by Tania Crosse
Meg was dancing a waltz with Bob to the little band playing on the stage, the first time she’d ever been to such an event so she was really enjoying herself. Once or twice, she noticed that both Jane and Louise were dancing with young men from the village, but sometimes they seemed more than happy to partner each other, and were clearly having a good time. As for Esme, after some time, she had stalked out when nobody asked her to dance. Meg wondered vaguely where she’d gone, but didn’t really care. It would be such a relief to escape the older girl’s vindictiveness for a few hours. The waltz ended and the next tune the band struck up was a faster tempo. Meg was glad of the impromptu dance lesson Mrs Sofia had given her in the drawing room at Christmas, and was delighted that she could remember some of the jitterbug moves she’d taught her. By the time the tune came to an end, Meg was breathless with laughter and exertion.
‘Come on. Let’s get a drink,’ Bob panted, and Meg walked with him across to the refreshment table. ‘Two lemonades, please. There we are. Shall we go outside for a breather, Meg?’
They stepped out into the pleasant May evening. Dusk was only just beginning to fall, and not a breath moved the air. They perched on the low wall outside the hall, and Meg sipped gratefully at her lemonade.
Bob tipped his head to one side, his warm eyes shining. ‘It’s good to see you looking happy,’ he said softly.
‘It’s good to feel happy again,’ Meg muttered almost dreamily, since she had enjoyed the day immensely and really did feel as if her heart was mending.
‘Hello, you two.’
A man’s voice made them both look up. Ralph was sauntering up to them, looking, she had to admit, extremely handsome in a crisply laundered shirt and smart jacket.
‘Fancy a dance, Meg?’ he asked, holding out his hand.
Meg felt annoyance brewing inside her. She could just about tolerate working with him, but she drew a line at dancing! And couldn’t he see that she was enjoying herself with Bob?
‘No, thank you,’ she answered tersely, slipping down from the wall. ‘Bob and I were just going back on the dance floor, weren’t we, Bob?’
She took Bob’s hand and led him back towards the hall. Why she still resented Ralph so much she wasn’t quite sure, and she felt a bit mean at her snub. But that barrier somehow still seemed to exist between them, as if it was something her heart just couldn’t break through. She really must try to make amends, though she had no idea how. Surely some opportunity would arise for them to start afresh? As she began the next dance with Bob, she saw Ralph asking Jane onto the dance floor instead and wished so very much that she hadn’t refused him. It might have been a way forward, and heaven knew when she might get another chance. But for now, she wasn’t going to let it spoil the rest of her evening, and let Bob whisk her away down the hall.
*
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, can’t you keep that mutt of yours under control?’ Ralph fumed, raising his voice at Meg. ‘Look what he’s done! As if I haven’t got enough to do, I’ll have to replant this lot now. Lucky I’ve got some spares hardening off.’
Meg glanced ruefully at one of the few borders that hadn’t been grassed over. She knew that only yesterday, Ralph had planted pink geraniums and white lobelia all along the edge, soft colours that Mrs C favoured. Meg just happened to be hurrying up from the field where she’d been planting mangolds and turnips when she’d come across Ralph witnessing Mercury and two of the other dogs playing a mad game of chase and mindlessly trampling all over the plants. She had tried training them, but as soon as they were left to their own devices, it all went straight out the window!
‘Oh, Ralph, I’m so sorry. Bad dogs!’ she admonished, grabbing a collar in each hand and dragging two of the dogs away while Mercury slunk beside her. ‘But it wasn’t just Mercury,’ she added defensively. ‘The others were just as bad. And I haven’t got time to keep an eye on them every minute of the day. And just now I’ve got other things on my mind. Goldie seems very restless. I reckon she’ll be calving soon.’
‘Well, just do your best with these blessed dogs, will you?’ Ralph replied pointedly. ‘Not that we’ve had this sort of trouble with them much before.’
Meg glared back at him, compressing her lips fiercely. ‘Are you insinuating Mercury’s getting the others into bad habits? Well, it’s not his fault he’s not used to flower beds. And you can’t tell me the others haven’t strayed into any of them before. They’re the most unruly dogs I’ve ever come across.’
