4 Butterfly #2
From the clearing, they continued down the larger path to the lake shore, where a line of large stepping stones crossed to the far side.
The lake was so narrow here that only seven large, square stones were needed to span the width.
On the other side, an encircling belt of trees created a private, tranquil space, invisible from the house or the lawns behind.
“Shall we cross here?” Cal said. “It is only a short walk back to the house from here.”
“I am not allowed to cross.”
“Not allowed? Are they unsafe?”
“I have no idea, but we were told very clearly when we arrived that we must not use them.”
Cal nodded, arms folded, gazing out across the lake. Then, so fast that she gasped in surprise, he surged forward and ran full tilt across the stones. Before her suddenly racing heart could settle again, he was on the other bank, waving to her.
“Perfectly safe,” he called out. “Want to try?”
Mutely she shook her head.
He returned more slowly, testing each stone for stability as he went.
“Not the least wobble anywhere. Are you sure you won’t—?”
“No, it is forbidden. There must be a reason for it.”
Yet she felt foolish, for what harm could there be?
The stones were wide and flat and dry, and not coated in slippery moss.
Cal had just proved they were safe, but somehow she could not quite bring herself to break the rules.
If he had insisted, she had a peculiar feeling that she would have done it, to please him, but instead he merely nodded, and asked if she wanted to walk further or was quite worn out.
“We have hardly walked any distance yet. I am not in the least tired.”
Another nod, accompanied by one of those unsettling smiles. “Excellent. Then let us go back to the main path and see what else we can find.”
***
Cal had hardly expected to find so much enjoyment at Staineybank, and the woods were not the whole of it.
The company of Mrs Merrington… Cora… contributed greatly to his pleasure in the day.
It’s true that there were times when he preferred to keep the woods to himself — early morning in summer, perhaps, when the birds were awake but no one else was, or at night when the owls and bats and badgers were abroad.
The woods were an entirely different place under the stars, with a very different set of inhabitants emerging to sniff the air and snuffle round in the undergrowth.
But in the daytime, having someone with him, someone he could show the wonders of the forest to, that was good too.
But this was the first time Cal had ever had a woman of Cora’s age following him about.
It was children, mostly, and the young lad from the rectory who had gone on to study beetles at Cambridge, and sent Cal drawings of his findings from time to time.
To a male adult, the woods were merely a future cash crop of wood, and to most females, a place to walk in the shade if one took care to avoid the unspeakable horrors lurking there.
But Cora did not shrink from unspeakable horrors, appearing to find them as fascinating as he did.
Appearing to… that sounded as if he doubted her sincerity, and certainly some women would feign interest in a man’s hobby to draw his attention to themselves.
But Cora was not of an age to be on the prowl for a husband, and even if she was, she’d hardly be interested in an under-gardener. No, she must genuinely be interested.
There was one moment that made him sure of it.
They had wandered all the way through the forest to the southern edge, where he had stopped early that morning to eat his bread and cheese.
It was such a perfect place to rest that they settled against the trunk of the oak tree, just as he had done, to admire the view over the Brin.
He had brought no food this time, but to his surprise and pleasure, she delved in her reticule and brought forth a breakfast roll, rather squashed, and an apple, wrinkled but still good.
These treasures they shared equally, and it was curiously intimate, like being married, perhaps.
And then, to add to all the other wonders of that spot, a tortoiseshell butterfly fluttered past, then fluttered back again.
Instinctively, knowing his fingers were coated in enticing apple juice, Cal held out his hand.
Cora made a little ‘Oh!’ of surprise, then held out her hand too, and to his delight, it was her hand that the butterfly chose to rest on.
It was a moment when Cal wished with all his heart that he could draw well enough to capture the expression on her face — the wonder writ there that this exotic and beautiful creature, so ephemeral yet so unforgettable, had chosen to honour her with its attention.
It stayed for about half a minute before flitting away, and, finding itself buffeted by a sudden breeze, disappeared down the hill towards the river.
“I wish…” she breathed, then stopped with a frown. “No, that is foolish.”
“Wishes are never foolish,” he said.
“Well, then, I shall say it. I wish I were as free as that butterfly, to go where I wish, to do what I wish, to be beholden to no one.”
“We can all be free if we really want it,” he said, “if we’re prepared to pay the price.”
She threw him a sideways glance that he couldn’t interpret, but she said nothing more, and before long the sharpness of the spring air drove them back into the woods, and towards the house.
***
Cora was filled with energy. Her legs were tired from walking so far — further than she had walked for years!
But her mind was bubbling with thoughts and she felt…
oh, how to describe it? Exhilarated, perhaps.
Full of joy at the wonders of the world.
Most of all, she felt alive. When had she last felt like this? Never, perhaps.
It was extraordinary what a difference one day could make.
This morning, she had woken up to the same dispiriting life that had encaged her for years.
Once, many years ago, she had been a person of importance — the wife of a gentleman, the mother of four daughters and a son, the mistress of a sizeable household.
Gradually over the years all that had been whittled away.
Her husband had died, the household had been reduced in size and then vanished altogether, her children had either married or were satisfied to be unwed.
Now she was nobody, unwanted and largely unnoticed.
Today she had been out of the house for hours, but no one had missed her.
And yet… she felt so full of life, as if the world, which had been grey and dreary, was now infused with glorious colour.
Everything was different, and it was not simply the company of a beguiling man that had changed her.
That was part of it, of course, but there was something more…
the butterfly had made her see her life as it was, hemmed in, confined, unchanging.
Oh, to be a butterfly, to be free, to fly hither and thither, wherever she wished to go!
A butterfly did not care about being late for dinner, or upsetting her son, or whether her daughters would ever find husbands.
A butterfly followed the wind, and how glorious was that?