White Lilac; or the Queen of the May - Amy Walton (mystery books to read TXT) 📗

would they do, she went on to think, if she left the butter to Bella and Agnetta to manage between them? What would her aunt say then?

Trembling with indignation she sat down on her bed and buried her face in her hands. At first she was too angry to cry, but soon she felt so lonely, with such a great longing for a word of comfort and kindness, that the tears came fast. After that she felt a little better, rubbed her eyes on her pinafore, and looked up at the small window through which there streamed some bright rays of the afternoon sun. What was it that lighted the room with such a glory? Not the sunshine alone. It rested on something in the window, which stood out in gorgeous splendour from the white bareness of its surroundings--the cactus had bloomed! Yes, the cactus had really burst into two blossoms, of such size and brilliancy that with the sunlight upon them they were positively dazzling to behold. Lilac sat and blinked her red eyes at them in admiration and wonder. She had watched the two buds with tender interest, and feared they would never unfold themselves. Now they had done it, and how beautiful they were! How Mother would have liked them!

Her next thought was, as she went closer to examine them, that she must tell Peter. She remembered now, that, occupied with her own affairs and interests, she had never thanked him for two kind things he had done. She was quite sure that he had got the flowers for her on May Day, and had brought the cactus down from the cottage, yet she had said nothing. How ungrateful she had been! She knew now how hard it was not to be thanked for one's services. Did Peter mind? He must be pretty well used to it, for certainly no one ever thanked him for anything, and as for praise that was out of the question. If, as Uncle Joshua had said, he was the prop of the house, it was taken for granted, and no one thought of saying, "Well done, Peter!"

Yet he never complained. He went patiently on in his dull way, keeping his pains and troubles to himself. How seldom his face was brightened by pleasure, and yet Lilac remembered when he had been talking to her about his animals or farming matters, that she had seen it change wonderfully. Some inner feeling had beamed out from it, and for a few minutes Peter was a different creature. It was a pity that he did not always look like that; no one at such times could call him stupid or ugly. "Anyway," concluded Lilac, "he's been kind, and I'll thank him as soon as ever I can."

Her sympathy for Peter made her own trouble seem less, and she went downstairs cheerfully with her mind bent on managing a little talk with him as soon as possible. Supper-time would not do, because Bella and Agnetta were there, and afterwards Peter was so sleepy. It must be to-morrow. As it happened things turned out fortunately for Lilac, and required no effort on her part, for Mrs Greenways discovered the next day that someone must do some shopping in Lenham. There were things wanted that Dimbleby did not keep, and the choice of which could not be trusted to a man.

"I wonder," she said, "if I could make shift to get into the cart--but if I did I couldn't never get in and out at the shops."

She looked appealingly at her elder daughter.

"The cart's _going_ in with the butter," she added.

But Bella was not inclined to take the hint.

"You don't catch me driving into Lenham with the cart full of butter and eggs and such," she said. "Whatever'd Charlie say? Why shouldn't Lilac go? She's sharp enough."

There seemed no reason against this, and it was accordingly settled that Lilac should be entrusted with Mrs Greenways' commissions. As she received them, her mind was so full of the dazzling prospect of driving into Lenham with the butter that it was almost impossible to bring it to bear on anything else. It would be like going into the world. Only once in her whole life had she been there before, and that was when her mother had taken her long ago. She was quite a little child then, but she remembered the look of it still, and what a grand place she had thought it, with its broad market square and shops and so many people about.

When her aunt had finished her list, which was a very long one, Bella was ready with her wants, which were even more puzzling.

