It had followed him.
For years that little blackbird had nested with his mate in the Hawthorn hedges that encircled the near meadow, fledged a dozen or so until time took him. But whenever Ernest was up on that roof, he would come visit.
Grampy Tom listed a little and Ernest took his elbow.
“You loved tha bird and so set him free.” Grampy Tom patted his arm. “But he loved thee, my lad, and so he stayed.”
“I hope so. And love is the sole reason Hebe must want to stay, accepting all the trepidation and risk that goes with it. To realise that love is not a prison but freedom.”
Of course the flaw in such a plan was that Hebe might just twitter her thanks and soar off into the sunset, leaving him bereft and wretched.
“Thee are a good man, Lord Ernest, so don’t thee worry none.” A pipe stem was shoved into his gizzards. “Now, come tarry with an old man awhile.”
Ernest endeavoured a nod, but as the carriage taking his beloved from him was swallowed by the line of beech trees, he couldn’t help but think that perchance he was a foolish man as well.
32
A WATCHED SUNDIAL NEVER MOVES
The Rothwell carriage felt as though it were wading through mud as it lumbered down the dry and dusty track but it mattered not to Beatrice, who’d paid the coachman three shillings to take his time.
She pretended to read her book but the mutterings from her dearest niece would disturb even the most avid reader.
And in truth, Beatrice disliked reading – unless it was salacious.
“Why can I smell fresh mint everywhere?” her niece enquired with a disgruntled expression.
Beatrice stuck her nose further into the book. “It’s the hazel crown of flowers hanging from the night lantern behind you. A parting gift from his lordship, I believe.” And she turned a page, as though engrossed.
Then surreptitiously righted her book as she realised it was upside down.
Gazing from beneath her lashes, Beatrice watched her niece snatch the crown from the lantern and touch the leaves with reverent fingers – water mint, ivy, meadowsweet and–
“I wonder what red carnations signify in flower lore?”
“True love, dear.”
Honestly. It was wasted on the young.
Further mutterings ensued from her niece.
Beatrice pursed her lips. Waited. More muttering.
“Is something wrong, dearest?” she at length enquired with all the innocence she could muster.
“I… I’m scared, Aunt.”
At last.
She smiled. Put the book down. “I know you are. Is that why we are leaving?”
Her niece closed her eyes as though the light pained her. “I-I thought I needed time away from this bewitching place. I thought to protect my heart and his also. I thought to contemplate whether I was capable of love. Of loving Ernest.”
In answer, Beatrice merely hoisted a brow and Hebe’s eyes snapped open.
“But do you know, Aunt, after only this short distance – although we seem to be travelling very slowly – I’ve realised something.”
“What’s that, dear?”
