Chapter 5 #2
She was happy to see her mother was well, and after a brief embrace, was sent upstairs to wash up, it being nearly time for tea.
Margaret set her carpetbag upon the homespun eyelet counterpane and gazed fondly around the yellowed walls of her girlhood room.
The embroidered seat of the corner chair, the pressed flowers framed above her bed, and the simple honey-colored wood of the matching chest of drawers and vanity table were a welcome change from the dark mahogany and cold marble of her room in London.
She was delighted most with the deep-set window seat, where sunlight spilled onto the faded cushion and the chintz curtains gently swayed with every breath of summer breeze.
She crossed the room to gaze out at the familiar view, all the wild and deep serenity of the garden, the fields and forests in the distance—the boundless beauty she had known all her childhood, beckoning to be enjoyed one day at a time.
At tea, Mrs. Hale apologized to her daughter for the layout and fare, remarking that it could not compare to what she had enjoyed in London. As she replied, Margaret noticed her father’s frown.
“I love it all,” Margaret responded, “the scalloped table linen, these cottage chairs with the cane seats, the view of the garden out the window. And these flowered dishes—the only ones I remember. The pattern is dainty, not heavy or ornate, and I know that the serving dish has just the tiniest chip on the rim—but it is our china, which makes it even more dear.”
Her small speech elicited only a rueful smile from her mother, who found it difficult to believe any person who had just come from the elegance of Harley Street could find her country dining room at all remarkable.
Margaret was pleased that her words had cheered her father.
He smiled at her across the table as her mother fussed about where to place the crystal decanter of water on the table.
In the days that followed, Margaret was eager to make the Parish visits she so enjoyed in her role as the vicar’s daughter. She read to old Mrs. Beecham; she brought broth and sweets to Susan Curtis’ house when the girl was ailing, and she tended to Mrs. Gilford’s baby to let the new mother rest.
The glorious, carefree days of summer extended for months.
As the days grew shorter, the trees shed their common green finery for their most audacious autumnal display, setting the countryside ablaze with the colors of fire.
It was on one of these days that Margaret grasped her bonnet and stepped out with no object in mind but to exult in the beauty of the forest.
“Margaret,” her mother called out from among the roses she was clipping as her daughter walked by. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going for a walk, mamma. The sunshine is so warm today.”
“Do remember to put your bonnet on, dear. I know we are seldom out in society, but you mustn’t ruin your complexion. I’m certain that you’re turning into a woodland girl, and all your years in London will be wasted,” she chastised with a sigh.
“Never fear, mamma,” Margaret answered, duly tying on her bonnet. “I have two faces, like Janus. I can be Margaret of the New Forest at my leisure, but I can also be Margaret, the refined London girl whenever necessary,” she gently teased with a broad smile.
“I wonder if we shouldn’t invite the Gormons to tea sometime, although they live in Southampton,” Mrs. Hale went on as if her daughter had not spoken, remembering that the Gormans had a rather handsome son.
Margaret’s smile faded. “The family that manufactures coaches?”
“Yes, and it has done them very well, I should say. Coaches are respectable things to make. Just think what we should do without them,” she added, seeing her daughter’s look of doubtful disdain.
“I suppose so. But they are tradesmen all the same. I don’t really like that class of people. They’re always thinking and speaking of money.”
“Well, I’m sure they are very proper and know how to carry on interesting conversations,” her mother returned. “I see now you have learned to be a little too prejudiced, my dear. In London you may pick your associations very well, but out here we have very few options for company.”
“Invite them, mamma, if it pleases you,” Margaret answered sweetly, brushing aside any further interest—much to her mother’s annoyance. “I can be London Margaret for a time,” she reassured her with a smile. And with that, she resumed her way down the garden path.
She turned to take the fairway through the hamlet and walked along the oak-shaded road until the glow of a sunny field beckoned her.
She dropped there to sit among the tall grass and feel the warmth of the sun, gazing at everything surrounding her with the wonder and joy of a child.
She felt at peace here—on the ground of this vibrant meadow.
She was at this moment, just one of the many creatures who dwelled in the New Forest.
She tugged off her bonnet and lay down, closing her eyes to absorb every sound. As she listened to the rustle of grass, the buzz of insects, and the chirps and calls of birds—she fell asleep.