11 The Losseter Pool #2
Eventually, it was time for Master Claud to retire for the evening and the Hammonds disappeared for the all-important ceremony of tucking him into his crib with a lullaby or two.
“What a charming family,” Cal said to Cora, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his legs.
“It brings back memories of when mine were tiny,” Cora said.
He smiled. “Good memories?”
“Mostly,” she said. “Having a troop of nursery maids relieves a great deal of the inconvenience of small children.”
That made him smile even more. “I can imagine. I never particularly wanted children of my own. I like them well enough when they’re a little older, still young enough to be excited by the wonder of the world, and not yet jaded and made cynical by its hardships, but babies aren’t interesting to me.”
“Oh, other people’s babies are dreadfully dull, but one’s own are endlessly fascinating, the most well grown, stout-hearted and handsome babies ever seen, and the cleverest in the parish, naturally.”
“Naturally,” he said, eyes twinkling in a way that had her stomach performing its customary somersaults with even more energy than usual.
“By the way, I’m going over to Frickham Wood tomorrow to do some more exploring.
Would you like to come? It’s a fair step but I can borrow a gig to get us to the High Frickham end.
Less walking for you that way. We could take a bite to eat and make a day of it. What do you say?”
“I should like that very much,” she said, without a second’s hesitation. Did she have anything else she was supposed to do? She could not remember, and what did it matter anyway, when she could be with Cal? Of course she would go! Wild horses would not prevent her.
On the other hand, her children might, if they caught wind of it. She would just have to make sure they knew nothing about it until after the event.
***
Cal was surprised to be told that Cora would meet him at the stables. He had expected to collect her at the front door, like the lady she was, but she had laughed, shaking her head.
“Questions might be asked if I am seen leaving with you, and that would be annoying.”
He had not quibbled, but it unsettled him that she felt the need to keep the outing secret.
Was it wrong for a man and a woman, unrelated and unmarried but of mature years, to spend a day alone together?
Surely at her age, Cora need not be chaperoned like a girl just out of the schoolroom.
Even a young widow might hesitate, but once a woman reaches the wrong side of fifty, she must surely be free to come and go as she pleases, and keep such company as her own wishes dictate.
So his rational mind argued, but he was not sure he was entirely rational where Cora was concerned.
The grooms were still hitching the horse to the vehicle when she arrived, sensibly dressed in a round gown free of extraneous decoration, a neat spencer and with a sturdy cloak over one arm.
“Oh, the dogcart,” she said, laughing. “I have not been in one of these for years. There was a time when I was a young bride and liked to follow the gunmen about, but I soon gave it up.”
“There wasn’t a gig available, and I’m not up to driving a curricle or phaeton,” he said, smiling back at her. “I hope you won’t consider it beneath your dignity.”
For answer she wrapped her cloak around her and sprang lightly into the front seat. As if in approval, the sun emerged from behind a cloud and bathed her in a golden glow. It seemed auspicious to Cal’s prejudiced eye.
The dogcart, and the gentle beast pulling it, ambled steadily through the Brinshire countryside.
The warmth of May had brought the hedgerows to life, and the wheels of the cart brushed against great clouds of cow parsley, buttercups, vetches and sedges, and any number of small, secretive plants that they drove by too fast to identify.
Above them, the sky was aflutter with birds busily feeding their young, and more than once their rattling progress startled a host of finches into flight.
Far away, he heard a skylark’s sweet song, and in nearby woods, the cuckoo’s plaintive call.
Sometimes he mentioned these things to Cora, but she seemed content to sit quietly and watch the fields and streams and hamlets pass by, so he followed her lead and let the drive pass in companionable silence. He did not want the day to become a long lecture on natural history.
Only once did she volunteer an observation of her own. Passing a small cottage, she suddenly inhaled deeply, then murmured, “Ah, honeysuckle! Such a wonderful scent.”
