by Lex Croucher
‘Everyone – this is John Louis.’
‘John Louis!’ they all chorused back, delighted, as if he were a very old and dear friend. Georgiana considered him for a moment.
‘Who’s John Louis?’ she asked Frances quietly.
‘Absolutely no idea,’ Frances replied.
‘John Louis is selling us a pie,’ Jane said slowly. ‘It’s a very special pie, and we must go with him to his wagon to fetch it.’
‘Is she feeling quite all right?’ Georgiana asked Frances, as John Louis set off towards the trees and they all followed.
The pie in question turned out not to be a pie at all – it was, in fact, a plain wooden snuffbox.
‘Bring it back,’ John Louis said sternly.
Jane nodded, and Frances waggled her fingers in fare-well before linking her arm with Jane’s as they walked away, with Cecily and Georgiana hurrying to keep up.
Jane led them through the trees, out of the churchyard grounds proper and to some sort of outbuilding. It may have once housed horses, but now was simply three walls and a partially caved-in roof, with hay bales stacked in the only corner that was still covered.
Jane and Frances sat down on a bale, and Georgiana leaned in curiously to see what secrets the snuffbox held.
‘It’s . . . Is that snuff?’ Georgiana asked dubiously, when Frances reverently lifted the lid to reveal a light brown powdery substance.
The others all laughed knowingly, and Georgiana felt thoroughly rebuked.
‘Sort of,’ said Frances kindly.
‘It’s not. It’s special snuff. Snuff plus. You take it as usual,’ Jane said.
She demonstrated, sprinkling some onto the back of her hand and then bringing it to her nose, and then held the box aloft for Georgiana.
She hesitated only for a moment, feeling distantly concerned but trusting that Frances wouldn’t expose her to anything too sinister, then lowered her face and sniffed, hard. Her sinuses burned, and she watched through watery eyes as Frances and Cecily took their turns.
‘Peasant drugs are the best drugs,’ Frances sighed happily, wiping her nose. ‘They have absolutely nothing to live for, and you can really tell.’
‘Jesus Christ, Frances,’ Jane said, but she was smiling lazily, leaning back on a bale of hay with flushed cheeks. All this smiling was getting a bit alarming.
‘Cheers to peasants!’ Cecily cried, raising a bottle of wine aloft.
Georgiana winced, feeling a little too close to peasant-dom herself to join them in earnest, but drank all the same. They toasted to country fairs, and hay, and especially to John Louis, until sobriety was a distant dream and the sun was decidedly lower in the sky.
Georgiana had never considered herself a particularly gifted dancer – but today, for some reason, she was truly excellent at dancing. Frances had announced that she wanted to see the band and they had all trooped over to the makeshift stage, giggling and tripping over one another as they did, and joined the next dance. They were by far the most enthusiastic ones there, and kept rearranging themselves so they could remain each other’s partners even as the other dancers switched around, much to the chagrin of some of the young men present, who were openly staring at them and jostling one another to try to get closer to them. The man playing the pipe onstage seemed encouraged by their energy, and started to stamp his foot as he played. They all cheered him on as they danced faster and faster, spinning and turning and clapping in time, while flower petals fell from their hair and were crushed underfoot.
After seven songs in a row in the late afternoon heat, Georgiana needed to sit down. The crowd had grown enormous now, and she could barely see her friends among it; everyone was dancing, even the children, swung around on their parents’ arms. Whatever had been in that powder, it had made her feel all at once elated, discombobulated and desperately thirsty. She acquired a cool cup of ale and sat down at a table that overlooked the dancers, drinking it so clumsily that about half of it ended up dripping down her chin.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she almost jumped out of her skin, but it was just the man from the pie stall.
‘John Louis!’ she said weakly, toasting him with her cup.
‘Where’s your friend?’ he asked.
‘I don’t . . .’ Georgiana gestured to the crowd and they both looked around for a moment, before realising that Jane was nowhere to be seen.
‘Tell her I want it back,’ he said insistently. ‘Now.’