"I want this ribbon matched," she said, "and I want a bonnet shape. It mustn't be too high in the crown nor yet too broad in the brim, and it mustn't be like the one Charlotte Smith's got now. If you can't match the ribbon exactly you must get me another shade. A kind of a sap green, I think--but it must be something uncommon. And you might ask at Jones's what's being worn in hats now--feathers or artificials. Oh, and I want some cream lace, not more than sixpence a yard, a good striking pattern, and as deep as you can get for the money." Agnetta having added to this two ounces of coconut rock and a threepenny bottle of scent, Lilac was allowed to get ready for her expedition. The cart was waiting in the yard with the baskets packed in at the back, and Ben was buckling the last strap of the harness. She expected that he was going with her, and it was quite a pleasant surprise when Peter came out of the house with a whip in his hand and took the reins. Nothing could have happened more fortunately, she thought to herself as they drove out of the gate, for now there would be no difficulty at all in saying what she had on her mind. This and the excitement of the journey itself put her in excellent spirits, so that though some people might have called the road to Lenham dull and flat, it was full of charms to Lilac. It was indeed more lively than usual, for it was market day, and as they jogged along at an easy pace they were constantly greeted by acquaintances all bent in the same direction. Some of these were on foot and others in all kinds of vehicles, from a wagon to a donkey cart. Mr Buckle presently dashed by them in a smart gig, and called out, "How's yourself, Peter?" as he passed; and farther on they overtook Mrs Pinhorn actively striding along in her well-known checked shawl.

Peter answered all greetings in the same manner--a wag of the head towards the right shoulder--but Lilac felt so proud and pleased to be going to Lenham with her own butter that she sat up very straight, and smiled and nodded heartily to those she knew. It seemed a wonderfully short journey, and she saw the spire of Lenham church in the distance before she had said one word to Peter, or he had broken silence except to speak to his horse. This did not disturb her, for she was used to his ways now, and she made up her mind that she would put off any attempt at conversation until their return. And here they were at Lenham, rattling over the round stones with which the marketplace was paved. It was full of stalls, crowded together so closely that there was scarcely room for all the people passing up and down between them. They struggled along, jostling each other, pushing their way with great baskets on their arms, and making a confusion of noises. Scolding, laughter, shouting filled the air, mixed up with the clatter of crockery, cracking of whips, and the shrill cries of the market women. Such a turmoil Lilac had never heard, and it was almost a relief when Peter turned a little away from it and drew up at the door of Benson's shop, where the butter was to be left. It was a large and important shop, and though the entrance was down a narrow street it had two great windows facing the market square, and there was a constant stream of people bustling in and out. Lilac's heart beat fast with excitement. If she had known that the butter was to be displayed in such a grand beautiful place as this, and seen by so many folks, she would hardly have dared to undertake it. Sudden fear seized her that it might not be so good as usual this time: there was perhaps some fault in the making-up, some failure in the colour, although she had thought it looked all right when she packed up at the farm. She followed Peter into the shop with quite a tremor, and was glad when she saw Mr Benson could not attend to them just yet, for he and his boy were both deeply engaged in attending to customers. Lilac had plenty of time to look round her. Her eye immediately fell on some rolls of butter on the counter, and she lifted a corner of the cloth which covered her own and gave an anxious peep at it, then nudged Peter and looked up at him for sympathy.

"It's a better colour nor that yonder," she whispered.

Peter stood stolidly unconscious of her excitement, but he turned his quiet eyes upon the eager face lifted to his, and nodded kindly. Mr Benson caught sight of him and bustled up.

"Morning, Peter," he said briskly. "How's your mother?"

"Middling, thank you," said Peter, and without any further words he pointed at the basket on the counter.

"Butter--eh?" said the grocer. "Well, I hope it's as good as the last." He unpacked the basket and proceeded to weigh the butter, talking all the time.

"It's an odd thing to me how your butter varies. Now, the last month it's been as good again as it used to be. Of course in the winter there will be a difference because of the feed, I can understand that; but I can't see why it shouldn't be always the same in the summer. I don't mind telling you," he continued, leaning forward and speaking in a confidential tone, "that I'd made up my mind at one time to give it up. People won't buy inferior butter, and I don't blame 'em."

"It's good this time, anyhow," said Peter.

"It's prime," said Mr Benson. "Is it the cows now, that you've got new, or is it the dairymaid?"

"The cows isn't new, nor yet the dairymaid," said Peter.

"Well, whichever it is," said the grocer, "the credit of the farm's coming back. Orchards Farm always had a name for its dairy in the old days. I remember my father talking of it when I was a boy."

Mrs Pinhorn, who had been standing near during this conversation, now struck sharply in:

"They _do_ say there was a brownie at the farm in those days, but when it got into other hands he was angered and quitted."

"That's a curious superstition, ma'am," said the grocer politely.

"There's folks in Danecross who give credit to it still," continued Mrs Pinhorn. "Old Grannie Dunch'll tell you ever