The picturesque village of Trellick, nestled in a river
valley in Somersetshire, was usually a quiet little
backwater. But not on this particular day. By the middle
of the afternoon it appeared that every villager and every
country dweller for miles around must be out-of-doors,
milling about the village green, enjoying the revelries.
The maypole at the center of the green, its colored
ribbons fluttering in the breeze, proclaimed the occasion.
It was May Day. Later, the young men would dance about the
maypole with the partners of their choice, as they did
with great energy and enthusiasm every year.
Meanwhile, there were races and other contests to draw
attention to the green. Pitched about its perimeter were
tented booths with their offerings of appetizing foods,
eye-catching baubles, and challenging games of skill or
strength or chance.
The weather had cooperated in magnificent fashion with
warm sunshine and a cloudless blue sky. Women and girls
had discarded shawls and pelisses they had worn in the
morning. A few men and most boys remained in their
shirtsleeves after engaging in one of the more strenuous
contests. Tables and chairs had been carried from the
church hall onto the lawn outside so that tea and cakes
could be served in full view of all the merriment. Not to
be outdone, on an adjacent side of the village green the
Boar's Head had its own tables and benches set up outside
for the convenience of those folk who preferred ale to tea.
A few strangers, on their way past the village to
destinations unknown, stopped off for varying periods of
time to observe the fun and even in some cases to
participate in it before continuing their journeys.
Onesuch stranger was riding slowly down toward the green
from the main road when Viola Thornhill glanced up from
serving tea to the Misses Merrywether. She would not have
seen him over the heads of the crowd if he had not been on
horseback. As it was, she paused for a second, more
leisurely look.
He was clearly a gentleman, and a fashionable one at that.
His dark blue riding coat looked as if it might have been
molded to his frame. His linen beneath it was white and
crisp. His black leather breeches clung to his long legs
like a second skin. His riding boots looked supple and
must surely have been made by the very best of boot
makers. But it was not so much the clothes as the man
inside them who attracted and held Viola's appreciative
attention. He was young and slim and darkly handsome. He
pushed back his tall hat even as she watched. He was
smiling.
โYou ought not to be serving us, Miss Thornhill,โ Miss
Prudence Merrywether said, a customary note of anxious
apology in her voice. โWe ought to be serving you. You
have been rushed off your feet all day.โ
Viola reassured her with a warm smile. โBut I am having so
much fun,โ she said. โAre we not fortunate indeed that the
weather has been so kind?โ
When she looked again, the stranger had disappeared from
view, though he had not ridden on his way. His horse was
being led away by one of the lads who worked in the inn
stables.
โMiss Vi,โ a familiar voice said from behind her, and she
turned to smile at the small, plump woman who had touched
her on the shoulder. โThe sack race is ready to begin, and
you are needed to start it and award the prizes. I'll take
the teapot from you.โ
โWill you, Hannah?โ Viola handed it over and hurried onto
the green, where a number of children were indeed
wriggling into sacks and clutching them to their waists.
Viola helped the stragglers and then directed them all as
they hopped and shuffled into a roughly even line along
the appointed starting point. Adults crowded about the
four sides of the green to watch and cheer.
Viola had set out from home early in the morning looking
ladylike and elegant in a muslin dress and shawl and straw
bonnet, her hair in a neatly braided coronet about her
head beneath it. She had even been wearing gloves. But she
had long ago discarded all the accessories. Even her hair,
slipping stubbornly out of its pins during the busy
morning of rushing hither and yon, had been allowed
finally to hang loose in a long braid down her back. She
was feeling flushed and happy. She could not remember when
she had enjoyed herself more.
โGet ready,โ she called, stepping to one side of the line
of children. โGo!โ
More than half the racers collapsed at their very first
leap, their legs and feet all tangled up in sacking. They
struggled to rise, to the accompaniment of good-natured
laughter and shouted encouragement from relatives and
neighbors. But inevitably there was one child who hopped
across the green like a grasshopper and crossed the finish
line before some of her less fortunate fellow contestants
had recovered from their tumble.
