Page 15 of Lady Audacious
‘I’ll stay with you, miss, if you don’t mind, just to make sure that you’re not unduly inconvenienced.’
‘As you like, but I hardly think anyone is likely to accost me in the middle of such a respectable village. Or anywhere at all for that matter.’
As they strolled down the street, Harris acknowledged everyone who crossed his path. A large number of people appeared to go out of their way in order to intercept him, but he didn’t pause to introduce anyone to Odile. Avoiding introductions in the general store was less easily achieved. A small woman with greying hair, presumably the post mistress, bustled forward from behind a counter at the back of the shop, ignoring a small queue of people waiting to be served.
‘Good morning, Mr Harris,’ she said, her face wreathed in smiles. ‘I take it this is the lady whom we have heard about who is now residing at Fox’s Reach.’ She gave Odile’s person an appraising once over and looked a little taken aback by her plain style.
‘Miss Aspen, this is Mrs Wainwright,’ was all Harris said. But it was enough to set Mrs Wainwright off, guaranteeing Odile the attention of everyone else in the shop, including the ladies who were still queueing for service, who turned to listen with avid interest and one or two glances of mild irritation.
‘Good morning, Mrs Wainwright,’ she said in a pleasant tone. ‘I have a letter to post but I am more than ready to wait my turn.’
‘You are very young.’ Mrs Wainwright peered at Odile’s face, making her statement sound like an accusation. ‘I dare say your parent or guardian will be joining you directly.’
‘I expect so,’ Odile replied, refusing to give way to the collective curiosity of the villagers. They would discover her circumstances soon enough.
‘Let me attend to your letter. I am sure you have a great many things to do and these other ladies will not mind if I offer you priority.’ She almost snatched the letter from Odile’s hand when she withdrew it from her reticule. ‘Ah, your lawyer in London, one imagines. Mr Sandwell. I do not know the name.’
The rest of the ladies in the queue shook their heads like a row of puppets. Odile resisted the urge to enquire why any of them felt they should be acquainted with Mr Sandwell. She adjured herself to adjust to village life, aware that gossip was the lifeblood and everyone’s business was everyone else’s. ‘Thank you. You are very thoughtful.’
‘That will be eightpence, I’m afraid. The postal rates have risen quite shockingly, but there is nothing I can do about that.’
‘It’s perfectly all right, Mrs Wainwright.’ Odile produced the required sum from her reticule and bade the ladies a brisk good morning before they could plague her with more intrusive questions.
She left the shop, feeling amused when she glanced back and saw the queue of ladies, heads together, no doubt indulging in wild speculation about her manner of dress and circumstances. She didn’t doubt for a moment that she was a grave disappointment, with little to interest them, at least outwardly.
‘You’ll get used to it,’ Harris told her as they walked away. ‘They’re harmless enough, but they do enjoy a good gossip.’ He nodded towards the church, its spire standing century over the street at its furthest end. ‘Prepare yourself for a visit from the vicar’s wife.’
‘I am in no position to receive visitors.’
‘Mrs Rashford will insist. She is the biggest gossip of them all but since she is married to a man of the cloth, everyone makes allowances for her. I would advise against offending her, since she could poison the minds of the entire village if she takes against you.’
‘I will take your advice.’ She chuckled. ‘I have already given the ladies in the store enough to talk about.’
The merchandise on offer in the general store, what little she had seen of it, was a treasure trove that cried out to be investigated, a treat she had never been able to indulge in before given her shortage of funds. They appeared to stock everything from mousetraps to shovels, flour and corn to baked delicacies and the clothing Harris had told her about. She would call back again, perhaps later that day after they had visited the haberdashery.
Odile’s greeting in that establishment was only slightly less bold. The owner, a Mrs Glossop, was able to supply Odile with two rather fetching yet practical day gowns, one in red check and the other in green stripes. They were much finer and more fashionable than anything she had ever worn before, and the fact that they fitted her well gave her confidence a much-needed boost. She glanced in the long glass and barely recognised the young woman who stared back at her with fierce determination.
She pored over fabrics and designs while Harris took himself off to consult with men regarding repairs to the roof and chimneys. Odile ordered two more gowns to be made for her—a real extravagance—but couldn’t be persuaded to order an evening gown. She wasn’t in a position to entertain, had no desire to do so and no one to invite even if she did feel tempted. She thought it exceedingly unlikely that any invitations would come her way, and refused to consider any additional expenditure. She did however buy new petticoats, shawls and a few other necessities. By the time Harris returned, her purchases had been parcelled up and paid for and Harris carried them back to the mews.
After that, she returned to the general store and purchased some good quality lads’ clothing, including footwear. She resisted the urge to explore the selection of books on offer. That could wait until she was at leisure to linger. Already the morning was almost gone.
‘It will be all over the village now that I have a brother—or worse,’ she said to Harris with a wry smile.
‘Let them think what they like.’
Odile allowed Harris to introduce her at all the major shops and set up accounts as appropriate. She even surprised the landlord at the Portcullis by insisting upon paying up for a quarter’s rental of the curricle and Patrick in advance.
‘Wish all my customers were so obliging, ma’am,’ he said, tugging his forelock as he accepted her money and gave her a receipt.
‘Right, Harris,’ she said as she climbed back into the curricle. ‘I think we have done more than enough and can safely return home now.’
‘Tongues will be a-wagging, right enough,’ Harris agreed, encouraging Patrick forward with a sharp slap of the reins against the horse’s broad rump.
‘They would be worn out if they knew the boys’ clothing was for me,’ she said chuckling.
Harris, far from being shocked by the admission, simply nodded. ‘Thought it might be,’ he said.
‘I intend to help with the heavy work, especially in the gardens. I adore gardens, you see, and I think I have an affinity with them.’ She frowned, wondering how she could possibly know. ‘I certainly intend to find out.’