Georgiana nodded, and got to her tired feet to demonstrate willing. She thought Jane had most likely slipped away to the outbuildings again, to partake in a little more of what John Louis so urgently wanted returned, and walked off in vaguely the right direction.
When she finally found the outbuilding – there had been many false starts, including one in which Georgiana had seen a pretty frog and been so distracted that she had stared adoringly at it for at least a minute (the frog seemed unmoved) – she couldn’t see anyone in it at first, but heard the rustling of hay and cleverly deduced that it was occupied.
Her first thought upon seeing Jane and Frances was that they were fighting – wrestling each other on a hay bale. This made no sense, of course, but it took a moment for her brain to rearrange the scene into something that did.
They were kissing – and these were certainly not the quick, chaste kisses of friendship. Frances was lying lazily back in the hay, watching through heavily lidded eyes and smiling as Jane slowly kissed a trail up her chest, her collarbone, and then finally reached her lips. She had a hand on Jane’s waist, and Georgiana could see her knuckles whitening as she closed her eyes and pulled her closer.
Georgiana knew she needed to sneak away urgently, but she was frozen where she stood, and suddenly it was too late – Frances had opened her eyes and looked directly at her. Georgiana expected her to sit bolt upright, push Jane away, pretend it wasn’t happening; but instead she kept looking at Georgiana, holding her gaze as Jane kissed her somewhere near her earlobe, smiling at her beatifically.
‘What do you want?’ Frances asked eventually.
Jane jumped, and looked over her shoulder, pushing herself up onto her knees.
‘Um, I’m sorry, I . . . I was sent to – but then I—’ Georgiana spluttered. They both stared at her expectantly. ‘I saw a frog,’ she said feebly, and Jane rolled her eyes.
‘You saw a frog?’ she repeated incredulously.
‘Yes, and . . . Oh! John Louis wants his snuff back.’
Frances fumbled for it in the hay and then closed her fingers around it, tossing it to Georgiana quite roughly, considering how reverently she had first opened it. Now she had no further use for it, it seemed it held no worth at all.
‘Thank you,’ said Georgiana, and then she half-ran back in the direction of the fair.
Her head was still reeling with what she had seen. She had never heard of women doing such a thing – of wanting each other that way. She didn’t understand why her palms suddenly seemed so sweaty, her neck so flushed; it was just so unexpected – that must have been it. Because Frances was in love with Jeremiah – so what on earth was she doing literally rolling around in the hay with Jane?
When Georgiana reached the dancers she looked vaguely around for John Louis, but her mind was thoroughly occupied by the extremely vivid image of her friends on the verge of ravishing each other. It was impressively bold, she thought slightly hysterically, to do so not fifty feet away from a church. She started giggling with shock, her knuckles pressed to her mouth. If Georgiana were found horizontal and passionately kissing another woman – and her eyes went wide at the very thought of it, colour rising anew in her cheeks – Mrs Burton would probably make her wear a blindfold for the rest of her life, so that she could not see the soft curve of a woman’s cheek or the salacious flash of an ankle, and be enticed into committing some indelible sin in a shack that smelled faintly of horse manure.
Georgiana was jolted from these all-consuming thoughts by the appearance of John
Louis at her elbow. She handed him the box without a word; he tutted when he opened it briefly to see how much was left, then snapped it shut and slid it into his pocket.
‘You want to dance?’ he asked gruffly.
‘Oh . . . No thanks,’ said Georgiana.
He didn’t seem particularly disappointed, but she felt she had let him down somewhat by not being a good enough sport. After all, an hour previously they had been toasting him with every sip of their drinks.
She was just thinking that she must look for Cecily – did she know about Jane and Frances? Had she even noticed? – when the crowd parted, and she saw Jeremiah Russell striding towards her in his shirtsleeves. Frances had said something about him – that he’d meet them later, perhaps, if his schedule allowed – but Georgiana was so distracted that for a moment she was utterly confused by his presence, as if he were a unicorn appearing in her bedroom rather than a man attending a fair. He approached, looking terribly good in the early evening light, all golden and artfully undone. She felt a strange sense of pride when he recognised her and called out to her – as if it were such a great compliment to be remembered by a man who had been introduced to her twice, and who should have certainly recognised her by their third meeting.