Viola, laughing merrily, suddenly found herself locking
eyes with the dark, handsome stranger, who was standing at
the finish line, his own laughter emphasizing his
extraordinary good looks. He looked her over frankly from
head to toe before she turned away, but she discovered
with pleased surprise that she felt amused, even
exhilarated by his appreciation rather than repelled. She
hurried forward to give out the prizes.
It was time then to hasten into the inn, where she was to
judge the pie-baking contest with the Reverend Prewitt and
Mr. Thomas Claypole.
โEating pie is thirsty work,โ the vicar declared more than
half an hour later, chuckling and patting his stomach
after they had sampled every pie and declared a
winner. โAnd if my observations have been correct, you
have not had a break all day, Miss Thornhill. You go over
to the church lawn now and find a table in the shade. Mrs.
Prewitt or one of the other ladies will pour you tea. Mr.
Claypole will be pleased to escort you, will you not, sir?โ
Viola could have done without the escort of Mr. Claypole,
who because he had proposed marriage to her at least a
dozen times during the past year appeared to believe that
he had some claim on her and the right to speak plainly to
her on any number of issues. The best that could be said
of Thomas Claypole was that he was worthy โ a solid
citizen, a prudent manager of his property, a dutiful son.
He was dull company at best. Irritating company at worst.
โForgive me, Miss Thornhill,โ he began as soon as they
were seated at one of the tables beneath the shade of a
huge old oak tree and Hannah had poured their tea. โBut
you will not mind plain speaking from a friend, I daresay.
Indeed, I flatter myself that I am more than a friend.โ
โWhat criticism of a perfect day do you have, then, sir?โ
she asked, setting her elbow on the table and her chin in
her hand.
โYour willingness to organize the fรชte with the vicar's
committee and to work hard to see that it runs smoothly is
admirable indeed,โ he began, while Viola's eyes and
attention drifted to the stranger, whom she could see
drinking ale at a table outside the inn. โIt can do
nothing but earn my highest esteem. However, I have been
somewhat alarmed to discover that today you look almost
indistinguishable from any country wench.โ
โOh, do I?โ Viola laughed. โWhat a delightful thing to
say. But you did not mean it as a compliment, did you?โ
โYou are hatless and your hair is down,โ he pointed
out. โYou have daisies in it.โ
She had forgotten. One of the children had presented her
with a bunch gathered from the riverbank earlier in the
day, and she had pushed the stems into her hair above her
left ear. She touched the flowers lightly. Yes, they were
still there.
โI believe it is your straw bonnet that is lying on the
back pew of the church,โ Mr. Claypole continued.
โAh,โ she said, โso that is where I left it, is it?โ
โIt should be protecting your complexion from the harmful
rays of the sun,โ he said with gentle reproof.
โSo it should,โ she agreed, finishing her tea and getting
to her feet. โIf you will excuse me, sir, I see that the
fortune-teller is setting up her booth at last. I must go
and see that she has everything she needs.โ
But Mr. Claypole would not have recognized a dismissal if
it had doubled up into a fist and collided with his nose.
He rose too, bowed, and offered his arm. Viola took it
with an inward sigh of resignation.
Actually, the fortune-teller was already doing a brisk
business, as Viola had been able to see from across the
green. What she had also noticed, though, was that the
stranger had strolled over to the throwing booth, which
had been popular with the young men earlier in the
afternoon. He was talking with Jake Tulliver, the
blacksmith, when Viola and Mr. Claypole drew near.
โI was about to close down the booth, seeing as how we
have run out of prizes,โ Jake said, raising his voice to
address her. โBut this gentleman wants a try.โ
โWell, then,โ she said gaily, โwe will have to hope he
does not win, will we not?โ
The stranger turned his head to look at her. He was indeed
tall, almost a full head taller than she. His eyes were
almost black. They gave his handsome face a somewhat
dangerous look. Viola felt her heartbeat quicken.