‘Maybe they are. But they do belong to the family.’
‘And Mercury doesn’t. Well, we all know why both he and I are here!’
There it was again, the pain that she was trying to bury lifting its ugly head above the surface once more. She and her dog were living at Robin Hill House because her parents were dead. And if she no longer directly blamed Mr W and Mrs C, she still sometimes saw having a roof over her head as little enough compensation. And look how hard she was working, her efforts going some way to helping them keep the home they loved so much. But that wasn’t in question just now. It was Ralph Hillier, the mere under-gardener, rubbing her nose in it.
All was going well with the changes, though, even if it meant she saw a lot more of Ralph than before. It was bad enough having to work with him sometimes, but to top it all, Mrs C had asked him to leave his parents and move into Mr Yard’s old room so that there were always two males sleeping in the house at night. And now, to have Ralph insinuate that Mercury was only there under sufferance was the last straw. It was like a red rag to a bull, and she had to battle to keep her temper under control. Her thoughts weren’t all so logical, but her torn emotions took flight once more, threatening to explode. She forced herself to turn her back and stride on up towards the house.
‘Meg, stop! You know I didn’t mean it like that.’
But Meg had to ignore him. If she didn’t, she was likely to give him what for. Besides, she couldn’t stop. The vicar was coming for luncheon to discuss the summer village fete with Mrs C. Meg had to wash and change, set the table, and be ready to receive the visitor at the front door.
She certainly didn’t have time to argue with the likes of Ralph Hillier!
*
‘Right, you hold her head and try and calm her while I pull,’ Meg instructed, still irritated that she’d felt she couldn’t physically manage on her own and so had decided to wake Ralph in the middle of the night – even if disturbing him had given her some small amount of pleasure. She’d slept in the barn as she’d sensed that the heifer, about to have her first calf, was near her time. Just as well. Things had got going in the night and it was clear the animal was struggling. On examination, Meg couldn’t feel the calf’s head anywhere, and though it wasn’t breach, it was a posterior presentation. The heifer was tiring and needed help, and two pairs of hands were better than one.
The young cow swung her large head round to gaze at her rear end, lowing pitifully and rolling her wild eyes – all but knocking Ralph off his feet. ‘You sure we shouldn’t do it the other way round?’ he asked, to Meg’s satisfaction, seemingly nervous. ‘You’d be better this end and I can pull harder.’
‘No. It’s gentle not brute force that’s needed. You have to work with the cow and know when to pull. Just do your best.’
‘Perhaps we should get someone else.’
‘Like who? Who knows more about it than me?’ Meg snapped. ‘If it’d been breach, I’d have called the vet, but I can manage this.’
‘I didn’t mean you. I meant me,’ Ralph mumbled back. ‘Why do you always take everything I say the wrong way?’
‘Maybe because you’re always putting your foot in it.’
‘Really? Well, I’m sorry about that—’
‘Oh, hold on,’ Meg interrupted. ‘Time to pull.’
She turned her attention back to the emerging calf, straining on the two little back hooves, and only half aware of Ralph’s valiant attempts to soothe the first-time mother. They worked together for some little w
hile, and soon the calf slipped out onto the waiting pile of clean straw. With the head coming out last, Meg was quick to clear the sack from the newborn’s face, checking the mouth and expertly cleaning the nostrils with a twist of straw. She pulled the calf to its mother’s head for the cow to clean it up as nature intended, and so that the two could bond.
Meg sat back on her heels. She was tired, and drew her forearm across her weary brow. But the scene was so beautiful, filling her soul with joy. Meg really did enjoy her new role as parlourmaid, executing precisely everything Mr Yard had taught her. Nevertheless it was her work with the animals and in the fields that she loved the most, using the skills her parents had taught her from the cradle. Watching the heifer’s thick, rough tongue rasping gently over the newborn calf’s slippery body, Meg felt so close to her mum and dad. It was as if their spirits were standing over her, praising her for coping with a difficult birth. Her face bore the trace of a wistful smile, and she glanced over her shoulder, almost expecting to see Thomas and Esther standing there. They weren’t. Instead, there was Ralph, lounging against the barn wall. For a second, Meg’s heart rose in rebellion. But he, too, was smiling, his chestnut eyes softened.
