Chapter 27 #2
She glanced up, her fingertips just grazing the piglet’s back but unable to quite lift it.
Before the farmer had fully taken in what had been said, Gideon had leaned over the fence and extracted the piglet himself.
Its feet, belly, and hindquarters were covered in mud.
She did not care in the least. She took it from him and held it up.
“Hello. And how are you?”
It blinked at her in response.
The farmer had come around the pen by now. “That is a very fine specimen, Your Grace. Both parents are excellent stock. She will be delicious when she is grown.”
“Delicious?” She looked at the piglet. “Oh, I do not want her eaten. She is far too charming.”
Gideon smiled. “That is generally what becomes of these animals. Almost all the meat on our table came from creatures very like her.”
“Of course,” she said. She knew that perfectly well in the abstract.
But it was a different thing entirely to look at this particular piglet, who was now looking at her with an expression of complete trust. “I think she has a personality,” she said.
“I do not think she should be on anyone’s plate. I should like to have her.”
“As a pet?” the farmer said.
“Yes. Why not? People have dogs and cats.” She looked at Gideon, who was watching her with undisguised amusement.
“Very well,” he said. “We shall buy her. Though I will not be the one cleaning up after her.”
“I would not expect anyone else to,” she said. “She will need a pen, I think. Something comfortable, near the house.”
“I believe that can be arranged.” He extracted his purse and paid the man.
“A pleasure doing business with you, Your Grace, Your Grace,” the farmer said, beaming.
“Might I trouble you,” Gideon said, “to hold onto her for a little while? My wife and I had intended to try the pies, and it would be rather awkward with a piglet.”
“Of course, Your Grace. I have a box over here — fresh hay, and water if Her Grace wishes.”
“Please,” Helena said.
“And if you do not mind my saying so,” the farmer added, “the piglet is a female.”
“Oh,” Helena said. “Then I cannot call her Reginald as I had intended.”
Gideon let out a laugh and offered his arm. She took it, and they walked on. “You will need to think of a rather better name than Reginald for a female pig.”
“Perhaps Ruby. Because she is rather pink.”
“That,” he said, “could be debated. But very well. Ruby it is. Now — shall we find these pies?”
They made their way to Mrs. Baker’s stall, which had drawn the largest crowd in the market by some margin, the smell of warm pastry alone being sufficient to account for it.
A queue had formed of people helping themselves to small samples from a plate at the front, and the debate about which was best appeared to be already well underway among the assembled villagers.
Helena’s stomach made its opinion known before she had even reached the board.
“Goodness,” she said.
“I know it,” he replied. “I do not know which one to—”
“Your Graces!” A red-cheeked woman with greyish-brown hair came forward, wiping her hands on her apron and beaming.
“What an honour to have you both here. I am Mrs. Baker — which is, I confess, rather ironic given my occupation.” She laughed heartily, and Helena found herself smiling.
The people of this village were among the kindest she had ever encountered.
“Which would you recommend?” Gideon asked.
“They are all very good, Your Grace — though I confess I am somewhat biased. The spiced apple, the mixed berry, the rhubarb, and the peach. All made this morning from fruit off our own trees, so fresh as you like.”
“We should try all of them,” Helena said.
“Oh!” Mrs. Baker clapped her hands. “And perhaps, if you would not mind, you might choose a favourite? I could advertise it as the Duke and Duchess’s choice.”
Gideon looked at Helena and shrugged. “That sounds like a splendid idea.” They set about sampling every pie on offer.
A small crowd had gathered around them, but Helena found she did not mind it.
Something had shifted in her since their conversation of the previous day.
Not resolved, not settled, but lighter. As though a window had been opened somewhere.
She looked at him over her slice of apple pie, and thought perhaps things might end up alright between them yet. Perhaps more than all right.
“Well,” she said, after they had worked their way through everything, “I think we must begin judging. I think the apple pie is the winner.”
“Do you?” he said. “I disagree. The rhubarb. There is a depth to it that the others cannot match.”
“Rhubarb,” she said, and pulled a face. “I was going to rank it last.”
He looked at the assembled crowd, who were following every word with great interest, and drew her a few steps aside toward a barrel that provided a little distance between them and their audience.
“We ought to agree on one,” he said, “so that Mrs. Baker can make her sign.”
“Then it must be the apple,” she said firmly. “Nobody in their right mind will prefer a rhubarb pie to an apple or even a mixed berry.”
He adopted his most serious expression. “We are at an impasse, then. Because I will not give the apple highest marks when I think it is only the third best on offer.”
She crossed her arms. “What is needed is a compromise.” She turned back to Mrs. Baker. “Mrs. Baker would you be willing to advertise two choices? One as the Duchess’s and one as the Duke’s? We cannot come to an agreement.”
Mrs. Baker clapped again. “Even better! I shall have people try both and cast their votes. The Duke against the Duchess the whole village will be talking of nothing else.”
“It sounds like folly,” said a man from the back, Mrs. Baker’s husband, who had been sitting quietly in the shadows until now.
“On the contrary,” Helena said, “I think it is a wonderful idea. People will take a side, and either back my husband or myself. It will be most interesting to see which of our tastes prevails — though I think I already know.”
“The rhubarb will win,” Mrs. Baker’s husband said, and Gideon pointed at him with satisfaction. “Good man. You are quite right.”
“The apple, clearly, is the superior pie,” Mrs. Baker said. “That has always been my view.”
“And mine,” Helena said.
The debate continued in that cheerful vein for several more minutes before Mrs. Baker disappeared to make her signs, promising to send word to the estate by end of day with the results.