“I understand you arrange Miss Fitzjohn’s hair as well?”
“Sometimes.” Rosa sighed. “Though she usually insists on wearing it very plainly.”
“I appreciate your offer. Though please remember this is a gathering in a mill barn, not a presentation at court.”
The lady’s maid giggled, and Anne liked that the younger woman laughed at her little jokes.
Rosa began by removing the pins and brushing out Anne’s long, light-brown hair. Then she twisted and pinned it high on Anne’s head, leaving out strands on each side of her faceto curl with a hot iron, which she would heat in Lady Celia’s dressing room as there was no fire in this one.
“What are you going to wear?” Rosa asked.
“I’m not sure. When I packed to come to Painswick, I expected to be tucked up in Miss Lotty’s spare room, not attending a party. I have two dresses appropriate for church and a few simple day dresses. I did bring one nicer evening dress, in case Miss Lotty invited guests for dinner, but I left that at Yew Cottage.”
“Let’s see the others.”
Anne obliged.
As Rosa looked through her few gowns, she said, “I think you’re right, you do not want to be overdressed for such a gathering. I think this one will do nicely. The color will bring out the green in your hazel eyes.”
With Rosa’s help, Anne changed into a simple gown of light-green muslin, adding a belt but exchanging the white fichu Anne would have worn during the day for a strand of beads instead.
Rosa then brought in the hot iron and curled the hair on each side of Anne’s face into ringlets. As she did, she said, “By the way, Dr. Finch is planning to stop by to escort you. Probably not wise to walk down to the mills by yourself after dark, at least not on a night when men will be imbibing and perhaps get ideas.”
“Oh? That is kind of him.” Anne wondered when and why Dr. Finch had told Rosa his plans. She studied Rosa’s reaction to see if she minded. If she did, her pretty face gave no sign.
Rosa stepped back and surveyed Anne head to hem. “Lovely. And a shawl, I think. It will get cool when the sun goes down.”
A short while later, Rosa walked with her downstairs. Ernest Finch was just arriving.
“Ah, Ros—Miss Stark. And Miss Loveday, I thought I’dwalk with you to Mr. Palling’s barn, if that’s all right with you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“You look lovely.”
“Th-thank you. Rosa helped me.”
The doctor was undeniably handsome, dressed in a rich green frock coat with a patterned waistcoat peeking out and a simply tied cravat. With his fair coloring, he looked even more dashing than he would have in dark evening attire.
Then Anne noticed him exchange a look with the lady’s maid and felt a pinch of disquiet.
She managed a smile and thanked Rosa for her assistance, then the two left the house together. Dr. Finch, she noticed, did not offer his arm. Was he aware of Rosa’s watchful gaze upon them? Anne was quite certain Rosa must be the young woman who went to his house at odd hours. If the two were in a relationship of some sort, why was he seeking out Anne? She had a difficult time believing he would betray either of them. Or perhaps, she simply did not wish to believe it.
They started down Hale Lane and made their way toward the Painswick stream, following much the same path they had taken the day they’d been called on to assist the injured man.
As they approached the mill barn, light from many lanterns spilled from its open doors, like a beacon guiding their way. Cheerful music from fiddle, fife, dulcimer, and tabour drew them inside.
A crowd had already gathered, clapping to the lively music. A few couples paired off in two-hand clasps, turning round and round in an energetic dance.
Mr. Palling welcomed them. Joe Webb and his wife came over to greet them as well.
Mr. Palling offered them glasses of cider or ale, along withsquab pie, Double Gloucester cheese, and crusty bread, all arrayed on a long table against one wall.
They each accepted a glass and stood to the side, two people out of their element in unfamiliar surroundings.
One old man had apparently drunk too much cider or ale already. He weaved his way through the crowd toward Albert Palling, a few of his cronies trailing behind.
“I saw me the ghost t’other night, Mr. Palling—the ghost o’ King Charles. In the graveyard I were, missin’ my Helen, so I had a bottle with me for comfort. I musta fell asleep out there, restin’ my back on poor Helen’s grave, for when I woke, the bottle were empty and the moon above me ... full. That’s when I seen him coming down the path, with his long hair and beard and flowin’ royal robe. Or maybe I were still asleep and only dreamin’, and if so, you, Mr. Palling, was in my dream. You gave the king a kiss, you did, right there ’neath the weddin’ tree. Kiss of fealty, I’m sure. I imply naught improper. Were it a dream, Mr. Palling? Or were you really there?”