โOh,โ he said with quiet assurance, โI will win, ma'am.โ
โWill you?โ she asked. โWell, there is nothing so very
surprising about that. Everyone else has won too, almost
without exception. Hence the embarrassing lack of prizes
still to give away. I daresay the targets were set too
close. We must remember that next year, Mr. Tulliver.โ
โSet them back twice as far,โ the stranger said, โand I
will still win.โ
She raised her eyebrows at the boast and looked at the
metal candlesticks โ the old set from the church vestry โ
which had been toppling all too readily before the ball
the contestants had been hurling at them.
โAre you sure?โ she asked. โVery well, then, sir, prove
it. If you win โ four out of the five must fall with just
five throws, you understand โ then we will return your
money. It is the best we can do. All of today's proceeds
go to the vicar's charities, you see, so we cannot afford
to offer cash prizes.โ
โI will pay twice the entry fee,โ the stranger said with a
grin that made him look both reckless and boyish. โAnd I
will knock all five candlesticks down at twice their
present distance. But I must insist upon a prize, ma'am.โ
โI believe we might safely offer the church spire without
fear of denuding the church,โ she said. โIt cannot be
done.โ
โOh, it can and will,โ he assured her, โif the prize is to
be those daisies you wear above your ear.โ
Viola touched them and laughed. โA valuable prize indeed,โ
she said. โVery well, sir.โ
Mr. Claypole cleared his throat. โYou will permit me to
point out that wagers are inappropriate to what is
essentially a church fรชte, sir,โ he said.
The stranger laughed into Viola's eyes, almost as if he
believed it was she who had spoken.
โLet us make sure that the church benefits well from this
wager, then,โ he said. โTwenty pounds for the church
whether I win or lose. The lady's daisies for me if I win.
Move back the targets,โ he instructed Jake Tulliver, while
he set a few banknotes down on the booth counter.
โMiss Thornhill.โ Mr. Claypole had taken her by the elbow
and was speaking earnestly into her ear. โThis will not
do. You are drawing attention to yourself.โ
She looked about to see that indeed people who had been
awaiting their turn outside the fortune-teller's booth and
had overheard the exchange were beginning to gather
around. And their interest was attracting more. A number
of people were hurrying across the green toward the
throwing booth. The gentleman was removing his coat and
rolling up his shirtsleeves. Jake was repositioning the
candlesticks.
โThis gentleman has donated twenty pounds to the vicar's
fund,โ Viola called gaily to the gathering crowd. โIf he
knocks down all five candlesticks with five throws of the
ball, he will win ... my daisies.โ
She gestured toward them and laughed with the crowd. But
the stranger, she saw, did not. He was rolling the ball in
his hands, concentrating on it, and squinting ahead to the
candlesticks, which now looked an impossible distance
away. He could not possibly win. She doubted he could
knock over even one.
But one toppled over even as she was thinking it, and the
crowd applauded appreciatively.
Jake handed the stranger the ball again, and he
concentrated on it as before. A hush fell on the gathered
crowd, which had swelled even more in size.
A second candlestick teetered, looked as if it were about
to right itself, and fell with a clatter.
At least, Viola thought, he had not totally humiliated
himself. He looked more than handsome in his shirtsleeves.
He looked ... well, very male. She desperately wanted him
to win his bet. But he had set himself a nearly impossible
task.
Again he concentrated.
The third candlestick fell.
The fourth did not.
There was a collective moan from the crowd. Viola felt
absurdly disappointed.
โIt would seem, sir,โ she said, โthat I get to keep my
flowers.โ
โNot so hasty, ma'am.โ His grin was back and he held out
his hand for the ball. โThe wager was for five
candlesticks down with five throws, was it not? Did it
state that one had to go down with each throw?โ
โNo.โ She laughed when she understood his meaning. โBut
you have only one throw left, and two candlesticks are
standing.โ
โOh ye of little faith,โ he murmured with a wink, and
Viola felt a pleased fluttering of awareness low in her
abdomen.
Then he was concentrating again, and the crowd was being
shushed by those who realized he had not yet admitted
defeat, and Viola's heart was beating right up into her
ears.
Her eyes widened with incredulity and the crowd erupted
into a roar of wild cheering as the ball hit one upright
candlestick, glanced sideways off it as it fell, and
demolished the fifth with a satisfying crack.
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