‘What a wonderful sight,’ he whispered almost reverently. ‘New life. Always good. Animals or plants. But animals are best, I reckon. Something good and wholesome about it all, isn’t there? I bet Boris and Max will be thrilled when they come up in the summer holidays. The calf will have grown a bit by then, mind.’
Meg fixed her gaze on Ralph, feeling her resentment ease slightly. ‘Yes, I’m sure they will,’ she answered. ‘A pity Mrs C had to miss the birth, though. But I don’t think she’d’ve been too pleased if I’d woken her up. I know she doesn’t like it if she hasn’t slept well.’
‘Who does? And you’ve got your parlourmaiding to do for the rest of the day.’
‘Oh, I’m used to it. And when I was younger, it didn’t matter to me if I got told off for falling asleep at school as long as we had a barn full of calves and lambs.’
To her astonishment, Ralph grinned back. ‘Far more important than learning the capital of some obscure country on the other side of the world.’
Meg tossed a light laugh into the air, suddenly feeling unexpectedly relaxed. ‘Infinitely,’ she agreed. ‘That wouldn’t put food on your plate. And far less satisfying.’
‘So… we’re not so far apart, after all,’ Ralph faltered hesitantly. ‘Truce?’
Meg’s smile faded and she turned her eyes back to the mother and baby. Perhaps Ralph wasn’t so bad, but she was tired and, as he’d observed, had a full day’s work head of her. And she wasn’t going to let weariness cloud her judgement.
‘I’ll reserve my opinion until I’ve seen how good you are at hay-making,’ she told him.
Although there was a teasing edge to her voice, they both recognised that she was serious. She saw Ralph raise his eyebrows. He was clearly confused, but so was she. Was it possible they need not be enemies anymore? Meg felt that a kernel of understanding was unfurling inside her. But was she ready to let it take seed? She stifled a yawn. Time to reflect when she’d had a chance to catch up on some sleep!
Twenty-Four
‘There’s nobody in the drawing room if you want to get on with the cleaning.’
Meg’s eyebrows shot up towards her hairline. She couldn’t believe Esme was being considerate towards her. ‘Oh, thank you. I’ve just got to see to this picnic, and then I’ll get started.’
She finished loading the basket, adding the cupcakes that Jane had proudly iced and decorated to a standard that Mrs Phillips had declared quite satisfactory. The picnic was to be down by the lake, and even if Meg hadn’t been able to see the figures of Mrs C, Nana May and Mrs Sofia, she’d have been led by the gales of laughter resonating across the grass. Sofia Stratfield-Whyte certainly livened the place up when she came to stay!
‘Ah, merci, ma petite,’ she declared as Meg handed over the basket, delivering the foreign words with a flourish in her voice.
‘Oh, great, I’m famished!’ Boris announced as he and Max appeared miraculously out of the woods. They seemed to be able to smell food from a mile away, Meg mused with a silent chuckle. ‘Oh, Meggy, can you stay? It’s always more fun when you’re around. We’re building a new den in the woods, and we’d love you to help.’
‘Oh, well, I’ve got a few things to do first. But after that. You enjoy the picnic, and I’ll come out as soon as I can.’
‘Oh, good! We can play hide-and-seek again as well!’
‘As long as you don’t go climbing to the top of a tree again. You had me so worried, and when I did find you, I thought you might fall out of it.’
Boris pulled a face. ‘I’m a big boy now, nearly fourteen.’
‘But you were in my charge, and your mother wouldn’t have been very pleased with me if you’d fallen and broken something, would you, Mrs Sofia?’
But Sofia gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Boys will be boys, and mine more than most. It’s just good of you to spend some time with them when I know you’re so busy.’
‘Talking of which, I’d better get back to the house. But I won’t be long. You enjoy the picnic.’
