortunate fellow was made to put on the Ooser mask and stand outside his house watching his erring wife being beaten through the streets, your pa and Miss Honoria was shouting and laughing and banging saucepan lids together with the rest of the village folk. Then I saw them sneak away together hand in hand, and I doubt if they was aiming to play pat-a-cake.’

‘I don’t believe it, Sam. She can’t be a day younger than thirty-five. My pa would never be interested in a dried up old prune like Miss Stamp, let alone do anything so improper.’