Page 45 of The Gentlewoman Farmer

Talland, Cornwall

15 September 1752

Dear Philip,

Yesterday, I walked into town with my mother, who was greatly in need of sunshine and exercise. How she can sit in her room for hours on end is a mystery to me. However, I don’t mean to complain of my dear Mamma, who is inexhaustible once she begins. Mother insisted we visit the grocer, the draper, the butcher, the fishmonger, and the haberdasher. We entered every shop and purchased almost nothing. While she didn’t find anything she wanted to buy, she did find much to discuss with the ladies in town. She was in a rare mood, but I relished the sight of my quiet, reticent mother gossiping in the street. I’m sure she had enough conversation to last her a great while. She will stay home until the next time I force her out and we repeat the process. The visit to town was a success for me as well. I obtained seed at a very good price and some fine wool fabric in blue to match my eyes.

But I didn’t mean to dwell on my shopping. I wanted to tell you that I found a treasure while walking to town, one that only you would appreciate. Remember when we were looking for the Large Skipper? The butterfly that is brown on top with two or three black spots on each wing? The top is unremarkable, but the underwing is magnificently emerald. The butterfly is, of course, not to be found anywhere near Bramblefields and only rarely in Cornwall, which I did not know at the time of our fruitless search. However, I saw a Large Skipper today, sitting atop a white clover. It was so beautiful, and I wished you could have been with me to draw it and add to our collection. It was a sweet sight, one I would have liked to share with you. It felt like something special. I didn’t try to catch it, but I blew it a kiss and wished it on its way. Perhaps it will fly to you and bring you my love.

Yours always,

Sophia

Chapter 19

16 May 1753

Despite her show of confidence, Agnes wasn’t convinced Mr. Burns was involved in something illegal, but she was certain Philip and Sophia were well-suited, a fact she would never have conceded without Mary’s help. Love was not a subject Agnes understood, but Mary was observant and romantic. She drew Agnes’s attention to Philip and Sophia when their heads were bent together over a book or when they laughed at a joke that they alone understood.

Agnes almost expected them to run through the house with the pink, rounded faces of childhood. Their current behavior was reminiscent of cheerful summers at Bramblefields, and their reunion brought Agnes both a pleasant yearning for her little boy and self-reproach for having caused him so much unhappiness. To see Philip settled with the woman of his heart was her aim. If she aided their union in any way and became the object of his gratitude, so much the better.

Thus, Agnes and Mary went in search of Mr. Smith. After only one overnight stop, they arrived at dinnertime in the town where Mr. Smith received his mail. The two women were not surprised when the carriage stopped in front of an inn that served as a convenient place for residents of the town to collect their post. They were tired, and the day was nearly gone.

“Lovely. I am ready for food.” Travel created hunger in Agnes, and the thrill of sniffing out a possible crime invigorated her spirits. “After we’ve eaten, we can begin inquiries.”

Mary wilted, evidence that Agnes’s enthusiasm did not transfer to her friend.

“Or we can ask our questions while we eat and go straight to bed. It’s late to be wandering about town,” Mary said.

Agnes agreed, congratulating herself on being so thoughtful.

They entered a dark but pleasantly warm and clean dining area, asked to sit near a window, and ordered meat pies. The women dined in silence. Having been shut up with Mary all day, Agnes had nothing more to say.

Besides, the adventure had begun, and she was on high alert. She scanned the room, deciding who best to question about Mr. Smith. The innkeeper and his wife were serving the diners and preparing rooms. They’d not set aside their work for gossip.

At the sound of Mary’s laughter, Agnes turned her attention to the table.

“Agnes, you look like a bird of prey eying a field full of mice.”

“Which of these people should I sink my beak into?” Agnes knew she had a somewhat beaklike nose, and her comment would amuse Mary. “The innkeeper and his wife are always the best informed, but they’re busy.”

“Why not start with the girl who is serving us?” Mary gestured toward the lass who happened to be heading their way.

Agnes seized the opportunity, disregarding the girl’s tray laden with mugs of beer. “What lovely weather we are enjoying. Is it usual for this time of year?”

“Well, ma’am, nothing is usual for springtime. One minute it is fine, and then next it’s a blizzard.” She didn’t struggle under the weight of her tray, so Agnes didn’t mind keeping her.

“You are quite right. Spring is a fickle season. They say we may have every season in one day.”

“Yes, ma’am, and ’tis no different here.”

“How long have you worked here?” Mary asked.

“Just over a year. But it’s good work and close to home.”

This young girl looked toward a table of men and tried to make an escape, but Mrs. Eliot detained her with a question that finally got to the point.

“We are here looking for a friend, a business associate by the name of Mr. Smith. Do you know of him?”