10 Mushrooms And Elderflower Wine #2
Cora listened in astonishment as Georgie explained the circumstances.
“You mean… you were increasing too, and no one knew? My dear Georgie! How dreadful for you! How I wish I had known. I lost a couple myself — possibly three, although one was so early I might have been mistaken, and one who only lived a few hours, so I know just what you went through. Oh, my dear! And you suffered that alone, saying nothing, while the rest of us showered sympathy on Sophia. But why not tell us that you were enceinte? We all wondered about you, and I did suspect… but you never said.”
“Superstition, I suppose,” Georgie said, clearly uncomfortable with the discussion. “I had lost a baby before so—”
“Of course,” Cora said swiftly. “Very sensible, and now you have your lovely Claud to comfort you. Well, so you are to talk to the midwife about it.”
“I thought… I hoped you would come with me,” Georgie said. “It might sound rather like an accusation coming from me, but you are Mrs Trout’s age and have such a lovely manner that she couldn’t possibly take offence.”
“Shall we go today?” Cora said, pleased with the gentle compliment.
“I have nothing more pressing to do, and I can ask the shoemaker if Augusta’s riding boots are mended yet.
I cannot imagine what that girl does when she gets onto a horse, but it is disastrous for her boots, and now that she is back from town, she will want them. ”
“I’ll need to give Claud his next feed, but then I can leave him at the nursery and we can go.”
Mrs Trout lived in a modest house in the centre of the village, just beyond the shops that clustered around one end of the bridge over the River Brin.
Her husband was hard at work tending the vegetables in the neat garden, and her daughter Sally opened the door to Cora and Georgie.
After showing them into the best parlour, a room so tidy and well-polished it was clearly seldom used, she fetched her mother, followed in short order by a bottle of elderflower wine.
Mrs Trout was a large lady, with an array of daughters of similar style, the eldest almost as stout as her mother, the youngest only gently rounded.
The daughters came and went, bringing little edible treats for the ladies or replenishing the supply of elderflower wine, until Cora began to wonder if she would even be able to rise from her chair when it was time to leave.
Georgie explained the situation to Mrs Trout, who exclaimed in florid terms at every stage of the narrative.
Each daughter who came in had to have the whole story relayed to her, and was then compelled to add her own comments, until Cora’s head was spinning.
In the end, all five daughters settled themselves around the room, avid not to miss a single detail.
“Well, what a tale!” Mrs Trout said when, eventually, Georgie was allowed to reach the end of it.
“You poor dear! Should’a told me about it, that you should.
I’d’s made sure you was all right after.
Still, all’s well that ends well, eh? That little chap’s the apple o’ ’is pa’s eye, I’m sure.
But Red Jenny! Aye, I use it. Sally, fetch the pot, will you, girl? ”
Sally returned with a small ceramic pot. Mrs Trout removed the cork stopper and tipped a little of the contents onto her hand.
“There, see? Jest like tea, ain’t it?”
Cora was astonished by the similarity. “Is that how you use it?” she said. “You make tea with it?”
“Aye, but yer need to mix it wi’ real tea. Too bitter else. One spoon to five, at least.”
“Where do you keep this pot?” Cora said.
“Tis allus kept in the locked cupboard with the laudanum and such like,” Sally said, waving a key at them. “Ma’s real careful like that.”
“Aye, and I won’t use it when a girl’s in trouble, nor nothin’ sinful,” Mrs Trout said firmly. “Babes is all God’s children, even afore they’s born. Jest ’elpin’ girls what’s all ’ere an’ there with their courses, or a lady ready to pop wi’ a babe and ’e don’t want to come out. That’s all.”
“So if a girl were to find herself in trouble, who would she turn to?” Cora said. “Who else might have Red Jenny on hand?”
Mrs Trout’s mouth set in a disapproving line. “That witch up by Frickham Wood — she’s a bad woman, that one, and she helps other bad women. That’s where the girls go. Not to me. I never would. Wicked, that’s what it is. Wicked.”
And her daughters all nodded in agreement.
Mrs Trout had not told them anything unexpected, but it had been a pleasant afternoon and Georgie was a restful companion who saw no necessity to fill every minute with incessant chatter.
Thus Cora was able to allow her thoughts to wander to a certain under-gardener as walked back through the park, settling into a very mellow frame of mind.
As they approached the stables, a horse passed by at great speed, its rider adorned in a familiar habit. Some little while later, a groom followed, having clearly given up the unequal struggle to keep to Augusta’s pace.
“Dear me!” Cora murmured.
Augusta, her cheeks bearing a fine bloom from her fast ride, joined them on the walk from the stables to the house.
“That was too fast, young lady,” Cora said in her severest tones. “I had hoped your stay in town might have instilled a little decorum into you.”
“Oh, pooh! Apollo likes to kick up his heels. He is better than Damsel, anyway. She has only two speeds, slow and stopped. And Cloud… the less said about him the better. Apollo is the first of my hunters, and the first horse I have ever ridden who will truly go when I push him.” She sighed. “He is wonderful!”
“The first of your hunters?” Cora said tentatively.
“Oh yes, for one needs at least half a dozen, and this past year I only had two and neither of them accustomed to side-saddle. But it is all in hand for next season. The duke has promised he will go to Tattersall’s for me. Six hunters, and a curricle and pair.”
“A curricle and pair! Augusta, you cannot drive a curricle, and Richard will never teach you.”
“No, but the duke will.”
“You are mad!” Cora cried. “Six hunters! A curricle! Whatever are you thinking?”
“That I should enjoy it very much, Mama. What is the point of life but to enjoy it? I like riding as fast as I can, I am sure I will like driving, too, so why should I not? And if the duke is happy to fund my horseflesh and all my riding clothes as well, I shall not gainsay him.”
“Because— oh! I forgot to see about your boots. They might be mended by now.”
“Mama, one of the footmen collected them days ago. I told you — did you forget? Goodness, you are getting so muddled these days. Charlotte says you forgot the flowers again.”
“Did I? Oh, dear. Never mind, I am sure Charlotte will take care of it. She is so depressingly efficient these days that no chore is ever left undone, and one need never worry about the house running out of arrowroot or wicks. She leaves the rest of us nothing at all to do.”
“Except the flowers occasionally,” Augusta said with a chuckle, tucking her arm into her mother’s.
But Cora was too contented with life to be offended by this filial reproach, and her mind had soon drifted away to pleasanter thoughts, of Cal and the forthcoming dinner with the Hammonds.