Meg returned to the house, and gathering together the necessary cleaning materials from the broom cupboard – furniture polish, two dusters, one to dust and the other to polish, and an amazing electrical contraption called a vacuum cleaner – made her way to the drawing room. Holding the door open with her behind, she deposited the tools inside. Being the summer, there’d been no fires lit for a while, so there’d been no ash to make extra dust in the room. There’d been a time when the whole house was cleaned thoroughly every day, but with the economy measures well in place now, there was no longer enough manpower to do so. As it was, Meg would only be giving the room a quick going-over.
She’d already started dusting when she realised she wasn’t alone. She was holding aloft a precious vase in order to wipe underneath – well, she presumed the vase was precious – when she caught a tall, be-hatted figure silhouetted against the open French doors at the far end of the room, paintbrush in hand and standing before an easel. Meg steadied her breath and then replaced the vase with the utmost care. She’d never forgive herself if she dropped it!
She’d wondered where Mr Peregrine had got to, and felt a little disarmed to find herself alone in the room with him. He was dressed in a loose shirt half untucked at the waist of his baggy corduroy trousers, and on his feet were a pair of old leather sandals. Despite his relaxed demeanour, Meg always felt a little in awe of him.
Her heart took a bound as he turned to her. ‘Good afternoon, Meg,’ his deep voice vibrated across the room.
Meg felt the heat rushing into her cheeks. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Peregrine. I was told there was nobody here. I’ll come back later.’
‘On the contrary, you come at a most opportune moment. Clarrie has forbidden me to paint anywhere indoors, but she doesn’t have an artist’s eye. I so wanted to capture the light on the lake as it is from this angle, especially now, with the little picnic going on down there. So I thought that while they’re occupied outside, I’d sneak in a little painting from this viewpoint. But it would seem I have committed a grave peccadillo for which Clarrie will never forgive me.’
Meg saw Mr Peregrine’s face drop like a schoolboy caught in the act of some major offence. He gazed down at the floor, rocking slightly on his feet. All Meg’s misgivings at once flew out of the window. Had Esme tried to trick her, knowing that you weren’t supposed to do cleaning when guests were present, or had Mr Peregrine set up his easel and paints in the time it had taken her to deliver the picnic basket? But just now it didn’t seem to matter, and Meg paced along the room to join in his contemplation of the carpet. Oh, dear. He’d managed to drop a large blob of vermillion on a light patch in the pattern.
Meg wasn’t quite sure what to do. Mr Peregrine obviously required both her assistance and her silence in the matter. Assistance she was h
appy to give, but her silence would be akin to a betrayal of Mrs C. But first things first. Mr Peregrine was apparently nonplussed by a dollop of oil paint on a carpet. But she imagined he normally painted in a studio where it didn’t matter if he made a mess, and so wasn’t used to clearing anything up. Meg wasn’t sure how to deal with it either, but surely her practical head could come up with some solution.
‘Do you have one of those little knives you use for mixing the paint?’ she asked, remembering when she’d seen him at his easel by the lake the previous day. ‘A clean one, mind.’
‘A palette knife, you mean? I can clean one off in some turpentine. I’ve got some in my box in the bedroom.’
‘If you go and get that, I’ll get some clean rags from the kitchen.’
Peregrine nodded gravely before setting off on his mission, and Meg hurried along to the kitchen. She wasn’t at all happy about the responsibility that had fallen on her shoulders. It’d be awful if the luxurious carpet was permanently marked, but if it was and the mistress noticed it, Meg decided that she wouldn’t lie about it to save Mr Peregrine’s skin.
Feeling better, she opened the door to the kitchen, and immediately noticed Esme’s sly, smug glance. So was that proof that the housemaid had deliberately tried to get her into trouble? She’d put it to the test.
‘I need a few clean rags,’ she announced in a raised voice to make sure Esme heard. ‘I’m just helping Mr Peregrine with something.’
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Esme’s face turn to thunder. So it looked as if the other girl had tried to set her up. She couldn’t be absolutely sure, of course. But it nonetheless gave Meg the greatest satisfaction to show her that the situation hadn’t worked out as the housemaid had hoped. She took some clean rags from the drawer where they were kept and started humming as she went out of the kitchen to show Esme that her little ruse hadn’t worked.