‘Where’s Frances?’ he asked after kissing her hand, and only then did she realise her conundrum.
‘I think . . .’ She cast wildly about for something to say. ‘I think she was getting a pie.’
‘A pie? Frances?’
‘Yes. She said – er – she said she was very hungry, from all the dancing, and she must eat something . . . and of course it would not be her first choice.’ Georgiana was rambling now. ‘I don’t think she’s ever been so close to a pie in all her life, but tonight a pie was just the thing—’
‘Jeremiah! What’s all this about pies?’
Frances’s voice came from behind her, and Georgiana felt weak with relief. She was approaching arm in arm with Jane, looking perfectly innocent, but Georgiana couldn’t look at them without seeing Frances’s dress rucked up – Jane’s hand sliding up Frances’s bare thigh.
‘Miss Ellers was under the impression that you were obtaining one,’ said Jeremiah jovially.
‘Christ, no. They’ve probably baked their children into them,’ Frances retorted.
She unlinked herself from Jane to go to Jeremiah and allow her hand to be thoroughly kissed. He offered her his elbow and she took it, nestling in close. Georgiana risked a look at Jane. Her face was thunderous.
They danced a little more, but Georgiana had become accustomed to partnering with Cecily – who seemed to have ascended to a different plane of existence and was dancing with almost no awareness of the people around them – which now left Jane the odd one out. She kept getting stuck with strangers who looked mildly frightened of her – and rightly so, for she was positively glowering. Jane couldn’t stop looking at Frances; almost everyone was. She and Jeremiah were the very picture of young love, laughing and savouring every touch.
Jane looked as if nothing on this earth would make her happier than driving the strongman’s mallet into Jeremiah’s skull.
As the last of the glorious sun vanished behind the trees and the dancers came to a sweaty pause, Georgiana suddenly found Frances at her side, pulling on her sleeve and giggling.
‘Come on, come on,’ she said in a stage whisper, and Georgiana went with her.
Their destination turned out to be the apple stall where Georgiana had been so egregiously cheated out of her winnings. It seemed nobody had won the straw-berries, for they were still sitting on the table – but the boy in charge of them was nowhere to be seen.
‘Claim your prize!’ Frances said, nudging her forward, and Georgiana seized the basket triumphantly.
She looked around surreptitiously and made to walk away, thinking they would exit the scene as quickly as possible and sneak off to celebrate with the others, but Frances wasn’t finished yet. She winked at Georgiana, then turned and kicked over one of the baskets of apples for sale and started to stamp on them, pounding them into the dirt as they bruised and split beneath her feet.
‘Don’t let him get away with it, he’s a . . . a bad apple,’ she giggled drunkenly to Georgiana, who looked around to see if anybody was watching. Her instincts were telling her to run for it, but Frances was gesturing expectantly for her to join in.
‘But . . . Should we really . . . ? I mean, surely this is his trade?’ Georgiana said weakly, and Frances laughed.
‘His trade is cheating innocent young girls out of their money, Georgiana. He’s a thief! And we are avenging all those who have come before us, who deserved straw-berries just as much as you or I! It’s time to take a stand – to rise up against this apple tyrant!’
Roused by this speech, Georgiana joined her. They got rather carried away, knocking down the fence posts, kicking the scarecrow into the mud; Georgiana certainly did her part, and yet was quite shocked when she looked up only ten or fifteen seconds later and saw how much devastation they had wrought.
‘Quick, quick!’ Frances cried.
She grabbed Georgiana by the hand and hurried her away. As they heard people approaching they broke into a full run, and they arrived back with the others, laughing, gasping, bent double as they tried to recover themselves.
‘What on earth were you two doing?’ Jeremiah asked, raising an eyebrow at Frances mischievously.
‘Strawberries!’ Georgiana said breathlessly, holding up the basket, and the others all exclaimed in delight and helped themselves. A shout of genuine anguish went up from the direction of the apple stall, and Georgiana caught Frances’s eye.
