I’ll Bring You Buttercups

‘I can’t, just yet. I couldn’t risk a refusal. She could well be angry, you know. I’ve broken all the rules.’

‘Which rules?’ There were no rules about falling in love. It happened, and there was nothing anybody could do about it, thanks be.

‘Our rules. There’s a way of doing things for us that’s simply got to be, and one of the things you don’t do is go against convention. I did. I went sneaking off like a scullery maid to meet him – oh, I’m sorry, Hawthorn, I didn’t mean to sound arrogant, I truly didn’t. But I ran after him. I knew exactly what I was doing and I didn’t care. No lady does that, does she? You didn’t.’

‘We-e-ll – not running as such. But I always made sure to take Morgan out reg’lar, before servants’ teatime. And once I went as bold as brass to the rearing field, ’cos I knew he’d be there. And I acted all surprised, like, though I’m glad I did it. That was the night he walked me back and asked me to be his girl, so don’t take on about what you did, Miss Julia. Men need a helping hand, sometimes, and you didn’t have a lot of choice – not with only three days left.

‘But your mother is a lovely lady, and you told me, didn’t you, that her and Sir John were secretly in love ever before they were matched. She’d understand. She would.’

‘A young doctor without expectations? Hardly to be compared with Pa.’

‘But they were in love,’ Alice insisted, ‘and love’s a powerful thing – stronger than white-horse wishes.’

‘No. I can’t tell her yet. Wait until Andrew has left his card at Aunt Sutton’s. By the time he visits York she might have received him and I can tell Mama more then. But I’ve got to drop it in bits, sort of. Just a hint here and a word there, so that when it all comes out she’ll look back and realize I hadn’t been deceitful – well, not exactly.’

‘But that isn’t the way it should be.’ Stubbornly, Alice held her ground.

‘I know. After that first time in the park I was so excited that I needed everyone to know. I wanted to climb Holdenby Pike and shout it into the wind. But it’s gone too far between us and I’m afraid to lose him. So you won’t tell? Not even Tom?’

‘No one. Cross my heart.’

‘Well, then,’ Julia drained her glass. ‘We’d better get our things together.’

The train was slowing now, and from the window the towers of the Minster could be distantly seen. Soon they would be at Rowangarth, and telling everyone what a fine time they had had – and watching every word they said.

Alice folded the napkins, carefully wrapping them around the glasses, fastening the hamper, mentally checking the hatbox and travelling bag on the rack, remembering there were four cases in the luggage van and a porter to be found to put them on the Holdenby train that left at three o’clock. And Tom, she thought blissfully, was little more than an hour away.

‘I wasn’t fast, was I, Hawthorn?’ Julia asked anxiously as the little stopping train clanked and shuddered out of York station. ‘I mean, I wasn’t forward or anything? You do think Andrew will get in touch? He won’t think I’ve been a bit – well – unladylike …’

‘No, miss. You weren’t unladylike – not a bit; leastways, not when I was there, so don’t keep on worrying about it.’

‘But I was a little bit – eager. I know I ought to have refused, when first he asked me to walk in the park – a lady always should say no, the first time she’s asked. And I shouldn’t have gone to his lodgings, either. But we didn’t have a lot of time …’

‘Not a lot. Did he kiss you?’ Alice demanded, amazed at her daring. ‘Was it nice?’

‘He did, and it was nicer than nice. He kissed me twice.’ Julia closed her eyes, remembering. ‘A little one, then one that made me – oh –’

‘Feel peculiar all over? I know.’ Alice, too, closed her eyes.

‘And you’re sure he’ll come to York to see me?’

‘Sure as anyone can be,’ Alice comforted. ‘And just to be certain, you’d better watch out for another white horse, and let the rooks know about it, an’ all. Best to make sure.’

‘I will. I will.’

There was a warning hoot from the driver as the train swayed over a level crossing and took them on to Rowangarth land, then the hissing of wheels on steel took on a heavier note as the train met the gradient that wound upward through Brattocks Wood.

‘Hawthorn, look!’

Standing beneath the trees at the edge of the track, a gun dog squatting at his feet, stood the under-keeper. Knowing the time of their train and that it would lose speed at the wood, Tom was waiting to see it pass.

Only a glimpse, but he had been there and Alice knew, in that moment, how much she had missed him; wondered how she could ever have been so foolish as to leave him for a day, let alone two weeks. And then she blushed for shame, because soon she would be with him, and sitting opposite was poor Miss Julia, sad and worried in case she never saw her young man again.

