by Ella Edon
"No, I do not!" insisted Sally, trying to pin up her hair. "Whenever Mr. Brookford is nearby, I will do all I can to look my very best for him. If you do not wish to do the same – well, I suppose that is your choice!"
Merope just shook her head, quite happy with the simple chignon at the back of her neck and with her dark blue cotton dress and sturdy leather work boots. "Take your time, Sally," she said. "In my experience, gentlemen greatly dislike being kept waiting."
Sally seemed not to have heard. Merope went downstairs on her own and enjoyed tea, hot toasted bread, fresh butter, and raspberry preserves with Mr. Brookford and his mother.
The conversation was light and pleasant, Merope felt quite relaxed. Mr. Brookford was casually dressed in riding clothes and nicely worn boots, and she was looking forward to walking out with him in the beautiful morning to see the rest of Albany, his home.
By the time they were finished with their tea and toasted bread, there was still no sign of Sally. Mr. Brookford got to his feet and glanced towards the stairs. "Perhaps you could go and see if Miss Henson still wishes to walk out this morning, Miss Robbins?" he asked. "We must go soon, for I will be needed before long to help prepare the house for the ball."
Merope had nearly forgotten about Sally. She wondered if there was any chance that she and Mr. Brookford could simply leave without her – and then, finally, Sally came downstairs and walked into the dining room. Mr. Brookford simply stopped and stared at her, and Merope could see why.
Sally was quite a sight with her brunette hair in long curls. Her dress was made of very fine, cream-colored cotton – almost as fine as silk – with actual white silk ribbon trim at the neck and sleeves. A quick glance showed Merope that Sally wore dancing slippers, not boots, and seemed to think the ball was starting this morning.
"Good morning, Miss Henson," said Mr. Brookford, continuing to stare at her. "You do look lovely this morning."
"Indeed," added his mother. "I hope you will enjoy seeing the rest of Albany today, but you have not yet had breakfast, would you care to – "
"Oh, thank you, but I am sure you are all ready to leave!" Sally said, giggling and touching her hair. "I must apologize for my tardiness today. It takes quite some effort to persuade my hair to make curls!"
"Of course," said Lady Albany. "Perhaps when you return."
Again, Merope could hardly believe what she was seeing. She started to say something to Sally about her delicate shoes and the beautiful, fragile dress she wore, but stopped herself. Sally knew quite well what was planned for the morning and if she was silly enough to walk out to a mill while dressed for a ball, then Merope was quite happy to leave her to it.
The day was fair, but the grass was damp from the light rain that had passed through near dawn. James noted that Miss Robbins seemed quite comfortable trudging along in her boots and walking dress, but Miss Henson picked up her fine skirts as much as she could and stepped carefully in her delicate little dancing slippers.
He was baffled as to why she would wear such things when going for a walk to see fields and livestock and a millhouse. Although, he also knew that ladies often did things for their own reasons that were best left unasked.
James found himself enjoying the fresh morning and the pleasant walk. He could not help, but admire Miss Robbins's tall slim figure, striding along as though she could walk all day long and never grow tired.
"Now, then," he began. "Back here, behind the house, is where we keep our livestock. You can see the horse barn over there in the far corner, while in front of us, we have a small herd of sheep and a few cattle. If you look carefully, you may recognize the cows."
Miss Henson squinted and tried to look out at them but was mostly involved with trying to keep the hems of her fine gown out of the mud and dampness. Miss Robbins stepped closer to the stone wall that enclosed the pasture and looked out at the animals.
"Red cattle that have a kind of white frost on them," she said. "They look like the herds that Earl Worthington raises."
James grinned. "You are quite right, Miss Robbins. Those are Teeswater cattle, which we keep for both milk and beef. The ones grazing here are descended directly from Worthington's own herds."
"They do look lovely amounts the green grass," remarked Miss Robbins.
"I believe they do, too," said James. "I will confess that sometimes, when I wish to pause and take some time to think, I walk out here to look at them as they graze."
Miss Henson spoke up. "Why, Mr. Brookford. I thought you preferred the city life to the country! As a newly-made barrister, surely the only place for you is in London?"
"Why, yes, yes, Miss Henson. Of course, it is." Abruptly, James turned away from the stone wall and began walking back towards the house. "I certainly worked far too hard at Cambridge University to let my law degree fall by the wayside."
"Oh, I should truly love to see London," said Miss Henson, sighing as the three of them walked along. "This is a pretty place, Mr. Brookford, but I have lived on a farm all of my life. I am surrounded by chickens, and dirt, and mash, every hour of every day. How I should love to see the lights, buildings, jewels and society to be found in the city!"
"I am sure you will see it someday, Miss Henson," he said. "Today you certainly do not look like any girl I have ever seen on a farm. Should you go to London looking as you do now, you would fit in perfectly well."
She turned and gave him a delighted smile. "You are so very kind! I do like to make an effort, despite myself."
