God help me. “Hide… their magic?”
He nodded somberly, then brightened. “But sometimes you can go there if you know the way.”
“And do you know the way?” she asked, staring at Hartley.
He glanced at her with a wry smile. “Every night the Faeries come to me and whisper their secrets. But I have no desire to leave you, lovely Lady Eden.” He slapped the ribbons lightly on Copper’s back and turned down the rutted path to the Toppings’ farm. And Eden, knowing the topic was closed, worked to fix a smile on her face and play lady bountiful to the people who expected her to reign graciously over the competition and the feast afterward.
In such a pragmatic undertaking as a sheep-shearing, Faeries had no place. The farmers placed her and Donal on chairs beneath a crude arch woven with flowers just at the entrance to the byre, beside the other officiator, Mr. Appleyard. The curate greeted them with a bow and a smile, while Hartley slipped away to join the contestants. Eden recited the little speech she had prepared, and then Mr. Appleyard read a blessing over the sheep and the parishioners.
That was the last peace and quiet for some time. Soon the byre was filled with the bleating of sheep, the snipping of shears, and the laughter and shouts of the dalesmen, urging on their favorites. The air grew thick with the scent of sweat and wool. Shorn sheep were let loose into a pen, where bewildered lambs cried for their denuded mothers.
Great tankards of beer, brought in from the alehouse in the neighboring dale, were consumed by thirsty contestants and observers alike. Eden had arranged for quantities of food to be delivered in time for the feast. As always, it gave her great satisfaction to see the people taking such pleasure in her small gifts.
But her greatest joy lay in watching Hartley. Her chill feelings of foreboding could not survive the melee in the byre, or Hartley’s warm glances. As Donal had predicted, he soon outmatched even the most experienced clippers as if he had been born to it. Hardly a sheep offered so much as a token struggle.
Yet, when the hours-long contest neared its end, Hartley leaned back and slowed to a crawl, yawning as he worked. Others caught up with him and finally surpassed him. In the end, it was a young man—Jane’s young man—who took the coveted first prize of six shillings and a new pair of shears. Jane shrieked and ran to embrace him, which no one minded at all given the general merriment and chaos.
After that, everyone settled in for the feast. They spread blankets on the meadow and laid out the food with much animated conversation. While Donal went to see the shorn sheep, Eden took her place at the top of the head table, as hostess, seated with the winner and a few other leading dalesmen. Hartley sat two seats away. They did not look at each other too often. Gossip need not be encouraged.
The talk was casual and idle, mainly of sheep and the haying. Eden excused herself after an interval and threaded her way among the blankets to visit the people she had come to know. The reunited Singletons sat close together with their children about them. Mr. Singleton bolted up and offered Eden a jerky bow.
Mrs. Singleton joined him, her babe in her arms. “Your ladyship,” she said, “we cannot thank you enough for all you have done. Now that John is bailiff again…”
It was not the first time Eden had met the wandering husband and father, though she had left his reemployment to Mr. Rumbold. Singleton flushed, with good reason.
Yet Eden glanced at Mrs. Singleton’s face, saw the joy in it, and knew his return was far better than his absence. Throughout the world, women needed their men to prosper and be happy.
Yes, even she.
“You are content with your work?” she asked Mr. Singleton.
“Aye, my lady. As my wife says… we’re grateful. I don’t know how we can make up for it.”
“I ask only that you take good care of your family, and come to me or Mr. Rumbold if there is trouble of any kind.” She smiled at Mrs. Singleton. “Your children are well? Adam appears to thrive.”