‘What’s he so upset about?’ Cecily asked mildly.
Frances and Georgiana laughed silently, covering their mouths as strawberry juice ran through their fingers.
‘Nothing,’ said Frances eventually. ‘Eat your strawberries, Ces.’
Chapter Ten
T
he Friday of the trip to the cottage finally came, and Georgiana was ready to leave a full hour before it was strictly necessary. She sat dressed and perspiring with nerves, waiting for the rumble of a carriage on the road. Mrs Burton came to sit with her for a while, but found her niece far too distracted to be good company (when asked about the book she had been reading, Georgiana found herself unable to provide its title, a summary of the contents, or even the vaguest indication that she understood what a book was).
When she at last heard a commotion outside, Georgiana ran in a very ungainly fashion to kiss her aunt goodbye, and then rushed to exit before Mrs Burton had a chance to come out with her and notice that the carriage did not contain any variety of appropriate parental supervision.
The driver took Georgiana’s trunk from her, and she climbed into the grand covered coach to find a party of sorts already underway within. It was a very good thing indeed that her aunt was only just reopening the door to wave them off as the horses turned back onto the road, for Frances, Cecily, Jane and Jonathan were already drinking, and smoking, and cheering raucously at the sight of Georgiana with absolutely no regard for the fact that it was only ten o’clock in the morning.
Georgiana felt suddenly very dull, sober as she was. She took a deep swig from the glass Jonathan passed to her, which had the unfortunate effect of making her feel instantly nauseated. She pushed through and took another sip, thinking that it would not be in the spirit of the thing to vomit before they had even reached their destination. Frances, who was wearing a beautiful gown of deepest green and looked frankly effervescent, held her own glass aloft.
‘A toast! A toast to friends, and to the country, and to Christopher’s naughty, naughty uncle for the gift of Bastards’ Cottage!’
They all hurrahed and clinked their glasses clumsily as the carriage threw them about.
‘Bastards’ Cottage?’ Georgiana asked, once she had taken another drink.
‘You do look scandalised, George. We named it so because Christopher’s uncle bought the place
to raise his bastard children away from prying eyes. They’ve all grown up now and gone off to spend their hush money and plot how to kill his true-born children, so he lets Christopher use it.’
‘I hope he’s had it cleaned,’ said Jonathan pointedly. ‘I can’t imagine what Christopher uses it for when we’re not around, but I’m sure it involves copious amounts of unseemly bodily fluids.’
The girls squealed and exclaimed in disgust, and Cecily hit him playfully on the shoulder.
‘What? He’s filthy! I’m sure we’d all have a much better time of it if we were being hosted by one of those good, honest bastard cousins.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Jane darkly.
She seemed in low spirits again, but at least now Georgiana thought she might have some inkling as to why. Frances had barely looked her way at the fair after Jeremiah arrived, and had even gone so far as to shake Jane off when she attempted to take her arm on the walk back to their carriage. Georgiana had winced at the sight of it, and had attempted to catch Jane’s eye with an expression of sympathy, but the other girl had stormed ahead and fumed silently the whole way home.
Georgiana had replayed moments from the last month over and over again in her head since that day: Frances pulling off a pair of borrowed stockings, her eyelashes wet with tears and far too close in the dark of her bedroom; Jane standing alone on her patio at the first party, refusing to go one more step with Jeremiah Russell. It was all starting to form a complete picture in Georgiana’s head, although she had to entirely rewrite what she thought she’d known of their characters for it to make sense. The experience had been jarring, although it felt less so by the minute. Georgiana looked at Frances now, beautiful and elegant even as she frowned at Jonathan, her glass dangling precariously from her hand. Nothing had changed, really; this was who she had been all along, even if Georgiana was too blind to see it.
Frances rolled her eyes. ‘If you could all keep your opinions about Mr Crawley to yourselves for a few more days, please, you ingrates. I’d like to enjoy my holiday without being cast out onto the moors due to your abominable manners, thank you very much.’