To James, she looked a bit silly wearing such delicate clothes for walking out. He could see that she was ruining a pair of good dancing slippers in the bargain, but of course, he would never say so. "Indeed. A pretty picture you make, if I may take the liberty of telling you directly."
She giggled in response, and skipped on ahead of him a bit, before stopping and pretending to bend over to pluck a few sprays of Queen Anne's Lace.
To distract himself, he glanced back at Miss Robbins. Before she could hide it, he could see the look of bafflement and even disgust on her face at Miss Henson's antics, and he quickly turned away. It was very clear that the two women were sparring over him by using weapons that only women would use . . . fine gowns, delicate slippers, much giggling, and compliments.
Yet he realized that Miss Robbins had chosen differently to her friend. She had dressed quite appropriately for walking out and seemed perfectly comfortable as they made their way along the somewhat muddy paths and damp grass. It was almost as if she did not care what he thought of her, beyond the demands of common courtesy.
Glancing from one young woman to the other, James found that, as always, Miss Robbins's cool and practical manner – was actually far more intriguing to him that Miss Henson's flattery, finery and silly excitement.
The three of them walked around one end of the house and the fields of grain began to come into view. Different crops grew on either side of the lane that led from the house to the main road.
"What is growing here now?" asked Miss Robbins, and as he looked at her, she smiled very kindly at him. "I am not really a country girl at all, I fear. I have passed all my life in the town of Birdwell, living and working in my parents' inn. I do not really know much at all about life on a farm – and certainly not a large one like Albany."
From just in front of them, he thought he heard Miss Henson sniff, but she just continued walking along and occasionally bending over to pluck more flowers or adjust her slippers.
James smiled back at Miss Robbins. "Albany has long been growing wheat, oats, and barley. The fields on this side of the lane," he said, pointing across the low stone walls, "are in oats and barley. They were planted early in the spring and will be harvested later in the fall, about two to three months from now." He found it was a pleasure to be able to talk over such comfortable subjects with her.
"The plants are all so green," she marveled. "They just look like tall grass. I suppose I thought of grains as being a shade of gold."
"Oh,
they will be. Just give them a little time."
Miss Robbins smiled, but was startled when Miss Henson jumped in. "The barley plants are the ones that look like they have feathers. So delicate! While the oats are smaller and simpler."
"You are quite right, Miss Henson," said James, smiling at her. "Now, let me ask you: Do you know what we have growing here on the other side of the lane?"
Miss Henson made a great show of lifting her thin skirts well above her ankles, picking her way across the lane to the very edge of the stone wall, and then standing there and intently studying the field. James wondered if she knew how very dirty little slippers had become.
Miss Robbins looked out at the field in question and frowned a little. "Perhaps you are trying to trick us, Mr. Brookford," she said. "That field looks quite empty to me. I do not think anything has even been planted there. How could anything be growing?"
"Well, you see, Miss Robbins,” Miss Henson added, “it's all about knowing the growing seasons for the various crops. My family raises chickens, of course, for their excellent meat and eggs and beautiful decorative feathers, but having lived in the country all my life, I do know a little something about growing seasons."
She turned to James and gave him a very warm smile.
"Mr. Brookford," Miss Henson said, "Recalling that you mentioned growing oats, barley, and wheat – and we have seen the oats and barley – that this field then must be being prepared for winter wheat. The last crop was recently harvested and the next one will be sown at about the time the oats and barley are harvested. Is that correct?"
James could not help grinning back at her. "That is entirely correct, Miss Henson. I should apologize to Miss Robbins, since it was not an altogether fair question."
"Not at all, Mr. Brookford," Miss Robbins answered. "As I said, I grew up in a small town, within the walls of an inn. I am neither a sophisticated woman of the city nor a knowledgeable girl of the country. I sometimes wonder whether there is anywhere that I do belong at all."
For a moment, James wondered if she was merely vying for a bit of attention, the way Miss Henson had been doing the entire time, but then he saw the touch of sadness on her face and realized she was serious. "Perhaps you belong in both of those places," he said quietly. "I have yet to see anything that you cannot do once you attempt it, Miss Robbins."
Her expression eased, and he was happy to see it. In contrast to Miss Henson, with her girlish silliness, Miss Robbins seemed self-possessed and in control of her emotions at all times. He was glad to see that there was a little softness to her, in addition to her strength.
"Thank you," Miss Robbins said. "I can say only that the green fields are lovely against the summer sky, and even the bare earth is comforting in its own way. It seems to say that – that there is also the promise of good things to come."
He studied her, and grinned. "Those are lovely thoughts. You may not have been bred in the countryside, Miss Robbins, but you certainly do understand it. Perhaps you even have a love for it."
She ducked her head, shyly hiding her expression, but James could see that she was concealing what looked like a small and very pleased smile. The warm breeze blew over them both, bringing the good smell of the earth and the growing crops and the distant river.