‘Oh, miss – you’ll see him again. You will.’

Giles Sutton looked up, smiling, as Alice peeped round the library door and Morgan, tired of the hearth rug, gave a yelp of delight and skidded across the floor, tail wagging furiously.

‘Hawthorn! You’re back. I’ve missed you; we’ve both missed you!’

‘And I’ve missed you and Morgan and Rowangarth and, oh, everyone, even though London was like a fairy story. And I’m come to say I’m sorry that I can’t take Morgan for his run, ’cos I haven’t finished Miss Julia’s unpacking and it’s almost teatime. But I’ll take him tonight, if that’s all right with you, Mr Giles.’

‘It is, and I’ll be grateful, because I’m dining out tonight. Did you have a good time?’

‘Oh, yes. You wouldn’t believe the half of what I saw. There was –’ She stopped, cheeks pink. ‘But you would believe it. You’ve been before, ever so many times.’

‘Too many times. Rowangarth is where I like to be.’

‘I know, sir.’ She did know. It had tingled through her from head to toes, that feeling of homecoming. ‘But I’ll see that Morgan gets his run tonight, after dinner’s over and done with.’

She bent to stroke the spaniel’s head and he whimpered softly, reaching to lick her cheek.

‘Silly old thing.’ She laughed, bobbing a curtsey to Giles Sutton: not that he would expect it, but because it was right for all that, and because she was grateful, perhaps, that he understood her need to find an excuse to be in Brattocks Wood tonight. ‘Oh, and Cook says I’m to tell you that Mary has just taken tea up to her ladyship.’

Closing the door behind her she hugged herself tightly. Home, to Rowangarth, and servants’ tea at four o’clock and kitchen chatter and plum jam and seed cake. And tonight he would be waiting: Tom, who loved her.

‘How on earth did you get that?’ Laughing, Giles Sutton contemplated his sister’s face.

‘Through not minding my own business, I suppose. Does it look awful?’

‘Absolutely terrible. How could you have –’

‘Your sister could, and did. Apparently, there was a fracas in Hyde Park and Julia joined in.’

‘Mama! I told you! There was a suffragette selling news-sheets and a young woman – she was so pale and thin, Giles, and had a little one in her arms – well, all she did was buy a news-sheet and a policeman told her to move on – the suffragette, I mean – and he started pushing the young woman.’

‘And your sister charged to her aid – and in a hobble skirt, would you believe – and tripped, and hit her head.’

‘Yes, and Hawthorn told the policeman off, then demanded he find a doctor –’

‘And it just so happened that a doctor was taking a stroll in the park,’ Helen Sutton supplied, trying hard not to smile.

‘The luck of the Suttons,’ Giles grinned.

‘He was very kind to me.’ Julia’s cheeks blazed. ‘Told me I wasn’t badly hurt and that if I suddenly felt ill I was to call Aunt Sutton’s doctor and – and Hawthorn looked after me.’ There, now, she hadn’t told any lies – not actual lies … ‘And please don’t tease, because it did hurt, at the time.’

‘Not another word, Sis. And would you mind not eating all the sandwiches …?’

‘Hobble skirts,’ said Alice at servants’ tea. ‘That’s what did it, Bess. Miss Julia goes striding out, all angry with that fat policeman I told you about, and forgets you don’t stride, exactly, in a hobble skirt. Next thing you know there’s the most awful bang –’ She paused to collect her thoughts, painstakingly jamming her bread.

‘Where?’ Bess demanded.

‘On her head, of course.’

‘Where in London, I mean.’

‘Hyde Park, it was. Beautiful, Hyde Park is.’ Change the subject, Alice. They’ve had all they’re going to get about that black eye. ‘Just beautiful. Like a bit of the country, right in the middle of London.’

‘And was there blood?’ Tilda demanded, wide-eyed. ‘Did she knock herself out cold?’

‘She felt a bit groggy, for a time,’ Alice admitted reluctantly, ‘but luckily there was a doctor handy and he took care of her.’

‘Ooh. Was he young and dark and handsome, and –’

‘No, Tilda, he was a doctor, that’s all, and he said she wasn’t badly hurt, though she’d likely have a headache in the morning, and a black eye – which she did.

‘Still, Miss Julia knows now not to go telling policemen off in a hobble skirt. We went on the Underground railway, an’ all.’ Talk about other things. ‘Imagine – trains hurtling about, underneath London. You could be walking down Oxford Street, and for all you knew there could be a rushing train beneath your feet.’

