I’ll Bring You Buttercups. Elizabeth Elgin

Tilda, he was a doctor, that’s all, and he said she wasn’t badly hurt, though she’d likely have a headache in the morning, and a black eye – which she did.

      ‘Still, Miss Julia knows now not to go telling policemen off in a hobble skirt. We went on the Underground railway, an’ all.’ Talk about other things. ‘Imagine – trains hurtling about, underneath London. You could be walking down Oxford Street, and for all you knew there could be a rushing train beneath your feet.’

      ‘If you ask me, Hyde Park is near where they have meetings. Speakers Corner, I believe they call it,’ Mrs Shaw, offered. ‘I did once hear there was a raving lunatic there, saying all manner of things about the King – King Edward, God rest him – and as how the monarchy was all lazy and overfed and should be deported to Australia and the money they cost us given to the poor.’

      ‘I believe London folk go to Speakers Corner just for fun,’ Alice nodded. ‘Seems you can say almost what you want there, and get away with it.’

      ‘’Cept if you’re one of them suffragette women. Illegal those meetings are now, and so they should be – women making a show of themselves in public. Ought to be ashamed of themselves.’

      ‘Ashamed,’ Alice echoed, eyes on her plate. ‘But we didn’t see any of them. And we didn’t see the King nor the Queen, neither, though we saw their palace.’

      ‘What’s it like?’

      ‘Big, but not half as nice as Rowangarth – well, not from the front.’ Alice held out her plate as Mrs Shaw dispensed seed cake. ‘Though I heard it said they’ve got a garden at the back.’

      ‘You should’ve put raw steak on that eye,’ Tilda grumbled. ‘And on her forehead.’

      ‘Was no need to go wasting good beef,’ Alice declared firmly. ‘Not for a bump, and that’s all it was. Gracious me, folk go falling over every minute of the day and it doesn’t warrant a fuss. And don’t be embarrassing Miss Julia by staring at her, Tilda. Nobody bothered about it in London; never gave her a second glance.’

      She wished she wouldn’t keep on about Miss Julia’s eye. But crafty as a cartload of monkeys, that kitchenmaid was, and all the while letting folk think she was gormless.

      ‘I did see one or two skirts down there just like your new one, Mrs Shaw.’ Deftly, Alice changed the subject. ‘Very nice, they looked. Ladies were wearing them with a pretty blouse with full sleeves and a brooch at the neck. And a flat straw hat, with ribbons.’

      ‘Hm. Might get myself a bit of material, now you mention it.’ Mrs Shaw had a brooch, too, that had been her mother’s. ‘How many yards for a blouse, Alice, would you say?’

      ‘Two and a half, if you want full sleeves. And as for those hobble skirts – well everybody’s wearing them in London. Tight as a sausage skin they are, and ladies having to take little short steps in them, and as for climbing the steps of a motor bus – make you laugh, it would …’

      ‘I don’t suppose you went to the theatre?’ Mrs Shaw indicated with her eyebrows that Alice might be allowed another slice of cake. ‘Or the music hall?’

      ‘Sadly, no.’ Alice refused more cake. All she wanted was for teatime to be finished and herself putting away Miss Julia’s clothes and for the slow-moving minutes to be quickly spent so she might the sooner be with Tom. ‘Women – young ladies of Miss Julia’s standing, can’t go to music halls without a gentleman – not even in London. But a lady can go sight-seeing or shopping with a servant with her, or a companion. Miss Julia went shopping quite a lot. My, but you should see the London shops. Swanky, they are. Great big places you could get yourself lost in, and the windows all set out with dummies with clothes on them; it’s an entertainment in itself, is looking at shop windows. I used to stare at those dummies – so lifelike it wouldn’t have surprised me if one of them hadn’t winked at me.

      ‘But will you be wanting any help tonight, Mrs Shaw? I’ve almost finished the unpacking and there’s nothing in the sewing-room that won’t wait till morning.’ She rose from the table, asking to be excused. ‘If you’re short-handed …?’

      ‘Nay, lass. You’ll be tired after your long journey, and I’ve only got milady and Miss Julia for dinner tonight, so we’ll manage.’

      ‘Then Mr Giles wants me to take Morgan for a run, if that’s all right with you.’

      ‘All right with me, but best you mention it to Miss Clitherow.’

      ‘I will,’ she whispered through a sigh of relief. ‘I’ll mention it now.’

      Eight o’clock tonight, and she would be hurrying as fast as might be to Brattocks Wood. Or perhaps to the rearing field, or maybe he’d be waiting at the parkland fence? Two whole weeks it had been and oh, how she loved him, needed him. And how very sorry she felt for Miss Julia.

      Reuben was digging in his garden when Alice passed.

      ‘Evenin’, lass,’ he called, jamming his spade into the earth, straightening his back. ‘How was London, then?’

      ‘Oh, you’d never believe! Wonderful, that’s what!’ And wonderful to be back, did you but know it, Cousin Reuben. ‘I’ll look in tomorrow, and tell you about it.’

      ‘Aye. And if Tom isn’t at the coops he’ll be doing the rounds in Brattocks …’

      ‘Thanks!’ She gave him her most rewarding smile without even trying to pretend she wasn’t in the least bit interested in the whereabouts of the under-keeper. ‘C’mon, Morgan.’

      The rearing field was deserted, the coops already shuttered for the night. Alice stood at the gate, calling softly, but there was no answering whistle.

      She walked on, slipping the spaniel’s lead when they came to the big pasture, watching him bounce off, sniffing, snuffling, yelping happily. At the lane end she climbed the fence, taking the path into Brattocks Wood, calling again as she went, a little apprehensive in the deep, dim greenness.

      ‘Tom? Tom Dwerryhouse?’

      She heard his whistle, long and low, and ran to the sound, laughing. He was standing beside the old oak; the one with the propped-up branches people hereabouts said was as old, almost, as Rowangarth. Then she stopped her running and walked slowly, the more to spin out the delicious seconds, watching as he laid his gun on the grass at his feet.

      ‘Tom!’ She was in his arms, loving the closeness of him, wondering how she had endured so long away from him.

      They held each other tightly, not speaking, glad to be together; touching, loving, their days apart forgotten.

      ‘I missed you, Alice Hawthorn.’ His voice was low as he tilted her chin with his forefinger. ‘Don’t ever leave me again.’

      ‘I won’t. I missed you, too.’

      ‘Even among those grand London folk?’

      ‘Especially among those London folk,’ she whispered, ‘because not one of them was you.’ She closed her eyes and parted her lips, wanting him to kiss her, but he twined her fingers in his own and tucked her arm in his and walked her deeper into the wood, teasing her, teasing himself, wanting her as much as she wanted him.

      ‘Was it a good holiday, then? Is London all it’s cracked up to be?’

      ‘It is, and more. Parks and green places, and people everywhere. And cabs and motors making such a din. And you should see those big shops and oh, the fashions. Such clothes, Tom, and ladies so elegant with their fine hats and parasols.’

      ‘But you wouldn’t live there, Alice? You wouldn’t take a position in London and start getting grand ideas? I couldn’t imagine you carrying a parasol, giving yourself airs. Not my buttercup girl. I don’t want her to change.’

      ‘Nor shall she.’ She smiled into his eyes. ‘Well, not if you were to tell her you