Chapter 6 Two Vastly Different Rôles
Two Vastly Different R?les
I MAY VERY well wear a groove in these cobbles. Belinda looked down with displeasure at the stones beneath her feet.
Out in front of the milliner’s shop was the best place to see anyone who was arriving in Trippingham via the road from London. This was the third time in nearly a fortnight that Lindy had situated herself there.
As she was pretending to admire the collection of cottage bonnets in the window, there was a scrape of footsteps behind her.
Turning, she smiled acknowledgment at the Leighton sisters as they headed towards the shop’s door.
The eldest looked as if she might pause for a bit of friendly natter, but the younger narrowed her eyes and pulled her sister inside without saying a word.
Even though subtle shunnings like these happened often to Lindy, each one panged her anew.
The Everson Family was regarded as different amongst the residents of Trippingham, primarily because of Belinda’s aunt, Rose Caspar.
In her youth, Rose had been an actress on the London stage when she caught the eye of a very wealthy man.
By marrying George Caspar, she had the means to elevate her family from their hardscrabble existence.
When Belinda’s parents had wanted to marry, Rose had helped them find a cottage there in Trippingham where they might raise a family far from the dirty commotion of Spitalfields.
But the Caspars’ generosity had not ended there.
Fond of her nieces and nephews, Rose had them to Whitehall, the Caspars’ home in Bevelshire, for weeks at a time.
There, she had taught Lindy to read, and ensured her inquisitive niece had access to any book or periodical that might interest her.
Through these means, Belinda had acquired a respectable understanding of world history, and was able to stay abreast of advancements in both art and science.
As the Eversons always looked hale and happy when returning to Trippingham, their neighbours assumed they had been cosseted alongside their wealthy cousins, as if they too were part of the beau-monde.
Belinda herself was not immune to this line of reason, feeling that she had been cast in two different r?les since childhood: the refined, lady-like Belinda of Whitehall, and the artless, prosy Lindy of Trippingham. Though she played both parts well, she was not truly comfortable in either.
When she was sixteen, a young attorney, newly established on Trippingham’s high street, had started to show her especial regard.
She had received his attentions readily, pleased that he had disregarded any rumours he may have heard about her.
However, when she next came home from Whitehall wearing a velvet spencer and new boots, his visits suddenly came to an end.
There were whispers that he had declared her spoiled, saying she would probably expect a new wardrobe at the start of every season.
This stung deeply as Belinda was exceedingly grateful for everything that her aunt and uncle thought to give or do for her, never thinking she was owed any of it.
It’s as if no one outside of my family truly knows me.
I thought perhaps someone had begun to…
She glanced out at the vacant street, and her loneliness sharpened.
I’m just tormenting myself, standing here. I oughtn’t think that Mr Alwyn will return, no matter how he gazed at me and kissed my wrist. Remembering his warm exhalation there, she was tempted to trace the spot with her fingertips.
He was roused, that is all, finding himself alone with me — touching my hand.
A few years earlier, her brother, Charles, was seen kissing Bessie Bromwell down by the riverside.
Their mother had chided him harshly for it at dinner that evening.
Not knowing until that moment that his tryst had been observed, Charles sputtered, “She smiled at me and I—I just found myself following her.” He added quietly, “There’s something about the way she moves her shoulders. ”
Though she was baffled at the peculiar comment, Belinda had seen her father cast his son a look of perceiving empathy.
How is it that men rule the world, she had tutted inwardly, if a frizzy-haired butcher’s daughter need only shrug to bewitch them?
Yet now she had seen that even a man as sensible as Mr Alwyn could be similarly affected by her own plain little hand! She flexed the potent part as it hung by her side.
In that moment, he may have loved me, but time and distance have cleared his mind.
As her good sense continued to wage war on her heart, the shop door opened, and the milliner’s wife poked her head out.
“Miss Everson, you loiter outside often these days. Do come in. Surely seeing our wares up close will help you to know your mind better.”
But Belinda had no desire to run her fingers through the yards of ribbon dangling in the window.
“I thank you, Mrs Powell, but I’ve just remembered that I left some scones baking in the oven.” The lie felt gritty on Belinda’s tongue as she dipped her head and turned to go. “Oh!”
She had nearly collided with the village wheelwright who was standing behind her.
How long has he been standing there?
“Ah, Miss Everson! How are you today?” Mr Turner asked, his hat in his hands. Though he was no stranger — Belinda’s brother, John, was apprenticed to him — she found his proximity and toothy grin unnerving. Behind her, the sound of Mrs Powell shutting the shop door felt like abandonment.
“Erm…very well, I thank you, Mr Turner. And you?”
“Very well. Very well, yes indeed,” he said in his oddly bright manner. His hair looked as if he had just wettened and combed it, and he wore a piece of cloth at his neck that was not quite a cravat, but looked finer than a common kerchief.
“I’ve come to get some ribbons to surprise my Susie and Kate, though I know nothin’ of such matters.” He emitted a throaty chuckle, then his eyes lit up. “But surely you do! Could you be bothered to come inside and show me which would suit them best?”
He motioned towards the door, his eyes never leaving her face.
“Oh…Mr Turner, Mrs Powell’s expertise in such matters far exceeds my own, and my mother expects me home soon, so I must wish you a good day.” She moved to step past him.
“Same to you, Miss Everson.”
She hurried away, up the high street, but when she reached its curve, she glanced back reflexively to see where Mr Alwyn would ride into the village, if he were to do so.
The street was empty.