‘If you ask me, Hyde Park is near where they have meetings. Speakers Corner, I believe they call it,’ Mrs Shaw, offered. ‘I did once hear there was a raving lunatic there, saying all manner of things about the King – King Edward, God rest him – and as how the monarchy was all lazy and overfed and should be deported to Australia and the money they cost us given to the poor.’

‘I believe London folk go to Speakers Corner just for fun,’ Alice nodded. ‘Seems you can say almost what you want there, and get away with it.’

‘’Cept if you’re one of them suffragette women. Illegal those meetings are now, and so they should be – women making a show of themselves in public. Ought to be ashamed of themselves.’

‘Ashamed,’ Alice echoed, eyes on her plate. ‘But we didn’t see any of them. And we didn’t see the King nor the Queen, neither, though we saw their palace.’

‘What’s it like?’

‘Big, but not half as nice as Rowangarth – well, not from the front.’ Alice held out her plate as Mrs Shaw dispensed seed cake. ‘Though I heard it said they’ve got a garden at the back.’

‘You should’ve put raw steak on that eye,’ Tilda grumbled. ‘And on her forehead.’

‘Was no need to go wasting good beef,’ Alice declared firmly. ‘Not for a bump, and that’s all it was. Gracious me, folk go falling over every minute of the day and it doesn’t warrant a fuss. And don’t be embarrassing Miss Julia by staring at her, Tilda. Nobody bothered about it in London; never gave her a second glance.’

She wished she wouldn’t keep on about Miss Julia’s eye. But crafty as a cartload of monkeys, that kitchenmaid was, and all the while letting folk think she was gormless.

‘I did see one or two skirts down there just like your new one, Mrs Shaw.’ Deftly, Alice changed the subject. ‘Very nice, they looked. Ladies were wearing them with a pretty blouse with full sleeves and a brooch at the neck. And a flat straw hat, with ribbons.’

‘Hm. Might get myself a bit of material, now you mention it.’ Mrs Shaw had a brooch, too, that had been her mother’s. ‘How many yards for a blouse, Alice, would you say?’

‘Two and a half, if you want full sleeves. And as for those hobble skirts – well everybody’s wearing them in London. Tight as a sausage skin they are, and ladies having to take little short steps in them, and as for climbing the steps of a motor bus – make you laugh, it would …’

‘I don’t suppose you went to the theatre?’ Mrs Shaw indicated with her eyebrows that Alice might be allowed another slice of cake. ‘Or the music hall?’

‘Sadly, no.’ Alice refused more cake. All she wanted was for teatime to be finished and herself putting away Miss Julia’s clothes and for the slow-moving minutes to be quickly spent so she might the sooner be with Tom. ‘Women – young ladies of Miss Julia’s standing, can’t go to music halls without a gentleman – not even in London. But a lady can go sight-seeing or shopping with a servant with her, or a companion. Miss Julia went shopping quite a lot. My, but you should see the London shops. Swanky, they are. Great big places you could get yourself lost in, and the windows all set out with dummies with clothes on them; it’s an entertainment in itself, is looking at shop windows. I used to stare at those dummies – so lifelike it wouldn’t have surprised me if one of them hadn’t winked at me.

‘But will you be wanting any help tonight, Mrs Shaw? I’ve almost finished the unpacking and there’s nothing in the sewing-room that won’t wait till morning.’ She rose from the table, asking to be excused. ‘If you’re short-handed …?’

‘Nay, lass. You’ll be tired after your long journey, and I’ve only got milady and Miss Julia for dinner tonight, so we’ll manage.’

‘Then Mr Giles wants me to take Morgan for a run, if that’s all right with you.’

‘All right with me, but best you mention it to Miss Clitherow.’

‘I will,’ she whispered through a sigh of relief. ‘I’ll mention it now.’

Eight o’clock tonight, and she would be hurrying as fast as might be to Brattocks Wood. Or perhaps to the rearing field, or maybe he’d be waiting at the parkland fence? Two whole weeks it had been and oh, how she loved him, needed him. And how very sorry she felt for Miss Julia.

Reuben was digging in his garden when Alice passed.

‘Evenin’, lass,’ he called, jamming his spade into the earth, straightening his back. ‘How was London, then?’

‘Oh, you’d never believe! Wonderful, that’s what!’ And wonderful to be back, did you but know it, Cousin Reuben. ‘I’ll look in tomorrow, and tell you about it.’

