Page 36

M ay Day dawned bright and warm, the slightest breeze stirring the still, soft leaves on the trees and setting the heads of cow parsley dancing at the edges of the lane.

Having fed the animals and laid the table for dinner when they got home, Hannah, Bess, Ophelia, and Mrs. Darling dressed for the day.

Ophelia was glad she had impulsively packed her favourite dress when she had left the estate.

She had chosen it, a lifetime ago, for its delicate handwork; the botanical imagery in the lace detailing had always made her feel ethereal.

The ankle-length skirt fell in tiny gathers from her waist to three bands of lace and embroidery at the hem.

The puffed-sleeve top had a slightly outmoded silhouette, but she loved the pin tucks and the insertion lace that decorated the bodice.

She extended her arm to admire the delicate balloon of batiste fastened at her wrist with tiny mother-of-pearl buttons.

The whole thing was a frothy confection entirely different from the khaki uniform she now wore daily, and a reminder of the things she used to enjoy as a lady of leisure.

Getting dressed had been unexpectedly enjoyable, donning her prettiest shift and drawers, lacing herself into her good corset, remembering the delight of ribbons and silk against her skin.

Surveying her reflection in the looking glass, she faced a woman with a tanned face, unbound hair, a straighter set to her shoulders.

The fit of her dress was not quite right due to the leaner and broader figure her new muscles had given her, but Ophelia was enjoying the feel of her changing body too much to fuss about snugger shoulders or a looser waist. She felt the changes in her spirit, too, an easy anticipation of a simple day with her friends, not to mention spending all day with Silas.

At Wood Grange, there had been so much leisure, so much time doing nothing that the teas and dinner parties had blended together into a blur of disinterest. Looking forward to the fete today was a real change from her working days.

She fished a small reticule out of her top drawer, placed a few coins and a handkerchief inside, and headed downstairs to meet the others.

Hannah stood in the kitchen, the wing-like sleeves of her blue gingham dress swinging.

Her hair was looped up into a graceful knot on top of her head and her narrow ankles were sharp in polished black boots.

She leaned over the sink to scrub at her hands with the small brush and muttered, “I’ll never get all the stains from my fingers, but that’ll have to do for today. ”

“Oh, Hannah, you look lovely! It’s going to be so much fun.”

“Indeed, ’twill be lovely to have a day with no thought of forage,” she said, smiling. “It’s been ages since I’ve been to a May Day celebration. When I was in service, the cook used to sometimes take us parlour maids to the fetes, and I always loved those days. Just to wander and look about ...”

She let the rest of the sentence fade away, then moving quickly, she took up her shawl and held out her arm for Ophelia.

“Best get going then.”

Ophelia slid her arm through Hannah’s and they made their way down the hall to the kitchen door.

Ophelia felt a thrill of nerves, excited by the prospect of the day out and the thought of spending more time with Silas.

Her face heated when she let herself sink back into the memory of their kisses.

She was slightly surprised to realise that the heat had nothing to do with shame or regret, but with a slow-burning desire to explore more, everything, with Silas.

But she still couldn’t tease apart being together and being someone’s wife, someone’s property, and she had sworn to herself when she left the estate that she would never allow that to happen, never allow herself to be in a relationship like that of her father and mother’s.

All around her, she had seen evidence of the way women were expected to disappear into their marriages, abandon themselves for their husbands, and she knew that she could no longer ignore that prospect in her own life.

So independence meant being alone; it had to, didn’t it?

No matter how much she wanted Hannah’s words to be true, Ophelia feared they were not.

Look at Mrs. Darling, Ophelia thought, she has run this farm on her own since her husband passed, and Hannah lives as she chooses exactly because she is unmarried.

Even Bess, who longed for love, was considering how to balance her burgeoning career with marriage.

It seemed obvious to Ophelia that if she and Silas continued to circle around each other, they would be forced to make some kind of decision.

She didn’t want to become a mistress any more than a wife, but she wasn’t certain of any other options.

Silas wasn’t conservative and could be considered a suffragist by any measure, but she knew that he held his parents’ marriage close to his heart, having grown up in the shelter of their love.

