The White Riband Part 6

Chapter XI

IN WHICH LOVEDAY ATTENDS THE FLORA

The eighth of May dawned fair and clear, and from early morning the young men and maidservants of Bugletown, who had Spent the past week cleaning and polis.h.i.+ng the houses, streamed out into the country to pluck green branches for their further adornment. Already the thought of the dance was in their heads, and its tripping in their feet, and they sang through the lanes.

They waylaid strangers coming into Bugletown and drew contributions of silver from them, according to custom, and all they did went to a gay measure. By the time the gentry, both of the place itself and of outlying regions, were a.s.sembled for the dance every house in the main streets of the grey little old town was decked with boughs, its front and back doors opened wide for the dancers, who at the Flora always danced through every house set hospitably open for their pa.s.sage.

The band, that all day long plays but the one tune, hour after hour, was gathered together by noon, sleek and not yet heated, their trumpets s.h.i.+ning in the sun, their fiddles glossy as their well-oiled hair, their big drum round as the portly figure of the bandmaster himself. Already, in many a bedchamber, young women had twirled this way and that before the mirror, studying the set of taffetas and tarletan, or young men had polished their high beavers anxiously against the sleeves of their brightest broadcloth frock coats. In speckless kitchens housewives prepared their cakes and cream, and the masters saw to the drawing of the cider, and, perhaps, tasted it, to make sure that it had not soured overnight. And in each heart different words were running to the Flora Day tune, words that suited with each heart's measure. The children in the streets sang aloud the doggerel words that long custom has fastened upon the tune:--

_"John the beau was walking home,_ _When he met with Sally Dover,_ _He kissed her once, he kissed her twice,_ _And he kissed her three times over!"_

Thus the heedless children with their lips, but their little hearts probably beat to the even simpler words: "_I'm having a holiday!

Having a holiday!_"

More staidly, and almost unheard by their time-m.u.f.fled ears, a voice, nevertheless, sang to the housewives, telling each her copper and silver was the brightest in the town, and adding, perhaps, little gusts of memory that half hurt, half pleased, of how nimbly she had danced at the Flora in years gone by, and how fair she had looked....

The staid married men smiled to themselves, and would not have acknowledged that within them something seemed to chuckle: "_I'm not so old, after all; I'm not so old, after all_...."

Frankly, the hearts of the young men nudged hopefully against their ribs, calling out: "_I'm going to dance with Her! I'm going to dance with Her! And perhaps ... for I always was lucky! I always was lucky_!"

But who shall say what lilting voice, timid-bold and sly-sincere, whispered to the maidens, beating out its syllables against the new stays so tightly laced for the occasion? Perhaps the words of the children's doggerel, with a name or so altered, met the moment without need of further change....

And Loveday's heart, as she walked the three miles from the fis.h.i.+ng village to Bugletown, sang to her of joy and hope and triumph.

When she reached the Market House, she found the band ready to strike up the famous tune, while the mayor, his chain of office about his neck, stood conversing with the ladies and gentlemen who were to lead the dance. For, as is but fitting, the couples at the Flora follow each other according to their social precedence, though all may join who choose, providing only that the females, be they gentry or tradespeople, wear white, and the men their best broadcloth and Sunday hats.

Of all who had gathered for the dance there was none more highly placed than Miss Flora Le Pett.i.t, and none as fair to see. She stood supreme in the suns.h.i.+ne and her beauty, her white muslin robes swelling round her like the petals of some full-blown rose, her white sash streaming over them, the white ribands that decked her hat of fine Dunstable straw flowing down to her shoulders and mingling with her auburn curls. Even the countless tiny bows that adorned her dress (as though they were a cloud of b.u.t.terflies drawn to alight upon it by its freshness) were of white satin. Everything about her save her little sandalled feet danced already--the brim of the wide hat that waved above her dancing eyes, the flounces and floating ends of her attire which the soft breeze stirred, the corners of her smiling mouth, the dimple which came and went behind the curls that nodded by her cheek. What vision can have been fairer than that presented by Flora Le Pett.i.t upon Flora Day? "None, none, none," thought eager Loveday, as she edged through the crowd and caught sight of her divinity. None ... and yet that sight caused Loveday a strange clutching in her breast.