‘Aye. And if Tom isn’t at the coops he’ll be doing the rounds in Brattocks …’

‘Thanks!’ She gave him her most rewarding smile without even trying to pretend she wasn’t in the least bit interested in the whereabouts of the under-keeper. ‘C’mon, Morgan.’

The rearing field was deserted, the coops already shuttered for the night. Alice stood at the gate, calling softly, but there was no answering whistle.

She walked on, slipping the spaniel’s lead when they came to the big pasture, watching him bounce off, sniffing, snuffling, yelping happily. At the lane end she climbed the fence, taking the path into Brattocks Wood, calling again as she went, a little apprehensive in the deep, dim greenness.

‘Tom? Tom Dwerryhouse?’

She heard his whistle, long and low, and ran to the sound, laughing. He was standing beside the old oak; the one with the propped-up branches people hereabouts said was as old, almost, as Rowangarth. Then she stopped her running and walked slowly, the more to spin out the delicious seconds, watching as he laid his gun on the grass at his feet.

‘Tom!’ She was in his arms, loving the closeness of him, wondering how she had endured so long away from him.

They held each other tightly, not speaking, glad to be together; touching, loving, their days apart forgotten.

‘I missed you, Alice Hawthorn.’ His voice was low as he tilted her chin with his forefinger. ‘Don’t ever leave me again.’

‘I won’t. I missed you, too.’

‘Even among those grand London folk?’

‘Especially among those London folk,’ she whispered, ‘because not one of them was you.’ She closed her eyes and parted her lips, wanting him to kiss her, but he twined her fingers in his own and tucked her arm in his and walked her deeper into the wood, teasing her, teasing himself, wanting her as much as she wanted him.

‘Was it a good holiday, then? Is London all it’s cracked up to be?’

‘It is, and more. Parks and green places, and people everywhere. And cabs and motors making such a din. And you should see those big shops and oh, the fashions. Such clothes, Tom, and ladies so elegant with their fine hats and parasols.’

‘But you wouldn’t live there, Alice? You wouldn’t take a position in London and start getting grand ideas? I couldn’t imagine you carrying a parasol, giving yourself airs. Not my buttercup girl. I don’t want her to change.’

‘Nor shall she.’ She smiled into his eyes. ‘Well, not if you were to tell her you love her, and give her that kiss she’s been waiting for,’ she said softly, all pretence gone. ‘Waiting two weeks for.’

‘Then I must do as I’m bid,’ he smiled, tilting her chin again. And she remembered how she had dreamed of this moment in that far-away London bed, and when his mouth came down hard on hers, her need of him began as a blush in her cheeks and sliced through her, shivering down to her toes. It was a feeling strange and new, but right, because she knew that what she suddenly felt was not the love of a sewing-maid for her sweetheart, but the pulsating need of a woman – a woman soon to be eighteen – for her man.

Her heart began a slow, sweet thudding and she pressed closer, because it was the only way she knew to still the tiny, wayward pulses that beat out a need only he could satisfy.

‘It’s been so long,’ she murmured, searching again for his lips. ‘Kiss me again? Kiss me …’

His mouth was rough, his arms claimed her possessively. They kissed as if there would be no tomorrow and this moment was all they would ever have.

‘I love you,’ he murmured, his voice harsh with need. ‘Never for a minute forget you’re spoken for.’

‘Not ever.’ She laid her cheek on his chest, feeling the roughness of his jacket, closing her eyes against a happiness so overwhelming that it made her cling the harder to him, so weak and useless were her legs. ‘Never, as long as I live.’

‘And we’ll be wed, Alice?’

‘We’ll be wed, and as soon as we are able.’ She sent her happiness winging to the tall trees at the far end of the wood; to the black, cawing birds that nested there. Best tell them, tell this happiness to the rooks. Best share their loving – keep it safe from harm. ‘Just as soon …’

6

Mrs Shaw had floated on a cloud of contentment ever since the invitations had been posted on the day following Julia’s departure to London.

Things were getting back to normal. Lady Sutton was giving a dinner party, her first for three years, and though it was to be small and simple, it was a step in the right direction as far as Rowangarth’s cook was concerned. Now, once more, she could proclaim her expertise. Before the death of Sir John, her reputation had been without equal, and she had scorned bribes of a superior kitchen, higher wages, and all the scullery maids she could wish for, to remain steadfastly loyal to Rowangarth.