At the tiny village of High Frickham, with its church and single row of cottages, they left the dogcart at the sole inn and set out for the woods, Cal carrying the large bag which contained, he hoped, everything they would need for a restful day amongst the trees.
He had never come this way before, but the stream he had seen on the map was soon found, and from there it was easy.
“This stream is the one that runs all the way down to Staineybank,” he said.
“This tiny little thing? How do you know?”
“Maps are a wonderful invention.”
“So we could follow it, and walk all the way home?”
“We could do, I suppose, but it’s close to ten miles, I reckon. There’s a good place we can set up camp, then I’ll wander about for a bit and take some notes on the trees and such like. Then we’ll have a bite to eat, walk back to the inn and drive home.”
“That sounds very pleasant,” she said.
He hoped she was right, but there was another reason for his invitation, besides the enjoyment of her company for a whole day.
He was beginning to fret over their friendship.
What had begun, and still seemed to be, in many ways, a straightforward, undemanding fellowship between two people no longer young had changed.
He could even date the very moment of the change, when she had fallen at his feet, he had leaned down to help her and she had kissed him.
‘Cal, I love you,’ she had said, and her words burned in his mind just as her kiss burned on his lips.
She had been barely conscious and hardly knew what she was saying, and since then, she had given him no sign of such feelings.
No words of love, no kiss, nothing to suggest any affection beyond friendship.
What did she want of him? Marriage? Or was she merely playing a game, amusing herself to liven up a dull life?
Perhaps she would tire of it, and soon he would be left alone, with just a few memories to warm his declining years, like the remembrance of a sunny day in childhood.
On the other hand, if she wanted more… more kisses, more everything… this day in the woods should give him some indication.
If only he dared to ask her! If they were truly friends, if they were social equals, if he had the courage…
but then she might laugh at his presumption.
‘Fall in love with a gardener? You forget yourself, Mr Garford!’ Or worse, she might be kind, and speak in gentle tones of self-reproach.
‘Oh no, no, I fear you have mistaken me, Cal. I am so sorry if I gave you the impression I felt some greater affection for you than an interest in your knowledge of the woods.’ But he did not dare to ask, and so he must bide his time and wait for a clear sign.
It was no more than a mile in when they came to the pool, a place where the stream suddenly expanded, with a grassy clearing on one side and on the other, a carpet of bluebells beneath ancient oak and willow trees.
“Oh, how lovely!” she cried. “What an idyllic spot.”
“Isn’t it? I found it a few days ago from the other direction, and I thought of you at once. The Losseter Pool, it is shown as on the maps.”
“Losseter? That is the title the duke’s eldest son assumes, as the heir apparent. I wonder why? Perhaps it was tradition for the heir to bring a future bride here to propose.”
“Or after the wedding, perhaps. There’s a ruined cottage just a hundred yards or so that way, and a track on the map which connected it to the road.
Long since lost to the jungle, of course.
A wonderful place for a honeymoon. There’s a fallen tree over there where you can sit.
I’ve brought a rug to soften it a bit. I’ll just get the fire going and set up my fishing line, then I’ll do some surveying. ”
It was indeed an idyllic spot, and the day was idyllic, too.
Sunny and warm, but not too hot and just enough of a gentle breeze to rustle the trees a little.
He caught a small fish and baked it on the fire, and they ate it all, tossing pieces of hot flesh from hand to hand.
He had pies and hard-boiled eggs and chicken legs and apples, and he made tea for her to drink, although he had forgotten the teapot and had to make it in the cup.
“You brought my teacup and saucer all this way?” she said, laughing. “What a crazy man you are!”
“I wanted you to enjoy the day,” he said simply.
“And I have… I am still enjoying it. It has been perfect,” she said with a sigh of contentment.
Yet despite its perfections, there was no moment of revelation, no declaration of love, no kiss. It was a truly wonderful day which he would remember for the rest of his life, but all his questions remained unanswered.