Eden had heard rumors that this freakishly fine weather and unusual advancement of spring had not extended to neighboring dales. Until recently, snow had capped the highest fell that lay between Hartsmere and the next valley to the west. One would never know that it had snowed here at all.
On this last day of April, the afternoon of the tenants’ feast, Eden celebrated by replacing the unrelieved black of mourning with a gown of ebony-trimmed lavender.
This tenants’ fair was her most ambitious attempt to bridge the chasm between her and the people of Hartsmere. Mrs. Byrne had informed her that May Eve was a traditional day for merrymaking, a celebration of new life and fertility and the plenty to come. Beltane, she called it. Such a day, under the trees on the newly green lawn of the park at Hartsmere, seemed the perfect setting for the establishment of goodwill.
She had begun to make significant improvements for her village tenants and farmers: repairing byres and houses and bridges, visiting and supplying the poorest families with necessities such as food and clothing and medical treatment, and hiring a new steward, Mr. Rumbold, to monitor the various activities.
But though the conditions since February had been everything the fanners could desire—with lambs coming thick and fast and healthy on the fells and in the pastures, and the hay growing tall and sweet—her dalesmen could not forget the years of hardship they had endured. Nor could they trust those they held responsible for it: the Flemings, who had brought down the wrath of a Faerie lord. And the only Fleming available to blame was Eden.
Mrs. Singleton was an exception; Eden had called upon her shortly after the birth of her new son and had been made most welcome. But the rest—poor laborers, shepherds, and tenants alike—greeted Eden with a wary, almost frightened resentment, barely hidden behind their cap-tugging and curtsies. Eden hoped that today’s festivities would finally win their trust.
She had presented white May Day frocks to the girls in the dale and sent her invitations via Mrs. Appleyard and Mr. Rumbold. She promised prizes and games and a generous feast.
She surveyed the food heaped upon the recently built, flower-bedecked trestle tables, and prayed. It had required considerable expense and trouble to assemble the victuals and decorations. She’d purchased fresh mutton from her own farmers, but she’d had to send to Ambleside for most of what she served.
If only the tenants and villagers will accept this as what it is meant to be: an apology. A promise of better days to come. A pledge that winter is gone for good.
So far, only Mr. Appleyard had arrived, with assurances that he’d visited all the families in the dale to remind them of the date and time.
“Please do not worry, my lady,” he said, bowing once or twice. “It is early yet. At this time of year, with lambing season just ending and fields to tend, the farmers have much to do.” He rubbed his hands. “Such a change from last year! But I assure you, Lady Eden, that none of the dalesmen would refuse the honor of attending you at Hartsmere.”
Eden peered down the drive toward the gate and wished she shared his blithe optimism.
She looked about for her handful of allies. Claudia had declined to come down, mentioning a headache. Mrs. Byrne, in the kitchen, helped Cook prepare beef and mutton, while Armstrong and the maids stocked each row of tables with forks and tankards, bread, cheese, and pitchers of ale. After helping Grubb and Hindle arrange tables and chairs, Hartley Shaw and Mr. Rumbold busied themselves with other errands.
Eden felt Hartley’s absence keenly. Donal, his days fully occupied by Miss Waterson, spent very little time with Hartley. As a result, Eden had few excuses to meet Hartley except when she rode Juno or took out the dog cart.
She ought to be grateful that she didn’t have to make an effort to avoid Hartley after their last, most disturbing encounter in the garden. And that Hartley had kept his promise not to reveal what he had learned about Donal.
But she felt no gratitude. She found herself thinking of him constantly: where he was, what he was doing, if he missed Donal as much as she did. She was also guilty of keeping Donal away from his hero, for she hoarded every moment she was allowed to spend with her son.