Acceptances were quickly received. All the guests were close friends of Helen Sutton, with the exception of Mrs Clementina and Elliot, though the presence of Edward Sutton would more than compensate for that of his wife and son, and since Judge Mounteagle and his wife would be there, it was reasonable to suppose that the lady’s ferocious stare would keep Elliot in his place. Mrs Mounteagle’s stare could stop a runaway horse, John once said, so Elliot should present no problem at the table.

Already Mrs Shaw had spent two enjoyable sessions with her ladyship, pencil poised, notebook at the ready. It gratified her that Lady Helen always consulted directly with her cook on such occasions, which briefly elevated her almost to Miss Clitherow’s station, and though the dinner party was to be small and simple, none of the joys of planning and conferring and buying-in would be wasted on a cook who had languished unseen and unsung for three unhappy years. Now the menu was finally agreed, and calculating quantities and making timetables occupied her time, for even the most ordinary of dinner parties needed three days, at least, of preparation.

Thick fish soup to start with presented no problem at all, nor the next course of poached whole salmon, served on a bed of green salad and covered, completely, with thin slices of cucumber. A joint of roast beef was child’s play to a Yorkshire-born cook, but the sorbet to follow would need ice in plenty in its making, and Miss Clitherow must be reminded to send the coachman to collect half a sackful of it, on the two mornings beforehand, from the fishmonger in Creesby.

Fruit jellies to follow? Lady Sutton had enquired, to which Cook added her own suggestion that Mr Edward fair loved ice-cream and meringue pudding and might not that be offered too?

‘Very well, Mrs Shaw, but in that case there will be no ices to follow the savouries, wouldn’t you agree? Simple, remember? And could you make your special savoury for the gentlemen? It was always so much appreciated …’

Cook purred her pleasure, for even after three years it seemed that her special, secret-recipe savoury was not forgotten.

‘You’ll see to it, milady, that Miss Clitherow asks Ellen to help wait-on?’ Sixteen at table was too much to expect of any parlourmaid, even one of Mary’s capabilities.

‘She has already done so. Ellen is willing,’ came the smiling reply. ‘I understand her uniform still fits her nicely so there’ll be no problem.’

Ellen was Mary’s predecessor, who four years ago had married a local farmer: the housekeeper had been gratified by the pleasure with which the appeal for help was received.

‘Of course I’ll come, Miss Clitherow. It’ll be just like old times again. I’ll be there good and early, will I, to help with the silver and the table?’ Time away from the demands of two young children and the promise of goodies to take home with her made the prospect of once more working at Rowangarth a pleasant one. ‘And now that Lady Sutton is entertaining again, I’ll always be willing to give a helping hand – if I’m able,’ she had added hastily, so as not to tempt Fate overmuch.

Mrs Shaw left the morning-room, casting her mind back to the huge dinner parties of twenty years ago. Almost indecent, they were, if you considered that the cost of the out-of-season strawberries alone would have fed a family of four for a week. Perhaps it was as well these days that, following the example set by the new King and Queen, entertaining had become simpler and the upper classes less inclined to dig their graves with their knives and forks.

Next Friday’s dinner was to be small and simple, but perfect for all that, and the crowning glory of Lady Helen’s visit to the kitchens, even before the guests had begun to depart, would make it a day to be dwelt upon for a long time to come. Her ladyship’s thanks to all concerned would be sincere, and her suggestion that they should cool themselves by finishing off the remaining ice-cream and sorbets before they melted, would be met with smiles of delight.

Rowangarth, thought Mrs Shaw as she returned to her kitchen, was her home and her pride and may the good Lord preserve it and, if He wouldn’t mind, see what He could do about providing an heir, which would please milady no end and maybe help the dear soul to smile a little more often.

‘Tilda!’ she called to the maid who had taken advantage of her superior’s absence. ‘Put that love book down this instant!’

There would be no time for reading now. Rowangarth was coming into its own again, and by the time Friday had come and gone, that silly girl wouldn’t know what had hit her! Oh my word, no!

The letter came long before she expected it. Addressed to Miss A. Hawthorn, there were raised eyebrows when it was handed to Alice at servants’ breakfast.

‘London,’ Tilda gloated, eyes on the postmark.

‘London,’ Alice confirmed primly, with not so much as a blush. ‘Miss Sutton’s live-in said she would write to me if I was of a mind to get a letter occasionally.’ Firmly, she pushed it into her pocket. ‘I’ll read it later.’