For she, too, had felt fair when she had gazed in her tiny mirror; the yellowed linen gown had gleamed pure and white, her young breast had swelled above the waist that looked so slim, and that was so finely girt.... Yet, now, something of splendour about Miss Le Pett.i.t that she could not attain dimmed all herself and, with herself, her joy.

Her face, already flushed by her walk, burned deeper still with shame.

Yet the desire that three weeks of striving had swollen to a pa.s.sion urged her forward, and, fingering the lovely thing about her waist to gain courage, she broke through the last ring of staring people and stood in front of Miss Le Pett.i.t.

The heiress of Ignores had not yet caught sight of her, being engaged in laughing conversation with several admiring gentlemen, but something of an almost painful intensity in the dark gaze of the village girl drew her face to meet it. The black eyes, so full of an extravagant pa.s.sion, met the careless glance of the blue orbs that knew not even the pa.s.sing shadow of such a thing.

"Oh," stammered Loveday, the set speech she had been conning all the way to Bugletown dying upon her lips, "Oh, Miss Flora, I'm come. I've got my white sash and I'm come...."

Over Flora's face pa.s.sed a look of bewilderment, while Loveday, her moment of self-criticism gone, stood trembling with eager happiness.

Then Miss Le Pett.i.t spoke, lightly and kindly.

"Surely I have seen you before, my girl?" she asked. And, turning to the little group of her friends, added:

"She has such a striking air, 'twould be difficult to forget her."

Yet, till this moment, Miss Le Pett.i.t had forgotten everything save that air. Forgotten her careless suggestion, her prettily given promise, her praise. Forgotten even the pleasant glow such evident wors.h.i.+p as this village girl's had stirred in her. She had had so much wors.h.i.+p since!

Who can blame her for not remembering some idle words her artistic perceptions had prompted three weeks earlier? It had been a fantastic suggestion at best, as a girl of sense would have known, treasuring it merely for its kindly intention. After all, Miss Le Pett.i.t would be far more conspicuous dancing with a village maiden at the Flora than with a gentleman suited to her in rank and estate. Since that day at Upper Farm she had met just such a gentleman--he with the glossy whiskers and handsome form who was nearest to her now, smiling at this little encounter.

"Why, child," said Flora to Loveday, "you look very nice, I am sure.

But your place should be much further down the procession." Then, more sharply: "Why do you stare so, girl?"

Loveday stood as one stricken, her cheek now as white as the sash she was still holding in her shaking hands.

CHAPTER XII: IN WHICH LOVEDAY DANCES

Chapter XII

IN WHICH LOVEDAY DANCES

The Mayor had stepped forward, fearing lest this young person might be annoying the heiress; the bandsmen had turned from the final survey of their instruments to gaze; here and there various people who recognised Loveday were pressing through the crowd, eager to see and hear.

Only Miss Le Pett.i.t had drawn back against the protecting arm of the gentleman who was to be her partner. Loveday still stayed, her riband in her hands.

There came comments from the crowd.

"Loveday Strick! She'm mad! This month past she'm been like a crazy thing about the Flora!"

"I thought all the time she must be mad to have imagined Miss Le Pett.i.t meant to dance along wi' she!"

"What's the maid got on? I can't rightly see."

"Old white, but a brave new sash."

At that Loveday raised her head and looked about her. A shrill voice from the crowd answered the last speaker.

"A new sash; Ted'n possible. Us have all been laughing because she couldn' come by one nohow." And Cherry Cotton elbowed her way through the ring of curious folk to where Loveday stood. Suddenly Cherry gave a scream, and pointed an accusing finger at Loveday.

"Ah, a new sash, sure enough.... Ask her where she got 'en. Ask her, I say."

Loveday answered nothing, only turned her head a little to stare at Cherry.

"You ask her where she took it from, Miss! You should know, seeing you gave it!"

"I gave it to her? Nonsense."

"Not to her, but to poor Primrose Lear. 'Tes the riband that tied up your wreath. She's robbed the dead. Loveday Strick's robbed the dead."

Then indeed, after a moment's stupefaction following on the horrid revelation, a murmur of indignation ran from mouth to mouth.

"She's robbed the dead!"

"My soul! To rob the living's stealing, but to rob the dead's a profane thing."