He worried about the implications of an unconventional relationship, and she found herself wondering if there was any way to bridge this divide.

Hannah tugged at her arm, pulling her into the bright sunlit day. At the edge of the yard, next to the clump of volunteer hollyhocks, Bess swayed happily, the embroidered hem of her walking skirt swinging around her ankles.

“I never thought I’d miss wearing a dress and all the bits, but I have to say it’s lovely to be out of that uniform. Drab does nothing for my complexion,” she said, smile bright.

Ophelia laughed. “Lord, you’re so right, Bess. I feel stones lighter without my tunic and jacket. What a day we’ll have, dressed up with somewhere to go.”

“Somewhere, indeed,” said Hannah with a wry smile. “Funny that Banbury should feel like a destination all of a sudden when we see it all the time.”

“Oh, but being on our own time makes it all feel more celebratory, doesn’t it?” Bess said.

“It does indeed,” Mrs. Darling said, closing the door behind her and poking a hat pin through a wide-brimmed hat trimmed with velour and satin flowers and a faded ribbon.

She swung a small basket onto her arm. “I want you all to have a lovely day and enjoy the break. We’ll be back in harness as soon as that wheel is repaired, so throw yourselves into the day with abandon. ”

“Thanks, Mrs. D.,” said Bess. “And what a day we have, bluebird skies and everything!”

Her loose curls waving, Bess headed down the lane, Hannah in tow. Their voices floated above their heads as they disappeared down the dip in the lane.

Mrs. Darling called into the barn, “Mr. Larke! You joining us today?”

Nothing for a moment, and then Silas poked his head out, pulling on a light linen jacket, his hair, still damp, tucked behind his ears.

He had shaved and wore a clean shirt in slightly better repair than his usual work shirt, and Ophelia caught her breath at the sharp, smooth line of his jaw and neck against the crisp white collar.

Letting her eyes travel down, she noticed he was wearing trousers in a fine herringbone wool, grey on dark grey, and that he had polished the toes of his boots.

Looking back up to his face, she saw him noticing her perusal.

His mouth softened, and his eyes grew so dark Ophelia feared she would drown in their depths, but instead of speaking to her, he turned to Mrs. Darling.

“Pass inspection, ma’am?” he asked, clacking his heels together playfully and tugging at the lapels of his jacket.

Mrs. Darling laughed, a long, loud cackle ringing out on the cobblestones, and saluted him under the floppy brim of her hat.

“With flying colours, sir,” she said, smiling. “Now let’s be off. Mrs. Perkins’s sponge won’t last long with the vicar milling about, and then we’ll be left with those awful bricks Mrs. Oliver tries to pass off as biscuits.”

Ophelia laughed despite herself, and Silas gave her a broad wink behind Mrs. Darling’s back.

He was so handsome she felt a bit fluttery in her stomach.

Like some agrarian Apollo come to earth to celebrate a hedonistic day among the country folk.

Self-conscious in the clothing she had not worn in so long, she smoothed down the pleats at her waist, straightening the embroidered lawn and fidgeting with the ribbon belt she had added at the last minute.

Silas was suddenly in front of her and took her hand in his, his thumb rubbing in a gentle circle.

“You look so lovely, Fee ... quite takes my breath away, you in that dress. Though, in truth I like your trousers a great deal,” he said, his voice rough as stone, dark as midnight.

“Thank you,” she rasped. “It’s strange to be back in these clothes.

I’ve not worn a dress in so long now, it almost feels unnatural.

” They both laughed at her word choice, and Ophelia thought of all the times she had heard and read men complaining about the “unnatural” suffragettes and WLA workers.

It still rankled to be judged so weak-minded as to be corrupted by two columns of fabric.

“Looks perfectly natural,” Silas said. “I quite like the contrast, if I’m honest—knowing how you look in trousers makes it a little exciting to see you in skirts again.”

“Silas.” She actually giggled, impossibly charmed by his comment.

“I was a little nervous to dress today ... I thought that, well, you might prefer me like this, or maybe that I would prefer myself like this.” She felt nervous to admit this to him, to say aloud how much his opinion mattered, but she didn’t let herself look away.