Somewhere in front of them, Miss Henson sniffed again. "Mr. Brookford," she said, in a voice full of disdain. "I thought you said you would show us the way to the millhouse?"
"Oh, yes. Yes. Quite right," said James, taking a step back from Miss Robbins. "I shall be very glad to do that. We are very proud of our mill here at Albany House." He took a deep breath and began walking briskly down the lane towards the front of the property, where the millhouse sat alongside the river.
It was a very pretty stone building, two stories tall. Its most remarkable feature from the outside was the very tall waterwheel which turned and turned from the power of the river running beneath it.
"I don't suppose that is the Feathering River, is it, Mr. Brookford?" asked Miss Henson. She seemed to have largely given up on saving her slippers, for the ground was even wetter down along the waters edge, she had lifted hers skirts scandalously up beyond her ankles again.
"You are very close to being right, Miss Henson. This is a branch of the Feathering. What do you suppose it is called?"
"Why – I – " Miss Henson had at first looked happy, when she thought she had the name of the river, but now it was clear— she did not know the answer to his question and quickly became frustrated with herself. "Let me think," she said, casting about for an answer. "It seems that – I believe I have heard – "
But Miss Robbins turned to James first. "It is only a guess," she said, "for this place is seven miles from Birdwell, and I do not know it at all! But it seems to me that there could be no other name for this river - than the Albany."
He gave her a slow smile. "Are you sure you did not read about this, Miss Robbins? Or that some guest at the inn did not mention it? For you are entirely correct. It is not well known because it is just a short branch of the Feathering. But it was, indeed, named the Albany River, after our home."
Miss Robbins seemed pleased with her small success at deducing the name of the river. Again, he was quite happy to simply stand out here with her, listening the ever-present splashing of the mill wheel.
But there was yet another sniff from Miss Henson, her face looking sulky. "Mr. Brookford! I would love to see the inside the mill that is such an important part of life here at Albany House. Would you be so kind as to show me, please?"
"Yes, of course, Miss Henson. Right this way." James was beginning to lose track of the score, but it seemed to him that Miss Robbins had won this round. He hurried on ahead of them to the stone building, pushed open the heavy door, and led them inside.
Chapter Nineteen
"Here we are," said James, waving one arm overhead at the large clear-story room. "It was designed by my father many years ago. He had it built to the very best specifications. Right here is the stone grinding wheel. It can be attached to the waterwheel that supplies the power to turn it, and the river supplies the power to turn the waterwheel - whenever we might have need of it."
James turned and grinned at the two of them. "And the best part is, the river never asks for wages nor grows weary."
Miss Robbins smiled at his small attempt at humor, but Miss Henson seemed not to notice. She wandered around the inside of the mill, now steadfastly ignoring James and Miss Robbins as though they were not even there. James wondered if perhaps she was sulking in another attempt to gain his attention, as he knew some young women might do.
Miss Robbins distracted him from his thoughts. "Very efficient, indeed, Mr. Brookford, to use water instead of men or animals to do the work."
"Indeed it is, Miss Robbins. Now, you see, up there – " he pointed up to the wide ledge up on what constituted the second story – "that is where we store the harvested grain. When we are ready to grind, it is poured down into the stone grinding wheel and turned into our excellent flour."
“And then we use your mill’s flour to make our breads at the inn,” said Miss Robbins. "I am often buy flour from local farmers at the market."
"A number of the farmers at the market bring their own wheat harvests right here to be milled." He grinned again. "But I am sure it is our flour in your cinnamon bread I enjoyed so much, Miss Robbins. It most likely got its start right here!"
They both laughed, and James could hear Miss Henson's heavy sigh. She came walking back over to the two of them. "I suppose you also roll oats for horses, and flake them for oatmeal?"
"We certainly do, Miss Henson. The stone grinders can be adjusted in several different ways. My father – "
"This is of the greatest interest to me, Mr. Brookford, but of course, I have seen oats and flour many times before."
"Why, of course you have. I do apologize, Miss Henson. Please forgive me for taking a bit too much pride in my home, and forgetting my guests.”
Miss
Robbins's eyes flicked to Miss Henson, and James wondered what she was thinking. Miss Henson continued, "I wonder if we should be returning to the house before long, since I am sure there is much to do to get ready for tonight? I believe you yourself were needed to help with the arrangements before the guests arrive."
"Quite right, quite right again, Miss Henson. We'll be on our way momentarily." Most likely, he thought, her feet were cold in those thin wet slippers. Her legs were probably cold too, from walking in the damp grass in those delicate skirts that she had been lifting nearly to her knees. Though her legs were certainly shapely, and he had not objected to the view, James did not think his mother would approve of Miss Henson's actions in showing them, and he was quite sure that Miss Robbins did not, either.
Miss Henson may have grown bored of the tour of the farm, but James was very much amused by watching two attractive women battle over him. And it certainly seemed that he could look forward to more of the same for the rest of the week.