The Purpose of Miss Shepley

Chapter Ten (part II)

Daylight faded, and Oakhurst glowed, lawn and leaf and limb, in the sun's last golden rays. The maids dressed me in my pink linen, layering on new-ironed skirts deliberately and precisely, though their attentions were stolen again and again by the changing sky.

"Ach, look at that color..." Miss Ward almost pressed herself against the windows, peering up at clouds ablaze while Mrs. Burke pulled the frock over my arms.

Mrs. Burke cast a glance over her shoulder. "The pink or the purple?"

"The one in between. I don't know what to call it. And that orange... Like flames!" A pang of longing creased Miss Ward's brow. "Ach, can't you just imagine it in silk?"

Mrs. Burke looked again, frowning at first, but quickly melting. "Oh, that'd suit her nicely," she said, with a sigh.

As she fastened the last button, her eyes lit up bright as the sky. "Oh, we can put the ribbon in her hair, now."

I had to laugh. "Really, I'm like a doll to you, aren't I?"

She said, "Nonsense, child. It's my duty," but she did smile so while she tied the ribbon.

She tutted and tucked a curl behind my ear, then she pulled a creamy white shawl from one of the wardrobes and handed it to Miss Ward, saying, "This one."

I was rather proud of that shawl. I'd made it entirely myself, rearing the lamb, combing the wool, spinning the yarn and knitting it into airy lace... But it was, I thought, perhaps a bit too airy for an evening out of doors in the Good Breeze of the Foothills.

I pointed to the wardrobe, shaking my head. "I think my black hap, instead." I had made the black hap sheep to shawl, as well, and really, I was no less proud of it.

Mrs. Burke closed the wardrobe, muttering, "Well, if you want to look like a farmer's wife..."

I took that as a recommendation against the black hap.

Miss Ward giggled up at me, wrinkling her nose. "Maybe if you get cold, Lord Oakhurst will loan you his coat." She met eyes with Mrs. Burke, who swatted at her rump, though she smirked and snickered.

I snorted, despite all -- I had no doubt he would.

Miss Ward draped the shawl over my shoulders, tucking in the ends ever so daintily, and then the maids crowded round the mirror, smoothing their skirts and their hair and pinching their cheeks.

Presentable at last, we walked down to the bonfire all together -- the Grimmonds had decided on the east grounds, after all.

An arbor served as the entrance. It was a broad thing, with woody vines twining up each of its posts and great golden roses, fat and fragrant and heavy, hanging down between green leaves like apples. Earnest had stationed himself beneath it already, along with Temperance and a small mountain of barrels.

Temperance produced a pewter goblet from some recess between the barrels, and Earnest filled it with pale cider, passing it to me with a grin. "Glad Midsummer, Miss Shepley," he said, quickly, fretfully, adding, "I do hope you'll enjoy it."

"Thank you, Oakhurst." I took the cup. "I'm sure I shall."

He waved to a barrel then, insisting, "Now, sit! Sit!"

I sat, sipping at the cider and filling my nose with the warm perfume of roses on the breeze while Earnest worked, tapping cask after cask, laughing and licking his fingers.

Oakhurst's tenants and villagers trickled already trickled in, carrying their dinners in baskets and babes in their arms. They were a cheerful folk, glad-eyed and smiling, and Earnest greeted them warmly, each man, woman, and child, filling up their mugs or bowls or whatever they'd brought while Temperance cooed over babies and praised their varying attempts at finery. Every last one toasted the health of Lord Oakhurst, swearing it was a fine cider -- the finest in many a year! Earnest winked at me and whispered, "They say that every year," but it was a very fine cider, indeed.